Deus Ex Machina

Mr. Nibbles is the first to go. Sensing danger, she instinctively leaps to Varel's defense, clawing and tearing at the incorporeal threat, but quickly succumbs to the life-sapping attacks of the shadows. Varel naturally goes after her, stepping outside of the radius of the sword's glow, and disappears into the black mists.

And then the feeding frenzy begins in earnest. The shadows are perfectly concealed, and the heroes flail about as they are repeatedly struck. Every touch brings the cold of the grave, sapping their strength. After only a few seconds, Salbadore and Laurie find themselves struggling to remain standing.

Rolf attempts to exorcise the shadows in the name of Erochir, but the effect is not as forceful as he had expected. "Something is not right here!" He exclaims with alarm, and realizes, "These spirits are drawing their power from somewhere in this cursed house! We must find out where and destroy it if we are to defeat them!"

Mercurio, somewhat accustomed to hearing voices, is nevertheless surprised when he seizes the sword from Salbadore's outstretched hand and its voice rings in his head: By the Master’s hand was the world-fabric torn, the Darkness invited into this house and world; thus, by the Master’s hand must the fabric be stitched -- and I, the Needle, to lance the unholy wound!

Orthos unleashes a deafening bolt of lightning into the darkness, hoping to clear a path toward an exit, but just then Mercurio tries to hand him the sword.

"I don't know how--" Orthos begins, but Mercurio cuts him off. "It wants the Master," the scoundrel explains, his speech uncharacteristically clear. "Like it or not, that's you!"

Orthos reluctantly takes the sword. But Mercurio is hardly defenseless; reaching into his cloak, he retrieves a gem, and a vibrating, violet blade of energy extends from his hand! Feeling a sudden chill behind him, he whirls around and slices through a shadow with the blade, and is satisfied when it issues a shriek of pain and surprise.

The golden sword speaks to Orthos: I am Glorion’s Tear. Be not afraid, son of Man. Let Us cleave through the Shadows together, thou and I. Hold Me aloft and carve the circuit of the Sun above thy head, and then drive Me into the heart of Darkness with all thy might!

Orthos does as instructed. Swinging the sword over his head with a rapid, circular motion, its golden glow brightens and expands into a sphere as brilliant as daylight. It continues to expand, illuminating the entire gallery, evaporating the mists and forcing the shadows to retreat into the main hall.

Charge! The sword commands. As if compelled by heroism he did not know that he possessed, Orthos rushes into the main hall, and the shadows continue to flee before him. Their sinister, menacing laughter is supplanted by pitiful squeals for mercy, but Orthos is not in a charitable mood.

The new Master of Sudlow Manor opens the door to the cellar and, charging down the stairway, he clears it of webbing with ease. At the bottom, he sees it: the heart of darkness, a black hole like a wound in the Earth itself. He can feel it draining his life away even as Glorion's Tear struggles to replenish it. Destroy it now!

Orthos steps forward, but falls to the ground as a deathly cold hand takes hold of his ankle. It is none other than the wraith of Lothar Sudlow! "Foolish boy!" He chides his nephew. "Now you will pay the price for meddling in matters beyond your reckoning!" Orthos feels the cold spreading up his leg and into the rest of his body, threatening to leave him paralyzed.

With one last gasp of fortitude, Orthos drives Glorion's Tear into the center of the void. As each cancels out the existence of the other, there is a great explosion -- or is it an implosion? The words lose all meaning as reality itself threatens to unravel...

And then, it is over.

When Orthos awakens, his head is throbbing, and his companions are kneeling over him in the cellar. "Are you all right?" Laurie asks, as Salbadore examines him for injury. "What happened?"

"We did it," Orthos says, and smiles.

*****

The End? I hope not! Though I still have plans for this game and your characters, I understand that there are real-life issues that are a greater priority at this time. Some people have requested a break, which hopefully will not be permanent.

For those who are interested, I would like to use this time for mini-adventures taking place over the character blogs. These will be used primarily for character development. Meanwhile, the main blog will be placed on hiatus until circumstances bring the characters together again.

