Post by Fell Dragon Grima on Jun 6, 2015 22:46:12 GMT -6
After fleeing the battle with Gaia and Superwoman Grima headed deeper into the forest. The Risen Chief followed as closely behind as the difference in speed allowed. Trailing half a mile behind even with Grima stopped roughly every five minutes as a favor to the Risen Chief to keep up. They were well past the hiking trails in a land left to nature before long. Then the pair descended on an expansive wooden house. Even without the supervillain and zombie entering the place had a lingering ominousness about it. Throughout the forest there were three other houses like this, and many more natural looking places that lead to the cursed place. They passed through a few dusty rooms before heading into the earthen basement, the familiar smell of the grave welcoming the Fell Dragon home.
The basement enjoyed some spare furniture with the look of a guest room, and a few strange signs on the walls. Grima went to the room's bookcase and subtly re-arranged a few novels to re-balance the weight of the switches. As a nod to the classic secret passage a trapdoor slid open beneath the dirt floor revealing a small room at the end of a downward slope leading to a ladder further down. The Risen Chief went first, chances were he'd fall down the ladder anyway. Once Grima followed him he flicked a switch on the wall near the ladder, and the door leading back to the basement closed to cover their trail. A tiny wind spell signaled by the switch tossed the dirt and dust around to conceal the passage once more. Now if only we could figure out how to work elevators with Arcthunder tomes as batteries and eliminate this tediousness... Robin thought as they followed the Risen Chief, and counted the number of times his crippled hand nearly sent the zombie plummeting down a ladder.
At least they had enough wards built into the base and the surrounding areas to ride out another earthquake with only the loss of furniture. If another 'natural' disaster decided to threaten the Grimleal they'd need enough force to spread nigh-catastrophic damage to the nearby city. It'd take an inside job to remove the evil infestation of the forest....
Amazingly the Risen Chief made it into the cave system below without ever falling down a latter. Intricate glyphs, runes, and the occasional glowing crystal covered the walls. The arcane scrawls serving as everything from shock-absorbers, traps, magical reinforcement, security cameras, and a few defenses against long-range teleportation. Even Grima couldn't remember exactly how many of the crystals held a purpose other than lighting. The Fell Dragon resumed leading the way as natural earth gave way to carved stone, while Robin pondered other locations they could use. Even deeper inside, where the air was stagnant as the dead and no natural light could purify the room for a thousand years... a certain young Necromancer felt the distant presence of his master's return. Raphael Gresham grinned to himself as he stood up from the grand ritual altar dedicated to his liege the Fell Dragon Grima. A pity that with it's construction they had failed to truly replicate the legendary Dragon's Table....
After bracing himself for a moment, knowing how after nearly two centuries of waiting Master Grima's patience was nil, Raphael listened for a telepathic voice. Leoric, gather the finest among the Cropsecrafters and assemble at the third Pit of Rebirth. As the Risen Chief survived an encounter with these so-called 'Super Heroes' he is to be repaired. Also, bring a working set of vocal cords for him this time. As the Fell Dragon finished speaking, Raphael performed a slow bow before responding. "As you wish, my lord." Briefly the boy wondered if always addressing him by his alter-ego's name was the Fell Dragon's way of reminding him that Raphael had chosen this service and villainy willingly. Then darted to his appointed task with great haste.
Raphael proved faster than Robin, a good thing for Grima's mood. As the Fell Dragon approached the heavy iron doors, black eyes indicated Robin was in control. The Risen Chief opened the door.... and the stench it released could stun a raging bull. Formaldehyde, among many other preservatives, and two dozen differing reeks of decay stormed out of the door. It was a miracle the Necromancers could ever get the smell off of them! A group of seven had assembled all but Raphael were already tending to either the rotted chemical-pool that devouring the center of the room or picking parts off the bodies scattered across the walls... Rather the term should be liaison or pet, it was Raphael who took the generally unfavored task of reporting to the Fell Dragon.
