Fun with generators

I spent part of my afternoon tooling around with the generators at Fantasy Name Generators. The site has more than name gens, but also has some tools to create your own weapon and armor designs (among many many other options also.) Figured I'd share a few of my creations. I haven't colored any of these in as yet, but that may change if I get more time to play around.

A nice vicious looking design for Avouz's longsword/falchion.

Avouz, when trying to keep cool in Chult, wears a chest-baring outfit something like this.

Avouz's more formal Zhentarim uniform for more temperate climates.

Originally envisioned this as Korathnord's spear, but his D&D version doesn't use spears (whereas his WoW version did as much as possible.) Cool weapon either way.

Ellote's longbow.

Nice evil-looking longsword for Nilsiar's pact weapon.

Another, more straight-forward, falchion design for Saiah.

Possible uniform design for the Star Swords regiment from BattleTech. Not that I've done much with BT in the last few years.

Tomb of Annihilation Chapter Three The Farm

Athasen marched boldly into the harbor office of Porzanna, a veteran mercenary of Chult. Porzanna was a broad shouldered dark-skinned woman with ugly scars from many adventurers. She looked up from her parchments only briefly while he and the others entered. Also present were three other freelance adventurers. One Athasen recognized; the adventurer would have been hard to miss in any venue. Zangdrax did not even stand three feet in height, but all of his diminutive stature was steel and muscle. He was hairless but for a single black strip on the top of his head that ran from his forehead across between his canine ears and down the back of his head. His yellow eyes held a surprisingly thoughtful and curious look. Women might have even found him cute if not for the solid breastplate of steel upon his chest and the wicked looking war mattock on his belt. Next to him was a steel shield nearly his height, emblazoned with the holy symbol of the dragon god Tiamat. He was a kobold, a cave-dwelling race of dragon/canine humanoids that rarely ventured in civilized circles. The other two were strangers and their countenance was not nearly so striking as the kobold. One, an elven rogue with dark hair and a youthful face was dressed in white silk and doing his best to endure the uncomfortable heat. His eyes darted about in a paranoid fashion. Athasen was not entirely sure which was worse for him, the sweltering temperature or his inability due to his attire to fade into the background and be ignored. The final figure was dressed in green and bearing a bow of yew. His clothing was a dark green. While not suited for the temperature, his attire was clearly meant for the forested wilderness and may just suit the ranger well in this jungle environs. His face was bearded and showed the wear of many adventures. When he brushed his hair back nervously in response to arrival of Athasen’s beautiful companions, Athasen could see the tell-tale ears of a half-elf like himself. Once all were in the room, Porzanna ceased to ignore them. “Good morning,” she said with hostile tone that implied none of her greeting’s good intentions. “I will be brief. I am Porzanna. I have been hired to coordinate the efforts of the northern factions here in Chult in an effort to uncover the mystery of the Death Curse. Because of the stakes of this effort, faction infighting will NOT be condoned. It will NOT be acceptable. It will NOT happen.” Athasen took stock of the others present. None save Hoggle seemed to mind that restriction and Athasen suspected that Hoggle only objected because it would mean a few fewer people he could slaughter with his axe. Still, surrounded by adventurers who were at best his equals in combat and at worst his betters, Hoggle was wise enough to make no verbal objection, just a frown. “Seeing no objections to that restriction, I suspect we can do business.” Porzanna seemed to soften at this point; her harshness at the start was apparently meant to convey the importance of this taboo under which they all found themselves. “You may wish to introduce yourselves to one another. While my under my charge, you’re going to be working together for some time.” They did so, with the elf rogue introducing himself as Allar and the half-elf ranger as Fejj. Athasen exchanged some pleasantries with Zangdrax, who was also among those adventurers at the Doomvault and had acquitted himself admirably there. “With that out of the way,” Porzanna interrupted, bringing them back to order. “I have tasks for you to perform in the name of your various factions.” She looked over at Lortessa. “You are a priestess of Sune. As much as your companions would appreciate your healing magic in the field, I need you here in the city. We have set up several makeshift hospitals for those suffering from the Curse and from other ailments of the jungle. Our need for healers is a desperate one.” “Where Tessa goes, I go.” declared Saiah. “So be it, paladin. We will put you to work in that regard as well.” Porzanna turned to Athasen, but her gaze took in the whole room. “As for the rest of you, we sent out scouting parties to five locations in the near jungle, one from each faction, about twenty days ago. We have heard nothing from any of them since.” “I take it that’s unusual.” said Fejj. “Not as much as I’d like. The jungle is a harsh place for northerners like yourselves. But you look capable enough. There are five sites, all about four days travel from the city and a couple days apart from one another. We were hoping one of the five might serve as a base of operations outside of Port Nyanzaru, seeing as the locals are getting a mite itchy about the presence of so many foreigners.” Athasen grunted, remember the skirmish outside the brothel. “Not hard to guess why.” he growled sardonically. “What are these sites?” asked Zangdrax. “A farm, where recent rumor has it that the farmers have developed a new strain of tobacco with true medicinal properties. Given our need for healers, you can see our interest here. Another was an ancient ruin, a fortress carved out of the side of a cliff by ancient peoples long extinct. Third was a tower constructed by a wizard many decades ago and now abandoned. Fourth was an ancient burial ground for the same civilization that built the fortress. Lastly, there is a shrine dedicated to Ubtao, the dead god of this land. All have the means to serve our purposes.” “Nothing good comes from ancient burial grounds.” joked Allar grimly. Athasen was inclined to agree. “Nor wizard towers in my experience and ancient ruins are often quickly occupied after their original owners abandon them.” “Dead gods don’t always stay that way either.” grumbled Zangdrax. “Bhaal, Bane, and Amaunator all give testimony to that. Never mind those who would seek the divine essence of even a dead god for their own taste of power.” Athasen shivered at that comment, remembering well two of his associates who did just that with great success. “The farm seems innocuous enough. We will start there.” “Farm sound boring. Nothing to kill there.” grumbled Hoggle. “The Zhentarim were sent there. Seek for them, return them alive if you can.” said Porzanna. --- As the group departed Porzanna’s office, Athasen went with Langley and Zangdrax to the city market. Their intention was to gather supplies for the journey: rations, waterskins, and anything else they might need for their journey into the near jungle. The marketplace was full of activity, the din of people bargaining and haggling was almost deafening. Athasen paused by an ointment seller, intent on finding a few doses to keep the disease-carrying insects of the jungle at bay. “Best fly ointment in Nyanzaru! Best!” claimed the merchant in broken Common. “For you, 2 silver per jar.” Athasen wasn’t entirely sure that was a good price or not, but in many ways, he didn’t care. Between his long adventuring career and the vast wealth of his son’s merchant empire, money was no object to him. He cared little for it. He dug into his pouch and produced two gold coin. “Ten jars.” He said. The merchant frowned, surprised in some ways that Athasen took his first offer and probably disappointed he hadn’t demanded more. Regardless, the deal was made and the man began to gather up the requested ointment. As Athasen waited patiently, a small cloaked humanoid slid up next to him. Athasen glanced down to see a gnome, his cloak pinned in place with a signet of the Zhentarim. “Captain,” the gnome began to speak, “our masters back home have a request.” “Speak.” “The farmer’s son was recently in our employ. It seems he was lost at sea while his ship was journeying from Chult to Baldur’s Gate. Our masters wish you to convey this bad news to his family.” “Unfortunate. Tragic.” commented Athasen. “Yes.” agreed the gnome. “I will offer our condolences to the family.” Athasen said. With that, the gnome vanished into the crowd. It was an odd request. The Zhentarim usually didn’t give such honor to those outside its own ranks, believing that the Zhentarim organization itself became your new family when you joined and your old ties were irrevocably severed. At least, officially. There were only two reasons such a request would be made of him: One, the farmer was also Zhentarim, in which case Porzanna had left out an important piece of information or two, this was all a fiction and the condolence was meant as a trigger or code of some sort. There was no way to know here in Nyanzaru, so Athasen rejoined his companions with his newly purchased ointment and they continued their shopping. --- Even the near jungle held its dangers, and Athasen and his companions kept a sense of heightened alertness as they hacked their way through. Fortunately, their paths were reasonably well-traveled and the foliage had not overgrown much of the road. The noise was incessant; the crying of birds and other animals never ceased, day or night. Initially, Athasen had taken the lead, using one of his large magical single-edged falchion to cleave through any obstacle. But he soon yielded that job to Hoggle, who seemed to have great need to hack at something, anything. Athasen wasn’t sure how far he could trust the bloodthirsty goblin. Surprisingly, the most sensible of the bunch seemed to be the other monster in their midst. Zangdrax was charming, intelligent, and not at all barbaric, despite being a kobold. Athasen had been taken back when he’d first seen Zangdrax in the Doomvault, bearing as he did the holy symbol of Tiamat, one of the more evil, ambitious, and destructive deities in Faerun. But after his deeds in that place, Athasen found him trustworthy and surprisingly brave and self-sacrificing, seeming to understand that there were greater evils out there that needed to be defeated and one’s personal beliefs and impulses were secondary to that. That was clearly a reflection of his true character, as the kobold now backed Athasen’s leadership without question or challenge. The rest were along for the ride. Fejj and Allar were mostly quiet, although Fejj did step in when needed to keep them on track. His knowledge of woodlands, even if somewhat different from these jungle environs, had proven helpful. Langley showed little of the altruism that caused her to intervene on the whore’s behalf back in the city and now mostly grumbled that this mission didn’t pay enough to be worth the effort. Again, this jungle mission seemed to reveal everyone’s true character. Athasen wondered, if this was now the true Langey he was seeing, what made her so eager to stick her neck out for a whore earlier? Hoggle was Hoggle. There was little guile or subtlety to the goblin, who seemed most interested in sating a lust for blood and battle. Because of their small size, goblins were not a bold race and yet Hoggle seemed absolutely fearless. Perhaps that was why he found himself here, a man with no true home among his own people. He was not however fitting in all that well among the more civilized peoples. Regardless of each of their personal quirks, it was clear to Athasen that this group could get the job done. Regardless of whether they liked one another or not. After a short couple days of travel, the jungle parted onto a large multi-acre farm. Pasture after pasture of tobacco spread out before them, while some 200 yards distant, a small farmhouse and barn could be seen. The jungle noise quieted as they entered the farm. “Is it