3. Specter of the Nars

Specter of the Nars


  • 6.3

    Images flew through his head, berating his mind. He knew the dangers of mixing the juices of so many into one, yet he was sure of himself. He was sure of Her trust and backing of him. He stilled his mind and commanded them to slow, beginning to pick things out. He saw petty things; the family secret of the grandfather that was a thief, a man cheating on his wife, a woman that was a compulsive liar, a man in love with a woman but unable to express it due to her marriage. These images intermingled with darker ones; a serial rapist moving throughout the alleys of Peltarch, a Mielekki druid falling after slaughtering a camp of people who started a small fire by accident, a simple commoner in Jiyyd that was well liked and thought of in the community that had the bodies of twenty children in his basement.

    Actions were not all he saw; there was more to the concoctions. He saw a man's plans on how to access the vault of the Wavebreakers, but gold was not what he desired. He saw protocols of the Peltarch Guards and the interview of a soon to be Spellweaver member. He made note of these, cataloged them into his mind, but these too were not what he sought.

    Transgressions, betrayals, infidelity, cruelty, pain, anger, love, happiness, depression, all things washed in his head. He saw the secret of the people whose eyes were there and the ones they knew, and each he filed away for later use.

    He felt the height of the potion coming on, knew it was time. He focused his brain, searching out for those things he desired. His vantage point sprung forward, flying across the terrain of Faerun to a desert covered land, perhaps in the Lands of Intrigue. To a ritual done in the dark of night, the clergy sheathed in midnight black and purple trimmed robes. He studied and watched their movements, heard and remembered their words, and basked in the feeling. The smooth gentle touch of the strands he desired so much. This brought him closer, but more was needed.

    He sent his mind out again, this time to something different; to something he wasn't sure as to why he wished it yet knew it was important in some way. His view swirled, disorienting him as a wash of colors swept through his minds eye until he felt his body wreathed in momentary flame as he found himself in some deeper plane, the abyss or the nine hells perhaps. He saw demons swarming around, leading into some centralized location. What the place was he was not sure, and why he wasn't positive. But the back of his mind realized what was there, in that mass of devils. She was there, he had found her. But that appeared to be the easy part.


  • 6.2

    He was well versed in using tools.

    He looks upon his temporary lair he had been using for the past year. Pulling out some of the newly collected eyes and joining them into his collection. He moved over to his table, looking at the contraptions he had set up. A strange setup used to hold the eyes he had collected and slowly compress them, sending small bits of juices out from the organ into a flask mixing it with alchemical and magical liquids.

    It was a formula he had learned years ago from a cleric of Her's, a mixture to allow one to see some of the deepest secrets a man held in life and to give the drinker a small time that they can pry into other things in this world.

    He examined one of the flasks, full after a few dozen eyes. He picked up the glass container, swirling the purplish green liquid as he held it before him. The taste of the stuff was horrible and he had nearly brought it back up the first time. However the effects are astounding, almost like ambrosia, and that fact made ignoring the taste an easy task.

    He moved over to the stone he had fashioned to mimic a couch, laying back and removing his helm, making sure once more that the magical wardings around his lair were in place. Taking the vial to his lips and quaffing it, wincing a moment at the taste before finally laying back relaxed, closing his eyes.


  • 6.1

    Some men say the eyes are the windows to the soul. A viewing glass that will reveal all of a man's secrets, his loves, his weaknesses, his fears. They can be beautiful, chilling, soulful, or wise.

    There are other men, ones that don't sit around a commons and philosophizes but instead delve into ancient tomes and dance with devils, who realize the truth of things. The eyes hold power, hold secrets. And if one knows how to harness them they can be a useful tool.


  • 5.10

    He doubled back after speaking with the hin. Pulling out a dagger he bent down to the Paladin and deftly flicked out the man’s two eyes. These would come in handy with her later he thought.


  • 5.9

    For the next few days Lilah moved about Arnath. She stayed to the bar often and after a few days started telling more of her tale. Soon after the talk of the Specter roaming the caves that saved the little hin started to spread within the city.