The usual banter between Robin and Raphael passed quickly, as the Risen Chief entered the main pit with some reluctance. Thank Grima there were some spells that could kill what little pain the undead felt. Information flowed back and forth, including Robin discussing the recent battle. The other six began the long process of replace burnt muscle tissue, and fitting new skin to the Risen Chief... While Raphael posed a more relevant report. "Sadly we still have been unable to re-create the Grimleal Regalia weaponry, despite our Lord's guidance. However the next model of great-axe will be closer to your expectations. In addition the rituals to properly attune my soul to my Phylactery are complete. I can begin work in the field as soon as you desire." Even if Raphael would prefer to go his entire existence without knowing the foul embrace of undeath... the back-up plan of being reborn as a Lich in the event of being killed in action was strangely emboldening. Robin spoke first, preventing a morbid imagination of what really awaited Raphael. "Then you are clearly more organized than Henry or Tharja can hope to be. Where in the Nine Spiraling Hells are they?" It was greatly annoying for a mere process of moving to have two of his lieutenants out of reach. "I can't speak for either of them, yet Tharja contacted us recently from Illinois. Complaining that traveling by mundane means is far more trouble than it's worth. Henry fell off the radar, again, somewhere in Arkansas." and both were lucky that in his current state Fell Dragon Grima lacked remote viewing....
"Human folly knows no boundaries." The Fell Dragon scoffed telepathically. "Enough talk of these failures, report something that went right." Robin could already picture Grima's original form performing a face-wing gesture to go with that sentence. "Based on what we've gathered thusfar... I can say with confidence that the warding of our base will survive Gaia's abilities even if she is barking at our gates. Though no matter how many wards we erect here, above ground the forest is in her favor. Ah, speaking of the forest... If Master Grima would spare a few of the bears for experimentation rather than His food, I believe they can become extraordinary shock troops as Risen." Throughout the room, the Necromancers made silent bets on rather or not Raphael would be on the ground screaming because of that proposal. The Fell Dragon paused to remember a stupid moment of playing with his food as a youth.... namely the time he tried to eat a live grizzly bear in human form. Now that had been a fight to remember for millennia. "Two and no more until I see results. Fail to make it worth wasting my favorite meal and your nightmare of demonic gerbils will look like paradise before I am finished with you!" Moments like this Raphael wished he'd someday find a spell to destroy his ability to dream. Master Grima could make physical torture seem inviting after getting his claws into someone's head....
"Touchy, touchy, oh and stop eating them fucking raw! Those are my taste buds and stomach you arsehole!" Robin could never really avoid being very vocal about how much sharing a body sucked. He didn't wait for a response as Grima listening was an event you'd mark on the calendar. "New subject, we're bound to be on the news now. Lets not have a second identity crisis like in London because some cultists were too bloody stupid to use their masks and code names." The words taken at face value were a friendly reminder but the tone was someone threatening to flay any forgetful employee alive. That said, Robin grabbed Raphael by the shoulder and dragged him out of the room with him... because fuck that bleeding stench. "Lets see this Phylactery of yours..."
It wasn't that far of a trip... past the ritual altar again and into Raphael's private chambers. An elaborate home within the cult's confines was the least of what he'd earned. Reaching the door Robin let Raphael go first. The stone door itself had a Risen in heavy plate-mail standing at either side, with the look of someone just itching for a reason to use their halberd. Or half a reason to find an excuse. Not that it was any concern for either the cultist or false god entering the room. The reek of old blood was immediately apparent, with Raphael being seemingly immune to all forms of stink. Counting the two sets of doors on either side and a bit of the walls, the room had a perfect 60 foot diameter. Centered around a black onyx altar in the middle. It looked more like a ritual chamber than a living quarters. Nevermind the bed off to the left.
Knowing he owned the place Robin made a beeline toward the altar without any pretenses. It consisted of a simple six inch tall square platform, with the Mark of Grima carved into it and each grove filled with blood. Between the middle set of eyes a thin pillar with similar bloody grooves in a spiral pattern rose upward. It stood four and a half feet above the base of the altar, a ring of two dozen six inch spikes emerged from the top. They flared outward than spiraled back in like possessive fingers around the ruined chalice that Raphael had chosen.
Raphael flinched as his lord trampled over the bloody symbol and inspected his Phylactery. Were it anyone else Raphael would be screaming at the top of his lungs for every Risen under his command to storm the chamber and eat anyone who dared venture that close to his Phylactery alive.... but no, he owed the unholy thing's very existence to his Lords.... Still if Robin was stupid enough to remove it from the altar, the very thought of it made Raphael twitch with a nearly boiling rage.
