UWL Shadowmire event Friday evening 11/4!

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Lagrath
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Joined: Sat Jul 30, 2011 6:37 pm

UWL Shadowmire event Friday evening 11/4!

Post by Lagrath »

Beware mortals! Ill omens proliferate across Sosaria - the shrines of Virtue weep blood, livestock die in the fields, and a fell moon hangs in the night sky.

Unconfirmed rumors grow by the day of an ethereal, unmanned ship sailing along the outer edges of the known seas. Just as dire, other sailors have reported strange lights and indeterminable activity growing at the old seaside village behind Shadowmire castle, at the nothern edges of the Fens of the Dead above Trinsic.

Are these merely the drunken rantings of sailors, or could all of these events somehow be connected? Were the hordes of lesser undead that swept the land a few days prior merely a distraction? Is the realm in danger?

What evil grows on the shores of ruined Shadowmire?

Read the story below for clues!
Last edited by Lagrath on Fri Nov 04, 2011 12:55 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Lagrath
Posts: 381
Joined: Sat Jul 30, 2011 6:37 pm

Re: UWL Shadowmire event Friday evening 11/4!

Post by Lagrath »

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Kharnn noticed that, for once, the gory mess surrounding his master was comprised of parchment instead of body parts.

The revenant continued through the door and down the length of the library located near the top of the tower, making his way down to the last solitary table at the end of the numerous rows. The hall was silent save for the soft clanking of the warrior’s armored joints and feet, the shadow platemail reflecting a yellow glow from the candelabras placed neatly at regular intervals on reading desks in the room. In the dim light he looked for all appearances like a slowly-approaching armoire of evil steel and jagged edges, the only clues to his sentience a face of alabaster skin and emerald-green eyes emerging out from a black gorget like the last remaining anchor of his humanity. The tight lips and emotionless expression gave the servant the look of a melancholy angel, caught between petulance and sorrow. The evening scene would have struck at the heart of even Britain’s most jaded poet, but the stooped figure at the final table gave no signs of even noticing his visitor.

Kharnn stopped before his master at a respectful distance, coming to a neat halt with his heavy sack of cargo still thrown lazily over one shoulder. The lord of the manor continued his furious scribbling, hunchbacked over a table strewn with open tomes, maps, weather charts, and inscrutable arcane drawings that seemed to shift and writhe underneath Kharnn’s gaze. Piles of books and scrolls clustered at the end of the table and seemed to spill over the edge and down to the floor like a literary avalanche. The revenant knew that Lagrath usually maintained a meticulous research- and writing-space, so a project that looked so frantic – and, above all, so far unsuccessful – was rare indeed.

After standing there patiently for an indeterminate amount of time Kharnn was finally acknowledged with a brief glance from the Dreadspire’s master, who quickly turned his gaze downwards again to his notes. The fevered, rhythmic scratching of quill on parchment resumed its frantic pace.

“Ah, my favorite servant…I hope you have good reason for disturbing me.” The vampire was dressed in simple a black robe, long blood-red hair falling over his shoulders and down to the tables…his customary garb when in his own estate.

Kharnn paused a moment before answering, taking another long look around the chaotic library. “I usually don’t see you get quite this passionate. I do wonder what mad project has got you so excited this time…Maybe when you’re done we can finally get around to that logistics meeting you promised me…You may love your books and scrolls, mage, but if you’ll peek out your tower window some time you might notice that we have a rapidly-growing army shambling around. Somebody has to organize all of these brain-dead corpses, equip them, push them in the right direction of fleshy bits…and we need to sort out what we’re going to do with all of the Ravenfel additions we added from the ranger town. Barracks, a set resurrection chamber…and damn if we don’t need a naval master and some docks, an actual port. Getting all the ships back and unloaded from Vesper was hell.”

He halted his complaining when the sound of scribbling abruptly froze. Kharnn looked back and saw his master still hunched over notes, not looking up, eyes hidden. There was a long moment of silence. After another heartbeat, Lagrath answered in a low voice that signaled either amusement or hostility or both.