  • 5.8

    He walked up to find the hin shivering, huddled in a corner. He moved over her seeming as a shadow as he loomed over, looking down at her with his helmed eyes. She looked up, stressed but no longer afraid, and her blue eyes shined up at him.

    ”The walking tin can isn’t going to be seeing the sun anytime soon is he?”

    He shook his head and the hin nodded.

    ”Good, the farker deserves whatever he got. And whatever he got would be to good for that no good double crossing bastard that gave my name to them. When I find him…”

    The hin had managed to work herself from stressed and worried to on the verge of rage. ”Good,” he thought, ”this will make it easy.”

    ”Who is this one you speak of?”

    ”My no good farkin EX-partner. We worked that damn barbarian shit hole for a good few months now. He did the killing, I did the thieving. It was a good setup we had going till people started catching on. And as soon as they pushed him a bit he gave them my name and pinned the whole thing on me! He had all the gold too, I don’t got a copper to me name now. Can’t believe I let the long-legged son of a bitch get in my pant’s”

    She trailed off muttering a few more obscenities. Good, let her. The more it fed the anger the easier this would be. But this was not the place, and it needed some time to ferment as all good anger does.

    Cutting her off a moment with his hand he looked to her, ”What is your name?”

    The hin regarded him a moment, and realizing that she had no one right now and he at least help she told him. ”Lilah.”

    ”Lilah, I wish to talk to you some more. I will help you where I can,” he pulled forth twenty gold and dropped it to her, making her eyes alight, ”and I will help you get the revenge you want. But for now you must get somewhere safe. No doubt that man is not the only looking for you, and if he doesn’t come back more will be sent or your partner himself. There is a city a bit farther south. Go there and seek refuge. I will send word for you soon.”

    She looked up to him, blinking a moment. She had no reason in the world to trust this man but, ”By gods,” she thought, ”I do. I don’t know why but I do.” She nodded, standing slowly, and with only a quick glance back at her savior she darted into Arnath.


  • 5.7

    His tower shield bolted up quick. It took all of his strength but he knew it must work. He had been watching those strikes, so powerful yet so open to counter, and realized it was his chance. He sent the bastard sword of the paladins high and in the same moment followed with his club. He thick blunt head connected with one of the paladins gauntleted hands holding the sword. The metal was strong but not enough for this blow, and the crunch of the bones in the Paladins hand breaking was audible to both.

    The holy warrior let forth a cry of pain and pulled one hand away, causing the bastard sword to dip. The Paladin managed to get it back up just fast enough to deflect a blow from the club.

    He went on the offensive now, striking at the paladin, relishing the change of tides. However unlike the Tormite he did not strike with blinded zeal. He continued the assult, raining down blows as the paladin withdrew, sword up high to block. Clash after clash rang out against the cave walls as the weapons impacted.

    The paladin closed his eyes against the pain, holding onto the bastard sword as best he could and throwing it up to block. But the next blow did not come as expected. The Tormite opened his eyes to see his assailent, helm removed, giving a malicious smirk.

    ”Enjoy the fall into eternal Darkness.”

    His hand darted out, the fingers grasping around the Paladins neck as black energy surged from his mouth down his arm into his fingers and finally encircling his victims neck. The paladin felt his entire body go still. He tried to will his body to move but it remained comatose beneath the full plate adorned with the symbol of his god. The paladin looked forward, his eyes meeting that of his enemy, and in his mind he asked for Torms protection.

    But this was not Torms domain, it was Hers and at the moment he was her hand. In a single fluid motion his hand went down to his belt, pulling full the Chakram and bringing it up in an arc. He turned, replacing the wickedly sharp weapon to his belt, as he heard the thump of the paladin’s severed head connecting with the cavern floor.

    ”Now for the hin.”


  • 5.6

    Gregory watched as the interfering man barely avoided death at his second swipe and was now off balance and barely withstanding the barrage of attacks. ”Cyricist.” he thought, ”The robes, purple and black, he must be one of the Strife Lords.” He smiled at this thought. Oh what a day, to not only capture a murderous thief…_”oh and I will catch the hin”_ he though…but to also slay a follower of the Insane God.

