Behold the Unloved King (Part 9)

Log Info

• Title: Behold the Unloved King (Part 9)

• GM: Whirlpool

• Characters: Harkashan, Ravenstongue, Seldan, Telamon, Verna

• Place: The Desolation

With the questions of the dead asked, the vision of the angel's singular eye fade and leave you again blinded and deafened. It is presumably 'safer' to act now, given what you've accomplished so far, but the next step seems obvious: to work to restore the angel so that you can gain its assistance.

Right.

Admittedly, the Celestial has no idea how to answer that one singular question of how to find the hammer. It's not able to conceptualize it fully, being dead and unware of its circumstances, within a certain degree. One might merely have to grope around in the hopes you locate it.

A strong, musty aroma begins to fill the area. While the magic of the Unloved King's song has diminished, the reflection born (or was it the other way around?) of it seems to be doing something.

The strong, musty aroma begins to fill Seldan's nostrils, and he sneezes, hard, while pondering the location of the hammer. Only one thing for it.

He tugs on the rope once, to warn the others that he is moving, and starts to feel around with his foot, one step forward at a time, seeking the item at hand.

Harkashan isn't too sure how to really go and find this hammer. Instead, he's going to try and figure out where the angel's remains are. Which, of course, do require him to do a very similar thing to Seldan. Slowly scooting around, using his thick tail as a half-ring in front of his feet.

Wandering forward, hands out, trying to find the angel. Hoping he doesn't fall off anything.

This is a conundrum. But maybe... Telamon mentally focuses, a tiny strand of mana drawn forth, crafting into a mindless, seeking force. An unseen servant. "Find the largest hammer you can in this room," he instructs. "If you cannot move it, return to me and lead us to it." Behind the blindfold and the ear-plugs, he grins.

GAME: Telamon casts Unseen Servant. Caster Level: 20 DC: 20
GAME: Harkashan rolls 1d20: (11): 11

Verna considers their current situation, as she understands it: not only is there the posible challenge to revitale an outside of perhaps demi-deity, there is also the natter if locating and precisely swinging a mythical hammer. All whilst blind and deaf. As if the stakes and difficulty were not elevated enough, already. Alternatively, there is implied near-certainty that the ability to see and/or hear could irrevocably damage or destroy all that is. This may take a moment to evaluate.

Fortunately, others appear to have some directive to enact, given that she feels tugging upon the rope that connects them. She begins to step slowly with the slackening or tightening of said rope, seeking to maintain just enough tension to hold a fair idea of separation.

Cor'lana thinks a moment longer. While she cannot hear herself and cannot see... One can still, in a sense, feel sound. So she attempts to help the others searching around the room.

She stomps her foot on the ground, providing at least a sense of anchor for those trying to feel for the hammer. A frame of reference for the room alone.

"Mmn, MARVELOUS," is the Unloved King's audible thoughts. He appears to be enjoying this. It's his FIRST ADVENTURE.

"A little to your left," he tells Cor'lana and Verna as they begin searching and tugging.

The unseen servant, at least, seems to have obeyed given the King's next comment: "Ah, yes! There it is. Very good."

It's a very large hammer, however.

Lost in his search, Seldan is silent until the voice of the Unloved King pops up in all of their heads, and he stops and looks up. "If you can see in this place, perhaps you would be so good as to guide our steps. It is not in my mind that such a weapon as would have been wielded in this way will be in the power of all present to lift." The vocal equivalent of a very small, wry smile accompanies the words.

"Yes, yes. It is the role of a King to guide their subjects," replies the Unloved King. It is the nature of a King to also behave like everyone is in their subjects, especially a fey king.

Before long, with the King's baritone in your thoughts. He seems oddly distracted. The musty smell graduates into an intensely floral one.

"Mmn. Yes, there we are!"

Before long, you're able to identify the hammer. It's quite large, as befitting a Celestial warrior no doubt. It is quite heavy. Quite. That said, those touching it feel a spark of celestial power that burns intensely.