“My dear Kharnn…tell me, have you been sneaking looks at your master’s work?”

The revenant made a loud rasping sound in the back of his throat at the accusation, rolling his eyes so forcefully that it was accompanied by a twisting the neck and a toss of his turquoise ponytail. “You know I don’t give a holy hell about your little plots and notebooks, Baron. If someone forced me to start flipping through your ludicrous collections of dusty scrolls, I’d probably be so bored it would kill me a second time.”

The tension disappeared in Lagrath’s shoulders and the mage looked up, grinning like a hissing viper. “Of course, how could I forget? You never did have much patience for the higher arts…”

He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Oh? Is that my package I spy?”

“Indeed. Here’s your mail.” With the flick of his arm, Kharnn tossed the heavy brown sack to the stone floor next to the table, eliciting a faint moan of pain from the delivery. Lagrath leaned casually over the right arm of his chair and dissected the bag lengthwise with a long, sharpened red nail. After an awful ripping sound an even worse stench emerged from the bag, followed by an old man shaking with fear and blinking in confusion at the library’s dim lights.

“I’m impressed, Kharnn. It’s been more than a week since the surviving rangers scurried away to their patrol routes in the Fens, and yet you still managed to track down one of the little rats on his own turf. I trust that his pets and the rest of the swamp’s denizens didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry your rotten heart over me, Baron. I’ve never met a snake I couldn’t kill.” Kharnn squinted at his master. “Well, except one.”

Lagrath ignored the jab and fixed the broken ranger with a horrible gaze, pinning the half-dead man to the floor with his eyes. He smiled again, rows of sharp teeth and fangs gleaming in the soft candlelight with the visage of a daemon. The ranger began to shake even worse, convulsing with that all-consuming and instinctive fear felt universally when hunted meets hunter, when rodent is cornered by reptile. A ranger like him - one who’d spent a lifetime among the animals of the wild – no doubt knew the cycle of life and death with horrifying clarity.

“It was no accident that my charming servant here went into the Fens and grabbed you in particular. I know exactly who you are. You were a ranger…more specifically, you patrolled the northern domains of the swamp. And you patrolled that border for the many, many years of your worthless human life. Am I correct? Answer truthfully, now.”

The grizzled man nodded in terror, thin strands of his short grey hair falling down to his mud-splattered robes.

Lagrath leaned fully over his chair and down to the floor, jaws opening wide into an insane and obsessed grin. The man moaned again and scrambled to push himself off the floor, away from the monster, but his eyes remained uncontrollably locked with the wild pupils of the Blood Baron.

“Tell me everything you know about the Ghost Ship…EVERYTHING.”

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***


In the deepest, dampest part of the swamp’s hidden heart, the devil danced in the dark.

Across enormous tree trunks and rotting logs, countless insects and amphibians froze in the night while unholy lights rolled past. Brown and green landscapes isolated from sunlight for a thousand years now suddenly roiled in the wake of hellfire’s kaleidoscopic cascade. Even down in the sluggish, impenetrable ocean beneath the reeds and wooden roots, colossal snakes the size of ships and many creatures yet more fell remained completely still, paralyzed by an absolute and instinctive fear of nature’s greatest predator. Death itself rolled through the Fens, and for once the name of this accursed swamp lived up to its prophecy.

Through the thick walls of dying trees and shifting fogs, blurry orbs of red and yellow could be glimpsed waltzing with each other in rhythmic arcs. They shifted slowly but inexorably, laughing silently as they weaved further into the Fens, ever onwards, onwards. Even along the trail of spheres, the heavy swamp gases and hanging tree-trunks obfuscated and swallowed the lion’s share of the light, and rarely did the orbs illuminate much more than a finger’s length in any direction. As the macabre procession rolled through the night, on certain occasions other half-formed shapes quickly appeared and vanished, sharp blacks and white forms sifting through terrain colored like mud and moss. If the darkness had eyes, it might have seen hooves and wheels that glided steadily past the fetid surface of the bogs, the arrogant conveyors never quite touching down on their watery road. On and on the unnatural caravan continued forward throughout the length of the lunar arc far above, a black thought haunting the dreams of the Fens.

