6. THE DUNGEON MASTER: So it is that a party to whom an immature black dragon was once ruination now stands in victory over one of Hell's forces. Though this victory is not without great cost; for the party has lost its greatest Paladin, Dame Valhalla Geode. Her Frost Brand Holy Avenger Sword, a legendary artifact of legendary power, lies here and now upon the catacomb floor of Avernal Labyrinthus, its aura of heavenly frost inviting one of you to claim its dark destiny of doom.
Ice the Necromancer darts toward the sword, but Life Force the Paladin grabs him before he can reach it. Though still traumatized by the battle with the Larval Soul, The White Wolf senses in Dame Valhalla's sword power greater than even that of the mighty Stormbringer, and he too tries to lay claim to it in a physical manner. Yet in the end it is Eno, who has been kneeling right in front of it all this time, who simply snatches it from the floor. As the Paladin holds the sword, it shines with a radiance which illuminates the catacomb, flooding this section of Labyrinthus with white crystalline brilliance. In the distance you believe you can hear the voice of an angel, singing a note softly to pierce the infinite darkness.
"Logan," states Enolc Det, bearing the blade before him, "I sense in you a prodigy Paladin, and thus a soul capable of enduring much. It is you who should wield the sword now."
As the holy sword passes from Eno to Logan, its light dims significantly, yet it shines brightly when it is in the latter Paladin's hands. The sensation Logan feels when he grasps the legendary weapon is unlike any he has ever experienced; the only thing that even came remotely close was when he wielded Princess Michelle's Chaos Wind. At first the sword quite lives up to its original name Frost's Brand, for the Valarkian Paladin finds it cold to the touch; almost too cold to bear. Yet bear it he does, and the chill soon subsides as the damsel's blade deems him worthy, leaving in its wake a feeling of incredible power. It is a power that heralds your descent into Labyrinthus, the catacomb of eternity where dead worlds meet to share their secrets, for it is a power greater than all the magic and all the machines in all the mortal realm.
"Our light sabers'll soon be useless to us." states Logan. "They'll run out of power cell pretty soon. We'd better switch them to half or quarter power to preserve their life. They won't do as much damage, but they'll last a good deal longer."
{Dungeon Master's Note: The Light Sabers, whether they originated from the Wyrmroost Mountains or a long-dead world (though not necessarily one in a galaxy far, far away), inflict an incredible 4D10 Hit Points of damage at full power, 2D10 (still nothing to sneeze at) at half power, and 1D10 damage at quarter power. However, the Blade Runner maxim 'the light that burns twice as bright burns half as long' holds true here as well, and thus any of you who possess light sabers must choose whether you want a weapon that will inflict a great deal of damage for a short time or one that will inflict moderate damage for a long time (either way the light saber deals with armour better than most other melee weapons). Let me know what you decide. Oh, and by the way: I've seen every Star Wars movie (including Episode II: Attack of the Clones) and there is no point at which a light saber therein operates at any higher than half power. The light sabers in Serpents & Sorcery are overpowered because, hey, it's Serpents and Sorcery!!!! -TDM.}
"Are we ever going to acquire a major artifact that *doesn't* wind up in your possession?" The White Wolf asks of the Paladin Logan.
"I mean, you are apparently the most powerful of our number," adds Ice, "but we're only ensuring that never changes by giving you all our best stuff."
The Paladin Logan sighs deeply. "Point made." He states. "I'll take point."
"HAHA!" exclaims the wood elven Ranger Farian Shadowstorm, flashing a smile and rising to his feet. "Yes! I the Great, the mighty, the powerful, LORD FARIAN SHADOWSTORM THE XXVIII! Has once again fooled death and came out once again with only one leg..." He looks down at his two legs. "Make that two..."
Paladin Slayer pays no attention to Farian's rambling, and he is unimpressed by the new wielder of the now aptly-named holy avenger. "You are hopelessly powerless," concludes the Anti-Paladin of Logan, "you who cannot even destroy a simple Larval Soul with the most powerful magic of the mortal plane!" He then squats down next to Farian and picks up his gun. Racking it (working the slide once) and putting it in his belt, the Paladin Slayer says in a voice that reminds you of a Wyvern's hiss:
"Little boys shouldn't play with such a beautiful and deadly thing."
