The group enters the dwarven made mine shaft lift and heads back up to the main chamber. The doors open. It appears to be as it was before. The ancient dwarf, Thalgar Ironfist sits within his magical prison, a clear wall of magical energy surrounding him. He seems unaware of your presence as you enter, his eyes closed. Perhaps he is asleep.
In the quiet of the huge room as your adrenaline subsides, those affected by the Rat Ogre disease begin to note their weakened state. (You will remember that you need to seek the healer Aisulu mentioned in the trade town of Silverton.)
(Iolinder, not feeling the best, checks his supply of the disease-slowing balm given him by Aisulu that can slow the necrotic disease. He is out.)
I believe Iolinder has the disease, maybe Amdaeng or Morric: Until the disease is cured, the target can't regain hit points except by magical means, and the target's hit point maximum decreases by 3 every 24 hours. If the target's hit points max drops to 0 as a result of the disease, the target dies.
Lira expression falls with worry at the mention of the disease. If only her own skills were greater...She shakes her head, walking up to Thalgar. They need to take care of this anvil business and get moving.
At first, he does not stir, but she does note him breathing as his lips purse open and the beard and mustache move slightly.
Then one eye, then a second open and he looks at the group. "Ah, I see that you have" he looks like he is counting..."all returned." He smiles. "This is good, as I suspect dark creatures lurk below. Did you find the Anvil of Nhaalek, and if so, did it try to speak with you?"
Iólinder will think through next steps. He is indeed afflicted with the disease and agrees curing them all needs to be the next goal. He knows what they're doing now is of greater importance, but he does not want to lash out at the dwarf again, so he leaves most of the discussion up to the others... So long as the anvil is destroyed and they can move on, hope should remain strong.
"Yes it did," Lev practically growls in answer to the dwarf's question as he hefts the anvil and slams it down in front of him. He's clearly agitated, though it isn't just because of the anvil's apparent attempts to speak to him.
“Yes, I thought it might. It has the spirit of a very evil being inside, but it has been twisted by the evil of Marboldus”’s demon magic. It likely has promised you riches or power or some such (make a wisdom save if you've been spoken to by the anvil,
READ IF Failed Wisdom save of below 7
"Keep me for yourself, don't trust the dwarf, he is lying" (Female voice in your head), You have a very strong compulsion to convince the others to not give the dwarf the anvil!
He rises to his sturdy feat and pulls out the magical hammer. “Most of you are elves so you likely had some resistance. Lira was likely immune altogether.”
“With the anvil on your side of the wall of force and my hammer hitting mine, we should be able to create a hole, just there.” He points to a spot at ground level. "Push it through with the gloves on, as the anvil is very tainted."
“Then if you still desire it, I shall destroy this artifact of Myurr and the anvil in turn. I believe this will disrupt the cube imprisoning me. He frowns for a moment,
Be warned friends, I suspect I shall age and die within an instant."
"You shall bring this maul to my king, Kurad Dragonhelm, first of his name. Swear this to me, Cleric of Telak(Iólinder) and you....follower of Libra (looking at Lev) and...let us begin."
"I, by Telak's name, will see that the maul is delivered to Kurad Dragonhelm, first of his name... Or his heir if the first is no longer able to receive the maul. This will not however be our first stop, as our lives depend on curing ourselves of disease. I ask your understanding for this phrasing as I am trying to be honest and realistic in this oath. That said, I swear it will be done to the best of my ability to do so."
Lev frowned slightly at being addressed as 'follower of Libra', glancing downward at the medallion that hung from his neck. He paused for a good long moment, brow farrowed deeply. He hadn't really considered himself a follower of any god, but...
With a sigh he looks to the dwarf and says, "So be it. I swear to deliver the maul to Dragonhelm. May Libra hold me to it."
Vydar is also clearly agitated, mostly by the fact that he nearly succumbed to the Anvil’s whispers. Though he does give those of the party who have the decease a concerned glance every so often.
He nods when the dwarf mentions destroying the relic he has. One less of the to deal will hopefully stall the enemies plans farther. Perhaps even make the ritual impossible.
He crosses his arms and watches as Lev and Iolinder prepare to help the dwarf with his task.
Lev, magical gloves on puts the anvil near the magical boundary. Thalgar hits the boundary with the magical hammer several times. weakening it just enough for Lev to push it through completely. "We did it!" Thalgar says, pleased with the plan so far. He places the troublesome artifact on top of the anvil's surface.
"Here goes."
Thalgar chants a smiths' spell of sundering—magic from a time long past—and brought the magical hammer down on the artifact atop the anvil.
In one blow, the artifact shattered.
A second blow from the hammer as it meets the Anvil of Nhaalek. Then, another, and another.
Everyone hears a scream, (psychic)
The powerful anvil cracks down the center with a keening wail, releasing a cyclone of pale fire and black mist. The released magic of the tainted anvil touches that of the crushed artifact.
