Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Tales from Killraven Keep

The Magister recoiled at the surge of wild magic; even through his magical bowl, the ripple of magic shattered the seeing bowl and temporarily robbed him of his senses. As he recovered, the Magister found himself on the cold stone floor, his spectacles within reach; but the necromancer discovered he had a visitor; a most unwelcome caller in any event.

Suddenly and at once the Magister was on his feet with a jeweled black wand in his aged outstretched hand, all thoughts of the mercenary Max Rinnen and his magical bowl forgotten; there was no movement, just one blink- floor to feet, wand in hand.

Cyric was a walking cathedral in both monumentus physique and artistic expression; scores of detailed and elaborate tattoos covered his body; symbols and recreations from each church he was said to have visited- temples of tyranny, subjugation, and loss. He stood menacingly over the Magister, his eyes- the shape of tombstones, an indication of the divine power Cyric held. The man began to speak to the necromancer with a deadly even coldness that dulled the Magister’s senses.

The Godson assembles his pantheon Magister; we are yet called again to hear his words before the last portal to Waterdeep it to be exhausted.” Cyric said.

The Magister turned his attention from the giant man to his robes and devices of office and followed Cyric to the main audience chamber of Killraven Keep…

The Godson saw his fate clearly before him; he is to stand as over-god, administering his own hand-picked pantheon; seven individuals of established notoriety and prestige in his father’s church- weather clerics, sorcerers, or murders- the Godson had is fate clearly before him. The Magister, archmage of necromancy; Cyric, the contract killer; Randron, the drow sorcerer; Ferestain Halaster, Highborn of Zhentil Keep, and the others were to be the Godson’s intermediaries in his malevolent pantheon. Dark times were on the horizon for the ffolken of Faerun.

“My faithful associates...” The Godson began once his seven disciples, his seven aspects, were present and assembled before him. He liked the comforts of the Moonsea keep, the Godson mused; it would be bitter sweet to see it absent from sight. For weeks now the Godson had begun to assume a human form, so that he may pass unremarked if he so wished; he took this form now as he spoke to his trusted ka-tet.

“I have brokered discovery as to Killraven’s portal’s destination; it will transport us to an underdark seaport that connects with Undermountain. I would not have us blindly traverse these ancient gates without assurances; therefore, our first step upon the stairway to heaven begins in Skullport.”

Then all at once they shouted “Iyachtu! Iyachtu Xvim! Iyachtu! Iyachtu Xvim!” the Truename word for the Godson and the title of their new world to come; a realm remade in tyranny and fear under the aegis of immortals.

The assemblage began at once to outline their immediate and long term plans in their crusade of oppression and subjugation, of conquest and intrigue; wisely knowing to take only what was needed, and seizing the rest along the path. They would establish a dark ministry within the halls of Undermountain and put forth a call to worship to supporters who would realize their sacraments and defend its tenants.

1 comment:

James Caruso said...

Be sure to click on Cyric/Undertaker- it's badass!