by Michael S. Webster
Kron Hills
Snowflowers 30, 5038 OC (Coldeven 30, 576
CY)
The shadow suddenly leaped over the
sarcophagus, its smoky arms reaching for Ridorr’s throat. The eyes that were
once his lover’s took on a predatory appearance.
The thought that whatever it was
wasn’t simply smoke or shadow briefly crossed Ridorr’s mind. The two tumbled
backwards away from the tomb, landing on the floor of the cellar.
The thing hissed like a serpent as a
claw raked Ridorr’s face. Flesh split open; freezing pain tore a scream from
him.
The shadow hissed in triumph as its
form collapsed into a dense tendril of blackness, flowing into Ridorr’s
screaming mouth.
Tyroc stared in shock but not frozen
out of fear. Drawing his mace, the cleric touched it, imbuing it with
Corellon’s divine presence. The mace took on a glow, much like the full moon of
Celene.
As the cleric approached, the thing ensnaring
Ridorr turned to the elf and hissed angrily, yet triumphantly.
Tyroc swung at the creature, invoking
Corellon’s power. The mace impacted with the dark entity; it seemed to sink
into it like it was water. Suddenly there was a bright flash from within its body,
and it flew back away from the cleric to impact the wall.
Hissing in anger and frustration at
the cleric, it flowed into the cracks of the cellar floor.
Tyroc checked over Ridorr. Other than
the gash in his face, there were no other wounds visible.
“Ridorr?”
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a
wagon train,” Ridorr moaned. “I’ll be fine.”
Unconvinced, Tyroc grasped one of
Ridorr’s arms and slung it around Tyroc’s shoulders to drag him up to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ve got the rubbings, so we don’t need to stay any
longer.”
“Has it gotten cold in here or is it
just me?” asked Ridorr.
“It is a cellar after all.” Grabbing
the parchments with one hand, Tyroc supported Ridorr as the two struggled up
the steps. “Let’s get you in front of
the fire. That should help.”
A pair of sinister, otherworldly eyes
watched the two slowly making their way up the stairs. It growled hungrily.
Tyroc maneuvered Ridorr to a seat near
the fire and lowered him down. Even through the layers of clothing, Ridorr felt
cold.
“I’ll build the fire up and then go
fetch the others,” said Tyroc as he gathered some firewood. “It might be best
to stick together.”
Ridorr was starting to feel warmer, but
his teeth chattered. His whole body felt
exhausted. He grinned remembering being sore and tired when he was training to
be a duelist. The grin disappeared when he realized this was much, much worse.
Tyroc built up the fire then turned to
Ridorr. “I’ll be right back with the others,” he said before turning and
running up the stairs.
“Never split the party,” Ridorr muttered
under his breath.
Suddenly, Ridorr rose to a standing
position and awkwardly moved towards the horses at the entrance. The hobbled
horses tried to retreat, fear in their eyes.
Standing before them, Ridorr swayed a
bit then opened his mouth wider than expected.
Tendrils of black matter reached out
towards the horses, who whinnied in fear and strained to get away. Hobbled and penned
in the entrance, they couldn’t escape. Their struggles stopped when the
tendrils reached their heads and began flowing into their mouths.
Their bodies convulsed and their eyes
rolled up into their sockets. One of the elves from upstairs muttered an oath
as the rest of the party descended the stairs. The tendrils finally left Ridorr
and entered the horses completely. Ridorr collapsed to the floor.
“Tyroc, check on Ridorr,” Qucalion ordered.
“The rest will get the horses outside. We are leav…”
Suddenly all horses turned their heads
towards the group on the stairs, regarding them with pupilless eyes. Everything
turned unearthly quiet, except for the cracking of bone as the horses twisted
their heads violently breaking their own necks. The bodies collapsed on the
floor of the entryway.
Tyroc, in shock, said quietly, “We
need to get out of here. Storm or no storm.” The cleric then moved to check on
Ridorr who was already stirring. Helping him to his feet, Tyroc heard Ridorr
whisper, “Never split the party.”
“We are going to leave,” Qucalion
agreed. “We need to move those bodies to even get to the door. Turning to the
twins, he asked, “Any recommendations?”
“We could butcher them and move the
parts out of the way,” Arty’ll suggested. “One way to get horse steaks.”
L’ree shuddered, “After what we just
saw, I wouldn’t eat that meat if I was starving.”
Qucalion glanced at the horses, then
at the firepit in the center of the room. “We use the firepit as a pulley and drag
the corpses out of the way. We should have enough rope.”
“Get started,” began Qucalion. “I’m
going to the top floor. There are
windows there, maybe I can see the extent of the storm.”
“This tower wants us to stay,” thought
Qucalion. “If we stay, we will never leave.”
