Gabe3e

The newly recruited captains of the Castle request the appropriate armor and weaponry of their rank. After some discussion, the requested equipment looted from the fallen werewolf captains is given to them.

The Queen returns to Castle Zazesspur with the new Baron Silverhands and Zonas. After a late evening (and morning) of feasting and celebration, everyone collapses in bed in a stupor. In the early morning hours, Jaran, Lyta, Fidalaine and the new dwarf are attacked by invisible, demonic assassins. After some struggle the demons are dispatched, run off or banished. Jaran recommends that the Queen, Zonas and Lord Silverhands are checked on. Silverhands is found missing from his room, with signs of struggle, footsteps and blood upon the floor.

After a brief few hours rest, the Queen, Zonas and the others gather to discuss the situation of the missing Silverhands. As Zonas is granted command of Castle Zazesspur, from thin air, the snake woman with four spectral minions appears at the edge of the throne room. Blocking the adventurers off with a wall of invisible force, she sends her minions to attack them. With a few deft flicks of her wrist she sends Zonas, the Queen and the captain of the guard to a random plane. Weakened by the use of her powerful spell, she teleports away.

Those left spend a few minutes attacking the elusive undead. By the time they’re destroyed, Zonas has reappeared.

Zonas explains that he finds the Queen’s abduction useful. As Lyta pries information out of him, Jaran determines the Queen to be held at the Helmite portal encampment recently captured by the snake woman’s forces.

After some deft prodding by Lyta, Zonas spills his guts about the mysterious circumstances of his recent past. A tragic event with a forgotten love, and a heroic rescue of the soon-to-be Queen.

Lyta is restored to health after being captured in Castle Zazesspur. Various notes from the snake woman are found in her belongings, and notes tabulate her spellbooks.

Took back Castle Zazesspur from the snake woman and the annoying psion woman, with the help of Julian. Killed a lot of werewolves, saved a lot of guard peons, disintegrated the psion at long last, and ran off the snake woman.

Entries 52-57 (Ches, 1359DR): Pathways of Choice Rarely Lead to Roads Less Travelled, They Often Simply Lead in Circles

I have witnessed it more times than I would have liked over these perilous months, yet cheating the permanency of death through The Weave continues to strike me to the core, both in wonder and in terror. Divine power reshaping broken, bloodied, burned, and hopelessly mangled flesh – sometimes conjuring the body from thin air—and reinserting the elusive and incomprehensible soul, if that should be the proper name for it, is in itself not to be believed. But I wonder if mortal eyes were ever meant to actually watch the process of a soul filling a vessel that is changing. And yet when I witnessed Delven’s reincarnation into a Kobold I felt compelled to use my talents to improve his stature (even if it was only slightly).

However, I recently learned of a druidic magic that can not only reincarnate a soul into a different body, but in itself gives the soul a limited choice of what humanoid race their body would assume. I knew that such magic was, at least at it’s heart, as wild as the magic I strive to finesse, and suspected that planned use of my beloved spell might widen the choices just enough to give my friends a body they could, pardon the expression, live with.

I put this theory to the test when G’kar was banished to the Positive Energy plane, his body perishing at the overwhelming energy while his soul remained trapped there. When the Great Druid Thystleheart summoned G’kar’s soul back to the Prime, I braced myself with multiple paths of reality that G’kar could choose from. Slowly out of the ground a grey mist swirled into the vague shape of a humanoid, and I winced as it first resembled that same foul lizardly creature Delven had become. Then the small features morphed into beastly muscles, and the voluptuous gasses coagulated into hair and fangs.

When G’kar first spoke in a voice gruffer than even a dwarf can muster, I did not waste any time asking him if he would enjoy the body of a half-orc. With a flick of my wrist I lay my hand upon the druid and altered reality.

My heart leapt as I saw the tangible flesh dissipate back into gaseous form and assemble slowly into pointed ears and a slender build similar to mine. But surely, it was me living in an alternate reality, for that very pleasing form morphed back into the hideous monstrous half-orc again!! My quarterstaff beckoned to be thrust into G’kar’s skull for his choice, but instead I touched the Druid’s arm again and hoped that G’kar wisdom had not been left on the Positive Energy Plane with the rest of his gear.

Luckily for him I watched that beast transform into a much more familiar beast, though I thought not possible, that of a stockier, hairier dwarf. I had known that G’kar would always be a dwarf at heart, and thank Mystra I had a way to carve for him a dwarven path.