just me or should there be workers on a farm this size?” asked Allar aloud. “Why is it so empty?” Athasen nodded. The fields were empty; no one was weeding, watering, tending, or in any other way seeing to the growing crop. “A lot of work for just a farmer and his family.” He mused. “Perhaps they are on break. It is nearly noon and the hottest part of the day. Slaves they might work through such a time, but hired hands might demand respite from the sun.” A middle aged man emerged from the farmhouse. The first thing Athasen noticed was the color of his skin. He was a white man, clearly not a native of Chult. Their people were dark skinned, darker still than the desert tones of Athasen, nearly black. The others noticed it too. “An outlander.” mused Langley. “Not what I was expecting.” “Chult is a land of opportunity.” added Zangdrax, “Take Hoggle and myself. Lots of outlanders here.” “True, but keep your eyes open.” “Agreed.” said the kobold. “Welcome, welcome, welcome.” said the farmer eagerly as he trotted out to the adventurers. “It is so good to have visitors. We occasionally see folks coming through on their way to the deeper jungle and we love to host them for even just a short respite on their journeys. Would you like to come inside and take a breather? I can provide food, refreshment, and certainly shelter from the hottest part of the day.” Athasen nodded. “We would be delighted.” “Good, good, good.” said the farmer. “Please come this way.” The party followed the farmer inside. “I am Agranus. We have been farmers here for only a few years. We brought with us our seeds from my father’s farm in Amn and look at what it has become.” “Impressive” said Allar, “Rumor has it your tobacco has healing properties.” “Yes, something about this Chultan soil has changed it. Come, come. You may sample some, if you like, once we are inside.” “Quite an operation you have here.” said Langley. “But it seems much too large for one man.” “We hire workers seasonally from Nyanzaru. Right now, there is little to do besides watch it grow.” Agranus chuckled to himself. “My wife and I are too old to make more children so it can get rather boring during this season out here. Hence why we like visitors.” Athasen frowned. That seemed a bit specious an excuse for the absence of workers. Between weeds and the various herbivores of the jungle that would like find these fields a feast, he doubted there would ever be a time when extra help would not be needed on such a large farm. Never mind the less ethical among their “visitors” that would simply take what they wished from an unarmed and likely untrained farmer. They reached the farmhouse and Agranus called out. A woman’s voice responded from within and older pale-skinned woman emerged from a back room, likely a kitchen. “Yes, dear. Oh, goodness, we have guests.” “Yes, woman,” bellowed Agranus. “Fetch some tea for our guests.” He turned back to the adventuring party. “Please, come in. Welcome to my humble abode.” Humble was a slight exaggeration. The living room contained furniture of some quality, hand-carved in the Amnish style. There was also a bookshelf with a number of tomes on various subjects, mostly agricultural with a few on more esoteric subjects. This was no poor man’s home. Athasen, Fejj, and Zangdrax took seats on the furniture, while Allar leaned against the wall near the bookshelf. Hoggle parked himself on the floor, while Langley took up a post near the kitchen door. The sounds of activity came forth from the kitchen door, as the farmer’s wife made frantic to host these unexpected guests. Agranus took a seat of his own and reached down under the adjacent end table. He produced a wooden box, opened it, and proffered the cigars within to his guests. “Here, I promised you a sample. Enjoy.” The seated adventurers took cigars, including Hoggle. Allar refused politely but when the farmer made his way to Langley, she rather rudely put on her mask to decline the offer. The farmer shrugged in response, lit one of his own, and returned to his seat. Soon the room was filled with the fragrant smoke of burning tobacco. The wife entered with a tray of mugs, each holding a pale brown liquid. As she passed them out, Athasen happened to glance up to where Langley had been standing. She was gone. Athasen took a sip from his mug. It was a bitter tea, not quite to his liking, but seemed innocuous enough. The tobacco, on the other hand, was quite good. The smoke was flavorful and he did feel “lighter” as if the burdens of his soul had been lifted somewhat. “Well, Agranus, your hospitality has been fantastic.” said Athasen. “Now it is time for business. We are not passing through. We came to find you. Our purpose in doing so is two fold. One, there was a group that preceded us, who wished to parley with you about using your farm as a base of operations for our expeditions into the deeper jungle. They have not returned and we were wondering what you might know of them.” Agranus shrugged. “There was a group here about a tenday ago that fits what you describe. They came, we talked, they departed. I know nothing of them after that.” Agranus’ wife had finished giving out the tea and was about to leave when Athasen interjected. “Ma’am, you will want to remain for this next part. Please, take a seat.” She paused, momentarily confused, but did as she was asked. Athasen then continued. “Our other purpose is to be the bearer of bad news. Your son was taken into our employ and fear he was lost at sea while returning to the Sword Coast. Please accept my deepest condolences.” “Oh,” said the wife. “How sad.” Her tone was neutral, with none of the expected sorrow or shock of hearing this news. Athasen frown himself. Something wasn’t right. At that very moment, the telltale ring of steel on steel came from outside. Athasen shot to his feet. “That’s the dim of battle. We are under attack.” He darted through the door to the kitchen and found himself in a hallway. He could see two doors, both ajar. One led into the kitchen, the other outside behind the farmhouse. Through the open back door, he could see Langley under attack by five or six men. Agranus was on his feet and made for the hallway as Athasen darted outside. One of the men swung a mighty blow with a longsword towards Langley, but Athasen darted in between and parried it with his falchion. The steel rang with the impact, but Athasen’s magical blade showed no damage from the powerful blow. Langley backpedaled and drew out her crossbow. With elven swiftness, Allar dashed from the living room, passing by Agranus, and joined Athasen. Both men leveled their weapons in a defensive posture and took stock of the situation. Their foes were well-armed and armored and Athasen recognized immediately the clasp on the leader’s cloak: the symbol of the Zhentarim. These were the missing party, but their glazed eyes and snarling contenance told any and all observers they were not themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, Athasen saw Agranus make an odd gesture with his hand. Recognizing it as spellcasting, he now understood. Agranus was an enchanter and had somehow managed to enthrall the entire Zhentarim expedition. Athasen made to counter this new spell, but a swing from the Zhent leader caught him off-guard and fouled his own casting. Athasen parried the leader’s blow just as Zangdrax and Hoggle dashed out from the living room. “Spare their lives if you can.” Athasen barked to his comrades. “These are the ones we’re looking for.” Athasen moved to press his attack when his leg exploded into agony. He buckled and dropped to the ground, realizing immediately what had happened. Zangdrax hefted his war mattock and made ready to land a second blow, his first having shattered Athasen’s knee. The enchanter had claimed another thrall. Agranus began another gesture, but Athasen gritted his teeth against the pain and made a counter gesture with his free hand. Agranus’ spell failed and the enchanter glared at him balefully. Zangdrax swung again and Athasen parried the blow with his sword. “Damnit, Zangdrax!” Athasen swore at his companion. “Remember!” Allar, Langley, and Hoggle battled against the enthralled Zhentarim. Langley dropped two with crossbow bolts to the legs, injuring but not killing them. Only Fejj was unaccounted for. Where had he gone? Zangdrax swung again and Athasen parried the blow. The Zhentarim leader also jumped in, but a wide swing from Hoggle’s axe swept him off his feet. Hoggle made to land a killing blow, but Athasen barked a “NO!” The goblin checked his swing and snarled a complaint in his foul tongue. “Enough of this.” said Athasen. He focused his mind on the enchantment on Zangdrax and, speaking the command word of dispelling, forcibly tore it from his ally. Freed from Agranus’ grip, Zangdrax checked his next blow, bringing the war mattock down on the Zhent leader and knocking him out cold. Agranus snarled in rage when he realized Athasen had freed his newest slave. He made to cast again, only found that he could make no sound to speak the words of his incantation. Somehow, he’d been silenced. Realizing what had happened, the faux farmer looked balefully back towards his living room, towards Fejj. The ranger promptly put two arrows through the wizard’s neck. The wife screamed in rage and charged towards the living room at Fejj, but Hoggle was looking for someone to kill. He quickly disengaged from the Zhent he was fighting and chased the woman down. Athasen was grateful he did not have to witness what happened next. With Agranus and his companion dead, the remaining Zhentarim who were not unconscious shook off their own enchantments and surrendered. The leader sat up, holding his head where Zangdrax had clipped him with his mattock. “Ugh. Did you have to swing so hard?” He groaned. “That was nothing. Harder and your head would look worse than this knee.” said the kobold. He leaned down and focused healing power into Athasen’s injury, restoring his knee to health. “Fucking Red Wizards.” said the leader, rubbing the growing knot he could feel under his hair. “They stole this place from the original owner and ambushed us. Turned us into their mindless slaves. We owe you one.” “And the original owner? The real farmer?” “Alive. Tied up in the barn, where they kept him prisoner to amuse themselves.” Athasen came to his feet gingerly, but Zangdrax’s healing magic had done its work well. He headed over to the barn as Zangdrax tended to their others’ injuries, including the newly freed Zhents. Athasen found the farmer as the leader had said. He swifly cut his bonds and led the half-starved man outside. Zangdrax did what he could to heal his injuries as well. “Thank you, but I could really use some food.” “I’ll see what I can find.” said Allar, darting inside the farmhouse. “What happened?” asked Athasen. “About two months ago, my workers began to run off. Scared of something in the jungle. Right after the last one left, those wizards came up the road from Nyanzaru. Without any of my people here, they quickly overpowered me and took the place over.” “Enchanters.” reminded Langley. “Probably used their magic to scare your people away. They set this up some time ago.” The farmer nodded. “Either way, they began to experiment on the tobacco and one of their number went back to town to spread the rumor they’d found a new medicinal strain. The Zhentarim came soon thereafter and fell under their sway. The tobacco doesn’t heal, but it does make you more vulnerable to their enchantment magic.” “That explains a lot.” said Zangdrax. “We paladins aren’t normally vulnerable to that sort of thing.” He looked at Athasen. “Sorry about the knee.” “You fixed it. That’s apology enough for me.” said Athasen. “I suppose it’s you that I have to inform about your son.” “I have no son.” “Truly?” “Yes, I live here alone, except for the workers that I hire. No wife. No family. Just me and my employees.” “Looks like your masters suspected something and gave you something to reveal the ruse.” said Langley to Athasen. “You getting curious and darting outside when no one was looking worked just as well.” said Fejj. “Good work with that silence spell, by the way.” complimented Athasen towards Fejj. Allar came outside with a few loaves of bread, giving them to the famished farmer, who began devouring them. “Alright, the Zhents are free. The farmer is eating. The wizards are dead. Looks like our job here is done. We’ll rest the night and move on in the morning.”