Finally, finally, the lights and their masters spilled past the northern edge of the swamp like a fatal disease vomited out by a man on death’s door. Even the cheerful rays of the rising sun only managed to penetrate the scene with difficulty, here where Fens met open sea in a vortex of morning mists. Outriders of feral ghouls were the first to break the tree-line, blazing forward faster on all fours than the languid steeds of the main company. They slowed as they approached their destination, eventually stopping altogether and sniffing the salty air for any signs of danger.

Then came the bulk of the main caravan, skeletal warriors on flanking either side of the procession with a steady, never-tiring rhythm of clanging armor and clattering bones. In between rode a column of mounted wights and skeletons, those at the head carrying tall heralds and banners of a blue skull and winged crest on a black background. As the unholy parade continued to emerge from the Fens, those at the head broke off to the left and right to form an enormous semi-circle at the gate of the ruined fortress in front of the army.

Floating in and out of the unnatural mist like a long-repressed memory, the gigantic castle seemed hazy and desolate in a way that defied the ordinary stone from which it was built. Unmanned parapets and apses came and went in the sky above. Faint lances of sunlight from above penetrated the grey clouds and white mists randomly, cloaking the whole building in a shimmering and shifting garb. The colossal walls of the front of the fortress sat astride the entire width of a narrow strip of land, a tower anchoring the grim structure on both sides where swamp-land dropped off into sudden cliffs. At the base of the right tower began a rickety wooden bridge, now rotten with age and sea-air, that coiled around the side of the building and into the sheltered land behind it. There began a winding peninsula that snaked all the way down to the sea, a small fishing village completely protected by the fortress above and the docks below.

As the skeletons and wights continued to form ranks, they stopped just short of the narrow sea of bones and shattered armaments lining the front of the structure like a moat of memories. Ancient arms and scraps of faded kingdoms soaked in the wet bog and grass, crests of alliances and eras of eons prior. The living and the dead alike had fought over this rare jewel of geography countless times, and now it stood lost to both…and even to time itself. The cursed castle. The forgotten fortress.

Shadowmire.

As the heart of the caravan arrived, a solitary mounted figure continued straight ahead as while other rides continued to form up the honor guard at the sides. Dressed in a wide-brimmed black hat and equally colorless robes, Lagrath halted his pale mare and sized up Shadowmire castle. The sight filled him with equal amounts dread and excitement.

“You know, every time you step out into direct sunlight and don’t immediately burst into flames, a little part of me feels let down.” Kharnn pulled up alongside his master on a much larger steed of the same milky-white.

“Shut up. I don’t have time for your insolence today.” The Blood Baron glanced around apprehensively while the rest of the caravan pulled in from the Fens. Too much had been invested into today for anything to go wrong, and there were certainly more than enough factions and individuals in the undead alliance who’d like nothing more than to witness his fall from grace.

As if on cue, a horrible expanding sound began from behind as several ebon portals ripped holes directly in reality. Behind the semi-circle of troops, the Ancient Horror and a cabal of his most senior lich lords stepped down to the soil to greet the rest of the army, the wizened husks gating themselves to the destination straight from the roof of their tower in Ravenfel. Lagrath eyed his biggest rival on the Shadow Council warily, the tall lich returning the affection with a stare of his own from his empty eye-sockets. Eventually he turned and rasped something unintelligible to the rest, who then began shambling to different areas and setting up floating glyphs of protection in the morning air.

A total hush settled in as the heart of the procession arrived. Six skeletal horses came up, pulling an enormous and extravagant black carriage behind them. The whole of the long vehicle was devoid of any windows or doors save for two white grips at the rear, and light blue runes and lines ran across the length of the carriage’s dark sides. Gharik Darkmoor sat across two large seats at the front, pulling on the reigns of the undead steeds to bring the carriage to a stop parallel to the castle gates.

