Chapter 12: Shadows in the Dark

[Joe]

Mar 27, 2016 15:34:41 GMT -4 Ken said:

Belarin whispers to Condign. "Combat contingencies, my friend. I hope they won't be needed."

As they walk, he is repulsed yet fascinated by the mirrors. "This makes sense," he says, his tone falling back into the manner of the scholar he was years ago. "Divination and necromancy working together in a way I've not seen before. The mirrors are showing us possible future versions of ourselves as undead. They don't show what WILL happen, but what MAY happen if we stay in Dolurrh."

He turns to the seneschal. "These are very impressive," he says admiringly. "Your master's creation?"

Although he knows he may regret it, he examines two of his own reflections.

"Belarin," Streko whispers harshly, "turn away from the mirrors Do not look into them. What you see may be interesting, but it is neither important nor in any way prophetic. We ARE leaving this realm. These futures we are being given a glimpse of will only lead to sadness and pain. That is all this realm is good for. Please, satisfy your curiosity by finding a way to get us out of hear sooner, rather than what may happens should we remain."

[Jeff]

Kal keeps straight ahead, then turns when he passes the seneschal, who stands tall over him. He can see that Tangat also has his own reflections, but the wolfhound takes no interest and stays close behind his master. Kal passes through great hall and in front of its stairway, the bottom of which is flanked by a pair of statues. Kal—and each of you as you pass them by—can tell they depict armored elven warriors, but unless ones makes a point to study them that is all there is to tell. Several doors ring the chamber below, and you think there are doors along the balcony above.

Streko, Adamant, and Shorak move quickly through the foyer after Kal, spying their own images in the periphery but otherwise moving on and stepping past the tall, well-dressed mummy into the great hall with the stairwell. Since he sees nothing in or around the great hall, Shorak surmises that the vortex of lights do not originate from this floor. Somewhere upstairs, then. He can't help but look up and note that doors in the hall at the top of the stairs.

Back in the foyer, Histra slows her pace and very deliberately looks from left to right, looking at her reflection and the reflections of those who preceded her. As Shorak exits the room ahead of her she actually stops, turns, and gives Belarin a look. Did you see that? her expression seems to say. But she doesn't actually say anything; she keeps moving, if slower. Belarin, despite Streko's words ahead of him, cannot help but look into the mirrors.

To the left, Histra's first reflection moves more gracefully, for it is a wraith-like form without legs. Her long dark hair seems to flow from a featureless shadow-black head, and she drifts along the ground. She notes this as well, and as one Histra and Belarin turn to look in the other direction. Histra's right-hand reflect is far more unsettling: for at first it stands there, looking much as she already does, a black-clad necromancer, though it seems to Belarin that her robes hang open and she wears less beneath. Her head, uncovered, has her hair hanging in exquisite braids and her mouth is smiling...and fanged. Histra stares at her vampiric image, and several of the more distant images that lie beyond, showing her as a barely-moving figure, and ultimately as a corpse on the ground. As she turns to exit the room, her vampiric self remains where it is....but her head turns and shakes for a moment, like she's trying to brush something out of her hair...but instead her body from the neck down simply falls free of the head along an invisible cut and crumbles lifeless to the ground. It is surprisingly bloodless, but hanging from the floating head are a number of glistening entrails which writhe like tentacles. Some of them are barbed and seem to grasp at the air.

Belarin chokes back a gag at the sight. Histra herself—the real one—catches sight of this and quickly hastens on. The floating vampiric head drifts along at the same pace until it, too, exits.

Belarin is therefore left to see his own images. The his left he sees his own image, except it's partially see-through. There is something fey-like about it, and his clothing is longer, more flowing, and his hair is quite long. But then Belarin sees that his ghostly self bears a grisly wound. A bloody hole gapes through his chest and Belarin can see clear through to the other side. The face looks stricken as though it experiences this mortal wound constantly. On the opposite side, Belarin sees a more familiar vision: his lich-self. Except this time he bears a staff bladed with a blue dragonshard curved like a tooth. Like the Keeper's holy symbol.

Condign, who came behind Belarin, can also see Belarin's images. He is left standing at the threshold, knowing or guessing what he might see within them.

Mar 27, 2016 15:34:41 GMT -4 Ken said:

He turns to the seneschal. "These are very impressive," he says admiringly. "Your master's creation?"

The seneschal inclines his head, looking in. "In a manner of speaking."

[Brian]

Condign pauses at the threshold. His experience with mirrors in this realm has not been pleasant, and he feels a strong reluctance to look into them here. Yet, he can see Belarin in the silvered surfaces: long-haired, ghostly warlock; uncompromising lich. The tiefling doesn't like either.