Nilsiar II, "true" son of Haplo

Human Warlock (Hexblade)
Background TBD

Background

When the necromancer Haplo fled Faerun to Athas, he took most of his most trusted allies with him. Among those was his son, a young man named Nilsiar, an apprentice wizard but one also just as ambitious as his father.

When the demon lord Khershidion offered Nilsiar and his companions the power and means they needed to overthrow Haplo, they took his gifts greedily. What they did not realize at the time (and probably should) was that demonic gifts come with a high price.

Nilsiar's coup failed thanks to the timely intervention of Avouz and his extra-planar allies that he found in Ravenloft. Haplo took the betrayal of his son particularly hard and condemned the young man to a life of horrid torture for the rest of his days.

Nilsiar was found some years later in the depths of Faerun's Darkhold. Haplo had even brought his wayward child back with him from exile to continue his torments. By now, years of necromantic corruption had transformed the man into a hideous monster, cursed by Khershidion, to never die. He had become a Spawn of Kyuss, a Worm That Walks. Avouz, Moric, and their companions destroyed Nilsiar or so they thought.

A century past and a young man of Darkhold by the name of Eadred stumbled onto the old catacombs while exploring. Deep below the fortress, he encountered the reformed Spawn of Kyuss that was once Nilsiar. As the monster rose up to destroy him, something intervened to save Eadred. A powerful being of shadow emerged in the darkness and drove off the undead monstrosity.

"Your life belongs to me now." said the shadow being. "I am Haplo, demi-god of the Shadowfell and one-time servant to Shar. I have need of one such as you. When Shar betrayed the world, she wrought my downfall, destroying my worshipers and much of my magic. But I have found a way back into the world and you will be my herald. You will be my son Nilsiar, truer to me than the one who once bore that name. And I will give you power and strength beyond your wildest dreams."

The new Nilsiar emerged from those catacombs a transformed man, imbued with powers of the Shadowfell and determined to begin anew the Church of Haplo. However, there are those rare few who still remember the name Haplo and they must be dealt with. First and foremost is the half-elf now known as Athasen.

Description

Nilsiar is a young handsome man in his mid-20s. His dark eyes gleam with ambition and he is determined to supplant Athasen in whatever what he can. To that end, he often dresses to impress his betters in the Zhentarim, trying to convince them that he should replace the "old man" and assume his duties and responsibilities.

Olog, Crown Prince of Impiltur

Half-orc Cleric (War)
Noble

(Adapted from the "iconic warpriest" Oloch from Pathfinder, which I play in Pathfinder Adventures card game.)

Background

About 110 years ago, after the apotheosis of Haplo and Falafel but before the Spellplague, there was great turmoil in the kingdom of Impiltur. The king had died and the land was thrown into chaos as various house lords vied for the throne. At the same time, a massive horde of ice orcs (a variant of orc previously unheard of in Faerun) had ravaged southward from the Great Glacier through Damara and into the northern reaches of the kingdom.

Impiltur was facing its darkest hour. Hither came Rek, the bastard half-orc son of the king's sister, who had been exiled by the machinations of his brother, the formal heir to the throne. Rek had spend much of recent time in the kingdom of Mulhorand, becoming a hero for his part in repelling the Cult of Set. The half-orc monk of Ilmater was nominally a man of peace, but in both Mulhorand and now Impiltur, his hunger for justice and righteousness was stronger. With the aid of his allies, Rek defeated the warring factions of his homeland and drove back the orc horde and was crowned the new king.

