Necrology - A.V. Medical Journal

[Polak76]

//Converted word doc to normal format//
//Again a snippet from last CDQ//

Blood pooled across the cave floor, remnants from the recently slain Giants.  Their corpses and surrounding cavern were vaguely illuminated by the glow of arcane defences which buzzed and crackled in an unnatural aura around the black mage.  The same lights cast eerie silhouettes along the stretch of corridor, enhancing the size of the mage and his companion, a grotesque six-armed snakelike woman, deformed and unnatural.
All was now deathly quiet, all but the continuous tapping of chisel upon rare deposits of precious stones.  
Alandric’s attention was focused on prizing fire opals from the cave walls.  His maralith servant loomed close by, licking its wounds from the recent battle.
“You’re unusually quiet today.  What are you up to?” Alandric commented to the Maralith which he regarded briefly through his peripheral vision.
“Massters,” it replied with an alien female dialect, “you presumes too muchs.”
Alandric chuckled.  “You torment me daily.  You ridicule and remind me of my imminent demise at every opportunity.  What is different today?”  
“Nothing master,” is almost spat the word master.  The ignominy of being summoned and used by lesser mortals on distant planes wrought hatred through the beast.  If it had a moment it would kill its master.  Unfortunately Alandric was more powerful than some mages and the battle was often a stalemate.  For now the creature forced itself to be submissive. “I live only to serve y-”
“And don’t you forget that!” Alandric interjected with a stern voice, his irritation evident.  This time he prized the last of the stone and turned to confront the creature face to face.
“I may be dying, but I can still have my way with you before I go.  Do not doubt my power worm.”
The creature’s muscles flexed and Alandric readied a precautionary spell.  The stand-off lasted long seconds before the creature conceded defeat.  This is how it was.  The relationship was volatile and Alandric never allowed himself to be unprepared.  He made that mistake once before when he cast Gate for the first time.  It brought forth a Balor which immediately attacked him. He barely managed to slay the beast, yet the experience made him wiser.
Alandric was about to turn to a second deposit of fire opal when the Maralith broke the silence.  “Master, about your sickness…”
‘Here we go’, Alandric thought.
“…wez might know of cure for yous”.
Alandric turned to regard the creature.  “Well this is a new tactic.  What are you planning? “
“Nothing masters.  If you go wes have not mage to brings us here to fight.  We wants to keep you here.”
“Who is we?”  He questioned harshly.
“Us.” The creature’s six arms made a circling motion.  “Yous well known in de abyss”
Alandric rubbed his chin.  “Well that sounds comforting”.  His sarcasm was lost on the creature.  “I’ve travelled across the globe, studied ancient tomes, prayed and conducted vial experiments on myself to beat this affliction.  How is it you think you have a cure?”
“Master, ish not me who haz cure.  The great Lord of de Pits has powers to fix you up.”
“Lord of the Pits?” Alandric questioned.  The creature nodded.  “Are you telling me that you think some great Balor has the means to fix an ailment he knows nothing about?”
The creature nodded, “He is most powerful and lives for eons.  He has powers greater than all on dis world.  HE can fix yous master.”
“And you think I’d summon this creature on a whim that would likely end up getting me killed?”
“Masters, I feel silly for telling yous, as you already must know that all summoners can be protected when Gating by using the appropriate rituals.”  The creature feigned humility.
Alandric contested the Maralith.  “But each Gate requires a unique ritual to protect the summoner.  I was almost killed when I Gated a Balor for my first time.  Now you suggest I Gate a Balor LORD?   I don’t suppose you know the appropriate preparations?”
Remarkably the creature nodded and began scribing on the ground with one of its scimitars, the pentagram design and summoning commands, written in a language Alandric recognised through his years of study.
Alandric frowned as he watched the creature complete the last of the incantation rites.  It regarded him with a meekness that made him angry.  It was testing him and he did not want to show cowardice in front of the abomination.  
“Very well.  I’ve memorized the ritual.  I’ll summon him when I’m ready”.
The creature bowed almost mockingly, “Naturally masters.”