The bony titan climbed down from the driver’s seat and made his way to the back, where eight of his undead henchmen had already opened the doors at the black and pulled down a ramp. They wheeled down a colossal coffin of the same black material as the carriage, eventually bringing the entire thing to a stop atop the dewy grass. Darkmoor spoke a few reverent words of pray and then bent down to respectfully pull off the huge obsidian slab that served as a lid. Inside the coffin was filled to the brim with dark, finely-ground soil. The giant reached into the bed of earth with two great hands and came back with what seemed like a menhir almost as big as him. The long stone seemed perfectly symmetrical except for a short tip at the top and a fat base at the bottom.

Darkmoor strode forward with the huge cargo, carrying its unimaginable weight with no visible effort. He cradled it in his arms with all the gentle care of a mother with her newborn babe. Just another sign of his stupidity. As far as Lagrath was concerned, you could have tossed the damn thing down the slope of Mount Kendall and only felt sorry for the mountain. He hadn’t tested it himself, of course, but Lagrath strongly suspected that the stone was absolutely and entirely impervious to any sort of weapon or magic whatsoever. Its gray surfaced was devoid of any scratches or broken edges, and the carved letters across the front of the stone remained entirely free of any chips or blemishes. Plus, to anyone with any magical talents, the thing was practically a living torch of raw power and ill intent. It gave an aura of such immense force that even a luddite like Darkmoor was sure to feel it. The grey obelisk. The guildstone of the Undead Warlords.

The Lord of Bones sat the stone down on its base right where the wet swamp turned to steady grass. He had only stepped back a few feet when droplets of pure-black water started to form on the surface of the guildstone. The liquid began to ooze and merge together, quickly forming into a gas of sorts. Shadowy black tendrils started to emerge from the stone, writhing together and pulling away from the obelisk. They merged together in the air like a skeletal wraith, quickly condensing in the form a human man who landed nimbly on the ground.

The assembled army fell as once to their knees in worship of the figure, those on their steeds bowing their heads. At first glance, he seemed to be mortal, with an ageless face and long light-blue hair visible between a black robe and hat similar to Lagrath’s own garments. Anyone looking more closely, however, would have quickly noticed that the hands that emerged from the robe were nothing but yellow bones, silent claws moving without sinew. One of them gripped a tall dark staff, the mysterious creature leaning on it ever so slightly for support. He seemed frail and harmless, but the sight of hundreds of undead of all races prostrating themselves before him belied that illusion. He had no name save for his title – The Guardian.

The man did a slow full turn, beaming at each of his gathered supplicants in turn with a gentle smile. Finally he made eye contact with Lagrath, calling out in a voice that was smooth like silk, but strong as steel.

“Good morrow, Baron. You have everything prepared, I trust?”

Lagrath nodded, then looked at Darkmoor and made a forward-waving motion with his hands. The bone giant hesitated for a moment before quickly heading to the pack-horses, the eternal desire to please The Guardian winning out over certain outrage at being ordered about by the vampire. He quickly returned with a large oaken chest. Darkmoor placed the container respectfully at his master’s feet, withdrawing back again to the head of the army. The Guardian bent down and opened the chest, nodding happily at the sight. Lagrath could see from atop his mare that the thing was filled with countless bones of pure gold.

“Excellent work as always, Baron. You were able to gather the entire set, even after so many years.”

“Aye. The humans tried everything that they could to destroy them, but apparently even fire and acid didn’t work. When they failed, they went for the next best thing and tried scattering the remains across Sosaria, even dropping some pieces into the sea or into volcanoes. The whole project was supposed to be a secret. But you know humans. You can always make them talk…with the right motivation.” Lagrath gave an evil grin.