Suddenly Telamon can feel the unseen servant's touch (so to speak). "Alright... work your way up to Sir Seldan, the fellow at the front of the line. Carefully lead him to the hammer." Then he pauses at the words the Unloved King is saying. A long, heartfelt sigh comes from him, both verbally and over the telepathic connection. "...You know what? I'm not even unhappy. If looking foolish means we can fix this, Your Majesty, then I will happily look foolish. Whatever embarrassment I might suffer will be overshadowed by the knowledge I have freed a soul, silenced an evil, and done the right thing."

Cor'lana might quantify as one of the Unloved King's subjects. Maybe. Possibly. Depends on how much the rule of the crown extends to those descended of fey nobility but born and raised outside of Quelynos. Her brow furrows.

"I have no objection to looking foolish, but... What is that smell?" she asks in the telepathic connection. "Is that... Are you growing something, Your Majesty?"

Verna blinks behind her blindfold at the King's guidance; that he is also entertained is less surprising. "You are unhindered in this place." It is a rhetorical statement of realization. "I concur that some of us are far less physically adept, Seldan. Yet it containts the power of the celestial, correct? Such would be necessary to restore it." Another admission of fact.

Next follows an inquiry. "Your Highness, do you observe anything else of note to which you might guide us?" A pause as Verna inhales curiously with the shift in aromas. There is nearly a second inquiry, though she is not quite certain what to ask.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Profession/Herbalist: (4)+13: 17

With Verna speaking, and the guidance being provided by the Unloved King, Harkashan adjusts his heading. If the Hammer is over 'there', based on the draw being provided on the rope and the tension being provided by Verna and Ravenstongue, he starts working in a half-circle towards that position to hopefully find the celestial in that direction as well.

"I believe it smells rather herbal." Harkashan answers within their mind-connection.

Between the Unloved King's guidance, and the unseen servant obeying its orders, Seldan slowly makes his way in the direction of the hammer, toeing it first, then reaching down to explore it with his hands, getting a sense of size - but in so doing, the celestial power thrums through him like an electric shock. "Moon and stars," he breathes mentally, a tone of unbridled awe. Leaking through the mental connection, if more softly, are the words am I truly worthy to touch such a weapon?, but it's a quiet thing, without the force of intent behind it.

Once he has the sense of it, he tells the others, "The hammer is to my hand. On your word."

Through the mental link, Telamon can sense Seldan's awe and doubt. He takes a deep breath. "Take it up, Sir Seldan. The Highest, Eli, placed his trust in Ni'essa to watch the night; so too you are entrusted, if briefly, to take up this weapon for a righteous cause." He mentally glances at the others, then smiles.

"Bring the thunder, Sir Seldan."

With additional prompting by the King, Harkahsan is brought to what appears to be a pair of metal bands that sit neatly on the ground near to the hammer. There's no indication of bones or blood. Clearly, those have long since faded. The bands are what remain. Clearly, they are of significance. One can hope they are enough for Verna and Harkashan to play their role.

"I do not like this song," muses the King, "it be an echo of my torment and my pain, a mockery of my life. We should burn this place, in time."

Clearly, he harkens after adventurers.

"You are the only one that can do this," Cor'lana says gently, yet firmly in the bond. Like how the iron trellis supports the vine that grows, her words support. "Seldan, my friend, it is your time. Shatter the hammer. Put an end to it."

She takes a deep breath and braces. This is sure to be... heavy in impact. "Do it."

When Harkashan finds the bands, he tugs on the rope to bring Verna over. "Let us begin our ritual." He offers to her. After all, he needs her to lead this. "I believe I have found what we need." It is strange to be unable to see. Truly, not see.

The Sith-makar then kneels down, keeping his hand on one of those metal bands, and tries to connect with them. They should still be here, their spirit, so in preparation, he seeks them out to make that connection once more.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Knowledge/Religion: (3)+16: 19

"It shall be silenced, Your Majesty. This may be loud." Seldan's voice comes through again, with a renewed focus. "I am grateful for the reminder, Telamon. The rope may be pulled," he warns the others, then steadies himself, plants his feet, steels himself, and - lifts. A grunt of effort, a slip of the hand, a catch, and another grunt of effort and a roar of all-out effort, but finally, with a good bit less control than the paladin would have liked, he ends up dropping the maul end on the floor as a Colosseum warrior might have done with a particularly large and heavy rock.