The Chalice itself looked like an innocent victim among all this evil. Most of it was scorched black from the fire that claimed Raphael's previous life. It baffled everyone to this day that one of the cultists responsible felt like getting a souvenir as they fled the blaze with their captive. but that last remnant made it an obvious choice of Phylactery. Traces of silver were visible through the obscuring burns, with two dull emeralds embedded on either side of the handle. The cup itself was slightly bent from the flames, and the elegant trim that once covered it's midsection rendered a hateful scar. Yet the most noticeable thing was how the chalice was brimming with Raphael's own blood. In fact it have overflowed countless times into the groves along the pillar and down into the Mark of Grima below. One of the many spells on the area ensured it would never coagulate. It smells so wrong but this defilement feels so right. Robin mused while taking a long sniff that would make most stalkers cringe at how creepy it was.
Raphael sighed and finally raised his voice. "Master, could you please be less creepy about this?" After a moment's thought he added. "Also once your done here go on without me. Orders or not I have an unlife insurance to pay for." Rather he liked it or not, the only time Raphael's phylactery would stop thirsting was after he was reborn as a Lich. "Do as you will, the God of Crankiness can't rightfully complain so long as you have the Chief in top shape by tomorrow." Grima hijacked Robin's left hand and slapped his host across the face as the sorcerer finally stepped away from the Phylactery. This earned a confused expression from Robin, and an 'I dare not show that I thought it was funny, but it was' face from Raphael. Robin simply yawned. "Whatever, no doubt Mr. Fell Nestling will calm down after a nap. Anyway Raphael, get ready to put your field work to the test. Once you're done with patching up the Chief and getting him a new axe the next job is yours." It was just wrong expecting the 'big bad' to do all of the footwork. Evil was all about self-indulgence and that included laziness.... well whatever, bed first, debating what philosophy came with the job later.
As Robin finally left the room, Raphael sighed in relief now that the future home of his soul was alone once more. Then he slowly approached it and drew a roll of gauze out of his pocket. "Three cheers to the providence of Master Grima and immortality." Then Raphael raked his forearm across the tips of the spike and held many claw-like wounds above the insatiable chalice. He could almost hear it hiss greedily as he made one more down-payment to scamming the grim reaper. Raphael applied the gauze to his arm in a well practiced manner, spinning on his heel as he did to leave the room. and Grimadammit something is wrong with me even as a cultist to be doing self-harm so casually. He kept that thought to himself along with one delayed wince at the pain as Raphael left his room to head back to the Pit of Rebirth. As the necromancer wandered back to the easy part of his job, Raphael hoped during his next job as Prince Leoric he'd finally be numb to cutting up living people.
Elsewhere and almost forgotten, the Risen Chief prayed he could get what they generously called the 'pit-shit' out of his mouth this time. Thank Grima he couldn't taste it, but merely knowing about it seeping into his body was bad enough. Maybe he could get set on fire for the sake of sanitation again before getting a new layer of skin? Might be worth it....
The basement enjoyed some spare furniture with the look of a guest room, and a few strange signs on the walls. Grima went to the room's bookcase and subtly re-arranged a few novels to re-balance the weight of the switches. As a nod to the classic secret passage a trapdoor slid open beneath the dirt floor revealing a small room at the end of a downward slope leading to a ladder further down. The Risen Chief went first, chances were he'd fall down the ladder anyway. Once Grima followed him he flicked a switch on the wall near the ladder, and the door leading back to the basement closed to cover their trail. A tiny wind spell signaled by the switch tossed the dirt and dust around to conceal the passage once more. Now if only we could figure out how to work elevators with Arcthunder tomes as batteries and eliminate this tediousness... Robin thought as they followed the Risen Chief, and counted the number of times his crippled hand nearly sent the zombie plummeting down a ladder.
At least they had enough wards built into the base and the surrounding areas to ride out another earthquake with only the loss of furniture. If another 'natural' disaster decided to threaten the Grimleal they'd need enough force to spread nigh-catastrophic damage to the nearby city. It'd take an inside job to remove the evil infestation of the forest....
Amazingly the Risen Chief made it into the cave system below without ever falling down a latter. Intricate glyphs, runes, and the occasional glowing crystal covered the walls. The arcane scrawls serving as everything from shock-absorbers, traps, magical reinforcement, security cameras, and a few defenses against long-range teleportation. Even Grima couldn't remember exactly how many of the crystals held a purpose other than lighting. The Fell Dragon resumed leading the way as natural earth gave way to carved stone, while Robin pondered other locations they could use. Even deeper inside, where the air was stagnant as the dead and no natural light could purify the room for a thousand years... a certain young Necromancer felt the distant presence of his master's return. Raphael Gresham grinned to himself as he stood up from the grand ritual altar dedicated to his liege the Fell Dragon Grima. A pity that with it's construction they had failed to truly replicate the legendary Dragon's Table....