The Guardian gave a musical laugh, shaking his head in amusement. “How very true. In any case, I am pleased that what is mine has finally been returned to me.” The man pushed himself up on the staff and stood up straight. He closed his eyes and began speaking softly to himself, quietly at first, and then a kind of buzzing began. It sounded as if several low voices were coming from his mouth at once, tripping over each other and weaving into one another. With his unnaturally-keen hearing Lagrath had no trouble listening in and distinguishing among the voices, but it was of little use…to his surprise, even he had never heard these words of power before. The garbled monologue continued and a light tension began to fill the air. The Guardian slowly tapped the edge of his chest three times, and then all of the voices ceased simultaneously.

The sound was instantly replaced by a gentle humming from inside the chest. The container began to vibrate, then shake like an imminent explosion. Golden bones started levitating out of the chest, slowly spinning in the air. As more and more pieces floated up, the mass gained speed until it was a whirling hurricane. It went faster and faster until the chest was empty and all the pieces were a part of the same inscrutable blur. With a loud explosion, the whirlwind landed a few feet away. Where once was chaos suddenly stood a perfectly-assembled skeleton of pure gold. Material appeared over it as if ashes in a reverse fire, and in a moment the figure stood clad in a robe of dark blue. A tall rod of swirling blue light appeared in one hand, giving off a constant cloud of icy steam. Pale light beamed from inside the skeleton’s skull. The new arrival turned his head, drinking in the entirety of the assembled scene in one gaze. The bones themselves shifted and creased slightly across the skull, giving the figure facial expressions despite a total lack of flesh or muscle. He fixed The Guardian with a knowing look.

The master of the Undead Warlords returned it with a happy expression. “Ah, Vecna, my dearest child…Your return fills me with boundless joy. You will serve at my side again, as you once did.”

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The golden lich answered back in a low monotone. “My lord, why have you brought me back?” A pause, and then a flat sound that was nonetheless filled with despair. “You should not have done this. I was not worthy. Even as I destroyed the village, I fell, pulled down by mortal worms and maggots, piece by piece…I have failed you.” Vecna fell to one knee, bowing deep and laying his icy staff flat upon the grass.

The pale man walked past the chest and laid his hand gently on the lich’s shoulder.”Nay, my son. How could you ever fail me? You, my most loyal servant? All played out as it should. Our foes are gone, long expired, and you remain. The castle is belongs to you once again. Now rise, Lich of Shadowmire, and obey your master as you did so well in centuries past.” Vecna stood back up, assuming as he did so burdens of both servitude as well as command.

Lagrath snuck a glance to the side to see how the Ancient Horror was reacting to the scene. He wasn’t disappointed. The vampire knew from experiences that their kind didn’t usually show much animation at all, and the constant shifting and movement on display from the old wizard were a clear sign of increasing discomfort. The arrogant old corpse was apparently not very happy about Vecna’s resurrection. Liches were exactly like elderly women – somehow they all knew one another, and they all had interlinking grudges dating back to before most people were even born.

He looked back to find himself again at the center of The Guardian’s attention. “I shall say it once more, Baron – your work for this nascent alliance has been flawless. The rapid construction of Ravenfel, our ongoing reclamation of the graveyards, the destruction of the rangers and the acquisition of their territories, and now Shadowmire once again marches under the banner of the dead.” He waved a yellow, skeletal hand at the assembled legions. “We have gathered a new army within the passing of only a few moons, and now Shadowmire shall supplement Ravenfel as a naval port to the open seas. Your diligence is unyielding, just as you promised upon your induction.”

The red-haired vampire nodded his head with a slight smile on his lips, taking off his hat and dipping it in an exaggerated signs of thanks at the compliment. He put it back on, reveling in the knowledge that the other members of the Shadow Council were certainly brimming with rage at the exchange.