Ever since, the throne of Impiltur has been held by the descendants of Rek. While the orc blood of their progenitor continues to taint their noble line, but the House of Rek has proven itself time and again as stalwart champions of good and right in the world.

It is family tradition that each heir to the throne set forth from the kingdom and journey the lands as a wayward adventurer, much as their ancestor Rek did during his exile. Olog is now the heir. It is his time to set forth to earn his own name as a hero in the world, so that he will be ready to take on the family responsibilities when one day he too will ascend the throne of his father.

Description

Olog works hard to hide his royal heritage, a task aided by the fact that most common folk do not expect a half-orc to be highborn. He is a very large man with greenish skin and black hair. His armor appears somewhat haphazard, but is, in fact, in excellent condition. He bears a massive greatsword, one much larger than normal, with which he dispatches his foes in the name of Torm and the kingdom of Impiltur.

Character Sheet

Tomb of Annihilation Chapter Two The Gathering

The first rays of light from the rising sun stirred Hoggle to wakefulness. He shifted uncomfortably as the memories of the night before came unbidden to his mind. Humans sometimes called the beverage “the devil’s liquor” and now Hoggle knew why. He’d tried to match the human brute drink for drink, forgetting entirely that he was less than half his size. The sunlight hurt. The ground hurt. His head hurt. His body hurt. Everything hurt.
Hoggle forced himself to sit up. He was still where he’d passed out the night before, an alley behind the tavern where he’d been bested in the drinking contest. He checked himself over. No thieves had molested him in the night; all his gear and effects were right where he’d left them. Then again, that probably wasn’t all that surprising, even in a town as rowdy as Port Nyanzaru. Humans feared goblins, and Hoggle was as fierce a specimen of his kind as one could find. One might ask why a goblin would travel so far from the North and come to a human town on the edge of a jungle wilderness. No ordinary goblin would do such a thing. But Hoggle was not ordinary. Once he had been, a chieftain of a raider tribe who wandered the fields and forests outside Baldur’s Gate. But then he’d met the One, the One Chosen, the One the gods had blessed. The One the prophecy spoke of; Hoggle didn’t know which prophecy specifically, but it seemed there always was one when it came to such figures. The One, the future Goblin King, had shown Hoggle a new way and his life had never been the same since. Hoggle left his tribe and took up the life of a freelance adventurer. He’d spent much of the last year working for the wizard Zaphiel in his quest to acquire rare and valuable artifacts. Now Hoggle was on his own again, determined to prove his worth to his King the only way he knew how: Through axe and sword, battle and blood. Chult, with all of its rumors of curses, seemed the best place for that. Hoggle found his feet and the world spun around two or three times. He was in no condition for blood and battle now. He tried to blink away the hangover and when that didn’t work, he focused on his surroundings. The alley was largely empty except for the detritus of human civilization, broken boxes and bottles, scraps of cloth, and more than a few piles of excrement. One thing of interest stood out. At the edge of the main street sat a rain barrel. Hoggle staggered over. The barrel was lidded to keep mosquitos out with only small hole for the drain pipe that was anchored to the tavern building. Hoggle yanked the lid off and stared into the cool water. It reflected his image and Hoggle looked himself over. Beady eyes, now bloodshot from the hangover. A small almost canine nose. Stringy black hair. Yellow teeth and yellower skin. Scars galore from his many fights and scrapes over the years. He wasn’t a bad looking goblin, but beauty was not the goal of the One. Strength was and Hoggle had much yet to prove. He plunged his head into the water forcefully. The shock of the cold shook him to the core, precisely what he needed to shake off the torpor of the night before. It probably also didn’t hurt to get some of the stink of the alley off of him. Humans didn’t like goblins, didn’t trust them. The less presentable he was, the more likely they’d express that distaste with violence. Hoggle didn’t mind the idea of fighting one or two or maybe even a half dozen, but the whole town was probably too much to handle and it was wiser not to tempt fate. He pulled his head out of the barrel and shook off the water. He could hear the bustle of the city beyond as the morning crowds began to file out into the streets. But amidst the crowd noise he heard a scream. A woman was in trouble. If a woman was in trouble, that meant a fight was likely to follow. Hoggle grabbed his things and dashed out to find the trouble. --- The whore landed face down in the mud. She turned back to her assailant, her eyes filled with fear. The huge half-orc glowered at her. “I pay for pleasure.” He snarled. “You give pleasure. That’s how this works.” She tried to scamper back, the bruises on her naked body quite obvious. It was clear the half-orc had been more than a little rough with her. “No,” she pleaded. “No more.” “I wasn’t done.” growled the brute. His two friends moved in behind him. “And neither were they. We paid good money for you.” A tall lithe woman in dark leathers stepped between the frightened whore and the three thugs. Her braided hair was the color of blood and she cut a striking figure. “I think she’d had enough.” said the rogue confidently, pulling a metal mask down over her face. The half-orc chuckled. “You even uglier with mask. I'll break it off and then maybe you can suck my cock after I knock all your teeth out.” He swung a hard right punch at the woman’s face. It struck the mask hard and the half-orc yanked his hand back in pain. “You were saying?” mocked the rogue. Humiliated, the half-orc bolted to his feet. “Kill them. Kill them both.” He snapped. With a back flip, the rogue put some distance between herself and the half-orc, pulling her out a strange weapon from her back. With a single motion, she brought the weapon to her chin and fired. Out the far end of the weapon, a blast of flame emerged, launching a small stone bullet. It struck the half-orc beneath his chin, right into his throat. The shot didn’t kill him outright and the thug reached up reflexively to grab at his wound, as if he might dig the round out. Before his hand could reach it however, it exploded in a flash of magical flame. When the flames cleared, there was nothing left of him from the neck up. His headless corpse flopped unceremoniously into the muddy street. His two partners were on the rogue in a flash, trying to take advantage of the time it would take her to reload. It was at that moment that a screaming blur of yellow roared out of a side alleyway. A frenzied goblin hefted a battle axe two handed and firmly planted it in the skull of the rightmost thug. The surviving thug knocked aside the rogue’s crossbow with his cutlass and then turned the blade back to strike her down. Three darts of blinding light came out of nowhere and smashed into his body, knocking him to the side. Right into the goblin’s follow-up swing. The rogue looked to her left quickly to seek out the source of the darts, the wizard who’d cast the spell. Standing on the edge of the crowd was a tall half-elf with two women. “My thanks.” she said, nodding first to the wizard and then to the goblin. She turned and helped the still-terrified whore to her feet. “No one will harm you now. Go to the healers and tend those wounds.” The whore ran off. “As if we needed further proof of the barbarism of this place.” growled one of the wizard’s companions, the tall dark-haired woman in heavy armor. The rogue looked at the goblin. “You must be Hoggle.” “You know me?” “Know of, more accurately." said the rogue, removing her mask. "My companion Kiniko was among those Zaphiel hired along with you to seek out his treasures.” The wizard stepped forward. “Good to see you again, Hoggle.” “You know me too?” “We only met quite briefly. In the Doomvault about six months ago. I grabbed you and dragged you to safety when the phylactery chamber began to implode on itself.” “That was you. I remember. You know my name. I know not yours.” “I am Athasen. These are my companions, Lortessa and Saiah.” “Athasen? Kiniko has spoken of you as well. She too was at the Doomvault.” “I’m afraid I do not remember her. There were many of us recruited for that raid.” “She remembered you. But regardless,” the rogue flashed the badge on her belt, the symbol of the Zhentarim. “I’d know you, Captain of the Darkhold Guard.” Athasen looked the rogue over. She was nearly as tall as he was, unusual even in a human woman. “As I had advantage on our goblin friend," he said to her, "so now you have advantage on me. Your name?” “Langley. My grandmother served in the guard in the days of Haplo.” Intrigued, Athasen let his curiosity get the better of him. “Really? Was she a Steelbringer?” Langley smiled. “You know your history well if you know that term. No, she came to the guard after Haplo returned from his exile. We’ve served the Zhentarim ever since.”