After bracing himself for a moment, knowing how after nearly two centuries of waiting Master Grima's patience was nil, Raphael listened for a telepathic voice. Leoric, gather the finest among the Cropsecrafters and assemble at the third Pit of Rebirth. As the Risen Chief survived an encounter with these so-called 'Super Heroes' he is to be repaired. Also, bring a working set of vocal cords for him this time. As the Fell Dragon finished speaking, Raphael performed a slow bow before responding. "As you wish, my lord." Briefly the boy wondered if always addressing him by his alter-ego's name was the Fell Dragon's way of reminding him that Raphael had chosen this service and villainy willingly. Then darted to his appointed task with great haste.
Raphael proved faster than Robin, a good thing for Grima's mood. As the Fell Dragon approached the heavy iron doors, black eyes indicated Robin was in control. The Risen Chief opened the door.... and the stench it released could stun a raging bull. Formaldehyde, among many other preservatives, and two dozen differing reeks of decay stormed out of the door. It was a miracle the Necromancers could ever get the smell off of them! A group of seven had assembled all but Raphael were already tending to either the rotted chemical-pool that devouring the center of the room or picking parts off the bodies scattered across the walls... Rather the term should be liaison or pet, it was Raphael who took the generally unfavored task of reporting to the Fell Dragon.
The usual banter between Robin and Raphael passed quickly, as the Risen Chief entered the main pit with some reluctance. Thank Grima there were some spells that could kill what little pain the undead felt. Information flowed back and forth, including Robin discussing the recent battle. The other six began the long process of replace burnt muscle tissue, and fitting new skin to the Risen Chief... While Raphael posed a more relevant report. "Sadly we still have been unable to re-create the Grimleal Regalia weaponry, despite our Lord's guidance. However the next model of great-axe will be closer to your expectations. In addition the rituals to properly attune my soul to my Phylactery are complete. I can begin work in the field as soon as you desire." Even if Raphael would prefer to go his entire existence without knowing the foul embrace of undeath... the back-up plan of being reborn as a Lich in the event of being killed in action was strangely emboldening. Robin spoke first, preventing a morbid imagination of what really awaited Raphael. "Then you are clearly more organized than Henry or Tharja can hope to be. Where in the Nine Spiraling Hells are they?" It was greatly annoying for a mere process of moving to have two of his lieutenants out of reach. "I can't speak for either of them, yet Tharja contacted us recently from Illinois. Complaining that traveling by mundane means is far more trouble than it's worth. Henry fell off the radar, again, somewhere in Arkansas." and both were lucky that in his current state Fell Dragon Grima lacked remote viewing....
"Human folly knows no boundaries." The Fell Dragon scoffed telepathically. "Enough talk of these failures, report something that went right." Robin could already picture Grima's original form performing a face-wing gesture to go with that sentence. "Based on what we've gathered thusfar... I can say with confidence that the warding of our base will survive Gaia's abilities even if she is barking at our gates. Though no matter how many wards we erect here, above ground the forest is in her favor. Ah, speaking of the forest... If Master Grima would spare a few of the bears for experimentation rather than His food, I believe they can become extraordinary shock troops as Risen." Throughout the room, the Necromancers made silent bets on rather or not Raphael would be on the ground screaming because of that proposal. The Fell Dragon paused to remember a stupid moment of playing with his food as a youth.... namely the time he tried to eat a live grizzly bear in human form. Now that had been a fight to remember for millennia. "Two and no more until I see results. Fail to make it worth wasting my favorite meal and your nightmare of demonic gerbils will look like paradise before I am finished with you!" Moments like this Raphael wished he'd someday find a spell to destroy his ability to dream. Master Grima could make physical torture seem inviting after getting his claws into someone's head....
"Touchy, touchy, oh and stop eating them fucking raw! Those are my taste buds and stomach you arsehole!" Robin could never really avoid being very vocal about how much sharing a body sucked. He didn't wait for a response as Grima listening was an event you'd mark on the calendar. "New subject, we're bound to be on the news now. Lets not have a second identity crisis like in London because some cultists were too bloody stupid to use their masks and code names." The words taken at face value were a friendly reminder but the tone was someone threatening to flay any forgetful employee alive. That said, Robin grabbed Raphael by the shoulder and dragged him out of the room with him... because fuck that bleeding stench. "Lets see this Phylactery of yours..."
