DM Doug - February 11 - 2015

Connections - The Knights of Argus

 

A frigid blizzard blasts snow throughout northern Cormyr, blanketing the highways, roads, hamlets, villages, towns and cities in two feet of snow and huge windswept drifts towering against wooden cottages, palisades and stone keeps in equal measure.  The commoners would suggest that this is just another strange oddity in a long string of calamities that have befallen their personal worlds.  A snowstorm this early in the fall is not unheard of, though certainly rare.  But the harshness of its bite seems to add insult to injury to a people already suffering from plague and blight. 

 

Those special people, people who can look past the veneer of the obvious, see perhaps that the calamities and torturous weather plaguing the lands of Faerûn have a cadence of dark design to them.  This trifecta of troubles perhaps not so coincidental, in fact, precisely the opposite – Some dark, chaotic and evil force must be at work here and in other lands.

 

In a shuttered keep on a small Island in the Immerflow River, within the shadow of the Stormhorn Mountains and within sight of the twisted, snow blasted trees of the Hullack Forest - somber and purposeful priests of Tyr continue their work.  For the last couple of years these particular priests have been working steadily to uncover information and learn all they can about a holy artifact – The Holy Chalice of the Orachulum – Ancient tool of prophesy, plumbed from the long grip of time and carried forth from history to the present by a devout and wise servant of Almighty Tyr.

 

In its consecrated shrine the relic sits.  Few direct answers have been found regarding the device. That it is an intricately designed and decorated font, dedicated to Tyr, from an ancient time – there can be no doubt.  Its precise purpose - uncertain.  How to activate it - unknown.  These mysteries have been frustratingly elusive up till now - Until now.  On this storm swept, claustrophobic, dark day, with the atmosphere in the shrine energized with a deepening feeling of uncertainty, the chalice finds its voice and those assembled will speak of this day with reverence, touched by the hand of their god.

 

It starts with a low humming that gradually increases to a loud and deep rumble that sends its vibrations throughout the thick stone of the church and castle.  Fear strikes the hearts of many within Tyrsholme at the throbbing sound. Not so, Reverent Judge Nicholas, as he briskly moves through the Nave and into the shrine of the Chalice.  What he sees is a golden pulsating glow coming from within the chalice, keeping time with the throbbing bass of the otherworldly sound. There are many startled faces of his acolytes and priests as they stare at the Chalice in wonder.

 

Upon Nicholas’ entrance into the gilded chamber the Chalice makes one last lingering blast of noise like a deep heavenly horn sounding, as a golden glow fills the room; the castle; the whole island; expanding outward across the lands of northern Cormyr in a huge golden dome eighty miles in radius, centering on the Chalice. In the short instant that the golden pulse lights up the land, the blizzard and falling, blowing snow within that circle of power stops and a warm rain begins to fall within its confines – as if to wash away the snow; the troubles of the land; the evils of the land; to bring healing through one cosmic flash of divine power. 

 

*It will not be until later that the stories begin to come in – miracles happening to those living in the area of the golden burst of light, small and large.  Miraculous healings; renewed strength to a people long suffering from plague and blight; a feeling, however fleeting, of renewed hope and possibility.  It will be a couple of more days before the first people begin arriving from miles away, not knowing precisely what is drawing them there except a profound feeling of destiny and reverence.*

 

As the flash of divine light dies down to a mere golden glow emanating from within the chalice, Nicholas bids his brothers to stand aside and, making a holy sign of reverence to Tyr, approaches the chalice, looking in.  There upon the blessed water in the chalice is a swirling morass of golden light that is slowly coalescing into a moving image - a rapidly changing vision that flits from one jittery scene to another.

 

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He sees a vision of the Helmite Priest, Torin Hawkwing, reaching out in slow motion towards an obsidian black shield hovering in midair before him. SHIFT.  Then it is a vision of Torin, with the black shield on his arm, fighting alongside a fierce, gore splattered, dwarven warrior and another human.  They are battling against endless waves of demonic looking adversaries in a narrow rune covered corridor. SHIFT. A vision of an obsidian seal covered in ancient runes. SHIFT. A dark and smiling human face whose eyes show only hatred. SHIFT. Dirt and dust falling away from the edges of the Seal as if the wall upon which it is inset was being battered and hammered by a great force until finally it is split down the middle and sent flying away from the wall upon which it rests.

 

SHIFT

 

The vision rapidly switches to another scene, some deep underground cavern lit by torchlight.  Shadows can be seen moving against a darkened altar.  At the base of the altar is another rune carved obsidian seal.  After a moment it explodes outwards in all directions. SHIFT. A dark shrouded head turns towards Nicholas, its face concealed in shadow but its eyes blaze with fire like the pits of Hades; their depths contain a malevolent intelligence and absolute hatred.  An involuntary shudder moves down Nicholas’ spine when those eyes lock on his.

 

SHIFT

 

The vision stutters to a scene out of memory – Nicholas himself reaching out and picking up the Chalice of the Orachulum.  The chalice is so tarnished and it gives off such a foul feeling of sickness and putrescence that Nicholas feels a surge of sorrow.  As the Chalice is picked up, an unseen, rapidly expanding shockwave of force blasts out from the pedestal.  SHIFT.  Another obsidian seal breaking apart.  SHIFT.  A laughing, red skinned face appears – Teeth sharpened to points; black lips pulled back in a sneer; black horns curving down the sides of its face; orange fire blazing in its eyes.   

 

SHIFT

 

Another seal, ancient and crumbling with decay, pieces of it floating like evil rose pedals downward as the last of it completely crumbles with a whimper rather than a roar.  SHIFT.  A close-up of a ghastly undead face.  Gray skin pulled taut over bone; frowning lips stretched over decayed teeth; Eyes blazing with a bluish, eternal light. SHIFT.  The frowning creature stands on a frozen balcony, an ice covered tower glittering behind him as wind and snow swirl past him, disturbing his arcane robes and sending his thin white hair to flutter in the gusts from beneath his hooded cowl.

 

SHIFT

 

The vision in the Chalice changes to an inky blackness; a dark void of nothingness, except, there is something there - Something within the depths of blackness.  Something utterly devoid of body or form yet possessed of a malicious intent.  It hungers; it longs; it remembers.  The complex beauty of the blackness seems to draw him into its offer of endless possibilities.  Power; strength; vengeance; strife; DESTRUCTION. 

 

With struggling effort, Nicholas manages to pull his eyes away from the darkness and realizes he is leaning far out over the chalice, his face inches away from the black water.  The golden rays of holy energy emanating from the chalice are pock marked with blackness, ever reaching darkness, climbing, seeking to overcome the light.  He thrusts himself away from the chalice as smoky black streamers momentarily chase his bodies retreat as he staggers backwards a few feet.

 

The blackness quickly diminishes and vanishes from sight, the golden rays of light succeeding to overcome it.  Slowly the radiating chalice begins to dim to a light glow.  Steeling himself, Nicholas approaches the chalice again and in the glowing water he sees an obsidian black shield and as he watches - Chrysomer appears overlaid atop the shield, point down in the center.  Then Dag’Lar appears dissecting the shield on Chrysomer’s right, followed by Gildeam on Chrysomer’s left.  The swords of Power and the Black Shield, together - A portent full of meaning; hope.  The glow dissipates and all that remains in the chalice is holy water once again.

 

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At this same moment, half a world away, the Swords of Power begin to stir.......  (Coming Soon)

 

 

Let me know what you think.  Does it get your imagination going?  Creative juices flowing? Leave comments below.