    Gregory struck forth with another of his long, arcing, powerful downward strikes. Confident, cocky, righteous; it was not till he realized that the man’s tower shield had come up hard, taking advantage of the oversized swings he had been making and knocking his strike back and wide, that he understood he had misjudged.


  • 5.5

    As he turned back to the Paladin he felt a slight moment of discontent as he saw him already chopping through the web, freeing himself. The Paladin’s eyes were on him, taking in the colors of his robes and trying to get to his feet with his sword in hand.

    ”Intervening cur! The woman deserves punishment, stand out of my path and interfere no more”

    He simply smiled to the paladin from beneath his helm, outwardly the cold metal simply looking at him lifelessly. A small, cold, almost mechanical chuckle came from beneath the helm.

    ”No, I do not think that will be happening. I believe what will happen is that you shall find you walked willingly to your grave this day.”

    At this the paladin’s eyes flared with anger, moving away from the last bit of the web, and charged forward. The Tormite raised his bastard sword, both hands holding it strong, and let fall a powerful downward strike. The charge betrayed the paladin though and he was ready when the strike came.

    He moved to the side, feeling the rush of wind against the folds of his robes as the bastard sword slammed down. The strike came within an inch of sheering the skin from his bones but the anger filled charge gave away that first attack. However, with blinding speed that surprised him, the paladin turned the down strike in direction. Reversing his attack, the Tormite hoped to surprise his opponent. This time he was not ready when the strike came.

    The blade came up striking into his side and cutting deep. He winced at the pain, cursing for not having armor he could wear while in her colors. He let the strike move him back, taking some of the impact and lessoning it enough. The small bit of combat training he’s had against those blasted well trained goblins of the eastern woods being the only thing that saved the strike from being fatal.

    Out came his tower shield and wicked spiked club. He managed to get the finely crafted shield just in time to deflect the next strike from the sword, the sound of steel on steel ringing out through the caverns. The next strike was turned away barely by the thin magical field surrounding his body. Yet undaunted the Paladin came on, slicing and hacking with his bastard sword with righteous vigor.

    His mind was wheeling. He hadn’t expected such a skilled combatant nor had he battled without his armor in some time. He had to do something, to slow this onslaught and yet he had no time for a spell, not with that blade coming ever onward. However he kept his faith in Her, knowing that in this place, this land of hers, she would not let him fall. He bore the attack a bit longer, taking some minor cuts but catching most strikes against his shield or magical armor. He studied the paladins strikes, watching, calculating. The Tormite had strength, but he had his intellect and cunning and more importantly Her favor.


  • 5.4

    As he got closer he could understand his familiars mind. It was a strange place to read, vaguely alien, but he read the situation well enough. He reached into his bag as he ran, passing the bat in stride and not looking back, and grabbed a small bit of spider’s web.

    He moved throughout a few of the caves, traversing the caverns as the most skilled of rogues traverses the alleys of Peltarch, till he came around a bend to see the situation. An armored man, symbol of Torm upon his breastplate, was chasing after a small Halfling woman. The hin was ragged, barely in anything more then tatters and dirty, yet with a strange allure about her through it all. The dark of his robes and helm blended him into the darkness of the caves, making the Paladin not notice him until he heard the last of the arcane words spoken and the web shooting forth engulfing his armored body.

    He looked to the hin, realizing the bat had doubled back. Casting a quick spell, covering the bat in a sort of anti-light, darkness so much deeper then what is in the caves that it pulsed visibly to all. His eyes looked out he eye slits of his helm, piercing into the hin’s.

    ”Follow it!”

    He let forth the command and gave no more care for the hin, it was time to complete his duty. To protect his lands by slaying this one of The Protector. Only after that would he deal with this curious hin that he could feel a very prominent aura of betrayal surrounding.


  • 5.3

    He knew what the trapped imp was feeling before it even arrived. The evil glee, the eagerness, the haste it was making. Something was happening and he meant to catch his familiar in mid flight. Patience is a virtue, but knowing when to act and how important time can be is one as well. The wonderful paradox’s of life. Grasping his helm and slipping it onto his head, he reached down making sure his components pouch was safely stowed and bolts were available. Scooping up his shield and club he rushed from his cave. He knew the flight path of Senkrad and the approximate location of the bat. A few short cuts through Her land that he knew and he would cut into the creature’s probable path in 5 minutes easily.