The memory of his possession by the ghost Rath remains fresh in his mind, like newly spoiled meat. He has no wish to go through that turmoil again. But he is young, and curious, and he can't help but glance at his reflections at the steps into the hallway.

[Jeff]

When Condign enters the foyer, he sees his first image to the left: although it is armored (unlike the real Condign) in bronze, baroque, and possibly Dhakaani-style plate armor, it is quickly clear that his reflection is nevertheless skeleton. Gone is the red flesh and thick muscles. Gone even is the hair and tiefling tail. Instead a skeletal version of himself stands there and bearing a shield and falchion. But there is something hideous beyond even this: some sort of red and wet muscle, like a lone, worm-like organ, appears to be wrapped about the bones whever bones are exposed, and at last it comes up through the jaw, and flails in the air like a great, barbed tongue. Empty sockets stare back.

Behind him, a very different form of undead stands as his reflection. A red and blue robed Condign, and bearing a ram-horned staff like a wizard, looks back. The red skin is paper-thin and stretched tight to the bones. Eyes are gone, and thin pin-pricks of fire smolder in the sockets instead. Only a greatsword slung over his back suggests a warrior's past. In this version, Condign retain's a tail, but it's longer, and the thin red skin peels away until the rest is just bones.

Belarin sees this, too.

[Jeff]

When Kal enters the parlor indicated by the seneschal, he finds it to be a perfectly luxurious and comfortable chamber, at least at first. It is well furnished if rather drab in color—but Kal suspects that is the muted work of Dolurrh itself again. A sofa, several chairs, a few scattered tables, lush carpets, and various objets d'art fill the room and give it a lived-look. There are three windows facing the world outside, and one other exit, a door on the east wall. But his eye is quickly drawn to the large painting mounted on the wall directly across from the doorway. It depicts a man standing in deep shadows; what you can see of the environment around him looks a bit like this very room. The figure is grossly fat, if well dressed, but the shadows conceal most of his face. Only his eyes gleam malevolently back at the viewer. Kal feels instantly unsettled looking at the man, and he quickly looks away.

And that's when Kal sees that the north wall of this parlor is filled with another great mirror, reflecting back the entirety of this room. And himself.

Darren, make a Wisdom saving throw. This isn't an attack, no damage will be taken, no conditions imposed. It's more about what you will see in the mirror.

The rest of you go ahead and make Wisdom saving throws as well, for when you enter the room. Include the result in your next post. Remember that anyone standing within 10 feet of Adamant—and for now I think that's everyone except Histra, Belarin, and Condign, gets a +3 bonus on this saving throw for his Aura of Protection.

[Dave W.]

Mar 27, 2016 1:44:24 GMT -4 Darren said:

Kal looks back quickly as Adamant speaks and scowls. He shakes his head slightly and raises a warning finger at the warforged but makes no other comment.

Adamant's jaw opens as though to make a reply, but he simply closes it and shrinks a little, once again the unimportant warforged in the background.

He follows through to the parlor and finds a place to stand behind Kal. "I'm sorry, I thought it was important," he whispers to the dragonmarked man.

---

dlw32:1D20+8 → 11(3 + 8)#Wisdom Save

Not a terribly great roll sad to say...

[Joe]

Streko pauses briefly outside the main room and looks back. "Damn! Where are they?" When he looks around toward Kalarian, he notices the floor to ceiling mirror and gasps softly. "Gods above and below..."
________________________________________________________

Wisdom saving throw:1D20+10 → 18(8 + 10)

[Dave B.]

Shorak follows those ahead of him into the parlor. He turns to see what they are looking at and immediately turns away. "Really!? Another mirror? I may never be able to look into a mirror without dread ever again!" He says morosely.

Wisdom save: 1d20+4=8. Blech!

[Ken]

With the image of the grotesque vampiric Histra seared into his vision, Belarin is still a bit shaken as he enters the sitting room, yet he manages to maintain his magic-sensing invocation.

"That's... an interesting portrait," he says. "Our host?"

________
Wisdom save = 7.

[Darren]

Kal stops in the center of the room, looking into the mirror. He slowly turns on his heel, taking in the entirety of the room. He stops facing the portrait on the wall, and although he looks over his shoulder at the mirror once or twice, he forces himself to keep his gaze on the portrait. "I suspect this is more than just a painting, yes?" he asks of no one in particular. "Surely we are being observed. I do long to meet our host as soon as possible."