Athasen gave her another long look. Not a Steelbringer who left with Haplo to go to Athas, but perhaps a descendant of one of those, like Avouz, who came back from that world. That would explain her height.

"Quite a weapon you have there." commented Athasen.

"It's called a rifle or so the clerics of Gond on Lantan named it. Uses an alchemical powder to fling a sling stone out the barrel at speeds far faster and stronger than a human arm. The noise it makes is a nice touch for scaring the unwary. I've also made a few other modifications. There's a fire giant rune carved into the butt here. Enchants the sling stones with fire."

"Remind me to stand clear the next time you fire it." he said, giving the headless body of the half-orc a kick for emphasis. “Forgive my ignorance,” interrupted Lortessa. “But what was a Steelbringer?” “The necromancer Haplo was once forced to flee Darkhold," Athasen explained, "and he found his way to another world, a primitive one where iron and steel were rare commodities. Haplo showed up with a whole army of Zhentarim outfitted with plate and sword, axe and shield and the locals came to call them Steelbringers as a result.” “With a name like Athasen,” said Langely, “I take it you’re tied to those few who came back with Haplo when he returned. ‘Son of Athas’ is not a subtle name.” “Anaelar is the head of my household.” said Athasen, repeating his lie. “And Avouz was his father, so yes, you do have ties to all that history. Family ties.” said Langley. Athasen frowned briefly at the mention of his real name, but it did not seem anyone noticed. “How did a member of a wealthy merchant family end up in slavery in order to give birth to you?” wondered Lortessa aloud. It was not the first time she'd probed Athasen's past. With this conversation dwelling on such, she'd found another opportunity. “My mother never told me that part.” Athasen hedged. “Perhaps Avouz left some bastards around during his adventurers or perhaps my mother was taken as hostage or prisoner and made to breed for her slavers. Perhaps both. I only knew that...” He paused when he saw a company of city guards march up the street to their position. They immediately moved to surround the conversing adventurers. “What is the meaning of this?” barked the guard commander, motioning with his spear towards the three corpses on the ground. “You’re rather timely, captain.” mocked Athasen. “The fight’s been over for sometime.” “You will surrender your weapons and come with us peacefully. You are under arrest for the murder of these men.” Saiah reached for her blades, but Athasen stopped her. He spoke again. “We protected a citizen of your city from rape and assault. This is no murder.” “A whore a citizen? Hah!” mocked the commander. “Whores are slaves and slaves are worthless. Freemen are worth many times the value of slaves and there are three of them dead on the ground. You’ll pay for that I promise you. Now come with us peacefully or don’t. Personally, I’d almost prefer you’d refuse.” To hear such disdain made Saiah almost red with rage, but discipline kept her at the ready, waiting for a signal from Athasen. Beside her, Langely was equally infuriated and was quietly sliding a stone bullet into the chamber of her rifle. “I would think twice, Sergeant, before picking a fight with the likes of these.” said a voice. Emerging from the brothel was a halfling woman, dressed in the manner of a harlot. Her red silk attire left very little of her to the imagination. Her voice was curiously accented. She was no local, but neither was she a native of the north of Faerun where Darkhold lay. “Besides, perhaps you could tell me how much a good whore costs in the slave markets? Especially one as beautiful as Maira? Would you truly want to responsible for paying for her replacement, given how slowly your guard responded to this incident?” She was moving her hands in both grand and subtle gestures, and only Athasen’s trained eyes could tell she was casting a spell of charming. “Lady Jhera,” the sergeant began. He paused and blinked a couple of times. “We would never wish to offend one such as you. You are right.” He turned to Athasen. “Forgive me, sir, ladies. Jhera is right. You have done a service to the city and to Maira’s owner. Company, form ranks. Let’s return to the barracks.” “You should have made him apologize for calling Maira a whore.” growled Saiah at the halfling as the guard retreated. “Well, she is that and a very good one. I’ve been her client twice now since I arrived. I am Jhera, halfling of Mulhorand, servant of Sharess.” “I knew I’d heard that accent before.” said Lortessa. “Same as So-Koth.” So-Koth was a Mulhorandi wizard’s apprentice to Alandar and was a frequent guest in Darkhold. “And it’s been a long time since I’ve heard the name Sharess. I thought she was lost when the Mulhorandi gods were banished from our world a century ago.” “They have returned and she with them. She who was once called Bast has returned.” said Jhera confidently. “Our approaches may be different, servant of Sune, but our churches and our goddesses have always been allies. I could not, in good conscience, allow you to be arrested for what you did. Standing up for one who gives so many so much pleasure.” Langley looked confused. “I’m no scholar of the gods. Who is Sharess?” Lortessa answered. “Goddess of pleasure and hedonism, of feasting and celebration. Also, the goddess of cats, if I recall correctly.” Jhera nodded. “You remember your lessons well, young priestess.” Hoggle kicked at stone from out of the mud of the street in boredom. “God talk. People talk. Too much talk. And now the sun is above the treeline. Time to go get work. Time to find something else to fight and kill.” “Agreed.” said Athasen. “Well, enjoy. I’ll be here if you need me again.” Jhera pointed back to the brothel. The rest headed down the street.

Tomb of Annihilation Chapter One The Arrival

(Author's note: After finding and reading that short story fragment, I figured I'd try my hand at doing a little writing again. Rather than go back to the very beginning and tell Avouz/Athasen's story from the start, I figured I'd start at the beginning of the current campaign in Adventurer League D&D. Got two chapters done so far and starting a third. So far all of this is introduction, so if you're playing in the campaign, you'll find no spoilers here...yet.)