  • 5.2

    Senkrad navigated through the stalactites, weaving in and out of them with ease, avoiding the protruding rock structures. The ultrasonic pitch blaring from his tiny vocal cords, reflecting back into his elongated ears giving him a blue print finer then any eyes could give a human. With near reckless speed he flew forward, looking and spying through the caverns. What was he truly searching for, he wasn’t sure. Drow, formians, surface dwellers, e didn’t rightly care. The soul of the imp long ago freed and yet imprisoned by his current master had been placed into this new form some time ago. It had taken him weeks to learn this new body’s ways but now that he understood it he relished the feeling. But oh, how did he long to have his infernal body back once more.

    It was then his ears picked up the noises. He stopped, fluttering, concentrating a bit upon the sounds…

    Noise, something slapping against stone; and fast. Running? Yes running sounds right. Hectically too. Someone not knowing the land to well but rushing. Something else though, another set. Heavier and chinking. The first is being pursued, and by someone with lots of metal. Weapons clinking? Perhaps, more like chain links, armor. Heavy breathing, the chase had been on for some time. Trouble…but perhaps opportunity.

    If he could still grin the imp would’ve given one of devilish glee. In his current form such an act was not exactly possible, but the look that came upon the bats face…so unearthly, unnatural…could almost be said to look worse


  • 5.1

    He moved through the darkened halls, the depths of the caverns blocking out all light, leaving emptiness akin to space. He was home here, his feet moving him through the lands with ease. Every rock, every wall, every whole and small pool of liquid he knew as well as he knew his name. Few people of the Nars knew these winding pathways better then him, and almost none of those above had been there longer then him.

    His helmed head moved slowly as he glided over the floors viewing the strange glimmering rocks of the underdark, glowing slightly and reflecting its own eerie dim light. Each stone piercing the darkness like a star in the midnight sky on a new moon. He loved this land, Her chosen lands, and he embraced it, protected it.

    Yes that was the key wasn't it, to protect it. To shield it from those that wished it harm. To allow these lands to be roamed free by those that wanted to escape the lands of the light, to flee from the pain and loss they experienced before. More then these though to allow the people of the city of refuge to live free of any exterior problems.

    The helmed head lowered as indigo light wafted forth. Rising up a side of the cavern, feeling the weave connect to him and lift his body as he turned his helmed head, looking up over the walls. The guards did not see him, oblivious due to the spell woven around his person. The people of the city went about their business, unable to see the figure hovering above unseen.

    But when his eyes passed over them they felt a shiver shoot up their spine and could swear something was there, watching and waiting, a Phantom.


  • **4.4

    He moved over after them, looking upon the ground unseen. Reaching down he grasped that which he sought.

    A single raven’s feather**


  • **4.3

    For the next few days he watched the wizardress. Sometimes from an invisible vantage point, other times through his helm. The time would come for the meeting, for speaking, but patience, patience is needed. He would befriend her first…if possible. If not it was no matter, that would just play farther into what he needed. Perhaps this woman was placed here as a test for him, a right of passage as such. He was not sure, but in this he would not fail.**


  • **4.2

    He replaced his helm now, preparing for the journey from the safety of Her winding caverns. He moved fluidly, a floating specter moving through the darken halls of the underdark. He moved past the door without a second thought, calling forth instantly the words for a spell of invisibility, wrapping himself in the cool comfort of the light manipulating dweamor. With each invisible step he took the pitch black or his robe slid away like a shadow fleeing from the light as the gold color crept overtop. He moved through the crypt with simple ease, never hesitating, never with worry. These were his lands, his home, and none knew it better then he.

    Out into the graveyard he moved, renewing his spell to be sure just before moving within the walls of Norwick. He traveled through the sleepy town, the townsfolk moving around in their typicial hurried and boorish lives. His helmed head moved about, taking all in as he proceeded to the south when he saw her. A woman, whose simple yet dark beauty was striking to his eyes. He could almost see an aura of blackness around the woman, not of malevolence but of torment, of despair, of self doubt. It was then he realized what that tickling sensation was, what was bothering him. It was time to find another of the art, it was time to guide one of like mind to her and her talents, and to have one to walk the path to the darkened embrace of Her creation…**


  • **4.1

    He sat in his darkness, the darkness he called his home for so long now. His cold eyes watched from beneath his helms. Activity was up as of late, things were in motion. Soon would be time, soon, but not now. There were other things to accomplish, goals that must be met before he returns.