_________________________
Kalarian rolls d20+3 = 14 #Wisdom saving throw

[Brian]

Condign hesitates at the parlor's threshold. Everyone else has already entered, but he feels a certain unease, as if he is being warned not to go in. He watches the others. No one seems to be in any distress. Still, he can't seem to shake his concern.

Nonsense, he thinks. You're just being overcautious. Let's get this over with and go home.

He steps into the parlor and stops next to Belarin and Histra.

____________________________________________

Condign:1D20+1 → 3(2 + 1)#Wisdom saving throw.

[Jeff]

When each of you first looks upon the painting in this room, you feel a surge of compulsion overwhelm you—and you instantly recognize that it something you would want to resist—even as your eyes are drawn to those of the man depicted. Then, for good or ill, the struggle passes and you feel yourself again. But it leaves a chill inside like a bad taste that won't quite go away.

When Kal glimpses his reflection in the mirror, he sees that he is a ragged figure. Torn clothing as well as slashed armor cling to his body, but he is hunched like a beast and his white skin appears hardened and cracked. A cruel, hateful expression defines his otherwise handsome features, and his fingers are claws. Yet he wields his sharash still in the manner of an intelligent undead. A wight, perhaps? Tangat beside him is a shredded wolf of a creature.

After remarking on the painting and trying to avoid looking at the mirror of the north wall, he moves further into the parlor to make way for his companions.

When Adamant steps into the room, he sees the painting, then the mirror. Staring back at him is a slightly taller version of himself. All ornamentation and icons of Dol Arrah have been scrubbed away, and in its place, etched into the composite plating, is a skeletal visage wielding a scythe. Wisps of smoke trail from where Adamant's eyes should be—but they just look like hollows bereft of gemstones now. The armor plating itself is somewhat blackened, and the wooden musculature that holds together his armored body appears stringier, charred black, but less firm. He's not sure if he's looking at some form of undead warforged—which is something he's only heard speculated about, not a reality anyone has ever proven—or merely a reanimated construct that is using the husk of his body. The only thing that's the same is the new warhammer he found. Even his old shield is gone.

Streko sees his reflection and quickly looks away on impulse. Very little about his clothing and gear is changed about him, except the fact that the domino holy symbol of Olladra is gone from his neck. The rest of him is obviously a ghoul, with tightly-shrunken, nearly translucent skin, long claw-hands, and a maw full of razor-sharp teeth. Panting like a dog, this image of Streko looks dim-witted but cunning for food.

Shorak sees his reflection and stares for a moment. His lament about mirrors is suddenly silenced by what he sees: His armor and weapons are gone. Now he wears a thin black monk's vest and short robe—the sort that allows for ease of movement. But it's his skin that stands out, to himself and to his companions who see the same: Gone is the smooth gray of his half-drow heritage. Instead his skin is universally bone white, lacking any sort of scarring or tattoos, and his hair is whiter still. His eyes are a pupil-less white but are sunken into darkened eye sockets, and his flattened face is one everyone looking upon it recognizes as that of a changeling. But the mouth hangs open and fangs are evident there. His arms are thin, the same pallid white, and end in a long-nailed, claw-like hands. Shorak's reflection even stands in a slight crouch like he's ready to spring across the room...or climb the walls.

When Histra comes into the room, she only briefly glances at the mirror—where you can all see her wraithlike reflection glances back—before moving further in and, like Kal, regards the painting the most. She does give Shorak and his pale-skinned reflection a few pointed looks.

When Belarin enters the room, he sees his lich-self present in the wall mirror. It is somehow even more obvious that this incarnation of himself is a devotee to the Keeper.

Once Condign enters, he sees the robed and flame-lit-eyed reflection of himself in this room's mirror. He feels the quietly menacing presence of the mummy behind him.

"I suspect this is more than just a painting, yes?" he asks of no one in particular. "Surely we are being observed. I do long to meet our host as soon as possible."

"That's... an interesting portrait," he says. "Our host?"

"Not exactly," the seneschal says. He now stands in the doorway, and he gestures with a long-fingered hand toward the mirror on the north wall with all its gruesome reflections of your party.

"The Keeper's Glass is not prescient, do not be concerned. It reveals only possibilities and...potentials for what their viewers could become in the service and dark majesty of the Keeper himself." He then indicates the painting. Streko and Adamant recall from their studies that the Keeper, when not depicted as a skeletal dragon, is sometimes shown as a corpulent human, owing to the gluttony of death for which he is known.

"The Glass likewise reveals those who would be the most willing to accept the Keeper's blessings..." He gestures towards Shorak's vampiric reflection, Belarin's and Condign's lich-like reflections, and Adamant's armored blackguard form. "...or those who resist him and therefore settle for a lower form." Here he indicates Streko, Histra, and Kal. "The Sovereign of Death does not always aim to grant it, only to reshape it when it is inevitable. He alone of the gods offers true power beyond death, while the rest wash their hands of their faithful and turn their backs."