Ridorr shakily stood up with the help
of Tyroc. “I’ll be okay, I don’t feel as weak as I did. I can help them,” he
said indicating the twins who were tying a rope around one of the horses. “You
best go with him.”
Tyroc squeezed Ridorr’s shoulder then
turned to join Qucalion going upstairs.
They quickly passed the second floor
and ascended to the third. As they entered what appeared to be a library even
larger than on the main floor, shadows began to lengthen from the darkness.
Ignoring this manifestation, they raced up to the next floor.
As they reached the landing, the door
slammed shut in the elves’ faces, and a metal click sounded, indicating a lock
turning. Trying the latch and then slamming a shoulder against the door, with
no effect.
“I don’t have the right spell to deal
with this memorized,” said Qucalion as he rubbed his sore shoulder. “Maybe one
of the others can pick the lock?”
Tyroc moved his companion aside. “Let
me try Corellon’s lockpick.”
Qucalion, moving to the side began to
ask, “Corellon’s lock…” when Tyroc drew out his mace and slammed it onto the door
handle and locking mechanism. The handle broke off and the lock flew into the
room beyond.
Tyroc smiled and hefted his mace.
“Corellon’s lockpick!” Qucalion was visibly impressed, then pushed the door
open.
Clearly this had been the laboratory
of some wizard. Shelves with containers of spell components and various unknown
devices and tools. With the amount of dust that accumulated on them, it was
difficult to identify them.
A bizarre contraption took up one
whole wall. Parts and whole mechanical clocks, a huge hourglass, a sundial with
multiple gnomons, and other parts were merged together in ways that defied
explanation.
Whatever it was… it was operating.
Across from the arcane device, was a
desk, and behind it, a window. The window showed the light of day but was
obscured by the blizzard. On the desk were parchments, open books, pens, and
slumped over it was a hooded figure.
Qucalion and Tyroc walked around
opposite sides of the desk and looked at the hooded robe. Qucalion carefully lifted
up the hood to reveal a skull, with a hole in the top, appearing somewhat
scorched.
“From that position, it doesn’t look
self-inflicted,” pointed out the cleric. “It may have happened post-mortem, I
can’t tell. He’s in no position to help. Maybe he was a ‘she’?”
“No, I think he… or she can help.”
Qucalion lifted a sleeve by the hem and set it aside. Carefully lifting up a
parchment, he read it out loud.
I am sorry.
This is my fault. I created the temporal
device to try and keep my love from dying, but I have only succeeded in damning
myself to an eternity of wandering the planes. I pray my love will still rest
peacefully below, while I must end my cursed existence.
The temporal device will transport
this tower between planes, always returning to the Negative Energy Plane where it
first travelled to. Something entered, but once the tower shifted again, it
could not leave.
Reading this, you must leave this
tower as soon as possible. Once the concordination of devices occurs, the tower
will shift again, trapping you here forever. The diagram below will show you when
it will occur.
Forgive me.
An old blood stain seems to mark the
signature on the page. The two elves looked from the diagram and then to the device
opposite them.
They were almost out of time.
Dropping the page, the two elves raced
down the stairs, ignoring anything on the other floors. Arriving on the main
floor, they saw two of the five horses were moved out of the way. One more removed
would clear the door to escape.
Without explaining, the warrior-mage
shouted, “We need to leave now!”
“What about the storm?” asked L’ree.
“Bugger the storm!” replied Qucalion.
Taking on Qucalion’s sense of urgency,
they quickly moved the corpse and gathered up their gear and raced outside into
the storm.
Getting a couple yards away, they
turned back to the tower. It shimmered and warped, suddenly disappearing.
Almost immediately the storm ended, and the sun shone on the party. The last of the snowflakes melted and fell to
the ground.
The tower, and any trace of it was
gone.
Slumping to the ground the party tried
to take stock of the events but couldn’t grasp anything solid. Even after the
explanation given by Tyroc and Qucalion, the group were still left drifting
mentally.
Hoisting up their gear onto their
shoulders, they returned to the road to Hommlet.
To Be Continued…
Epilogue:
Location: Unknown
Date: Unknown
The tower completed its transit to…
elsewhere. Through the window, the blizzard was still raging, but it was darker.
Not exactly like night—it was more sinister. The howling sounded more like
screams of madness and horror than the normal sound of wind rushing past the
window.
The hinges creaked such that had there
been a listener, it sounded like it required an exorcism. With the thump of the
hatch coming to rest on the attic floor the hinges ceased their agony.
The last message of the wizard was no
longer under his still, skeletal hand, but remained on the desk, when a dark
shadow occluded the parchment. As the shadow passed, the parchment ignited with
a flash and started burning.
With the unholy creaking, the attic
hatch thudded into place. All that was left of the parchment that had the
secret of the Tower in the Storm blew away as fine ash.