Verna moves along carefully, shuffling her feet as she follows the guidance of The King until she makes contact with one of the metal bands. Manacles? Armor accent? Adornments? Whatever they were, they are now what physically remain of and/or attuned to the celestial's form. She kneels next to the remnant to place gloved hands upon it.

"You are the one best suited, Seldan; perhaps the best of us all in many aspects."

Following Harkashan's confirmation of presence, she concurs. "I am prepared." That much is fact, but there is a strong tone of concern in her thoughts of what she does not say. Preparation for an attempt is not a guarantee of success.

"Oh," says the King, briefly in your minds. The hammer is lifted by Seldan. It's .. if you could see it, you would know it was a mighty and difficult feat. The King's singular word is enough to convey that impression, as no doubt are the ripples of pain eminating from Seldan across the telepathy.

...but that's nothing compared to the thunder that ripples through the area immediattely after the hammer strike. IT is conussive. Explosive. It lifts you off your feet and sends you flying in all directions, scattered by a force that makes your ribcage rattle.

Tinnitus is easily the least of your worries, but it roars painfully in your ears as consciousness returns beyond the daze.

Loud was the expectation, but this was more than just loud. The ground trembles like an earthquake just hit, and Seldan can feel a split in the earth itself, a tear, where he struck. He almost falls into it. It seems to be growing.

GAME: Telamon rolls fortitude: (3)+15: 18
GAME: Harkashan rolls Fortitude: (4)+16: 20
GAME: Verna rolls fortitude: (1)+17: 18 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Fortitude: (13)+13: 26

The shockwave picks up Telamon like a child lifted by a giant, slamming him into the wall. Pain surges, as the breath is knocked from his body and he crashes to the ground in an untidy heap.

Fortunately, he doesn't need to breathe, but he can feel the earth and stone around them shuddering, failing. The sorcerer trembles as he pushes himself to his hands and knees. "Gather round! We're getting out of here!" Desperately he tugs on the ropes, trying to get the others to make their way to him. "Can anyone tell if it's safe to take off our blindfolds?"

About the only thing that keeps Seldan from falling into the crevasse that splits the ground, and sends him instead sprawling to the stone floor with a groan of pain that echoes through the link. He doesn't move, yet, and the groan comes through the link after a moment. "We have - little choice," he strains to get out. "It has - split the ground."

After a bit of time, Harkashan adds; "We'll need to bring these outside. Which may be a bit difficult with how enormous these things are." He bids to Verna. "So you have a bit longer to make preparations." He just grabs hold of the two of them, trying to drag them a bit, when the hammer comes down. It is only through sheer luck that he doesn't get thrown completely off immediately.

Instead, the violent force hits him in the chest and knocks the wind out of him. Rings and all, he goes flying... and makes contact. His tail and all squishing right into Verna, bowling the poor Mourner over (strike!) - bracelets and all. He can't help but grunt, though he fails to hear it.

His blindfold luckily stayed on.

Somehow Cor'lana isn't as badly off as Telamon, landing on her feet in a world where 'landing' and 'safety' are swiftly becoming parting friends. The ground is tearing apart. What of her friends? Her allies?

They must be a flock. They must--

"I Wish for us all to fly."

The spell ripples out of her and washes over the group. She hopes it'll be enough to keep any of them from falling in.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Wish. Caster Level: 19 DC: 27

Verna was not as prepared as she believed herself to be, it seems. Rather, whatever she was prepared for, it was NOT the explosive blast that occurs.

Fortunately, Harkashan shields her from a fair portion of it.

Unfortunately, this yeets the makari into her.

Fortunately, the rope halts her from flying into the far reachers.

Unfortunately, the rope also focuses all that deceleration into her waist.

Fortunately,... she provides Harkashan with something a bit softer than stone to land upon?

With the assistance of magical flight, escape is easy enough. The ground reverberates with the force of the impact f or some time and there is the sound of some collapse behind you, alongside dust. It's hard to know for sure what the state of that place will be without more time to investigate than you have now.

The good news is that you escape without much difficulty and are back on the wind-drenched surface of the Desolation. Dust is everywhere.

The Unloved King takes a sip from his somehow unspilled cup of tea.