As if that was not unique enough a reality, moments later held me for the, first time, on the other side of my spell! In an instant I watched Jaran raise her hand with the ring that harnessed one of my alternate reality magics, and yet I was not privileged to watch things change. It wasn’t until the evening’s fire that she described how she watched the gases begin to form into a most dreadful form—that of a Kobold!—before they gratefully permanently assembled themselves back into the dwarf. Her shocked look at my fits of laughter was a clear reminder that, once again, I alone was privaledged to that irony.

Yet that was not the end of the transforming and mutating bodies of gas and smoke.

For as Tymora had clearly not been watching over us, Jarl had been banished to that same Positive Energy Plane, our recourse to rescue him limited to the same choice as was poor G’kar. So we all assumed our now familiar positions and watched in horror as we seemed ever destined to have another Kobold warrior in our party. Until the most wondrous thing happened!—a handsome and angular elven man sat up with a start, dirt seemingly repelling itself off his shining long blonde hair. “Wow, I feel different!” Jarl said.

I winced at the thought of losing such perfection, but I had resolved myself to give my new ally the opportunity to choose his own path. So, with a grimace and a flick of the wrist, the beauty before me instantly melted and, to my horror, began to resemble another uncivilized half-orc until the mist, thankfully, amazingly, elegantly reformed back into the same gorgeous elven man.

I admit that, if it had not been for Jaran goading me to give him another choice, my own selfish desire would have staid my hand too long to give Jarl another path to follow. But her young voice awoke me from my lustful stare; I watched mournfully as the gas reformed into ears slightly less stately, hair slightly less flowing, and stature slightly less strikingly slim. I discovered the disappointment was mine alone when Jarl awoke and began inspecting his half-elven body with an approving nod. My last hope was further squashed when I waited for Jaran to activate her ring once again, and instead heard a verbal component I’ve never heard before.

What is this spell called “Meh.”?

Floating. Floating free. Endless white around me in all directions, up and down. I have lost…

I am interupted by a voice. A voice! A voice in the void. It is familiar. Very familiar. I know the man who is speaking….if I can just remember his name…

Kalcryx. Kalcryx of Helm, yes!

“…and if you don’t want to come back, I understand, but I would like you to return…”

Return? Return to where?

I look around for the source of the voice, but no one is near me. Wait…Sending! It is a sending! The magic of Helm! And my dear and true friend is waiting for my answer. They are going to try to ressurect me! Or was that reincarnate? Never mind. It doen’t matter. It’s a way out of this sickening void!

And it is hitting me all at once. I remember everything. My friends, my country, my god.

“Yes!” I cry. “Yes! Please get me out of here! There is nothing to do, I’m going crazy! Oh, and get my gear too, if you can.”

I hang, waiting. It felt like someone else talking just then.

I was excited about something just now, but I can’t remember what.

Floating. Floating free. Endless white around me in all directions…

A hole opens in the void before me. I see…a dwarf, in full platemail, standing guard in front of a stone building. The building is very familiar…then I place it! It’s in Stormaxe! My home!

The guard is staring straight ahead then he blinks, and I realize he is looking at me. His expression changes from guard-like stoicism to bewilderment. His bearded jaw drops and he mouths the words “G’Kar…G’Kar Truehammer….!” The last word becomes fully audible and he shouts it. He moves toward me suddenly.

So that is my name, eh?

A look of anger clouds the dwarf’s face. “You traitor! Where were you when we needed you?!” He pulls out his waraxe. “Our women and children are enslaved by our enemies, and yet you forsake us! Even now you follow a human god!”. I see him advance toward me threateningly.

Just as he seems to get close enough to attack, he blurrs out of existance and is replaced by a great helmeted warrior, standing as tall as the gates of Stormaxe. An enormous gauntletted hand is extended towards me and I hear the words, “G’Kar, my son, return!”

I reach and take His hand. He is the One I now recognize to be The Great Protector Himself.

I awake to find Kalcryx looking down at me. I feel weight, and breath in air. I lift my arms. I am alive again!

But…my hands look different, something is just not right…

But Great Helm it is good to be alive again!

Floating. Floating free. Endless white around me in all directions, up and down. I have lost all track of time.

I vaguely remember trying to make my gear move in front of me, but to no avail. I stretched out with my mind but I could not keep my armor from spinning. I could not force the anything to float back. I watched the pieces drift apart from where my body exploded.

My gear. I cannot even remember where it is, or what it looked like. I can’t even remember how I got here.

I struggle to recall the strange creature I had talked to who floated away to…what? What was he going to do? Something for me, I think. But I can’t remember.

What did my body look like? I can’t even remember that. Something about being shorter and stockier than most, and there was a beard, I think. In fact, I’m sure. A beard. Wait…shorter and stockier than…whom?