“It really is no surprise…” The Guardian continued. “Politics and planning have always been your arts. I still remember it so well when you built your very first kingdom, so many years ago…of course, you were just a normal baron, then, before the blood began to spill…”

As the blue-haired man turned, shaking his head in recollection, Lagrath felt his jaw drop in shock for the first time in he didn’t know how many decades. In the back of his mind he half-expected some mocking comment to come flying in from his second-in-command, jabbing at him for getting taken so completely off-guard, but nothing came. Kharnn knew exactly what had just happened, and was left just as speechless…after all, he’d been there too, back then…

The Guardian kept walking away from them and towards the old Shadowmire bridge. He suddenly called out in a loud voice.

“Darkmoor, you and the Ancient Horror shall divide up a portion of your forces to supplement the castle garrison. Baron. The revenant. Vecna. Come with me. Let us see whether or not the custodians of old will man the parapets once again.”

The four filed in dutifully behind their leader and followed him to the old bridge. Even in his rattled state, Lagrath had the sense of mind to worry about accompanying Darkmoor’s massive frame across the rotting wood. Whether by engineering or by sorcery, it held their weight until they were safely on the other side at the top of the peninsula. Lagrath could see a desolate and ruined wasteland stretching down the winding strip of land all the way to the sea, where the shattered remains of docks sat impotently in the water. The group continued on until stopping in the large clearing immediately behind the castle, in what was once the town square in Shadowmire’s last stretch of flat land before the descent began.

As they reached the center of the square, The Guardian suddenly stopped and turned to face them. His earlier mirth was gone, replaced by a look of absolute and terrible authority. The other four sensed instinctively that they should get out of the way, and shifted quickly over to the edge of the dusty clearing. After Lagrath filed his mare up alongside the others at the edge of the clearing, he felt Vecna learn in close, the ludicrously tall lich almost the same height despite being on foot. He and Darkmoor should get along fabulously, Lagrath thought wryly to himself.

“Now you shall see the difference between our power and his, vampire”, whispered Vecna. Lagrath didn’t understand what he meant. After half a heartbeat, The Guardian grasped his black staff tight with one hand and lifted it high into the air. He held it there for one moment, two moments, and then rammed it straight down into the ground –

The earth cracked open and the heavens shook.

Screams filled the air, howls of daemons and the damned mixing with the overwhelming rumbling of rock. The sky and clouds turned crimson, like an open wound emptying into a basin of clean water. Storm erupted above, white lightning flashing in the air to strike at the ground in the clearing, over and over again without relent. The sun was gone completely, the scene illuminated only by the thunder and the entrance of unearthly lights. They felt the power erupting from The Guardian in an undeniable gale, buffeted by its physical presence so forcefully that they had to brace themselves against the headwind. Everything began shaking even more, and Lagrath realizing they were starting to ride an earthquake. Unbelievably, he saw tombstones, piles of bones, torture racks, open coffins, withered trees, a road—even rooftops begin to emerge from out of the soil all around them. The Shadowmire of ages past was being called back from hell, returned by forbidden arts to the world of the living.

An enormous black ankh shot straight up from out of the ground behind The Guardian, shaking off soil as it began to weeping rivers of blood. The liquid pooled at the ankh’s base for a moment, suddenly rushing out to form first a circle and then a blasphemous pentagram around the god-like figure. His hat disappeared, and then even his face began to melt away. The clear eyes and gentle visage boiled off in the storm, leaving a skeleton whose bones heated up until the sickly yellow turned pure blood-red. His mouth was filled with rows of sharp fangs, like sets of stained blades. And when his jaw opened, it howled in a voice from beyond the grave.

“MAN HAS BECOME PROUD. HE IS ARROGANT. DEFIANT. IN HIS SHAMELESS HUBRIS HE BELIEVES ALL HE DOES WILL LAST. HE BUILDS TOWNS, CASTLES, KINGDOMS. HUMAN ART, HUMAN VIRTUE, HUMAN MAGIC, HUMAN WILL. HE BELIEVES IN THE SUPREMECY OF MAN AND OF MAN’S CREATIONS. HE FORGETS HIS PLACE. SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME, THE ONLY ETERNAL POWER HAS BEEN DEATH. EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD BELONGS TO ENTROPY EVEN BEFORE ITS INCEPTION. BEFORE THERE WAS LIGHT, THERE WAS VOID. WHEN THE STARS FALL FROM THE SKY, WHEN THE LAST SUN DIES OUT, WHEN THE PLANETS SHATTER INTO LIFELESS HUSKS, ALL WILL RETURN TO ME. HUMANS BELIEVE THAT THEY HAVE TRIUMPHED OVER DEATH…WE WILL REMIND MAN WHY HE ONCE FEARED THE DARK.”