"That was riveting," he informs you.

Blindfolds and earplugs doffed now, Telamon takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his wife. "That was a well placed and well spoken wish, love," he says with a smile. "Thank you."

Being on the surface, among the dust and wind of the Desolation, may not be pleasant but it beats being buried alive. Telamon looks to the others, counting to make sure everyone is present. Including, it seems, the Unloved King. Seldan still bears the great hammer of the angel, which means the exploration was not in vain. He relaxes, and looks to the Unloved King.

"What now, your Majesty? In truth, we have what we sought -- a weapon to purge a greater evil. But you still have a new story to write, with whatever lies ahead." Telamon smiles. "Winter has receded, and spring has come. Flowers will be blooming in Alexandria."

Fortunately, Seldan proves himself a skilled flier, and well-accustomed to flight, because when the blindfolds were ripped off, the hammer proved to be a mighty maul meant for someone far larger than he to wield it. That he could lift it at all is a minor miracle, and it was instantly clear that even he was struggling with it. When they finally clear the area and find themselves back on the plains of the Desolation, he immediately lands, hammer-first, and slumps to the ground against it, breathing hard. If he heard anyone - including the Unloved King - he gives no sign.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Linguistics: (20)+8: 28

Flight was a blessing of which Verna takes full advantage. Alacrity for one, and the reliance upon her sister's magic more than her own legs to make her egress with one of the metal bands as well. Thus is it more the aftermath of adrenaline and lingering ringing (and perhaps having the wind knocked from her) that has her short on breath after landing well clear of the entrance. And her burden is minimal in comparison to Seldan's.

"That was... unexpected," she offers aloud.

Cor'lana sighs in relief now that her earplugs and her blindfold are both removed, putting them away. She leans into Telamon with his embrace, and it's thoroughly tempting to put her head into that happy place underneath his chin, but... They are in public. In front of a fae king. She must have some sense of decorum.

She looks up at the Unloved King. "It is true," she says. "What my husband says. You know... Do you have a name? That isn't your station and your purpose. If you don't..."

The sorceress furrows her brow. "Rig'suwen. The Joyful King." It is derived, of course, from Sylvan, that tongue that she and His Majesty share by happenstance of their one common factor.

Flight! Though minus the usual wings, Harkashan knows what to do with that at least. Though he may not have the benefits of feeling those wings, he soon is being pulled along by the rope. One hoop offered to Verna so that they both carry one, and off they go to the outside.

Off they go to a place whence they can see once more.

When outside, earplugs are removed and the blindfold is pocketed. And Harkashan carefully places one of the hoops a ways away from the opening. No doubt they'll be considering how to close it off again while he tries to return to what he started. Trying to bond with the item and reach out to the spirit connected to it. Listening behind him to the others. He can't help but smile, when Ravenstongue offers a new name.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Knowledge/Religion: (19)+16: 35

The Unloved King stops cold in his tracks. A ripple across his frame.

"Poetry," he whispers, and then sips his tea. Where did he even get that?

His eyes turn to the fallen Celestial's weapon. All can feel it. They are waiting.

Although Seldan seems to have lost the blindfold somewhere in flight - doubtless somewhere deep in the rubble of the tomb - the earplugs remain firmly in place, and he remains slumped a moment longer. Feeling eyes on him, he forces himself to his feet with a deep breath and an effort, and finally, absently pulls out the earplugs and stashes them unceremoniously in his belt pouch, to be handled later.

His eyes go to Harkashan and Verna, waiting, but he says nothing, and sharp eyes will realize that he is still subtly leaning on the massive hammer, now upright head-down in the dust. Outside of the bright armor, he is near-covered in dust, and sneezes again, an act that causes a gauntleted hand to go to his side.

Even in this place of whirling dust and wind, there is poetry and prose. And hope. Telamon looks to Harkashan and Verna, nodding. It's their part to play now. He smiles at Cor'lana, offering the Unloved King-no-longer a new name to carry. Rig'suwen. It's a good name. And a meaningful one to take, as spring rises.

As Seldan slowly starts to get up, Telamon moves over to assist the knight as best he can. "Easy there, Sir Seldan. We've had a busy day. Are you hurt?"