(The magical walls of force shatter as psychic and necrotic energy hit everything within. As the wall is destroyed, the wave of force continues outward 30 feet in every direction: CON SAVE DC22or mildly stunned for 10 seconds
Thalgar’s body suddenly arched as if struck by a blade. Necrotic magic pierced his chest, tore through his soul, and wrapped around his bones.
“Yes...” came a whisper not his own, echoing from within. A voice that you had heard in the depths below.
“I have waited long, Thalgar. You are strong. You will serve...”
Thalgar staggered, eyes blazing green for a heartbeat longer as he resisted "Noooo"—then the emerald color was swallowed by shadow, replaced by catlike unblinking blue eyes.
His beard withered into spectral tendrils. His flesh blackened and peeled away in curls of ash. Bone—ancient, yellowed, and ruined with malice—emerged beneath.
The golden diadem twisted and stretched, becoming a crown of splintered iron and jagged teeth.
His dwarven armor warped, reshaped by necromantic fury into a lattice of bone plates and cursed steel. The black cloak coiled around him like a living thing, becoming wings of tattered shadow.
Where Thalgar once stood, a new figure now loomed—Zanbar Bone, Lich-Lord of the Forgotten Tomb, borne anew in the body of the ancient dwarven armorer.
“I am not trapped any longer,” the voice crooned from hollow sockets, “I am become death’s will made flesh."
With a single gesture, the broken shards of the anvil floated into the air—and fused into a staff of soulsteel, topped by the screaming face of a new bound spirit, that of Thalgar.
With the slight movement of his hands, Zanbar Bone whispers a spell. A doorway of sorts appeared (Dimension Door), and…..he was gone.
Then the room was still. The orange glow of the lava river flows through the chamber.
For theater of the mind in this instance, most or all will be stunned, knocked down, but can see and hear what is happening, just can’t act until bad guy leaves.
Lira stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat, heart hammering like a trapped bird in her chest. The sickening pull of necromantic power, the sound of Thalgar's final scream echoing into silence, had rooted her to the spot, helpless. She had tried to move, to cast, to scream, but the shattering magical shockwave had stolen all from her. Now, with Zanbar Bone vanished and only the fading glow of lava casting flickering shadows across the ruined chamber, she finally exhaled, a shiver wracking her frame. Her gaze lingered on where Thalgar had once stood, disbelief and grief twisting behind her eyes.
The group enters the dwarven made mine shaft lift and heads back up to the main chamber.
The doors open. It appears to be as it was before. The ancient dwarf, Thalgar Ironfist sits within his magical prison, a clear wall of magical energy surrounding him. He seems unaware of your presence as you enter, his eyes closed. Perhaps he is asleep.
In the quiet of the huge room as your adrenaline subsides, those affected by the Rat Ogre disease begin to note their weakened state. (You will remember that you need to seek the healer Aisulu mentioned in the trade town of Silverton.)
(Iolinder, not feeling the best, checks his supply of the disease-slowing balm given him by Aisulu that can slow the necrotic disease. He is out.)
I believe Iolinder has the disease, maybe Amdaeng or Morric: Until the disease is cured, the target can't regain hit points except by magical means, and the target's hit point maximum decreases by 3 every 24 hours. If the target's hit points max drops to 0 as a result of the disease, the target dies.
Lira expression falls with worry at the mention of the disease. If only her own skills were greater...She shakes her head, walking up to Thalgar. They need to take care of this anvil business and get moving.
"We've brought it. What do we do now?"
At first, he does not stir, but she does note him breathing as his lips purse open and the beard and mustache move slightly.
Then one eye, then a second open and he looks at the group.
"Ah, I see that you have" he looks like he is counting..."all returned." He smiles. "This is good, as I suspect dark creatures lurk below. Did you find the Anvil of Nhaalek, and if so, did it try to speak with you?"
Iólinder will think through next steps. He is indeed afflicted with the disease and agrees curing them all needs to be the next goal. He knows what they're doing now is of greater importance, but he does not want to lash out at the dwarf again, so he leaves most of the discussion up to the others... So long as the anvil is destroyed and they can move on, hope should remain strong.
"Yes it did," Lev practically growls in answer to the dwarf's question as he hefts the anvil and slams it down in front of him. He's clearly agitated, though it isn't just because of the anvil's apparent attempts to speak to him.
“Yes, I thought it might. It has the spirit of a very evil being inside, but it has been twisted by the evil of Marboldus”’s demon magic. It likely has promised you riches or power or some such (make a wisdom save if you've been spoken to by the anvil,
READ IF Failed Wisdom save of below 7
"Keep me for yourself, don't trust the dwarf, he is lying" (Female voice in your head), You have a very strong compulsion to convince the others to not give the dwarf the anvil!
He rises to his sturdy feat and pulls out the magical hammer. “Most of you are elves so you likely had some resistance. Lira was likely immune altogether.”
“With the anvil on your side of the wall of force and my hammer hitting mine, we should be able to create a hole, just there.” He points to a spot at ground level. "Push it through with the gloves on, as the anvil is very tainted."
“Then if you still desire it, I shall destroy this artifact of Myurr and the anvil in turn. I believe this will disrupt the cube imprisoning me. He frowns for a moment,
Be warned friends, I suspect I shall age and die within an instant."