Yes, there were others too, but, Great Helm! I cannot remember them either. I’m sure I had friends, but they are hazy, drifting far off in my mind. Like me. Drifting.

I can’t even remember my own name.

Who is Helm, by the way?

Floating. Floating free. Endless white around me in all directions, up and down. I have lost all track of time.

A bright flash of light. So bright, I can’t see, even as I put my hand up to shield my eyes. And the light persists and never dims.

I am floating in a void too bright to see. I reach in front of me to feel anything and I grasp nothing. My feet do not touch the floor. What sort of magic is this?!

And I hear nothing. My shouts do not echo, but are absorbed. I feel as though I am packed in a great sea of feather down.

Time passes. I begin to realize that my wounds, sustained from the battle I was just in, are not smarting as much as they were a few minutes before. I am feeling the same as when Helm’s magic cures me.

I go over my spells. I cannot think of any power Helm has granted me which can help. I must call my friends, but I cannot think of a way to do it. Yes, I can cast a sending, but I doubt it would work. I begin to suspect I am in another plane of existence. What good can Helm’s power do here?

But something is wrong…the healing energy pressing against me is almost too good, for lack of a better word. It is coming too fast, the is pressure too high. I feel as if I am about to burst!

Then, a welling up of power too great for my mortal body to withstand. My body is on fire! I scream for help but nothing happens. GREAT HELM, SAVE ME!

Then blackness. Nothingness.

I awake again, but I can see now. The brightness no longer hurts my eyes. And I can move. I can turn. Around me are floating objects that I instantly recognize as my gear. There is my bastard sword, my shield, and over there is my suit of Dwarven platemail. I even see my mysterious magical bag which holds many things (including the suit of chainmail given to me by a great priest of Clangadden on his deathbed), tumbling end over end before me.

I reach out to touch the objects but realize suddenly that I cannot reach anything. I no longer have arms to reach with. I no longer have feet to stand on. I no longer have a heart to pump my Dwarven blood. I, in fact, no longer have a body at all. I am pure energy. Am I dead?

Then I see something approaching me in the distance. A figure of a man, floating toward me. But something is wrong. His head…his head is detached, and it moves around independantly!

The alarming creature approaches me, bows, and speaks to me. His lips do not move–I hear him in my head.

“I am very sorry,” he says, his voice echoing in my head.

“Where am I?” I stammer, but without moving my lips.

He regards me. “You are not from here. What is your name?”

I draw my energy body up to it’s full height. “I am G’Kar Truehammer of Helm, son of S’Kar and…” Continuing on, I name my entire family tree, as is the tradition of my people when greeting each other. My new found friend seems attentive.

“You are from the prime, then.” He regards me again with an expression of great sadness. “Again, I am very sorry.”

“For what?” I ask.

“You are on the Positive Energy Plane, my most unfortunate friend. And you were mortal too. I’m afraid there is no return for you to the Prime.”

“‘Were a mortal?!’ Do you mean I am dead?”

“In a way, yes. But you still have your soul and you can venture freely about this wonderful world!”

I look around. White nothingness for as far as I can see. “You think this is wonderful, eh?”

“For us, yes! This is a beautiful existence. One can contemplate many great things here in the vast silence and calm, basking in the powerful energy. I cannot imagine a better way to live! Can you?

“But my friend, you cannot return to your home. Your body has been destroyed. I am so sorry for this. This happens to all mortals who venture here. Their bodies just cannot take the healing energy around them–it is too great to withstand.”

I hang motionless for a while, and find myself sobbing, even though I have no eyes to water or nasal passages to clog with mucous.

After a while of regarding me, he finally offers to venture into the Prime Material Plane and search for a friend dearest to me, to tell them of my fate. “This so they may put you to rest.”

“Yes, please! I would greatly appreciate this kindness.” I think for a while and then say, “Is there a chance they could free me?” I brighten a bit at this.

“Well…,” he ponders this for a while, “they might be able to use magic to return your soul to your plane.”

“Yes. A ressurection. Tell them to get my things as well.”

He frowns at this. “I’m afraid that I will have difficulty finding you or your gear once we depart company. This is a vast, uncharted space, even to my kind.” He looks at me with narrowed eyes, “You should be happy to return to your plane as you are.”

We float together for a bit, then he turns, but before he does, he says, “I take my leave of you, Master G’Kar. Oh, by the way, who should I contact?”

“Jaran.” I tell him the city where I believe she should be.

I watch his body recede into the great whiteness until it is a speck. Then he was gone. I look back at my floating gear.

Weightless, I wait.