Note that since this was an ancestral flashback session, I have not included PC/NPC names but have rather attempted to generalize the nature of the event...I also seriously doubt that my logs will be this detailed in the future, but was enjoying writing it and will get better at condensing information as I move forward...
Ancestral Prologue--------------
The slaver caravan had traveled for nearly three months, and was now crossing into the Eastern Deserts. Over the course of weeks, an assortment from almost all the common races and nationalities had been captured. There were Elves, Humans, Dwarves, half-breeds, and even Bloodfist Orcs. Beaten into submission, and worse in some cases, they had been tossed into apartment block style cells which towered three stories high. Lines of these housing "units "had been strung together to form a sort of desert locomotive, pulled by massive beasts of burden that resembled giant armoured tortoises.
At each stop, another batch of prisoners was loaded into the bins and the train started moving along again. The last group consisted of what appeared to be Noble-born from the Old Regions, a rare sight in this part of the world. The fine adornments stripped from these fresh arrivals would add immensely to the profit made by the slavers. Newcomers often arrived wounded and requiring care, which they might or might not receive depending on the demeanor of their cell mates. Even if they were inclined, there was little they had to offer. If their wounds did not do the trick, the sweltering, oppressive heat often finished the job. Many had fallen and died already.
Within each cell, scenarios of life and death had been playing out. Limited rations of water and food, granted by the slavers, were doled out each day to the captives. In some cells, fast friendships and alliances of necessity were forming, while in others there was bickering and hostility. The more clever attempted to probe the limits of their prison, searching for weakness in structure or perhaps a lock to pick, but so far the attempt had been fruitless. The only comfort that they could take was that with the compartments nearly full, it seemed that they would be arriving at their destination sometime soon. Rumors circulated among the prisoners that they city of Kai was near, and even a slaver auction block seemed preferable to this.
Just when all hope seemed lost, however, something unexpected happened. The prisoners awaken one night to the sounds of crashing thunder and the flashes of magical lightning from outside. There are sounds of battle, and screams of death and agony. Those who sneak a peak outside through their tiny cell windows spy a battle, and risk being pierced by volleys of arrows coming from some unseen assailant. The war cries of an ancient language can be heard from outside. The raiders are Elves.
The battle is comparatively short, and in the end the prisoners themselves aid in the process from within, using the distraction to break from their cells and wreak havoc on the guards inside their trolleys. In the end, the slavers are utterly destroyed. The few surviving prisoners, numbering some forty or so, are gathered into a circle by the Raider Elves and told to stay put. Their lives are uncertain, for these Elves are not interested in them, and in fact seem inclined to put the captives out of their misery.
As they gather the loot from the caravan, the Captain of the raiders is meekly approached by one of the Elven prisoners who humbly inquires about their intentions. Surprisingly, the Raiders allow them to live, but they offer little assistance. They are granted the clothes on their back and whatever they can gather from the wreckage, and told to head West. And with that, the Elves load their booty and depart the scene, leaving the refugees to their own devices.
The group travels days through the desert, armed only with crude wooden tools and meager rations. The desert itself turns out to be a dangerous place, as one unlucky individual is attacked by a sand-dwelling creature. He is saved by his companions, though just barely, and the group trudges onwards. Thankfully, they reach a rocky outcrop at the edge of a canyon and make camp. The place resonates with ancient power, like the imprint of an important place. Many feel the place was a battle site of some kind, though no evidence of it exists now. The distraction is passing only, however, since survival issues are pressing. Edible plants are gathered, and one party discovers a group of strange spiny creatures, the size and shape of large melons, which they study and find to contain water. These, too, are collected for possible future consumption, and the ragtag group continues on into the canyon in the following days.
After a span of several days, and the resulting loss of a few more along the way (now at 37 people) , they enter a widening valley and discover an amazing sight. Ruins can be seen in the distance, an ancient temple structure of some sort, built into the very walls of the canyon. They rush for the building, hoping to find some other inhabitants, but quickly discover it to be abandoned. Although there are no people, the structure is dark, cool and inviting, especially considering the baking sun outside. A few brave souls enter the structure, and are immediately struck by how much better they feel! They happily report to their waiting friends outside that all is well (in fact,
very well) and everyone clambers inside. A sense of well-being settles on the freed slaves, and everyone relaxes in the cool shade of the room.
