Green robed wizard – Let us delve back into ages past -
“Seven centuries ago the world was cast into darkness. It is remembered today as the Stygian Era. The Dark Hand, which I mentioned before, orchestrated the event. Their sorcery shrouded the soaring skies and masked the burning sun. Aligned with Shar, the Evil greater goddess known as the mistress of the night, the Hand bent her will upon the world. Her worshippers wielded great power over other mortals, and wormed their way into the governing ranks of countless realms of every walk of life. Soon, temples to Shar were erected, monoliths of deep purple stone that seemed to pull the light from the world; and with it the vitality of those living nearby. These pylons fed the fel energies being gathered by Sharite cults, acolytes, and mages. The witch cults grew, their leaders pressing their charismatic dominance upon those they wished to turn to their cause.
To the aid of the world came the paladins. Bearing the mark of Torm, known as the loyal fury, an army of paladins and priests of torm, known as holy champions, marched against the chaos and disorder. What was expected to be a brutal war ended rather one-sided. The beacon the tormish army created split the black flesh of the dark hand like silk, and the sharite temples were scourged from the face of the world, yielding to massive citadels, the favored dwellings of the tormish followers. The stablility of torm in the face of chaos proved sound. The light came back to the world, and crops once again were sowed.
You may wonder, however, why torm is no longer in the prayers of paladins today? Like a knife in the dark, shar was lured from her dark void in a fit of pure vengeful hate. She cursed and doomed all who spoke reverently of torm, and a great wasting sickness took his followers. There was prosperity for a time, and as the world gained its feet, unnoticed went the plight of the faithful tormish. Throughout the following 70 years, nearly every last servant of the loyal fury had been laid low by Shar’s misery curse. The world grew and moved on, the Stygian era but a blink of the eye of the gods.
This tower is one of the last two standing from that era. It has been purged of its sharite essence, which has left the stone black and charged with raw power. As for the other tower.. We are working on that one."
Black robed wizard – “What my bother means to tell you and fails to make plain is that the other tower should not have survived. It was not purged, nor defeated. It vanished. We’ve been in this tower too long, probing the planet, searching the tallest peaks and the deepest pits of evil with our minds eye. Yet we come up lacking in our findings. This, and I’m sure you must have noted the swirling black clouds above this tower, and the lack of growth or wildlife. This place was once fertile. We believe, or rather i believe – The wizards meld together, forming one man. His eyes glow, tinged with green and his robes flow together and adopt a sea green hue. speaking again with an unnaturally round and full voice – that this tower is under assault from its twin. I fear only our wards have kept the tower safe, and our lives intact.”
Upon speaking these last words, you hear an deep grinding of stone below you. The floor shudders violently (roll) before anyone can react, the chandelier begins to break its chain. (roll)
floor begins cracking in center (get to walls)
temperature rises dramatically
The wizard begins to chant
the floor falls away revealing a large fiery daemon
The wizard ceases chanting, releasing a massive surge of white energy from his staff.
the beam dissipates as the daemon bares its’ chest, taking the blast full force.
A spray of blood and acid rages towards the wizard from the gaping maw of the daemon
the wizard conjures an ethereal wall, which begins to buckle under the magma-like liquid
at a quick spell from the wizard a green ball of energy forms around you both, dimming all sound and slightly obscuring vision.
You see through a haze of brimstone and heat a lance of flame lashes the wizards torso, melting flesh, robes, and arcane devices alike. He cannot even scream in agony as his exposed lungs shrivel up.
The daemon reaches upwards, and feasts upon the tender, cooked innards of the wizard. it seems not to notice you in its hunger. the room begins to lose focus, and you have the sensation that you are falling. Everything turns to black, and you slam against the curved wall of the bubble as it accelerates forwards, rapidly. around you are only stars, far off in the distance. your world has become nothing but a night sky on all sides as you speed along through the void.
time to do / talk some shit
you are falling once again, and crash down violently. the sphere is gone.
dropped in a sparse woodland area.
campfires can be seen in distance.
ruby pine needles coat the forest floor
the trees are massive, 12 feet around and the tops are invisible to you. they look climbable, the bark thick and rigid, making thousands of handholds
the air smells of brimstone
in between you lies the stone the wizard had plucked from your bags
approximately 70 feet away lies a small bandit camp. 3 men sit around a meager campfire, conversing over dinner. dusk is falling about the forest, a warm glow hangs heavily on the barely discernable horizon.
man that survives – John Fisher, human ranger. raised in the wilds, in this forest of canatar, and the surrounding festering marshland.
*if you befriend him, he gives you the map of the wilderness
fisher is a vagabond, he hates cities and civilization
he follows no laws
he acts on whim, he cares neither for justice nor for people
he follows the order of nature, but bequieths his soul to no god
things kill other things. it is that way in nature, and that means killing is natural. for him is certainly is
John has red facial hair in a moderately thick beard. he is stringy and limber. his hair is a diry red brown, cropped medium short, clearly done with a knife
he carries a longbow, 4 belted daggers, and a hand axe. his equipment is mismatched – clearly stolen, or borrowed from the deceased
he knows of a nearby tower. it is purple. he has never ventured there. just beyond the marsh it lies. he can lead you there.
Journey through the marsh
to reach the marsh you must go through the treetops. fisher shows you the way. the going is slow, yet you find the soggy filth unhindered. every 25 feet there lies a gap in the turf – these must be swam or waded. there are 6 of these gaps before the pure rock landing that rises from the reeaking water at the center of this secluded portion. The tower is not visible in the center – Fisher enlightensd you that the tower is only visible when the moon is new, and the night at its darkest. the new moon comes on the morrow.
Finding the inverted tower
At last you reach the crest of the rocky outcropping. it is slick with wet slime. a substance reminiscent of blood cakes the lines between the closely arranged slabs of stone. the area seems safe, and in the midst of the platform you see a rusted iron trap door. there is no handle. it is 12 square in size.