Saiah wrinkled her nose in disgust. She knew the smell well. Every port town had the same odor; a horrid mix of the refuse of humanity combined with the rot of fish and other foodstuffs brought in to support the population. The sweltering heat of Port Nyanzaru only made it worse. She had thought Calisham putrid and stifling. This place was worse. She glanced to her side as she stood on the rail of the ship bringing them into the harbor. To her right stood Athasen, her commander, and Lortessa, her best friend. Neither seemed the least bit fazed by the heat or the smell. In fact, in regards to the former, they both seemed prepared and comfortable. Athasen’s robes were made of a light silk and the sea breeze blew them open periodically to reveal his muscular chest beneath. Lortessa wore armor, but as was typical of the Order of Sune’s Light, the armor was as much for show as it was for function. Lortessa’s breastplate and leather skirt left her arms, legs, and midriff all bare. Normally this was to entice the non-believer to Sune’s cause, but today it was also to Lortessa’s advantage in these muggy environs. And speaking of unbelievers, Athasen made a gesture which Saiah recognized as the end of a prayer. A prayer to Istishia, the goddess of water. His glance turned to her immediately after; He’d noticed her attention. “A thanksgiving for safe passage.” He explained. “Safe passage to this place?” spat Saiah with disgust. “Some of hovel of humanity’s cast-offs.” Athasen shook his head. Saiah was barely 20 years old, a novice paladin in the Order of Sune’s Light, and had all the impatience of her youth. “I grew up in a town such as this. A place of thinly veiled civilization, barely one step above the savagery of the wilderness beyond. A slave in the gladiatorial arenas, bred to bleed and die for the amusement of lords and templars.” “Is that so different from growing up an orphan on the streets of Calisham? Cursed with pale skin and beauty where such qualities make one stand out amidst the swarthy masses. A target for every slaver who would sell you to a brothel or seraglio for a hefty price.” Athasen smiled. “No, not so different. We are more alike than you want to admit, Saiah. You should put more faith in yourself. Those blades at your side are proof that no man will try to enslave you again. Just as mine do.” “Faith? In these blades?” mocked Saiah, fingering the scimitars on her belt. “When you delight in proving how inadequate my skills are whenever we spar?” “And you think I should go easy on you?” retorted Athasen. “That does you no favors. I have decades of battle experience on you. The stronger the skill of your foe, the greater you will rise in the end. This is not about your ego, Saiah. It’s about making you ready to face a world made up of places like this.” He gestured to the port before them. “And worse still, what lies beyond them.” Lortessa interjected impatiently. “We’ve had this argument a thousand times now. Is it even possible for you two be in the same place without sniping at one another?” “Ever the peacemaker.” replied Athasen affectionately. “For you, I will keep silence on this matter.” He took her in hand. Saiah snorted in disgust and marched off to another part of the deck. “It’s less her ego than her envy, my love.” explained Lortessa. “I have you and she has no one, despite her obvious charms. That is why she resents you.” “Envy or jealousy?” mused Athasen aloud. “After all, you are best friends and I’ve taken much of your time and attention these past months.” “No, it’s envy. Saiah’s experiences have made her hard and fearful. She keeps people at arm’s length and always has. I try to loosen her up. Being in the church of Sune, we’ve all tried to loosen her up, make her more open and trusting. To no avail as yet.” “She fears what she desires most.” said Athasen with an ironic chuckle. “As I once did. We are truly more alike than different.” “What softened you?” Despite being lovers, there was much that Lortessa did not know about Athasen. He spoke little of his past. “The kindness of friends and strangers. The love of women like yourself who were determined above all to hammer their way through my walls. One day, someone will come along who will not give up on Saiah no matter how harshly she tries to drive them away. One like my wife. Wives, actually.” Lortessa knew of Athasen’s family. A whole grand lineage that nearly the ran the Zhentarim fortress of Darkhold by themselves. She knew he’d been married before and made a widower twice over now. She knew also that the first of those wives was, like herself, a Sunite priestess, a follower of the goddess of love and beauty. She knew also the second was a tiefling enchantress, the descendant of succubus with all the demonic beauty that came with that. What she did not know was how long ago those marriages were. Had Lortessa tied together all the pieces of Athasen’s vast family, she would have been quite baffled. A son older than his father? A man in his late fifties with great-grandchildren in their 20s? The timeline would not add up. There was, of course, a reason for that. Athasen was once known as Avouz, the Pereghost of Darkhold under the necromancer Haplo. A great hero of the Zhentarim who should have, by the typical lifespan of half-elves, died nearly a half-century ago. But here he was, still a healthy hale man just short of 60 years of age, rather than a frail ancient 150 years as he should have been. That was due to the intervention of the chaos demigod Falafel, who on a whim trapped Avouz and many of his friends and adventuring companions in a village where time did not pass for nearly a century. Sadly, those who Falafel neglected to include in his little prank included Avouz’s wife and child, who continued their lives without him. Allichia, his tiefling wife, died of old age some 30 years ago. His son, Anaelar, now ran the largest mercantile guild in Darkhold at the ripe old age of 95. Anaelar’s children and grandchildren ran the guild with him, served in the Darkhold fortress guard, or were agents of the Zhentarim. Upon returning to a world vastly changed, Avouz changed his identity and pretended to be yet another of Anaelar’s vast brood, rather than his father as he truly was. This was his great secret, one Athasen kept from nearly everyone outside his family. Beyond those who had been trapped with him who knew the truth, there was only one other who knew his true identity: the great diviner Alandar the All-Knowing, Athasen’s longtime mentor and dearest friend. As was fitting for all men of power and influence, Athasen soon found himself a trophy woman to hang on his arm. Lortessa was a beauty, as were all priestesses of Sune, red of hair, lithe of body. But she too had secrets. Although working with Athasen as an agent of the Zhentarim, she was truly, along with Saiah, a member of the Harpers, an organization often opposed to the machinations of the Zhents. She was a spy and she’d gotten quite a catch, a captain in the Darkhold Guard who was tied to the strongest merchant house in that fortress city. But despite his being a member in one of the most ruthless organizations in Faerun. Lortessa found Athasen to be kind, thoughtful, and loyal, a man of conviction and principle. She had fallen for him in spite of her mission and nearly every day prayed in secret that the Harpers would not order her to do anything to cause him or his family harm. In turn, Athasen had fallen for her, reminding him as she did of his first wife, Suna, who died in battle nearly a century ago. The thud of the ship making contact with the pier drew all of their attention back to the present. They had come to Port Nyanzaru to investigate what was being called the Death Curse. Powerful magics could raise the dead, but now those who had received such a gift were falling prey to a horrid wasting disease. In addition, those same powerful magics had ceased to work. Alandar’s divinations had determined the cause to be somewhere on the subcontinent of Chult, far to the south of the Sword Coast where they all lived. So the Zhentarim ordered Athasen to investigate and he’d brought with him his two most trusted allies: Lortessa and Saiah. The trio gathered their things and disembarked. The harbor was bustling with activity and it was clear that all the great factions of Faerun had sent their own delegations to investigate this terrifying curse. The Order of the Gauntlet, the Emerald Enclave, the Lord’s Alliance and the Harpers were all represented in the teeming masses of foreigners disembarking in this rough-and-tumble port city. Athasen also noted other Zhentarim present, which didn’t surprise him over much. His faction was notorious for covering all possibilities, so he never expected to be the only group of Zhents dispatched to Chult. “With this many outlanders,” observed Lortessa, “it may be a challenge to find a decent inn.” “On the contrary,” smiled Athasen, “The casual adventurer and opportunist here will likely seek the cheaper options: hovels, dives, and hostels. We need not worry when I have enough trade bars in my pack to buy such a place. No, we’ll rest in comfort and style tonight, my ladies.” “I’d not advertise your wealth so openly, Captain.” said Saiah cautiously. “Can anyone even hear me in this din besides the two of you?” “Can’t be too cautious in a place such as this.” “Noted.” Athasen began to muscle his way through the crowd. It was not hard. Although a half-elf, he was nearly a head taller than anyone else. And although his ruby red hair was now streaked with grey, his presence was still quite intimidating and people shrank from before him. Once outside the harbor, the crowd thinned considerably. It did not take the trio long to find an inn suitable to their needs and their affluence. As they approached, Saiah let out a disgusted sigh. Right next to the inn was what was obviously a brothel. “Wherever there are men, there are whores.” said Saiah. “Love and beauty should never be sold for something so cheaply as money.” “Spoken like a true Sunnite.” said Lortessa with a small dose of pride. “Slavery is everywhere in places like these.” said Athasen regretfully. “Worse, perhaps, is the fact that many of those women would likely starve if not for their servitude. Come. We cannot all the wrongs of the world at once. We must keep to our mission.” The Lovely Pearl Inn was well named. The building was well maintained and clearly meant for a clientele who preferred luxury. Athasen strove to the counter and placed a couple of gold coin upon it. “Two rooms please.” “Coming up, stranger.” The innkeeper turned and fetched two keys from the cubbies behind him. “We used to cater only to rich merchants who came here to trade for exotic goods from the jungles. Now, it’s adventurers of all types. The Death Curse has made our little town wealthy beyond the dreams of Waukeen.” “What do you know of the Curse?” “Only that rumor claims it comes from within the jungle somewhere. That’s why you’re all here after all. There’s a mercenary that’s coordinating expeditions into the wilds. You’ll likely want to talk to her rather than setting off at random. The jungle is harsh to those who enter it unprepared.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” --- Saiah dropped her backpack onto the lush bed in her room. With a few quick motions, she unsnapped the catches on her breastplate and let that fall to the floor with a loud clank. The sea breeze coming from the window felt good on her bare skin and she quickly doffed her boots and peeled off her breeches. All her clothing sticky with sweat and grime from the sea journey. “I desperately need a bath.” She thought to herself. “I’m starting to look like the urchin I once was on the streets of Calisham, covered in dust and shit.” She went over to the dry sink and fetched the silver bell she found there. She cracked the door and rang the bell, summoning one of the inn’s servants to her. A young male halfling dashed up the stairs from below and came immediately to her door. She opened the door further to allow him entry. His eyes grew wide when he saw her state of undress, but Saiah ignored it. Modesty was not a virtue among the Sunnites and she did not mind that this servant (or slave, more likely) saw her in the nude. “Draw me a bath,” she instructed. The halfling shook himself out of his wide-eyed stare and set to work immediately. Saiah walked over to the looking glass on the far wall. This was a quality establishment indeed to afford those sorts of luxuries. She inspected herself in the mirror with a frown. She was muscular, her arms and legs both well toned. Her breasts small, but broad, almost flat against her torso. Her belly firm, with the lines of her abdominal muscles showing clearly. That was the primary reason she did not care for Sunnite attire that bared the midriff. Compared to Lortessa, who was softer and curvier in all the ways men typically liked, Saiah was like a rock. But in the face, she was as feminine as anyone. Her cheeks were flush, her lips full, her blue eyes sharp, and her black hair long and luxurious. She reached up and pulled out the thread that held her hair in its ponytail and let it fall down her back. As she stared herself in the eyes, her frown turned to a smile. She liked that part of herself. “To each their own, Lortessa likes to tell me. One day perhaps I’ll find one that finds all this to his taste.” She grumbled to herself. “Still not sure why an ogre like me would be inducted into a church of beauty. I only seem to have that from the neck up. Too many years of hard living for the rest of me to qualify. ” She heard water pouring into a tub. “Then again, the halfling didn’t seem to mind what he saw. Perhaps I’ll find someone with similar tastes in this dingy harbor.” She turned to the halfling, who had just finished pouring the water and was now accenting it with rose petals and spices. “Will you require anything else?” A tell-tale thumping began on the wall behind her. She listened for a brief moment and rolled her eyes. She then turned back to the halfling’s question. “Oil the swords and the armor while I bathe, please.” “As you wish.” An enthusiastic moaning joined the thumping sound. “Typical.” said Saiah aloud as the halfling began to work on her personal effects. The servant looked at her, as if expecting further explanation. She gave it. “My companions are often eager to get at one another wherever we travel. It’s almost ritualistic for them to make love upon arrival in a new place.” --- In truth, it actual was a rite of the Sunnite church that Saiah was overhearing. Saiah was, of course, well aware of that, but simply didn’t bother to explain what was happening theologically to a lowly servant. Nor did she care to share her frustration and envy with him either. But in the room next door, just as Athasen had himself thanked Istishia for their safe travel upon the waters, now Lortessa blessed their temporary abode by taking her lover to bed as enthusiastically and eagerly as possible. She and Athasen had quickly disrobed and got to it pretty much from the moment they were alone. Although not a worshiper of Sune, Athasen certainly appreciated their approach to religion. Suna had been an equally enthusiastic lover, and she was strong and fierce as well. As quick to take him as he was her. She made love like she fought in battle, fearlessly, relishing every moment as if it were her last. In the end, that fate caught up with her and Avouz grieved her loss for many years afterwards. Now he had Lortessa. She was more gentle, more nurturing, more passive. Part of it, Athasen wondered, was the difference in their ages. He, a man of middle-age with vast experience in all aspects of life, and she, a novice priestess barely the age of adulthood. But where Suna was fierce and courageous, Lortessa was smart and clever. He loved them both dearly. “Let...this...place...be....where....love...and...light...flourish.” prayed Lortessa through Athasen’s enthusiastic thrusts. “May...it...keep...us...safe...for...your...service.” Athasen had gotten used to this ritual, so he kept silent, focusing on his own part in their lovemaking. As Lortessa finished her prayer, she looked over her shoulder at him. “Best not...plant...your seed...where...it will...grow.” she gasped out. Athasen frowned, but he understood. It was unwise to conceive here and then try to raise a little Athasen or a little Lortessa on the verge of a wilderness that had spawned a curse that now afflicted all mortals. As tempting as it was to have her bear him new sons and daughters, Athasen withdrew and sprayed across her bare back. “I’m sorry, my love.” she said. “I know how much you desire children. But this...” “No apology needed, Tess.” he replied, cutting her off. “We are here to battle whatever evil lurks in that jungle. Not start a family. I understand completely.” He leaned down and kissed her. “There will be other times.” He promised. He reached over to fetch a towel to clean up the mess he’d made. Once done, Lortessa rolled over and faced him. He looked down to admire her. Her short red hair was damp with sweat, both from the heat and from their lovemaking. Her face flushed from the same. Her eyes were the color of the sky, a far lighter blue than Saiah’s. Her skin was fair and soft, marked with the fiery tattoos of her religious order. Tattoos that she would have first received in her childhood, marking her as one dedicated to the goddess. As he admired her, she admired him in return. His long hair was not the same sort of red as hers, but had almost a ruby-like shimmer to it. His skin was tan like the sands of his desert homeland. His eyes were like gems, blue like hers, but darker still even that Saiah’s. All were marks of his otherworldly father, a genie of earth known as a dao. He had spoken truly when he talked about how he’d been bred for the arenas of his homeland, an unnatural mix of elf and elemental that could likely only happen when both were slaves to a powerful master. His skin showed another bit of his life of slavery as well, bearing many scars from wounds he’d received. Many were from the arena but some were from his many adventures after obtaining freedom. Lortessa ran her fingers along a particularly nasty looking one. “Might be getting a few more of those here.” He commented grimly. “Hopefully, not too many.” “All part of the job. You may bear a few yourself in the months and years to come.” “Hopefully, they won’t make me too ugly.” “That,” he said with a smile, “would be an impossibility.” He leaned down to kiss her.