As if summoned, bony hands and fleshy limbs erupted from the earth. From the shadows behind the raised buildings, hissing liches and wraiths began to emerge. At the sight of all his lost servants, The Guardian called out again in a softer voice.

“You see? My children return to me!”

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Almost as quickly as it began, the chaos was over. The last structure finished rising and stood still, and the final soldiers of Shadowmire’s faded army dug their way into reenlistment. The skies cleared up and the earth stopped shaking, although the hellborn landscape remained. The Guardian began walking towards them, suddenly back to his usual form, hat and all. He smiled at Kharnn and Vecna before turning to Lagrath.

“Walk with me a bit, Baron. I have one more thing that I think that you would like to see.” Without waiting for a response, the man began making his way on the trail snaking down the peninsula, stepping carefully along the dirt path and leaning heavily on his staff on the steeper slopes. Lagrath looked at Kharnn, who just gave a silent shrug.

“Head back to the caravan. Make sure Gharik and that corpse that calls himself a wizard are preparing to move out. I don’t like leaving Ravenfel without the bulk of its strength for any longer than necessary.” With that, he made to follow down to the sea below.

About halfway down the jagged cleft of terrain, the two stopped at a small wooden house littered in the back with open coffins and ruined walls. The Guardian stepped inside without hesitation. On his way in, Lagrath noticed the sign out front – “Libris Mortis.” He was shocked to suddenly find himself inside a beautiful study, with tables, candelabras, paintings older than any he’d ever seen adorning the room. Scattered throughout the small chamber and on a large wooden shelf were books of all sizes, shapes, and colors. He was shocked once again to find that he couldn’t read any of the titles, or even recognize their language families. The Guardian went straight to a particular row, scanning quickly before pausing with a bony, yellow hand.

“Ah, yes, that’s the one…” He plucked a large, leather-bound black tome from the collection. Lagrath only had a moment to look at it, noticing immediately the strange red color of the pages. Every part of him was dying to look at that book, to study it, understand it, use it, consume it. He kept his composure as the strange man walked past him and back into the sunlight outside.

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“Come now, we’re almost finished here.” Lagrath made to follow, pausing in the doorway one last time. He turned and looked back at the books, licking his lips and fangs in anticipation. He’d be back to this library soon, no matter what.

The two continued down until they reached the docks at the very bottom of the peninsula. Lagrath could see that they looked to be in ready condition, a far cry from the shattered remains he’d first spotted up at the castle a short while ago. He was burning to ask his guide what was in the book, but bit his tongue out of pride. The vampire was already uncomfortable enough as it was, having been confronted with several unexplained displays of power and mystery since crossing the Shadowmire bridge. He was determined not to let The Guardian show him up or otherwise surprise him yet again.

The blue-haired man opened the book, looking over a few of the red pages, as if just to be sure. He nodded to himself, closed the tome again –

– and tossed it right off the dock and into the ocean, where it was immediately buried by a huge wave of salty sea water.

Lagrath’s jaw dropped for the second time that day, and he let out a half-strangled croak. Finally he managed, “Why on Sosaria did you do THAT?!”

The Guardian continued staring straight ahead, out onto the water. He answered the accusation calmly. “Me? I am simply fulfilling your wish, nothing more. You got what you wanted, Baron…the Ghost Ship will sail once again…”

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Lagrath froze. He didn’t ask the unspoken question – “And why do YOU know what I was looking for?” The vampire continued staring a hole into back of the mysterious man’s robes. Finally The Guardian turned around and locked eyes with the Baron.