"You shall bring this maul to my king, Kurad Dragonhelm, first of his name. Swear this to me, Cleric of Telak(Iólinder) and you....follower of Libra (looking at Lev) and...let us begin."
Ning runs over to Amdaeng and jumps up on her, forgetting her larger size.
Amdaeng is knocked over and hugs Ning desperately.
"I, by Telak's name, will see that the maul is delivered to Kurad Dragonhelm, first of his name... Or his heir if the first is no longer able to receive the maul. This will not however be our first stop, as our lives depend on curing ourselves of disease. I ask your understanding for this phrasing as I am trying to be honest and realistic in this oath. That said, I swear it will be done to the best of my ability to do so."
The old dwarf nods, hearing Iólinder‘s words.
“Kurad has been waiting long for this weapon, he can wait a bit longer.”
Lev frowned slightly at being addressed as 'follower of Libra', glancing downward at the medallion that hung from his neck. He paused for a good long moment, brow farrowed deeply. He hadn't really considered himself a follower of any god, but...
With a sigh he looks to the dwarf and says, "So be it. I swear to deliver the maul to Dragonhelm. May Libra hold me to it."
The dwarf smiles at the moody Lev,
"Very well, I am prepared when you are."
Lev gives a curt nod and then pushes the anvil through.
Vydar is also clearly agitated, mostly by the fact that he nearly succumbed to the Anvil’s whispers. Though he does give those of the party who have the decease a concerned glance every so often.
He nods when the dwarf mentions destroying the relic he has. One less of the to deal will hopefully stall the enemies plans farther. Perhaps even make the ritual impossible.
He crosses his arms and watches as Lev and Iolinder prepare to help the dwarf with his task.
Lev, magical gloves on puts the anvil near the magical boundary. Thalgar hits the boundary with the magical hammer several times. weakening it just enough for Lev to push it through completely.
"We did it!" Thalgar says, pleased with the plan so far. He places the troublesome artifact on top of the anvil's surface.
"Here goes."
Thalgar chants a smiths' spell of sundering—magic from a time long past—and brought the magical hammer down on the artifact atop the anvil.
In one blow, the artifact shattered.
A second blow from the hammer as it meets the Anvil of Nhaalek. Then, another, and another.
Everyone hears a scream, (psychic)
The powerful anvil cracks down the center with a keening wail, releasing a cyclone of pale fire and black mist. The released magic of the tainted anvil touches that of the crushed artifact.
(The magical walls of force shatter as psychic and necrotic energy hit everything within. As the wall is destroyed, the wave of force continues outward 30 feet in every direction: CON SAVE DC22 or mildly stunned for 10 seconds
Thalgar’s body suddenly arched as if struck by a blade. Necrotic magic pierced his chest, tore through his soul, and wrapped around his bones.
“Yes...” came a whisper not his own, echoing from within. A voice that you had heard in the depths below.
“I have waited long, Thalgar. You are strong. You will serve...”
Thalgar staggered, eyes blazing green for a heartbeat longer as he resisted "Noooo"—then the emerald color was swallowed by shadow, replaced by catlike unblinking blue eyes.
His beard withered into spectral tendrils. His flesh blackened and peeled away in curls of ash. Bone—ancient, yellowed, and ruined with malice—emerged beneath.
The golden diadem twisted and stretched, becoming a crown of splintered iron and jagged teeth.
His dwarven armor warped, reshaped by necromantic fury into a lattice of bone plates and cursed steel. The black cloak coiled around him like a living thing, becoming wings of tattered shadow.
Where Thalgar once stood, a new figure now loomed—Zanbar Bone, Lich-Lord of the Forgotten Tomb, borne anew in the body of the ancient dwarven armorer.
“I am not trapped any longer,” the voice crooned from hollow sockets, “I am become death’s will made flesh."
With a single gesture, the broken shards of the anvil floated into the air—and fused into a staff of soulsteel, topped by the screaming face of a new bound spirit, that of Thalgar.
With the slight movement of his hands, Zanbar Bone whispers a spell. A doorway of sorts appeared (Dimension Door), and…..he was gone.
Then the room was still. The orange glow of the lava river flows through the chamber.
Iólinder failed the con save and only caught glimpses of what was happening.
For theater of the mind in this instance, most or all will be stunned, knocked down, but can see and hear what is happening, just can’t act until bad guy leaves.
Con save: 15
Lira stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat, heart hammering like a trapped bird in her chest. The sickening pull of necromantic power, the sound of Thalgar's final scream echoing into silence, had rooted her to the spot, helpless. She had tried to move, to cast, to scream, but the shattering magical shockwave had stolen all from her. Now, with Zanbar Bone vanished and only the fading glow of lava casting flickering shadows across the ruined chamber, she finally exhaled, a shiver wracking her frame. Her gaze lingered on where Thalgar had once stood, disbelief and grief twisting behind her eyes.
17
Amdaeng was knocked off her feet again but eventually clambered back to her feet, " Did we just make a lich?"