The mummy smiles and it is not a pleasing thing to see. "Please, excuse my desire to share in the faith. We do not wish to offend. The Keeper recognizes the presence of family"—here he looks at Streko and Adamant—"and in the end we are all Vassals." Both the halfling and warforged know that the Keeper is or was the son of Olladra herself, before exile from the Sovereign Host and becoming part of the Dark Six.

"We do not often see visitors in this house." The seneschal turns to go. "Please, I trust you will make yourselves comfortable. The master will meet with you shortly."

---

In case it's not clear, everyone can see everyone else's reflections the same way.

[Darren]

Despite his desires, Kal's eyes keep being pulled to the reflections in the mirror. The images overlay themselves with images of the undead Karnathi armies that used to march along the Talenta Plains, burning and decimating all within their path. Tireless, cruel......

Kalarian's shoulders shake slightly as he pushes a chill away, then with an effort he settles himself and smiles at the mummy. "As a seeker of knowledge, I appreciate your lessons. While I do not consider myself a particular devotee to the Keeper, I can appreciate his power. Your devotion is admirable." Kal offers a respectful nod to the seneschal. "The hospitality is appreciated, and while we are in a rush, we also understand that we are unexpected guests. Your master's time is quite valuable, I am sure. We eagerly await an audience." Kal seats himself on the couch and finds himself looking straight into the mirror. He turns his gaze to the painting, but finding that uncomfortable, as well, he turns to a prolonged study of his boots.

[Brian]

Condign grunts as he witnesses the fallacies of the Keeper's mirror. That any of them would serve Him is laughable.

He leans down and whispers into Belarin's ear. "I think I make a handsomer lich."

[Ken]

Belarin seems taken aback for a moment by Condign's comment, then he contemplates the images again. Finally, he shrugs and nods. "Must be the tail. I need to work on that."

He turns to Shorak and says lightly, "It's odd that your 'potential' is a changeling. Several of us have seen a changeling up close, and it's not a form of undead."

[Dave W.]

Adamant continues to stare at the mirror... He doesn't seem to pay much attention to anything until the seneschal applogizes...

Mar 31, 2016 9:08:13 GMT -4 Jeff said:

The mummy smiles and it is not a pleasing thing to see. "Please, excuse my desire to share in the faith. We do not wish to offend. The Keeper recognizes the presence of family"—here he looks at Streko and Adamant—"and in the end we are all Vassals."

"Hmmm?" The warforged turns his heavy head towards the mummy, "No, no," Adamant waves the concern away, "No offense is offered; none is taken."

He looks back to the image in the mirror. "It's fascinating. I assumed the image would show me as a broken toy. Could this be real in any universe? I wouldn't have thought it possible even in Dolurrh. I have heard discussion of warforged and undeath..." Adamant clasps his hands behind his back and takes a couple of steps towards the image. "... That always seemed fantastical. There are those who say my kind make a mockery of Life just by existing."

"But you can almost feel the power in the image. What could such a creature do for my doomed Crye?"

[Joe]

Streko steps up to Adamant and kicks him in the leg. "Nothing. Such a foolish question shouldn't even be conceived of by an intelligent being, such as yourself. Being like...that...is nothing more than turning your back on all that is good and beautiful in the world, for the sake of a semblance of life and the power to take more of it from those who are not yet ready to see it taken. Remember where we are, why we came here and what we must do to escape this place." He take a moment to glare at Adamant. "Never forget who you are and who you serve. What you see here is nothing more than illusion and the fancy of those who would wish to keep us enthralled here."

[Dave B.]

Mar 31, 2016 13:52:31 GMT -4 Ken said:

He turns to Shorak and says lightly, "It's odd that your 'potential' is a changeling. Several of us have seen a changeling up close, and it's not a form of undead."

Shorak takes one last look at the images in the mirror and shudders slightly. He looks back at Belarin and responds softly, almost confidentially, but in the same light tone and only loud enough for Belarin to hear. "It probably has to do with the fact that my mother was a changeling. I'm not sure why I would ever give up my Drow ancestry. I am quite proud of it, obviously."

[Dave W.]