It wasn't that far of a trip... past the ritual altar again and into Raphael's private chambers. An elaborate home within the cult's confines was the least of what he'd earned. Reaching the door Robin let Raphael go first. The stone door itself had a Risen in heavy plate-mail standing at either side, with the look of someone just itching for a reason to use their halberd. Or half a reason to find an excuse. Not that it was any concern for either the cultist or false god entering the room. The reek of old blood was immediately apparent, with Raphael being seemingly immune to all forms of stink. Counting the two sets of doors on either side and a bit of the walls, the room had a perfect 60 foot diameter. Centered around a black onyx altar in the middle. It looked more like a ritual chamber than a living quarters. Nevermind the bed off to the left.
Knowing he owned the place Robin made a beeline toward the altar without any pretenses. It consisted of a simple six inch tall square platform, with the Mark of Grima carved into it and each grove filled with blood. Between the middle set of eyes a thin pillar with similar bloody grooves in a spiral pattern rose upward. It stood four and a half feet above the base of the altar, a ring of two dozen six inch spikes emerged from the top. They flared outward than spiraled back in like possessive fingers around the ruined chalice that Raphael had chosen.
Raphael flinched as his lord trampled over the bloody symbol and inspected his Phylactery. Were it anyone else Raphael would be screaming at the top of his lungs for every Risen under his command to storm the chamber and eat anyone who dared venture that close to his Phylactery alive.... but no, he owed the unholy thing's very existence to his Lords.... Still if Robin was stupid enough to remove it from the altar, the very thought of it made Raphael twitch with a nearly boiling rage.
The Chalice itself looked like an innocent victim among all this evil. Most of it was scorched black from the fire that claimed Raphael's previous life. It baffled everyone to this day that one of the cultists responsible felt like getting a souvenir as they fled the blaze with their captive. but that last remnant made it an obvious choice of Phylactery. Traces of silver were visible through the obscuring burns, with two dull emeralds embedded on either side of the handle. The cup itself was slightly bent from the flames, and the elegant trim that once covered it's midsection rendered a hateful scar. Yet the most noticeable thing was how the chalice was brimming with Raphael's own blood. In fact it have overflowed countless times into the groves along the pillar and down into the Mark of Grima below. One of the many spells on the area ensured it would never coagulate. It smells so wrong but this defilement feels so right. Robin mused while taking a long sniff that would make most stalkers cringe at how creepy it was.
Raphael sighed and finally raised his voice. "Master, could you please be less creepy about this?" After a moment's thought he added. "Also once your done here go on without me. Orders or not I have an unlife insurance to pay for." Rather he liked it or not, the only time Raphael's phylactery would stop thirsting was after he was reborn as a Lich. "Do as you will, the God of Crankiness can't rightfully complain so long as you have the Chief in top shape by tomorrow." Grima hijacked Robin's left hand and slapped his host across the face as the sorcerer finally stepped away from the Phylactery. This earned a confused expression from Robin, and an 'I dare not show that I thought it was funny, but it was' face from Raphael. Robin simply yawned. "Whatever, no doubt Mr. Fell Nestling will calm down after a nap. Anyway Raphael, get ready to put your field work to the test. Once you're done with patching up the Chief and getting him a new axe the next job is yours." It was just wrong expecting the 'big bad' to do all of the footwork. Evil was all about self-indulgence and that included laziness.... well whatever, bed first, debating what philosophy came with the job later.
As Robin finally left the room, Raphael sighed in relief now that the future home of his soul was alone once more. Then he slowly approached it and drew a roll of gauze out of his pocket. "Three cheers to the providence of Master Grima and immortality." Then Raphael raked his forearm across the tips of the spike and held many claw-like wounds above the insatiable chalice. He could almost hear it hiss greedily as he made one more down-payment to scamming the grim reaper. Raphael applied the gauze to his arm in a well practiced manner, spinning on his heel as he did to leave the room. and Grimadammit something is wrong with me even as a cultist to be doing self-harm so casually. He kept that thought to himself along with one delayed wince at the pain as Raphael left his room to head back to the Pit of Rebirth. As the necromancer wandered back to the easy part of his job, Raphael hoped during his next job as Prince Leoric he'd finally be numb to cutting up living people.
Elsewhere and almost forgotten, the Risen Chief prayed he could get what they generously called the 'pit-shit' out of his mouth this time. Thank Grima he couldn't taste it, but merely knowing about it seeping into his body was bad enough. Maybe he could get set on fire for the sake of sanitation again before getting a new layer of skin? Might be worth it....
