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The Empire was a bastion of learning and culture, a civilization that spanned the known world with uniform laws that protected the lives, property, and dignity of its citizens. Eventually it succumbed to the greed and arrogance of its ruling class, disintegrating into many political factions that vied with each other to the point of distraction from the tasks and obligations necessary to a functioning society. The ensuing centuries have seen petty kings, one after another and sometimes many at once, striving to reclaim the imperial glory or to preserve their own small fiefs against the noble ambitions of other small time royalty.

Luan Phien was a general and sorcerer in the late middle epoch of the Empire, a century or more before it fell. Scholars say he was one of the "last true nobility," a man distinguished by selfless service to the dictates of Order. Some biographies also mention that he had a sardonic sense of humor.

Greetings General Phien, Elzarune says with caution. "The world has changed greatly since you once trod it's surface. The Empire has fallen far from what it was when you so selflessly served it."

Sealgair

Sealgair will sniff a bit, "He smells dead to me. Is it safe to talk to the dead?"

Rex wrote: ↑Thu Aug 27, 2020 3:31 pm Sealgair

Sealgair will sniff a bit, "He smells dead to me. Is it safe to talk to the dead?"

Elrarune quickly turns to look at Sealgair and give him a shrug. "He spoke first."

Grax raises a busy eyebrow questioningly but does not say or act against the talking dead. He merely rests a hand on his axe ready to wield it if the need arises.

That noise might be a chuckle. "I do get news betimes," the lich answers. "From those intrepids who enter here. Tell me, what's the year? What's happened since the year 330 After Fall?"

Let's say it's 501 After Fall; take great latitude in a brief summary of events of the past 170 years.

Satisfied with your brief summary of petty kings squabbling over bones and potsherds, the lich crackles its knuckles and its grimace stretches even wider. "Then you'll be wondering how to escape?" it asks you Elzarunecontentedly.

tibbius wrote: ↑Fri Sep 04, 2020 8:14 pm Satisfied with your brief summary of petty kings squabbling over bones and potsherds, the lich crackles its knuckles and its grimace stretches even wider. "Then you'll be wondering how to escape?" it asks you contentedly.

Grax nods his head "That I would, an I'm sure me friends are thinkin the same."

tibbius wrote: ↑Fri Sep 04, 2020 8:14 pm Satisfied with your brief summary of petty kings squabbling over bones and potsherds, the lich crackles its knuckles and its grimace stretches even wider. "Then you'll be wondering how to escape?" it asks you Elzarunecontentedly.

I've seen varying opinions on making language differences an obstacle. Here, in this particular scene, you're welcome to roll and establish whether you can understand the sorceror general. Grax and Sealgair would roll at Disadvantage. Note that the dead probably can't understand you unless you're speaking its lingo.

Sealgair

Ancient Language [1d6] = 5

"We would like to go home sometime for sure."

The Tomb is at (1). Please one of you identify where "home" is.

"Ah," says the wight to Elzarune and Sealgair. "Then you'll be glad to know - there is more than one way to leave. Everyone so far has figured this out. I'll watch while you do the same. It's the only entertainment I get."

Sealgair

Sealgair searches around to get more details of the room. "Lets see what we can learn."

Her home is in the forest with the oval trees, between the swamp and mountains, closer to #1.

The floor is smooth and slightly porous stone. The walls are similar. The ceiling is domed. At the center, the metal pole extends from ceiling to floor. It is surrounded at top and bottom by openings in the floor and ceiling.

At the entrance to the room there is the hand plate on the wall, which you know transforms the passage floor from an illusory surface to solidity.

At the side of the room is Luan Phien's alcove, where the deceased sorceror leans at ease within his tilted sarcophagus. His burning blue eyes do not visibly move and his withered rictus makes his face unreadable - but you have an uneasy feeling that he is scanning your faces and inwardly laughing.

You know that Wraith comes from the port city at the far south point of the peninsula, hundreds of miles away.

As you study the room in the glowing lights of the metal pole and of Elzarune's summoning, you barely notice Luan Phien shifting to settle down into his coffin a bit more comfortably. "I do miss wine," he mutters in his ancient lingo. "Time was I'd call it up from the basement of my tower, but there's no wine under this tomb."

Grax "Fair enough."

Sealgair

"Never much cared for wine, mead is more my thing." Sealgair sniffs around, trying to find any cracks that might indicate a secret passage.

The openings around the foot-thick metal pole are about four feet across - leaving gaps big enough for a person to squeeze through, upward or downward. The one at the floor smells like salty water, the one at the ceiling smells like mineral oil.