Cor'lana regards Rig'suwen a moment more, a smile spreading across her face. "Poetry that I hope to write one day," she says. "Of the Unloved King, who became Rig'suwen because of poetry. Rig'suwen, the Joyful King. One whose name is known and loved by many. Not a weapon any more but a person who has a life to live."

She looks to Seldan, her brows furrowing in concern. "Yes, are you all right?" she asks. "That hammer, it's... awfully heavy-looking."

GAME: Harkashan rolls Heal: (10)+13: 23

Noting Harkashan focusing once more on one of the rings (bracers? manacles?), Verna's own attention return to the task, and item, at hand. She moves herself and it adjacent to Harkashan and his before kneeling. "Seldan, please bring the hammer here. I believe we shall require the three together for the attempt."

The Mourner closes her eyes to focus upon the power within. Verna then begins a prayer.

"Grey Harpist, Queen of the Dead, Death-singing Dragon, hear us. Enable us to free the essence and spirit of the one bound to these forms. Let it be judged. Grant it due course for its deeds."

A light pause before she continues. "Should it be willing, and You deem it worthy, grant one that sacrificed and served for all the opportunity to be whole once more. To aid, guide, serve, and protect, now as You and it deem best."

Harkashan opens his eyes again finally, and looks over to Seldan. "We will need the Hammer as well." He bids to him. "Could you bring..." And then there's that wince. That grit of the teeth. That grab at the waist that Harkashan recognizes all too readily as a makari of healing. "Stay there, I'll bring the hoops instead." He decides instead, casting a spell of strength upon himself, and then lugging them all the way over there so they can execute near Seldan's position instead.

Once everything is situated, Harkashan moves to sit right across from Verna, and begins to sing a deep throaty song of his people, one that echoes a mourning for a lost one whose time should not yet have come. A song for a warrior who fell in battle to the tides of time itself. Songs regaling of dragons returning from death like a Phoenix.

Now that you can see them more openly, the bracers are a pair of just that: bracers. Heavy and gold, but simple. They are not particularly adorned, but clearly served as a piece of armor. They are scratched and have grooves from where they must've surely been used to block strikes, but are otherwise undamaged. There is an absence of any form of etching, engraving, or runes.

But they clearly feel potent.

"I - will be well enough." It is the first time Seldan has spoken since their exit, and it is with an effort. "Glad am I that none other made the attempt." He directs the very smallest of smiles at Telamon and Cor'lana, and steels himself to lift the hammer again at the Mourners' request.

When Harkashan changes his mind, though, he lets out a small breath of relief. "I can, do you so need," he offers.

The hammer, too, seems ... far simpler than it should. Perhaps dulled by age as well. It's appearance is that of a simple great maul, though obviously quite a bit larger than even the standard great mail.. It is gold in color, as one might expect, but it too is absent runes and decor of any kind. It looks ... well used.

GAME: Harkashan rolls Spellcraft+5+2: (2)+20+5+2: 29
GAME: Harkashan rolls Spellcraft+5+2: (16)+20+5+2: 43
GAME: Verna rolls spellcraft+org: aliased to spellcraft+4: (12)+36+4: 52

"So long as you are well," Cor'lana says gently with a nod to Seldan's condition. Her eyes turn onto the hammer and the bracers, and she studies them both for a long moment, considering their make and form.

Then Harkashan begins to sing, and her attention is strictly on his singing now. The Death-Singing Dragon's dirges are not to be ignored. "Wow," she murmurs, but she keeps her mouth shut. It's a religious song, after all. Such a thing shouldn't be interrupted.

Seldan, too, pauses to listen in silence, one gauntleted hand remaining on the hammer. It would not do to have something that large fall over, now would it? Ignore the subtle lean on the weapon. With his free hand, he pushes sweaty and dust-covered bright hair out of his face, with considerably less recognition of the quality of the music, but still with reverence and respect. The residual thrum echoes through him, and sharp ears might catch his gauntlet vibrating very quietly. This is not to be interrupted, and indeed, watching two very different faithful of the same deity perform their art together is mesmerizing indeed.

