And that's how it ended, I suppose. We gathered the collar, as proof, found some more gold, and decided to return with who we had left. Can we get another round? The bounty hunter finishes the tale. The local patrons feel like he talked more in the last half hour than he did the entire time he was at the hamlet. He had a knack for storytelling, which makes it really strange that he prefers to keep to himself. Still, people were quite impressed by the story, all things considered. They... had quite a bit of trouble believing that the abomination actually decided to go through the effort to save that leper. The odd little pause before he continued seemed to indicate that, perhaps, it wasn't quite as heroic as it was told.
Just as the next round of drinks was brought in, the grave robber entered. She seemed a little sore, but that cocksure smirk was there. It looks like getting her injuries healed helped getting her unstressed. Also of note is that her waterskin was filled with some of the better stuff from the brewery, and that WAS is the key word in that sentence. She was drunk before she ordered her drink.
She prattled out that the antiquarian was still in bed, writing in that odd book of hers. She seemed exceptionally excited about what she had seen, and the heir was happy to help on the lesson about pseudoliches. They seemed to get along quite nicely, all things considered.
Bestiary
Pseudo-lich
One of the most horrifying and terrible undead creatures known to man. It is made by locking the knowledge and soul inside the corpse of that was freshly killed. It requires necromantic power on a scale only rarely seen, and it is considered an ultimate cruelty. The pseudo-lich differs from a normal lich in that a "normal" performs the action on themselves, while a psuedo-lich only occurs when another forces undeath on another. The feedback loop of death and necromancy causes the pseudolich to attain an incredible amount of power, but it also causes pain in equal measure. All psuedoliches are homicidally insane, and have an unstoppable urge to purge as much of their energies as possible. The dead, raising the dead. A true tidal wave of death, that requires cleaning.
Another important difference between the pseudolich and a normal lich is that psuedoliches do not have a phylactery by nature. They do, however, have the knowledge and ability to make one. This would make killing them an even more difficult prospect.
A man in rags yells towards the grave robber. She looks up, shaking her head a little in an attempt shake the cobwebs out of her head.
Is it true that you had another one like me with you? The one who got killed by the leper?Yep? Why'd ya wanna know?Did she tell you HOW she acquired her affliction? Please, I need to know how far that corruption spread!I 'unno. I think she mentioned sumtin' about a cult? They're all dead, she said. Why do you care?I'm responsible for that kind of affliction. I came here to do some good before I die, but I heard that there were others, like me. Fools that followed my insane plan for nothing but some manic idea of "power". Ah. How'd you do it?A book with arcane... No. Are you sure that cult of hers was gone?I am too drunk to tell you for sure, but i think that answer has something that rhymes with either "yes" or "thank you for another beer". The man walks off after that, muttering to himself. He was weird, he had a big tattoo of the letter A on his head, too. What a freak.
The antiquarian was lying back in the hospital bed, the heir having fallen asleep on her knees. The poor man hadn't slept in days, and according to the nuns that care for all the injured, it's normal fare for him to just pass out before he continues with work. Getting to talk about something magical or scientific, even things as horrific as pseudo-liches, was just about a lullaby for him. He's a very capable healer, too. Currently, you just need to rest so your body gets over the shock of the injuries, rather than any physical wounds. To be fair, though, you don't think you'll ever forget the sight of the leper stabbing your companion in the back before unleashing a plague of rot. How did something so dead and rotting catch up to her? How did someone who was so obviously alive suddenly turn, ring or not?
If only you'd been more careful with finding a collection of enchantments...
Speaking of rings, you look at the amulet around your neck. It's a very useful, indeed, but what if its cursed as well? Would there be a way to find out? What even are "curses", relatively speaking. You've never found a lot of those in your travels, at least none that you could touch without turning into a gold statue. The spiked amulet still feels uncomfortable around your neck, and you take it off. You'll see whether or not that thing was cursed, at least you can take it off. A good sign, at least. She lies back, having finished doing her writing in that tome. It truly is a wonderful book, so flush with knowledge. It was worth the dagger in the dark, worth killing the old master.
She wonders if she could contact Death with it. Who the hell ignores questions like that? Rude.
She drifts off before she realizes, with the heir still sleeping with his head in her bed.
When the antiquarian awakens, the heir is gone. There is, however, a visitor. He has a distinctive mark on his head, those of the abominations.
I see that you are another owner of a tome. I lost mine but...
Let's talk.After that...
The woman that was saved from the iron maiden was glad to be out of this hamlet. The carriage looks like it saw some rather hasty repairs, but she doesn't care if it gets her out of this place. Something about the place made her skin crawl something fierce, even after she got out. She scratched her arms some more, and stops when she feels some scabs. Just how much stress was she suffering from if she scratched her arms open? The material around her arms WAS really thin, though, so it's no wonder her nails got through. Rolling up her sleeve, she looked at the damage.
She felt herself turning dizzy as she looked at the scales poking through her skin. Her skin looked like boiling wax that has cooled, all manner of little growths along her arm. Her throat felt warm as she looked at her hands again. Her hands were getting bigger, the tip of her fingers stuck out ever so slightly, like the hint of claws. Her breathing growing nearly ragged, but unheard over the thunderous noise of the chariot going over the road, she felt herself through her dress. Her belly felt tough, tougher than it should. As if her flesh itself was studded with small metal plates, haphazardly added.
She laughed, not knowing what else to do. She needed her physician. He'd know what to do. She'll get there before this....
This rash
Spreads too far.
She coughed up a little wisp of smoke as she rolled down her sleeves and regained her composure. She's going home, she'll get cared for there.
And don't you EVER mention this to ANYBODY! Do you hear me? If word gets out and she discovers I'm here, she'll come to get me. I want her away from this damned place, alright? I just don't follow why your daughter's a drider?...Don't test me. I've killed people I liked more than you. Noted. Now are you going to shiv me or buy me another drink? The grave robber and bounty hunter drink themselves silly, that night. They wake up in eachother's bed, though they're 59 percent sure it was just a simultaneous passing out
When you awaken, you realize you aren't in nearly the same amount of pain as you once where. Looks like its about time to get out of the hospital...
You turn your spidery body around, intent on getting a little more sleep in, first.
Author
Topic: Web of Life: A Drider's Adventure (Ended) (Read 190023 times)