This somewhat incenses the Ranger. "Hey!" he shouts. "Who died and made you - never mind, just gimme back my gun!"
Paladin Slayer's hand darts to Farian's gun, residing now in the Anti-Paladin's belt. "Just try and take it from me, elf!"
Farian does so. The two warriors struggle briefly, but although Paladin Slayer is stronger than most humyns, Farian Shadowstorm has the strength of a hill giant.
"That wretched girdle!" exclaims the Anti-Paladin as the weapon is wrested back into the hands of its rightful owner {Even if he did take it from the corpse of Shawn Dalton's Tech-User, 'Flying Demon'. -TDM}. "Very well, keep your toy, then. We shall see how well it and your magical corset protect you from the fiends who fill this realm."
The White Wolf takes this opportunity to round on the Paladin Slayer. "Even the most Evil of Souls (ME, The White Wolf) respect and mourn those who would give their life without hesitation of discretion to save someone. Especially a vile little piece of evil wannabe zombie shit like yourself."
Paladin Slayer flashes a look of extreme anger, but then elects to respond differently. He smiles and asks: "Are you feeling insecure?"
The White Wolf ignores him as best as possible, pays his own silent respects to Valhalla, and walks forward alone into the Labyrinth.
"Alright, fine." remarks the fellowship's Necromancer. "You guys go on ahead and get your asses melted by Larval Souls all you want. I'll just stay here in the back row until this party becomes the Just-Ice League!" He begins to collect what he can from the remains of the Larval Soul you were actually able to slay, and while Valhalla's sword has done a number on it, the Necromancer is still able to salvage an eye and a tentacle.
Meanwhile, Tim 'the Enchanter' ponders over what has happened. *This would have been our end if not for Valhalla...* He thinks to himself, and glances over at the remains of the Larval Soul. *And if this was only the first of the monsters we may meet... I fear that none of us shall survive.* He slowly distances himself from the others and whispers, "What good is my magic if I lack the strength or faith necessary to meet the coming challenges? What purpose could I possibly serve?"
I award Tim 33 Experience Points for all the good role-playing he's been doing over the past few Playing Turns. {Don't worry; you will reach Level 2 eventually! -TDM.}
The White Wolf walks alone in the dark, switching his white-bladed light saber to quarter power so that it may act as a torch without fear of expending too much power. He himself is a being of tremendous power, as was evidenced by his decimating the party with a single attack in one of his final actions on the mortal plane, and he is finding it difficult to concern himself with the affairs of even those who would be called conventional wizards and warriors. Even if he is less evil than the Paladin Slayer, he is decidedly more gifted magically.
After traversing approximately twenty feet, the ArchMagus comes to a crushed black velvet drapery covering the far wall. Finding nothing behind it, he turns right 90 degrees and proceeds down the forty-five-foot corridor he finds before him.
To Here with the Magic-User/Tech-User War! It is only one world, however significant. The White Wolf is now in the world of the ultimate evil power, to which countless worlds have already fallen.
Reaching the end of the passageway, he turns right and walks five feet to come face-to-face with a stone plaque on the wall. Carved into it in Common is the message:
There is no place in the multiverse where the Wizard would rather be than Hell.
He turns left and starts down a 35-foot X 5-foot hallway with two WorldOrbs parallel to each other on opposite walls 30 feet into it. The White Wolf finds it impossible to pass between the twain Orbs without brushing against both, so he does so without hesitation. Each one yields a symbol of a different kind of empire. The right Orb provides a military one: a beautifully-crafted Two-Handed Sword with a distinctly draconic motif. It is incredibly light, considering that its blade is one of iron, and its sharpness makes it appear capable of dealing quite a bit of damage. The left Orb's symbol is economic: a square-shaped gold coin with an image of a dragon's head on one side and on the other an image of a castle which looks strangely familiar. The ArchMagus takes it and the DeadWorld Sword into his possession and continues down the corridor, turning right 45 degrees after progressing for approximately five more feet.