    His mind was full of thoughts this day, purple streaks of insight shooting from neuron to neuron, teasing his mind with so many possibilities. Two now knew, two he had revealed himself to. Was it a mistake, was it foolish. He mused on this a moment, running one of his now revealed hands down the cold and unforgiving granite of the cavern walls. Yes, these two were well thought out, were useful. One was loyal, if not a bit daft, and had a talent for getting the information he would need. To be his ears for him during this time. The other, the other was the strength he needed, and the companionship. She was a like mind, in some matters at least. She could be trusted, he knew this. He saw things of himself within her, things that would bind her mouth for the good that it could bring them both.

    However his mind still plagued him. Things from his past haunted him. Visions of loss, of betrayal, of secrets kept and given and leaving this realm on the backs of dead souls. Three deeds he wished, all of which of different degree’s, but a forth had slowly crept into his mind. He would return the one whose heart he held. There was no true feeling there, no feelings of love of affection. These things were incapable for him. But there was a connection, a binding tie, and more so…she was a woman special to his Goddess. He did not know how, but knew it to be true. Now he simply had to find a way to wrest control of her away from the demon lord. But this will come in time.

    He thought back over his experiments, his prayers, his searches. Each day he felt the pull of the dark strands tugging against him, ushering him forward in his search. He did not know when, only She could know such things, but the time was approaching. His goal, his treasure, his obsession in the past year would come to him in time. And then the third, the one ever on the horizon. So close, yet unable to be taken quite yet. Perhaps the easiest of his goals while mockingly being the most different as well. He would have his return, he would return to his seat, but it would be on his terms, in his way.

    But no, something more was bothering him this day. He could not place it, it was but a tickle at the base of ones neck, like a cold breeze blowing over the tiny hairs sending them swaying against each other. Something was not right, something was missing that he needed, but what. What was it. What is it. Who is it.

    AHHHHHHHHH!

    He let out a cry of frustration, a sound of pure anger being set free, that set two approaching formians back to their lands. There was magic in that cry, power. They heard it and they knew; this was one marked to be left to his own.**


  • 3.5

    He was invisible this night, two of the hins on his shoulders. The bodies were exactly as they needed to be, hacked with a great sword along with many punctures of a pseudodragons tail, complete with venom. The illusion he created was good, not amazing, but it did the job. He came at dusk, with enough light to see the figure but not enough to truly make anything out. The illusion walked forward, following in his invisible foot steps. He placed the bodies on the ground and bid the illusion to make a few kicks for good measure before sending it off, dissipating it behind a tree as he headed back with a smile.

    Over the next few days he deposited the other hins at different places around the outside of Jiyyd.


  • **3.4

    The next few days was a joyous extravaganza of slaughter. Calculated and precise, yet vicious all the same. A tenday of killing in honor of Her, to bring loss and to seek revenge for a betrayal. All done in the secrecy of night.

    He had realized the beautiful thing about Norwick, adventurer’s came and go, and if ones turned up missing no one turned a strange eye. No one missed the half a dozen or so hins that died in the Rawlins that tenday, and were now stowed safely in a cave. Now was time for his plan. Now was time for the dead to have her revenge…**


  • **3.3

    The spell of gentle repose worked perfectly. The creature, while dead, still functioned decently enough without any wear or decay. He placed the creature on a make shift table in the corner of the underdark he made as a home. Working carefully with the tools before him he began to extract the venom from the creature’s gland, continuing to keep it on the brink of body failure with his spells so the liquid would reproduce itself.

    It was amazing what one could do with sufficient knowledge in alchemy and magic, and before long he managed to have a decent supply of pseudodragon poison. Taking the stinger from the creature he fashioned a way to stab and apply the poison with it. It was time to act.**