The dwarves among the group find themselves to be happiest of all in the confines of the rocky interior. They begin to snoop around, sniffing for anything of import (or mineralogical value!). A few others take note, particularly two nervous Elves who eye their short counterparts with some interest. Normally they might advise caution, but a sense of safety and comfort pervades their behavior, and they find they are mainly amused by the dwarf antics as they continue to explore deeper and deeper into the darkness of the cavern.
A few Bloodfist orcs take notice, and stand to go with them, attracting the attention of a female human, a Noble-born from Rang' Shada. She is troubled, more so than any of the others, and moves to stop the orcs from following. Something is not right, she senses, and calls after the wanderers down the hall, but there is no answer. They either cannot hear, or are ignoring her. The lead male orc, being practical in his approach (and not wanting the dwarves and elves to get
all the gold themselves) assigns a few of his companions to accompany them into the caverns, and they scurry off in pursuit. He then sits back and waits near the nervous woman, who now is feeling an amulet around her neck while making a most perplexed expression. He looks to his own personal amulet, and realizes it has grown cold to the touch.
Now deep in the cavern, the orcs catch up to the group. The cavern opens up to a room that is strangely lit, almost as if the glow of moonlight. Most astonishing, however, is the coldness of the cave which has gone from cool to freezing. Icy columns stand all around the room, and a thick layer of ice covers the floor. On closer inspection, the group realizes they are not alone. Within each ice block there is now apparent the form of a figure, fully armored and entombed in a combat pose. The largest ones stand several metres, and appear to be giants, but human-sized races are also apparent throughout. Two in the party, held in common by a knowledge of their respective priesthood back home, find that they are vaguely familiar with some of the frozen warriors. Eying the weapons stuck in their icy hands, some party members attempt to break them free without success. The magical nature of the ice resists blows, and is only somewhat susceptible to fire. A feeling of unease starts to permeate, and the party begins to suspect a trap. They turn to leave, but discover the way they came is no longer apparent. The only path to take is down a long hallway, lined with more of these frozen souls.
In the dim light, the demi-humans can see a giant door at the end of the hallway. The group rushes to the door, noting as they do that the ice encasing the warriors appears to be lessening as they near the portal, though they are no more alive or pliable than any of the others. A few manage to pry weapons loose from exposed areas without harming the bodies, and so armed they push open the doorway to peer inside. Some unseen force seems to draw them in against their will, pulling them into the room.
What they witness astonishes them! In the center of a swirling blackness stands a magnificent giant, perhaps a titan. His armor gleams and glistens, and though plate-like, it appears to flow and move with his body. He swings his weapons as a master would, and sidesteps an attack from some unseen foe. It is at this instant that the party first glimpses the abomination, a horrendous and vile thing that seems to pour from the darkness. It's tentacles writhe about and strike furiously at the warrior, who parries each blow with some effort. One tentacle lashes at him, and strikes his shoulder. The titan grimaces, suddenly realizing that the beast has taken note of the newly-arrived party. Lashing at the giant, it turns to gaze at them with the hungry eyes of a foul god. Urgently, he charges in to the creature, regaining it's full attention once more, and calls out to the party, "Run, you fools!
RUN!"
As if suddenly shaken from slumber, the party dashes out of the room, scrambling about even as they can hear the frightening sound of the beast behind them. A foul wind seems to blow past them as they run down the hallway from which they came, the heavy whisper of the god-things name on their proverbial coat-tails.
As if from the darkness itself, the explorers suddenly burst forth and land again in the ruins cavern. Nearby, the startled human and her Orc companion jump up and run over to the party, asking after them about what had occurred. Frightened that they were still being followed, they move quickly to the sunlit entrance and recount their tales. Even moments later, as the entire group gathers its supplies and prepares to depart the mysterious temple, those who are wearing their Amulets of Aging are still frosty.
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Years later, in the domiciles of humans, elves, dwarves and orcs alike, this tale would be recounted and shared with several generations. It was a tale meant to frighten young children, and inspire older ones. And even all this time, across geographical distance, racial boundaries, and class differences, the families of these 37 have kept this story of bravery, adversity, and magic at the core of their family mythologies. For though they managed to find home again, none had chosen ever to return to the Temple in the desert and discover its true meaning. It was simply unnerving enough to know it existed.