Mar 31, 2016 20:27:51 GMT -4 Joe said:

Streko steps up to Adamant and kicks him in the leg. "Nothing. Such a foolish question shouldn't even be conceived of by an intelligent being, such as yourself. Being like...that...is nothing more than turning your back on all that is good and beautiful in the world, for the sake of a semblance of life and the power to take more of it from those who are not yet ready to see it taken. Remember where we are, why we came here and what we must do to escape this place." He take a moment to glare at Adamant. "Never forget who you are and who you serve. What you see here is nothing more than illusion and the fancy of those who would wish to keep us enthralled here."

"OW!" Adamant hops back... though possibly more from shock than physical damage...

"No, no... I mean I wasn't actually... I wouldn't... It's just, well, imagine you were presented with an image of yourself as a construct... I mean..."

Adamant sighs, "I am properly admonished."

---

Thanks Joe! Nice reply

[Joe]

"And you are the wiser for it, my friend."

He steps close to his friend. "You, more than any of us, even Kal (don't let him know I told you this), are key to successfully leaving this place. You must remain pure of both heart and intention. You are the key to our survival. The rest of us are merely players here, important, no doubt, but not as essential as you. Know I will give my own life before allowing any of these false images come to pass...and I will do so in such a way as to make these beasts vomit on their own corpulence."

He winks at Adamant, then respectfully nods his head.

[Brian]

Condign glances around the room, studiously avoiding the mirror. His gaze falls onto the portrait. "I wonder what this Rashade will want to allow us to use the portal. I have not known men possessing such power to simply give away favors." He turns away from the painting. "He must not live here, in this castle, unless he is undead himself. I think he uses the portal to travel between realms. He might even live in Stormreach. We might have met him before, perhaps under a different name."

[Darren]

Kal sits leaning forward, his shortish resting against his shoulder, the butt if the weapon pressed against the instep of his boot. As he listens to them talk, his study of his boots turns to a study of Adamant's plated back. A ball of light appears over his hand and he begins to juggle it from one hand to the other. "Embracing your power isn't always a bad thing," he says.

[Brian]

Condign watches the sorcerer's needless display of power. "There is a fine line, my lord Kalarian, between embrace and abuse."

[Darren]

"Indeed," says Kal with a wicked grin. The glowing green ball casts a lurid light on his face. "Those with real power walk a razor's edge."

[Dave B.]

Feeling restless and needing to do something other than look at the mirror, Shorak moves towards the portrait. He stares at it for a moment and then gives it a more thorough examination, but does not touch it. It is almost as if Shorak is giving it an appraisal. Considering his occupation, he probably is.

[Dave W.]

"Yes, Kal, embracing your power is right. But this," Adamant waves to the mirror, "is not truly my power."

[Jeff]

The longer he looks at it, the more unsettling—and detailed—Shorak finds the portrait. The features of the primary figure do not come clearer, as so many shadows conceal his girth and especially his face, but the background clearly depicts this parlor and is viewed in such a way as to suggest the painter was standing near the doorway and facing southwest. Over the fat man's shoulder, to the viewer's right, is the very wall where this painting would hang. In its place protrudes a skull as though it were physically forced through the wall from the opposite side. A webwork of cracks begin where the wall is ruptured and they seem to work their way across the other walls—giving the impression that the entire room could collapse.

In the painting, sitting on the sofa, are two elegantly dressed, gaunt-faced, light-haired, and utterly morose elves, their fashions resembling a blend of human and elven design. They look like twins.

[Brian]

"I do not like the painting," Condign says quietly. "It possesses an eerie quality, as if the man was actually there, in the canvas and staring at us." His eyes find Shorak's. "Perhaps we should not look too intently at it--or better, ignore it completely. Some things gain power when given enough attention."

The tiefling makes a show of turning his back on the portrait. "And where is our host? I hope he does not make us wait long."

[Ken]

Mar 31, 2016 21:08:58 GMT -4 Dave B. said:

Shorak takes one last look at the images in the mirror and shudders slightly. He looks back at Belarin and responds softly, almost confidentially, but in the same light tone and only loud enough for Belarin to hear. "It probably has to do with the fact that my mother was a changeling. I'm not sure why I would ever give up my Drow ancestry. I am quite proud of it, obviously."

Belarin simply nods his head twice. He turns toward Histra, exchanging glances for a moment, and then he examines the portrait that seems to be fascinating so many others. "A portrait that practically compels you to examine its depth usually isn't a good thing," he says simply. "It's the kind of bait that fey would leave in a trap. Give me a moment, please."

______________________

Belarin again summons his eldritch sight invocation.

[Jeff]

The moment Belarin looks with arcane eyes upon the painting, he finds that not only does it radiate an aura of divination, but he feels the energies around himself diminishing as though he were subject to a weak anti-magic ray. It feels like the portait is scrutinizing him, and in doing so, siphoning.