Role

Chapter 8

As is often the case with Gedunthos, when the witnesses to his adventures are
extremely few, he will tend to leap before looking in the name of whatever
greed consumes him. He recently took a trip and very likely gained less than
favorable notice, though at first only by a happy but terrifying
circumstance. First, let us go back...

A battle raged within the Palace, with the warrior Trenloch, and healers
Belitharius and Amatrysti. Called from a very intense gambling session where
his usual prize, no money left and a chest of inebriation, to fight them
alongside a willing party, in this case, the Dread Lord Finley. Yet another
story for another day in that, ye dearly concerned parties.

At what would later be known as 'The middle of the fight', Finley left in
haste after little affect on the outcome beside distraction, and informed the
ruthless one to get out, also in haste. Ignoring this, the fight raged
on...as the Prelate hit the ground, Trenloch would be later quoted as
squealing with delight as he wrested the Codex from the Throne.

This was the thief's time to run, and with zeal and blind bravery because of
his numbers, the lone warrior charged in with his harem of two elven healers.
His blade lunged past Gedunthos as the duergar's swift hands darted into the
pack on the former's equipment, similarly wresting the codex. The duergar
again knew, it was time to flee. The moment he was out of combat, it was not
a squeal at all, but a simple utterance.

"Shadow Sword of Scanlon, I call upon your power!"

Like the lascivious kiss of a forbidden lover in his ear, the sword cooed
"Then, let us fade into the twilight."

Glowing, and badly beaten, he recovered his strength to survive at the very
least, and took in his surroundings with adrenaline still shaking his form. A
desk of wood carved with serpents, crested with a bold, wide-winged scarab
and strange shadows from the seemingly living flame emanating from a hearth
across the visages of dark, unholy icons bearing the mark of the Father of
Devils. Many scrolls lined the desk, but after a cursory glance and still in
a daze, he passed over even the simple prayer beads leaned over a gilded
lamp, surely a reasonable prize were he not just so recently in the midst of
a melee. As he stepped from this chamber, he thought again and headed back
and a force stopped him, seeming to speak directly into and in fact for his
mind. Glancing up, he saw the sigil for the Voice of the Father, a horn.

The Chamber of Elders made his skin grow only slightly more ashen and sweaty
than it was, and only at first. The north end bore a mosaic of some unholy
Beast, which he near inaudibly intoned, "CI BRAKUMI LA MALUMA". The dull
whisper echoed through the corridor and was answered by a chittering,
gutteral sound from the southern end of the chambers.