Fragment of old short story

(I found this among some of my old D&D files in a badly corrupted document file. Looks like something of a short story or a chapter of a fanfic novel I was writing about the exploits of Avouz and Alandar on Athas. Not sure when I wrote it, but it's likely to be at least 15-20 years old now.

After reading this, it looks like I'll have to update Avouz's background a bit. Some things here are different than what I remember from this period of the character's history.)

Darkhold Chronicles - Githyanki

"Then it is definitely magical in nature." mused Alandar, as he examined Morn.

"His condition was not caused by the Way." said Zaquar. "Of that, I am certain."

"Considering the age of the ruins, there should not be magic of any kind down there. Yet Uog has his new warhammers, Fopyu a new found resistance to blows, Baub can melt stonework, and Morn is a drooling idiot." Alandar frowned, realizing that for the moment, he did not know if the thri-kreen Qqitquew had also received a "gift." He continued. "They found something down there, and by that I mean some sort of being who gave these things to them."

"And it felt the need to 'punish' Morn." said Zaquar, "but not the others."

"He is a Steelbringer. I wonder if that has anything to do with it."

"Perhaps, but we won't learn anything here."

"No, that is true." said Alandar. "The ruins must be investigated again." 

---------------

Alandar sat down on a stool next to Avouz's bed. "You look better than the last time I saw you." commented Alandar.

"The druid Lylak is a good healer. She says I will be on my feet again tomorrow." Avouz frowned. "Lylak told me what happened. I have no doubt that Uog struck me deliberately."

"His envy of you is well known. More disturbing to me is how he got those weapons."

"If I know anything about you, Alandar, you will leave no mystery unsolved, including this one."

Alandar smiled. "I will be away for a while. I trust you are in good hands. I will come see you when I return, hopefully with some answers."

----------------

Alandar stepped into a dusty chamber. His exploration of the ruins had brought him to this room. "I should have brought Avouz with me. I need a tracker to retrace Uog's steps. Avouz would be well enough by tomorrow. Damn my impatience.”

One did not need the skills of a ranger to know that this room had been disturbed recently. The slithering tracks of what seemed to be snakes were intermixed with bootprints, the broken bones of skeletal undead, and the festering corpses of several yuan-ti.

"There was a great battle here." mused Alandar out loud. He walked over to the stone altar resting against the back wall. He cast a Detect Magic incantation and was nearly struck blind by the intensity of the magical power near the altar.

Alandar recognized the patterns of the magic he could see: necromantic magic (no surprises with the destroyed undead in the room) and also conjuration magic, the magic of summoning and creating, the kind of magic one might use to bring forth a creature from the nether regions of the multiverse. It was also the magic of teleportation and transport. To Alandar, it explained a great many things.

"So, there was an outsider summoned here, and a powerful one from the looks of things. One that might inflict this curse upon Morn and provide Uog, Baub, Fopyu, and Qqikitquew with their gifts. But to what end?"