It feels like you've been in Labyrinthus for a year now, and the White Wolf can afford no more interruptions. He has gained much from the mortal plane, yet has much more to gain here.
However, after approximately 10 feet of traveling straight, the White Wolf has gone as far as he will ever go alone....
Gradually the rest of the party drifts through the catacomb corridors until all of its members have reached the point where the White Wolf now stands statuesque with his long hair and in his Tech-User cape, spiked metal gauntlets, and tight black leather body suit. Carved into a stone plaque upon the right wall is the simple message "PRUDENCE". Before you is an alabaster door with a 1' X 1' rune clearly carved into its center.
"I think I remember that rune." states Tim thoughtfully. "It's the rune of Light. From the Language of Magic."
"There doesn't appear to be a keyhole or any conventional means of opening the door." comments Zephyr.
"There must be some magical means of opening it." contributes Eno. "Is there any among us with a soul of Light?"
"I would like to believe mine is." answers Life Force. The Paladin then reaches out and touches the rune with his right hand, then swiftly steps back as the door slides up into the ceiling. "Whoa," he remarks, "that was easy."
"Do you know what a Soul Creature is?" asks Paladin Slayer of him.
"Uh, what?" responds Life Force, finding it strange that the Anti-Paladin would engage in casual conversation just after the opening of a new door.
"My master Deirdre Seraphsbane told me about them. It is said that there exists, for every persyn, a type of animal which fits their soul to a tee; maybe because it fits their persynality, or maybe 'cause they just think it's kewl. You just said that your soul was of Light, and this is obviously the Door of Light. Ever get the feeling that you're about to meet yours?"
*There has always been a great connection between the fantastical and the divine.* reflects the Paladin Logan. He realizes this now more than ever; perhaps in part because he now wields the Sword.
You may be in the Chamber of Light, but it is just as dark on this side of the door. Or is it? You see a white light in the distance, yet only an instantaneous flash, and then it is gone.
Undaunted, you start down the 5-foot-wide passageway before you. After progressing for twenty feet, you reach an intersection where you can proceed left, right, or straight ahead. At this point the light returns.
It is a floating orb of radiance perhaps 35 feet directly ahead of you and coming closer. You, however, do not react, for you find that the orb is emitting more than mere photons. It is using some sort of extra-sensory perception to reach deep into your thoughts, subconscious, and seemingly across millions of light years of space.
Yet it is not a one-way exchange. For even as the orb probes you, you find that you are able to read its thoughts. The mind of the spirit seems filled with aeons worth of concepts, ideas, and memories, so much so that it is like the inside of a sun, where photons ricochet around in random walk only to be sent off into the universe fifty thousand years after their creation. For this reason you can only decipher the thoughts that the orb is immediately thinking:
*Others. At last, others. Ones who bear holy power akin to that of the Serpent. The one from eons past who entered this haven to gain from me the sorcery to free trapped souls.*
*Such a being the dragon was. Its every deed was as a magic spell. Though beaten back, it kept forever rising....like the dawn, or the dust.*
Is the orb reminiscing?
*But you are infidels! Unworthy to stand in this sacred place....*
*Before the catacomb canyons and devil's rearhorse....seek ye the great mountain and begin your quest in Labyrinthus with my dream-like recollections....find thee the Midnight Rose....who knows who will be the salvation of the morrow?*
*No! You are unfit to wield the holy magic! You defile this place with your presence! You must be destroyed....and I....must....feed!*
The 4'-diameter orb of light emits a slight flare and a wave of heat that would cause you considerable concern were the creature any closer. And it is rapidly coming closer.
"It's not like the Larval Soul." breathes Logan. "It's some sort of spirit of the stars! It seems to symbolize a new beginning."
"Yes." replies the Paladin Eno. "Yet if we don't act quickly, this is going to be our final dawn!"
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