I hope it was fun, and I hope the fun will continue! As always, thank you for playing.

-HomoDM

The Gallery

Sensing the peril of the oncoming darkness, Orthos readily agrees to Salbadore's suggestion that they follow the hallway in the hopes of finding a place of refuge.

The main hall terminates in a large archway. Passing underneath it, the party finds itself within a spacious gallery. The illumination, they discover, comes from a skylight, through which they can see that the day is waning fast. Very soon it will be night, and then...

The walls are lined with portraits of the Sudlow lineage. As Orthos examines the names and stern countenances of his ancestors, his eyes happen to fall upon a painting of a young man, his wife, and their infant son. He gasps, recognizing them immediately; intense, unexpected memories and emotions well up within him as he looks upon the smiling faces of his father and mother, and sees himself as a babe.

Orthos' mind brims with questions: if his parents hailed from such wealth as this, why were they living as commoners? Did they chose such a lowly life for themselves, or had it been imposed upon them? Had they shamed or transgressed against the family somehow? He notes that his parents’ portrait has been relegated to an obscure corner of the room, and supposes this is not a coincidence.

Otherwise, the most conspicuous feature of the room is a large, rounded nook in the middle of the westernmost wall of the gallery, in which four paintings are prominently displayed. Unlike the other works hanging here, these appear to have been carefully maintained, touched by neither dust nor time. They are unsettling for both the realism of the artist’s hand, which conveys a remarkable sense of depth, as well as the strange ugliness of his subjects.

The first painting depicts a bucolic scene of a herd of innocent lambs. Unbeknownst to them, a cross section reveals that they are being led one by one into a slaughterhouse, its walls spattered with gore, while a frenzied butcher gleefully hatchets them into juicy mutton cutlets. A placard beneath the painting reads: “As are we all.”

The second painting is that of a great shaggy wolfhound, its jaws wide and slavering hungrily over a crying baby on a platter, as if intent on devouring the defenseless child. A placard beneath reads: “Man’s best friend.”

The third is a portrait of a woman cradling a spellbook in her arms. Her mousy hair and fine clothing are dirty and disheveled, her jewelry is tarnished and dull; the cruel pucker of her lips suggests jealousy while her wide eyes hint at the depths of her inner depravity. A placard beneath reads: “Pride and joy.”

The fourth and final painting depicts a middle-aged man in a black robe, holding aloft a golden bastard sword in one hand while fending off a fierce black dragon. The placard beneath this one reads: “The summit of his power.”

In addition, two archways in the northeast corner of the gallery open into an adjacent chamber, though the mist remains too thick to see into it with clarity.

The Haunted Stairwell

Opening the door reveals a narrow set of stone steps leading down into what you presume to be the cellar. The dark passage is blocked by thick, ropy strands of magical webbing: yet another of Lothar’s protective measures against intruders. But there is something else here besides; you cannot see it, but every nerve in your body can sense it with a certainty so profound it turns your skin to crawling gooseflesh.

There is something utterly unnatural and fundamentally wrong about the darkness cloaking the stairs; it devours the light of Mercurio's torch greedily, causing it to flicker and wane while seeming to expand ever more around you, and you’re sure that you can feel the insatiable void siphoning away the warmth in your body, the vigor in your muscles, the very essence that sustains your life the longer you stand before it.

Yet it is difficult to tear your eyes away from that dreadful black pit of despair. Then, you see shapes emerging from the perimeter of the darkness: humanoid silhouettes, withered and emaciated, their arms and clawed hands reaching out toward you. In your ears, their ghostly voices murmur...

“...thosSudlowOrthosSudlowOrthosSudlowOr…”

“…OneofusOneofusOneofusOneofusOneofus…”

“…SohungryComecloserSocoldComecloserSohungry…”

For the moment, the despicable wraithlike things do not seem either capable or willing to stray beyond the inky blackness that shrouds them. But any comfort this limitation offers is short-lived as you become certain that the void is slowly spreading, and you realize that it is only a matter of time before night comes and the whole manor is plunged into darkness.

*****

MANOR MAP: