Session 20231019 It's a trap
General Summary
Bertrum's Journal
Dear Journal,
Oh, what a curious descent into the abyss we ventured, my loyal companions and I. As I sat in meditative reverie, attuning to the arcane energies of the manse, Lyris and Mufasa dutifully stood sentinel. The labyrinthine halls of a sinister Necromancer's domain awaited our exploration.
Then, Nightshade, the embodiment of audacious curiosity, her heart aflame with a thirst for secrets, discovered a hidden portal. Alone, she ventured forth, encountering a Nemessary inhabiting a lifeless form ensconced in the very walls. A struggle, brief yet fierce, ensued, and with her grace, Nightshade triumphed.
But, lo and behold, a sinister room of malevolent design lay beyond, a treacherous chamber laden with traps most diabolical. Her discretion was wise as she withheld further explorations until my meditation's end.
My attunement to the manse, alas, did not bear the bounteous insight I had hoped for, nor did it confer dominion over its arcane machinations. As my essence flowed into its mystic currents, I discerned fine tendrils of energy, whispering secrets as they wound their enigmatic paths through the manifold chambers. Their nature, alas, eluded my grasp. Now convened, we reunited with Nightshade in the trap-laden room, plotting to transcend the perilous expanse and reach the far corridor. With cautious dispatch, we dispatched the pixies to explore the room, verifying its dangers. They crossed the chamber unscathed, returning with tidings of a distant door, an endpoint to their fragile journey. Taking a calculated risk, Nightshade embarked on the hazardous journey across the chamber. A mere fifteen feet, yet perilous as the abyss, she ventured, with one of the spiked walls descending with preternatural speed, a sorcerous response to her presence.
With courage and craft, Nightshade traversed the room and unlocked the far door, revealing a resplendent chamber. A library, exquisite seating, and ornate writing desks beckoned, while the voluminous tomes bore secrets untold. She selected but a few, then advanced into an adjacent chamber, where three bodies, lifeless yet poised, served as vessels for the Nemessaries. Adeptly, she rendered the hosts useless, thwarting the menacing spirits. With practicality in mind, I surmised that if we all attuned to the manse, we might gain respite from its treacherous traps. Alas, Nightshade regarded the endeavour as unworthy of her pursuit. We progressed through the door the Nemessary had previously traversed, mapping the labyrinthine maze with meticulous attention. Marking the walls with a trail of chalk, we left behind a guide for our future expeditions. At last, we stumbled upon a chamber overflowing with armaments - thousands of weapons and armour, each bearing sinister inscriptions conducive to the unholy art of ghostly possession. It was a grim repository, years in the making, now hinting at the potential for an army of the undead. My consolation, however, lay in the vulnerability of those ghostly spirits trapped within the metallic shells. Further chambers unfolded - storehouses bereft of substantial worth, yet teasing with hints of darker revelations. Our steps led us to a disquieting chamber, a grotesque surgical suite replete with embalming fluid, a chilling testament to the necromancers' unholy endeavours. We pondered the fluid's potential as a means to reduce the room to cinders. Our explorations continued, unveiling a chamber brimming with equipment designed for the assembly of formidable, abhorrent bodies. Although less ghastly than the preceding room, it hinted at darker dangers that lay in wait. In the corners, I unearthed precious death-aspected materials, suitable for crafting formidable artifacts. And then, to the final chamber, where lifeless bodies, prepared for the gruesome metamorphosis into the accursed undead, lay in melancholy repose. We considered their fate, pondering the role embalming fluid might play in reducing the chamber to ash.
The chronicle of our harrowing descent into the bowels of that ancient accursed manse continues, as our stalwart party faced three Nemessaries of monstrous form, occupying vessels of immense strength. Clad in weighty armour and brandishing weapons of dread, their malevolence was compounded by the presence of five spectral war ghosts, shadows of death's fervent embrace. In the face of such dire circumstances, the council of reason, led by my own hopes and dreams, whispered the possibility of negotiation and diplomacy as a path towards salvation. Alas, Nightshade, whose combat prowess equaled her curiosity, disregarded these pleas and triggered her formidable charms of martial prowess. There, amidst the darkness, she strode forward, a beacon of determined resolve, and her anima roared to Iconic life, a symbol of her divine allegiance aflame with the aspect of the God of hunting, a fierce and ferocious visage. Swiftly, with the grace of a seasoned predator, Nightshade unleashed her wrath upon the first Nemessary. With savage artistry, her blade danced through the ether, and the malevolent spirit fell before her might.
The others, undeterred by their comrade's demise, surged forth in retaliation. Yet their ploy to send war ghosts to overwhelm our valiant Nightshade was ill-fated. A combat charm of extraordinary skill granted her the power to transform successful defences into a potent riposte. Alas, the Nemessaries sought to recall the phantom warriors, but their spectral minions were but slaves to commands, heedless of the wisdom of retreat, and they succumbed to Nightshade's vorpal blade. In my moment of greatest need, I unfurled my Terrifying Apparition of Glory charm, evoking a semblance of ethereal protection. With an authoritative resonance, my anima ascended to the Iconic level, bestowing upon me a sensation of unrivalled power and authority. I, a master of the arcane arts, stood defiant, invoking a more formidable aspect of my being. Mufasa, noble companion of Nightshade, hurled himself into the fray, yet found himself outmatched by the colossal Nemessaries in their towering forms. Despite his valorous intent, he struggled to stem the malevolent tide.
One of the Nemessaries, harbouring a dark design, wove incantations in a desperate bid to ensnare Nightshade. The tendrils of spellcraft reached for her, but she, nimble as the elusive shadow, danced beyond their grasping tendrils. Her agile form, a testament to her cunning, eluded entrapment. Nightshade's blade, ever thirsting for vengeance, found its mark upon the vessel of one of the Nemessaries, sundering it. Yet the spectral entity, dislodged but undeterred, fled in its ghostly form, eluding the finality of her vengeance. Amidst the crucible of battle, attuned to the mystic currents of the manse, I intuited the power of my iconic anima. A somber realisation spurred me to summon forth a demon, a creature to aid us in our darkest hour. Deliberate in my selection, I chose a form well suited to vanquishing Nemessaries in their ethereal essence. The entity, a spectral enigma of wraith-like design, a floating sphere refracted by facets, awaited my command behind the next Nemessary, primed to strike. When the dire blades of Nightshade and Mufasa claimed another Nemessary, the spectre of the dark entity promptly annihilated the spirit. The fabric of reality itself quivered and buckled in response, for the obliteration was so complete that it left the very nature of our existence in question. The Nemessary, who had earlier fled in terror, returned with a weaker, yet serviceable vessel. It sought to grapple Nightshade, to restrain her in a desperate attempt at survival. But the diminished armour and might of the new host rendered it futile, as Nightshade and Mufasa swiftly dispatched their adversary, her Ghost-Eater charm claiming the spirit in a final coup. The last Nemessary, witnessing this calamity, surrendered to despair. With a voice laden with panic, it offered the knowledge of a concealed treasure trove and implored us to forsake our pursuit. We followed its counsel, locating the treasure horde, a veritable trove of fortune, and amongst the gleaming riches, several ingots of Orichalcum, a rare and coveted magical substance, graced our fortune. As we stand amidst the spoils and secrets of the manse, we confront a daunting enigma. Did the final Nemessary truly flee, or does it plot vengeance from the shadows? Shall we persist further, to plumb the depths of its mysteries, or do we forsake the sinister abode and consign it to the annals of oblivion? The flickering torch of destiny, my dear confidants, has cast its light upon our precipice, and the path forward remains shrouded in uncertainty.
Yours, Bertrum B, Summoner of Weird Sphere Things
My attunement to the manse, alas, did not bear the bounteous insight I had hoped for, nor did it confer dominion over its arcane machinations. As my essence flowed into its mystic currents, I discerned fine tendrils of energy, whispering secrets as they wound their enigmatic paths through the manifold chambers. Their nature, alas, eluded my grasp. Now convened, we reunited with Nightshade in the trap-laden room, plotting to transcend the perilous expanse and reach the far corridor. With cautious dispatch, we dispatched the pixies to explore the room, verifying its dangers. They crossed the chamber unscathed, returning with tidings of a distant door, an endpoint to their fragile journey. Taking a calculated risk, Nightshade embarked on the hazardous journey across the chamber. A mere fifteen feet, yet perilous as the abyss, she ventured, with one of the spiked walls descending with preternatural speed, a sorcerous response to her presence.
With courage and craft, Nightshade traversed the room and unlocked the far door, revealing a resplendent chamber. A library, exquisite seating, and ornate writing desks beckoned, while the voluminous tomes bore secrets untold. She selected but a few, then advanced into an adjacent chamber, where three bodies, lifeless yet poised, served as vessels for the Nemessaries. Adeptly, she rendered the hosts useless, thwarting the menacing spirits. With practicality in mind, I surmised that if we all attuned to the manse, we might gain respite from its treacherous traps. Alas, Nightshade regarded the endeavour as unworthy of her pursuit. We progressed through the door the Nemessary had previously traversed, mapping the labyrinthine maze with meticulous attention. Marking the walls with a trail of chalk, we left behind a guide for our future expeditions. At last, we stumbled upon a chamber overflowing with armaments - thousands of weapons and armour, each bearing sinister inscriptions conducive to the unholy art of ghostly possession. It was a grim repository, years in the making, now hinting at the potential for an army of the undead. My consolation, however, lay in the vulnerability of those ghostly spirits trapped within the metallic shells. Further chambers unfolded - storehouses bereft of substantial worth, yet teasing with hints of darker revelations. Our steps led us to a disquieting chamber, a grotesque surgical suite replete with embalming fluid, a chilling testament to the necromancers' unholy endeavours. We pondered the fluid's potential as a means to reduce the room to cinders. Our explorations continued, unveiling a chamber brimming with equipment designed for the assembly of formidable, abhorrent bodies. Although less ghastly than the preceding room, it hinted at darker dangers that lay in wait. In the corners, I unearthed precious death-aspected materials, suitable for crafting formidable artifacts. And then, to the final chamber, where lifeless bodies, prepared for the gruesome metamorphosis into the accursed undead, lay in melancholy repose. We considered their fate, pondering the role embalming fluid might play in reducing the chamber to ash.
The chronicle of our harrowing descent into the bowels of that ancient accursed manse continues, as our stalwart party faced three Nemessaries of monstrous form, occupying vessels of immense strength. Clad in weighty armour and brandishing weapons of dread, their malevolence was compounded by the presence of five spectral war ghosts, shadows of death's fervent embrace. In the face of such dire circumstances, the council of reason, led by my own hopes and dreams, whispered the possibility of negotiation and diplomacy as a path towards salvation. Alas, Nightshade, whose combat prowess equaled her curiosity, disregarded these pleas and triggered her formidable charms of martial prowess. There, amidst the darkness, she strode forward, a beacon of determined resolve, and her anima roared to Iconic life, a symbol of her divine allegiance aflame with the aspect of the God of hunting, a fierce and ferocious visage. Swiftly, with the grace of a seasoned predator, Nightshade unleashed her wrath upon the first Nemessary. With savage artistry, her blade danced through the ether, and the malevolent spirit fell before her might.
The others, undeterred by their comrade's demise, surged forth in retaliation. Yet their ploy to send war ghosts to overwhelm our valiant Nightshade was ill-fated. A combat charm of extraordinary skill granted her the power to transform successful defences into a potent riposte. Alas, the Nemessaries sought to recall the phantom warriors, but their spectral minions were but slaves to commands, heedless of the wisdom of retreat, and they succumbed to Nightshade's vorpal blade. In my moment of greatest need, I unfurled my Terrifying Apparition of Glory charm, evoking a semblance of ethereal protection. With an authoritative resonance, my anima ascended to the Iconic level, bestowing upon me a sensation of unrivalled power and authority. I, a master of the arcane arts, stood defiant, invoking a more formidable aspect of my being. Mufasa, noble companion of Nightshade, hurled himself into the fray, yet found himself outmatched by the colossal Nemessaries in their towering forms. Despite his valorous intent, he struggled to stem the malevolent tide.
One of the Nemessaries, harbouring a dark design, wove incantations in a desperate bid to ensnare Nightshade. The tendrils of spellcraft reached for her, but she, nimble as the elusive shadow, danced beyond their grasping tendrils. Her agile form, a testament to her cunning, eluded entrapment. Nightshade's blade, ever thirsting for vengeance, found its mark upon the vessel of one of the Nemessaries, sundering it. Yet the spectral entity, dislodged but undeterred, fled in its ghostly form, eluding the finality of her vengeance. Amidst the crucible of battle, attuned to the mystic currents of the manse, I intuited the power of my iconic anima. A somber realisation spurred me to summon forth a demon, a creature to aid us in our darkest hour. Deliberate in my selection, I chose a form well suited to vanquishing Nemessaries in their ethereal essence. The entity, a spectral enigma of wraith-like design, a floating sphere refracted by facets, awaited my command behind the next Nemessary, primed to strike. When the dire blades of Nightshade and Mufasa claimed another Nemessary, the spectre of the dark entity promptly annihilated the spirit. The fabric of reality itself quivered and buckled in response, for the obliteration was so complete that it left the very nature of our existence in question. The Nemessary, who had earlier fled in terror, returned with a weaker, yet serviceable vessel. It sought to grapple Nightshade, to restrain her in a desperate attempt at survival. But the diminished armour and might of the new host rendered it futile, as Nightshade and Mufasa swiftly dispatched their adversary, her Ghost-Eater charm claiming the spirit in a final coup. The last Nemessary, witnessing this calamity, surrendered to despair. With a voice laden with panic, it offered the knowledge of a concealed treasure trove and implored us to forsake our pursuit. We followed its counsel, locating the treasure horde, a veritable trove of fortune, and amongst the gleaming riches, several ingots of Orichalcum, a rare and coveted magical substance, graced our fortune. As we stand amidst the spoils and secrets of the manse, we confront a daunting enigma. Did the final Nemessary truly flee, or does it plot vengeance from the shadows? Shall we persist further, to plumb the depths of its mysteries, or do we forsake the sinister abode and consign it to the annals of oblivion? The flickering torch of destiny, my dear confidants, has cast its light upon our precipice, and the path forward remains shrouded in uncertainty.
Yours, Bertrum B, Summoner of Weird Sphere Things
Report Date
19 Oct 2023
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