session XXXI - XXXII : the elder

With the Eternal Flame cult dealt with, the party decides to head straight back down, into the ruins of Tyar-Besil, in an attempt to allow no respite for the cultists. They opt for exploring the so-called Fane of the Eye. This mid section between the temples and the caves below, where Bruldenthar claims that the Besilmers had found unimaginable horrors, along with Morabrond. 

Cautious at first, Elthas comes face to face with a troop of minotaurs in a gloomy cavernous room. A blackened ogre skeleton hangs against a wall, pinned in place by iron nails besides which, filthy bedrolls lie in the dirt. 

Halvarth moves forward in an attempt to negotiate with the monstrosities. The beasts reply in a foreign and deep language that nobody unsderstands and the fight erupts shortly after. The party makes quick work of the monsters although Teresiel, their druid companion, suffers serious injuries. Shaken and afraid, she asks to take her leave, for fear that Tyar-Besil would become her tomb. The other party members accept her wishes and Burldenthar offers some of his blood so she manages to exit the ruins. 

Moving forward, the party stumbles on a strange symbol shaped like overlapping circles, cut into the stone floor. Examining closer, Tico easily recognises the pattern as a conjuration circle albeit a very old one. Ancient and damaged, it is clear however that the circles are all but useless today.

The way to the next room seems to be blocked by dark curtains of black fog. Getting closer, Elthas finds that it is cold and oily to the touch. This opaque barrier also blocks sounds although seems immaterial. Moving forward, the high elf feels a psychic resistance and nausea as he pushes through. Anxiety and anguish quickly fade as he finds himself in the next room over. 

Flames dance above a pool of murky water lighting this room. A sarcophagus carved from glassy black stone stands atop a natural pedestal toward the north. The sarcophagus has fluted embellishments, delicate ribs, and friezes that show groveling demons. Before anyone touches the sarcophagus, a glyph of warding is revealed which is easily dispelled. Inside, they find the remains of a humanoid creature however, not enough of it is left to identify its origins. With necromantic magic, Halvarth manages to communicate with the creature who reveals to be a drow by the name of Vizeran DeVir who served the Elder Elemental Eye and knows nothing of a thing called Morabrond. 

While this is happening, Elthas investigates the black curtain to the south of the room. Although he's being as careful as he can, as his head peaks out of the fog, a drow mistress standing atop an altar is looking directly at him. The high-elf backs up immediately but it is already too late. 

Enemies start pouring into the room, wave after wave. Black earth monks first followed by gargoyles, earth and water elementals, a drow spellcaster and Marlos Urnrayle himself, the Black Earth cult's prophet. Following their usual formation, the party sends Trash and Kella into the fray so that they block the entrance and keep the bulk of the enemies busy as everyone else tries to take them out. The overwhelming amount of enemies makes it difficult to stay composed, however. 

As things as starting to look dire, a drow figure enters the battlefield, wielding a shadowy black sword from which emanates subtle streaks of green energy. He jumps onto Trash, manages to find the tiniest of cracks in the half orc armor and plunges his necromantic sword in his shoulder. Trash yells in pain as he feels the muscles in his arm and neck instantly wither. From the side door, driders burst into the room along with Marlos who's moving through the rocky walls. 

Mostly out of energy and ressources, in the face of imminent defeat, the party wisely calls for a retreat. Everyone manages the huddle around a badly wounded Trash and, just before the drow assassin could launch a second wave of deadly assaults, Halvarth teleports everyone in Red Larche's central square.  

Heading for the tavern, the party is hailed as heroes for ridding the town of Larrakh, a few tendays prior, and uncovering the cult-like activities following the events leading to the sinkhole. They are assailed with questions from the townfolks and Halvarth jumps on the occasion, drawing from his bard abilities to tell the tale of heroic deeds and reassure the town. They do however bring Harburk, the town's constable, up to speed with the looming threat of a lich on the loose. They recommend he brings all habitants in hiding down the sinkhole, at least for a few days.

After a good night's rest, before leaving town, the party purchases all incense they can get their hands on before having Halvarth cast the Legend Lore spell trying to uncover more information on the Elder Elemental Eye.

Halvarth's experience of Legend Lore typically involves a smooth transition to what seems like an out-of-body extraplanar voyage with very clear pictures accompanied with sounds and smells, almost as though he experiences a vivid dream.

This time however, his senses become completely dulled. An endless void fills his mind. He hears nothing and sees only blackness. He feels sadness, mixed with anger and melancholy. Nothing but distant sounds of wind blowing across an empty plain come to his attention.

His vision slowly clears. His surroundings remain dark and empty but he feels as though he is there, inside an entity; one that is not his own. It feels as though he can move some limbs although there are no limbs to be moved. It feels as though he can exert power over his surroundings although there is nothing for him to interact with.

Its excruciatingly frustrating. 

The wind picks up and he starts deciphering words through the chaos of it. It isn't clear whether those words originate from himself or whatever darkness surrounds him and they are uttered in a guttural language he does not understand. 

He remains in this state for an incalculable amount of time. Seconds, minutes, hours, years, centuries. It's as though time is irrelevant and infinite in this place. 

The words that are spoken seem to be reaching out for something out of his reach. An invitation of sorts sent into the void in the hope that something picks it up. He moves around this space, try to find its borders, figure out how to get back or get to somewhere, anywhere; to no avail. Even though It feels like nothing would be a challenge for his might... there is just nothing for him to exert his might upon.

Every now and then, the whispers turn to screeches of anger and agony. He feels a debilitating pressure in his skull. The pain, the impotency like a the worst migraine he's ever felt. Electric shocks of pure anger and desire for destruction riddle his body.

The others watch him helplessly as he falls into fits of epilepsy. Trash hurries and places a piece of leather in his mouth to prevent him biting his own tongue.   

This scene eventually goes back to darkness and dullness before slowly repeating itself in what seems like an endless loop of needless torture. 

During one of those iteration, Halvarth suddenly pick up on something. There is a reply to his pleas. A creature. Something intelligent with which he can interact. He latches on to it and grabs its agency. He becomes the pupeteer. A blurred image of a dark skinned elf comes to mind. Although it isnt clear exactly what it is. It dosen't matter. All that matters is he has a foothold.

Through this creature, he channels whatever power that's contained in him which he managed to  hold onto. A power that's not entirely his own. Essences of life which he's previously birthed but conserved a part of. Essences of life which, unlike him, haven't been condemed to this place.

He pushes them out and through this creature in his control, shoves whatever power he can into an object. Just before waking up from this horrid nightmare, he wills this object to never be found, unless he so desires.