That he didn't know, but it worried him. He was determined to learn. He began to focus his mind, tapping into his limited mastery of the Way of psionics. He reached out with power of his mind into those same nether realms, the outer planes, seeking not a fiend or a being of evil (as he suspected had been present in the room), but rather a being of virtue and knowledge.

He felt his mind touch the consciousness of another being. "Holy one," he asked in his mind. "Grant this supplicant the answer to his question."

"Ask your question, diviner."

"A fiend has granted boons to some of my associates. For what reason would he do this? Can you answer my question?"

"Khershidion has intervened in the affairs of Darkhold. He seeks to undermine your city, to inflict failure upon the necromancer. His gifts will bring much suffering, both to their bearers and to all those who serve your city."

Alandar felt a chill when he heard the name of the fiend: Khershidion, the herald of Orcus, demon lord of the undead. Haplo must have angered Orcus in some way, and now Khershidion was here on Athas to spread his havoc.

"We can ill afford this at this time, with the Overmind dedicated to our destruction." said Alandar after thanking his extraplanar contact. The forces of virtue had thankfully taken notice of Khershidion's movements, as they often did with fiends of his magnitude.

--------------------

"The answer is simple." said Simon. "We kill them."

"That would be unwise." said Haplo, sitting comfortably behind his desk.

"We now have the advantage," said Alandar, correctly discerning Haplo's train of thought, "since we know what Khershidion is up to. If we kill these four..."

"Five." reminded Simon.

"Morn is no threat to a sand fly, let alone the rest of us. Regardless, if we eliminate Fopyu, Baub, Qqitiquew, and Uog then Khershidion will probably try a new strategy, one that we do not know."

"I though you were the all knowing one." mocked Simon.

"Don't be a fool, Simon. The ways of tana'ri are not well known to me, their thoughts are alien and their ways cruel."

"If you had lived among my people, you would know."

Haplo waved his hand to silence Simon. "Is he in league with the Overmind?" he asked of Alandar.

"I do not know for sure," answered Alandar. "But there is no reason to believe that he won't make contact with the illithid. Their goals are the same."

"Then we must move quickly to eliminate one of these threats, before they unite their forces." said Haplo.

"Agreed." said Alandar.

---------------

Avouz's fingers ran lightly across the hilt of his steel bastard sword as he watched from his perch. Some days had passed since he had been released from the care of the healers. Haplo ordered him out on patrol.

With him, to his consternation, was Uog, Fopyu, and Baub, all three basking in the might of their new found gifts. Also with them was Lylak the druid and Malak the thief.

"What do you see?" asked Malak.

"A strange carriage without wheels and a lot of gith." said Avouz, hopping down from his perch.

"What folly is this?" said Baub arrogantly. He jumped up to see for himself.

Neither Avouz nor Baub had ever seen anything like the vessel that now rested in the valley ahead of them. Had a Steelbringer been present in their patrol, he would have recognized the vessel as a sailing ship. But what such an unusual craft was doing in a mountain pass on a desert world would still have eluded him.

"It is as he says." said Baub.

"Alandar once spoke of vessels that can sail upon oceans of water. Perhaps this is one of them."

"Wizard talk." scorned Uog. "There is no water anywhere near here."

"Regardless, it is here now. We should investigate further." said Avouz. He hopped back up to his perch and looked down on the scene below.

Several tall creatures, clearly more sophisticated and regal than the savage gith that drew near, emerged from the ship to meet them. Avouz watched with curiosity as the gith exchanged words with these beings.

Avouz remembered the scenes depicted on the walls of the ruins below Darkhold. "Githyanki." he muttered.

"What was that?" asked Baub.

Avouz dropped down. "The vessel is a githyanki ship, probably come here from another world, like the Steelbringers." He paused in thought.

"What are you thinking?" asked Lylak.

"We need to consult with Haplo." said Uog.

"We don't have time." said Avouz. He glanced around. "I have an idea." He looked at Lylak. "Do you know the angius plant?”

"Of course." retorted the druid, as though Avouz had asked a child's question.

"Find me some."

--------------------

It took a few hours to find enough angius to suit Avouz's plan. Angius was known for its ability to dye and stain objects a dull green color, not dissimilar to the skin tone of yuan-ti.

"Why are you trying to turn us green?" said Baub.

"I want these githyanki to think we are yuan-ti."

"You mean to provoke them then?" asked Uog.

"I do. If these yuan-ti are led by a illithid, then the githyanki are their enemy. If we can provoke them, then perhaps we can ease some of the pressure on Darkhold."

"What good will to slay the crew of one vessel?" said Uog. "Won't that rid us of the very creatures we hope to pit against our enemies?" 

"Oh, Uog, you are so simple minded sometimes." said Baub with a condescending tone.

"Like Fopyu." said Fopyu with no self-awareness whatsoever.

"Mind your tongue, wizard." said Uog, raising his hammer.

"We are not going in to kill." said Avouz.  "Maim, injure, steal, but kill only when necessary."

Uog grunted some disappointment. Avouz continued to spread Angius on Malak's back.

"What about you three?" asked Baub of Avouz, Lylak, and Fopyu, who wore none of the green angius dye.

Lylak concentrated and her body shifted form to that of a large snake.

"No one will believe a green half-giant is indeed a yuan-ti." said Avouz. "As for me." Avouz waved his hands and concentrated. "Alterios!"

Avouz's form changed to that of a yuan-ti purebood.

"Wizard tricks. You are more mage now than warrior." scoffed Uog.

"I've told you before I will use what tools I can to win." hissed the yuan-ti Avouz. "Let us be off."

----------------

The githyanki were in the midst of a trade with their lesser brethren when Avouz's group came screaming out of the hills like desert banshees.

The gith scattered, fleeing down the pass away from the marauders. The githyanki traders drew their blades, some even the fabled silver swords of their people.

Avouz bull rushed the lead trader, knocking him off his feet. A quick swing of his bastard sword cleaved the githyanki's left foot from his leg. He kept running towards the ship as Uog's hammers flew over his head to smash into a pair of archers on the prow of the vessel.

  

Fopyu roared into the mix, fists flying. Malak and Lylak dashed through the fray, biting and backstabbing. Only Baub held back, knowing that his overpowered magic would kill rather than harm.

The ferocity of the attack forced a quick retreat of the githyanki. Those the party did not knock out or maim dashed back to the ship, Avouz and Uog on their heels. The pair chased the fleeing traders up the gangplank to the upper deck of the ship.

Blades and bludgeons swung in great fury as the majority of the ship's crew swelled up out of the ship's hold to meet the boarders. Fopyu and the others joined the fray on board. The party cut their way through the dozen or so githyanki and dove into the hold.

  

A single githyanki stood his ground inside the hold. In his hand was a long wicked single edged sword. He wore a suit of chain links, an oddity on Athas. The githyanki barked a challenge in his vulgar tongue.

Uog moved to step forward, but Avouz grabbed his arm. "No, he is mine."

"You are too weak." snarled Uog.

"Then I will fail." said Avouz. He stepped forward and slashed upward with his steel bastard sword.

The githyanki met Avouz' blow with his katana and the ring of metal filled the hold.

Avouz called upon the power of elemental water to wound his foe and his free hand began to glow. Thinking his foe was a simple warrior, the githyanki did not expect the spell, which discharged on his flesh when Avouz gripped his arm.

The githyanki howled in pain and staggered back. Taking advantage of the pause, Avouz focused his mind and with the same free hand made the gestures for a magic missile spell.

The githyanki, now aware of his foe's varied skills, dove in to strike. The katana cut deep in Avouz's side. Avouz jerked back, lessening the blow and throwing off his concentration. The spell fizzled.

Avouz jerked his mace off his belt, now wielding his bastard sword in his left and the mace in his right. But the githyanki now had the initiative and he dove in again, slashing downward with his sword.

Avouz raised his sword to parry and the katana sundered through his steel sword. The katana blade kept going and struck Avouz in the shoulder. He winced in pain and he reflexively brought his mace up into the crotch of the githyanki.

Having his genitals mashed with the flanges of the mace, the githyanki grunted and staggered back. Despite his wounds, Avouz brought the mace down again, braining the githyanki with a mighty blow.