Verna may not be brawny, but she is able to aid in the relocation, to include herself, and continue to speak at the same time. Years of reading whilst also pedestrian now display heretofor further unforeseen benefits. Once all is resettled, she considers her next actions carefully. Knowledge and logic dictate that she is incapable of such a feat upon such a being; her desire or intent do not change this fact and the attempt should be considered wastefil or foolish. Yet this is a matter of faith.

It is not for her to decide, truly. It is the will of her Matron. She is but a representative and conduit. With no rigorously prepared incantation, gesture, nor gifted ability, Verna ... improvises. Harkashan provides more support to her than perhaps intended, as she begins to join the dirge, if in her own manner. She cannot make the same vocalizations, but she recites one of the oldest Vardamen hymns known to her, with tempo and pitch adjusted to match the Makari.

It begins.

First, there is a charge in the air. Distant lightning and thunder above you, crackling. The ground seems to shift beneath you.

But with great power and magic comes the potential for great darkness. Your magics are not going unnoticed. Wisps of hellfire begin to appear in pinpoint dots around you as something bubbles up from the earth.

A doorway made of black iron.

A singular gate rising into being, taller and taller.

The Joyful King sips his tea.

"Oh my stars. Is that a doorway to the hells? How exciting."

He's been bored, okay?

"We could use some kind of Magic Circle to keep ourselves from getting disrupted." Harkashan manages to intersperse during the song, before pulling back into it. His brow furrows a bit, and it's clearly straining him. While Verna is leaning on his methods with the song, her bond with the Death Singing Dragon is different, yet stronger. And he's having to run the equivalent of a marathon to keep up.

The red markings on his body begin to glow, his muscles tensing up as the hellfire wisps get closer to him. Using his Divine Presence to try and push that darkness away from him. Creating a strange 'halo' effect around him that creates small wicks of 'fire' that leap from the edges of his body. He's concerned, looking at that gate.

Very concerned.

A doorway to the Hells. The words ring in Seldan's ears, and are enough to prompt him to straighten, drop his pack to the ground next to the hammer, and with an effort, pull Reunion from its sheath within the pack. His entire demeanor is, not angry or upset, but grimly focused, and he turns eyes on the Joyful King. "Your Majesty, I would have you stand clear. This could turn - messy."

With that, he leaves Harkashan and Verna to continue their spell and stalks towards the door, chanting a spell as he goes with his free hand drawing sigils before him. His intent is clear - to stand between that door and the spell being cast.

GAME: Seldan casts Magic Circle Against Evil. Caster Level: 16 DC: 23

Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Cor'lana is not having this. She's almost about to cast a spell before Seldan beats her to it, and she decides instead to help Seldan butcher anything untoward that comes through that door.

By giving him speed to butcher it twice-over, of course.

"Be quickened!" Cor'lana decrees, working magic in her hands and letting it fall over the group. Haste is of the essence at times.

GAME: Ravenstongue casts Haste. Caster Level: 19 DC: 22

Verna's voice catches at the appearance of the gate and the reactions therefrom. Yet she continues her hymn and maintains her focus upon the items, the 'mostly-dead' celestial within, and her connection to Vardama. If she is ignoring rote logic at this moment, then perhaps her desire and intent IS relevant. Her chanting (still not quite singing) grows louder in show of and with her effort.

As for faith, it is not only that held for her matron. She also holds faith in her friends, family, and allies. They will certainly stave off any threats and not allow harm to come to herself or one another; regardless if the threat be fiend, fey, or other.

"Pfeh. I am a King. Kings are no strangers to war, for we have always waged it. We stand, we lead, we fight, and this has never changed."

He stands proudly, staring at the gate. Defiant.

And then the gate finally flies open and ...

.... horrible sludge comes pouring out of it and then a single, monstrous pincer spears through its frame, massive in size. THis pincer opens, opens. The gate strains, buckles, and then explodes as reality itself is torn in its stead as a second pincer pushes through and further tears it open as something immense begins to push its way through.

Covered in armor plates burning orange with molten heat, this thing is crawling into reality, a massive scorpion-like demon that Does Not Belong Here.

Half in, half out.

Smaller versions of it are on its back, skittering down and off it, leaving burning flame in their wake.

"... until now," says the Joyful King, hiding back Cor'lana.