The Shackled City
Karamus Entry 2
Karamus winced as Peresia stepped on his foot and tugged at his pants, “Papa! More story!” she cried to him with wanderlust in her eyes. He had seen that look before in his sister’s eyes when they were young. He gave a growl as he moved to stand, “Move child. Go bother your mother.”
The elderly cansin gave a sigh as he shut the door behind the last child. He looked across his room, to the items he had collected over his years of adventuring. He walked over to his desk slowly, his limp becoming more noticeable. Pulling open a drawer he withdrew a golden feather, which he held up to the candlelight. As he gazed his mind wandered and the sounds of battle began to ring in his ears.
. . .
“RUN!” Kaurophon had cried as he began to retreat from the approaching vrocks. The half-breed basher and cansin had quickly taken the half-fiend’s advice, retreating away from the dance of death they were performing. Kort, with his usual bravado, refused to back down and quickly moved to engage the sodding demons. The paladin, seeing his kinsman attempting to hold the field, rethought his retreat and went back after him. An addle-coved act it had seemed at the time.
Kaurophon, without enough time to heed his own advice, had withstood the blast brought on by the dance of ruin. In response, he’d attempted (and failed miserably) to disintegrate one of the fiends with magic. Karamus had sighed heavily when no one else had followed the wisdom in quitting the fight, but he’d paused long enough to watch the beating the demons received. The leatherhead paladin, naturally, fought one of the fiends in aerial combat to a standstill. That berk Kort and the others took on the other two demons efficiently. The encounter quickly turned against the fiends and by the end, two were dead and the third quickly fled the scene.
The rest of the trip towards the Cathedral of Feathers had been uneventful. Upon reaching the structure, it seemed more of a ruin than a former establishment for worshippers of the so-called “Good” powers. Then again, things like this tended to happen when fiends were left in charge rather than celestials. Regardless, it was a piking big stone structure that had a tilt to it like a bent soldier at tax time. Wide steps led up to a huge set of stone double doors.
Karamus had led the group up to the doors and entered the foyer, which contained a pit (which seemed completely out of place). Who puts a pit in an entry room? The group entered only to spring the trap of a pair of spider-like creatures. A massive web filled the area quickly followed by a lightning bolt, which arced through the center of the group. The cansin had easily ducked out of the way of the electrical pulse, and the rest of the group had not seemed overly wounded by the blast.
The half-breed orc, who had moved in ahead of the party and thus avoided the magical assault, quickly advanced on one of the spider-like creatures as it descended from the ceiling. With his odd fighting style consisting of excellent aged bub and a hard-hitting fist, he expressed to the spider-berk what a bad idea it was to assault the party. The other creature, choosing to remain in the corner along the ceiling was even worse off as Bransen dismissed the creature, sending it back to whatever plane it belonged. After the web was dealt with, the group closed in on the remaining creature and killed it swiftly.
. . .
...Karamus opened his eyes and placed the feather back down into the drawer before closing it. He reached to another drawer and withdrew a small vial with a violet liquid. He uncorked it and quickly drank the liquid, which burned like fire going down. He gave a violent cough, which required the use of a handkerchief. The old cansin hobbled his way back to his chair and sat down, still coughing, “Sodding paladins.”