“After all, isn’t that why you agreed to my offer of alliance in the first place? To further your…research?”

Everything changed in a heartbeat. Hostile silence filled the air yet again. Just how much did he know? Lagrath cursed, enraged that he let himself get led so blindly into a trap. He was surrounded on three sides by water, and the only way back was filled with a summoned army of hostile minions. Assuming he could fight his way back up the trail fast enough to escape the frail man in front of him, the main army might already have departed from the other side of the castle…and Kharnn would be there. But so would Vecna…and that one didn’t look like nearly as much of wilting flower as the Ancient Horror. He felt his fight-or-flight survival mechanisms kicking in. Lagrath knew that his eyes were turning a pure red and that his fangs were growing far out past his upper lip…his body had recognized a life-or-death situation and responded by pumping the emergency-only reserves of blood through his veins, pushing the vampire’s already supernatural strength and speed to the demi-God levels possible only once in several moons. If today was finally his day to rendezvous in hell, he was going to take as much of The Guardian with him as possible.

The man with blue hair suddenly smiled, and then gave Lagrath a gentle tap on the chest with his staff. “Come now, no need to look so fearsome. It was just a book!” He placed the staff back down on the docks and started to push himself carefully up the trail. “It is high time we returned. There are preparations to be made…Before, the ship always arrived on All Hallows’ Eve. Once the humans realize it has returned, they’ll do everything they can to stop its cargo. Even with the return of the Shadowmire army and the new garrison, the defenses will need to be augmented on the night the ship makes port. Get a small group of your best warriors ready for the event. Get ready for war.” With that, he disappeared around a house as the trail wound out of sight.

Lagrath looked back out on to the ocean? What just happened? Where did he go from here? He’d come to Shadowmire with one question on his mind, but would return to Ravenfel with many more in its place. The vampire stood on the docks for another long moment, at what felt like the edge of the world.

Far out beyond the surface of the water, past even the point where one of the Baron’s kind could see, far past the seas known to human sailors, where the sun of the morning was replaced by the heavy glow of the lunar night, a prow emerged slowly out of the water. In the silver moonlight a gigantic wreck of ruined frame and hanging lines rose out of the sparkling sea, water spilling out in a massive torrent. Tattered sails unfurled and the empty ship turned hard to port, gliding above the waves on broken hulls. It finished turning, and then the ghost ship set course for Sosaria.

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Alucard
Posts: 3
Joined: Thu Oct 27, 2011 9:11 pm

Re: UWL Shadowmire event Friday evening 11/4!

Post by Alucard »

Ghost Ship or no, It will not matter when Alucard - THE ONLY TRULY EVERLASTING! Comes to rule even shadowmire in its boastful arrogance!!
AlucarD is the one and only Everlasting.

CharlieGibbs
Posts: 1
Joined: Wed Oct 09, 2013 3:57 am

Re: UWL Shadowmire event Friday evening 11/4!

Post by CharlieGibbs »

Lagrath wrote:Image

Kharnn noticed that, for once, the gory mess surrounding his master was comprised of parchment instead of body parts.

The revenant continued through the door and down the length of the library located near the top of the tower, making his way down to the last solitary table at the end of the numerous rows. The hall was silent save for the soft clanking of the warrior’s armored joints and feet, the shadow platemail reflecting a yellow glow from the candelabras placed neatly at regular intervals on reading desks in the room. In the dim
led light he looked for all appearances like a slowly-approaching armoire of evil steel and jagged edges, the only clues to his sentience a face of alabaster skin and emerald-green eyes emerging out from a black gorget like the last remaining anchor of his humanity. The tight lips and emotionless expression gave the servant the look of a melancholy angel, caught between petulance and sorrow. The evening scene would have struck at the heart of even Britain’s most jaded poet, but the stooped figure at the final table gave no signs of even noticing his visitor.

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One of the best games I have ever played.. I am looking for latest version so can you provide some sort of information? Waiting for reply thanks in advance:)

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