Days passed and Alandric could not shake the idea of summoning the Balor Lord.  He was certain it was a trap.  The sudden niceties from an abyssal servant were disconcerting.  More importantly however was that the pentagram design was flawed.  It almost evaded Alandric’s scrutiny yet was written with such alacrity he was sure it was purposeful.  The detail was exceptionally small and would not have been identified with an untrained eye.  Years of study both medically and mystically have taught Alandric to pay attention to all detail.  If the Gate was performed with the flawed design he was certain that the summoned creature would break free from its prison.  Alandric knew he should not be surprised by this tactic.  The out-worlds viewed all other creatures as lesser beings and probably imagined Alandric to be none the wiser.  It was a trap that much was sure yet his curiosity was immense.  Alandric decided that he would spring the trap, only this time he would be prepared.

For summoning a named Lord Alandric require certain preparations.  Firstly he needed a place to conduct the ritual.  He also needed an offering and an escape.
Due to some late irritations with certain Toranites he decided to break into a home within Fort Llast and conduct the summoning there.  Additionally he captured some locals from the area, which included a paladin just for good measure.  
Alandric’s comrade and apprentice Revone Starr aided with the captures.  He had proven his uses through the years and his skills were developing to a point to be dependable.  Regardless he was about the only person Alandric would trust to aid him if the situation became desperate.

The house they chose had been vacant for some time.  They had been preparing the basement for days, coming and going as they pleased under the cloak of invisibility.  The prisoners were unconscious, sedated from mild toxins that Alandric formulated.  He shackled them to the floor within a pentagram design which he modified from the Maralith’s instructions.  It was drawn with human blood, no more than an hour old.
Revone followed his instructions precisely without question which also impressed Alandric.  The young Spellsword was placing the black candles in their designated positions and began lighting them in order.  Alandric stepped back and waited for Revone to complete the final preparations.  He stood shortly after and turned to acknowledge Alandric that he was complete with a curt nod.  
Alandric circled the pentagram one last time and studied its every line.  He scanned the arcane runes also written in blood to ensure their authenticity.  When he was happy he began casting protective magic on himself and Revone. ‘I’m not taking any chances with this one’ he thought to himself.  
When he was complete he walked and front of the Pentagram and took one last look at Revone to ensure he was also ready. Revone was positioned two steps behind Alandric.  His sword was held ready, flaming and crackling with electrical energy, whilst emanating a chill from the various combined elements that surrounded the blade.  In his left hand his shield was held poised.  His face was totally obscured from the surrounding darkness, however, his eyes reflected the magical energies from his blade like two glowing coals in the night.  He was ready.
Alandric took a long breath and began the incantation that would summon the Balor Lord.

The incantation only lasted seconds yet the concentration and delivery felt like hours to Alandric.  It began much the same way as most Gate spells yet the repetition of calling his name seemed endless.  Each time he called his name he felt a familiar pull against the weave.  The pull was only feint yet it was there.  He would do it over and over, each time using his will to push against the blackness and grab hold of the sensation with his mind.  Each time he repeated his name the pull was stronger and Alandric would push against it stronger in return.  It was like breaking a tree branch.  It takes small movements to and fro, up and down, little by little.  With each repetition the branch bends a little further and you push back a little harder.  Eventually with perseverance the branch would break.  Just like the branch the weave suddenly gave way and opened the portal.  The floor within the pentagram opened wide and two gargantuan claws protruded immediately though.  They inverted and the claws drove down, digging into the flagstones as they pulled the immense creature through.  The candles flickered violently and suddenly two went out.  Alandric desperately glanced at Revone and he was already at the scene re-igniting them with a small gesture of his hand.
Before long the room went still and the gargantuan creature loomed well above them both, hunched to avoid hitting the ceiling.
It looked much the same as other Balors yet it seemed older and more deadly.  Its eyes burned with seething hatred and its claws flexed like an array of black short swords.
In a voice that rumbled the very foundations of the house, the creature regarded the two Corathites, “So you must be Alandric Vensk?”
If it were not for years of conditioning through the service of Corath, Alandric was certain any lesser man would flee from the creature.  Additionally his mind immunities added some comfort, possibly making him over confident.
“I see that those from your realm know how to communicate.”  It was a statement rather than a question.  His assertion was abrupt and the creatures eyes flared and its lips peeled back to reveal razor sharp canines.  “And yes,” Alandric held his gaze, “I am he.”
“I am the Great One, Lord of Lords, Master of Slaves, and Warlord of the Pits.”  You would do well to learn your place”.
Alandric bowed slightly in response.
The creature seemed a little pleased at that and broke his attention to the slaves shackled at his feet.  “An offering?”
Alandric smiled and gestured to them.
The creature immediately reached down snatching two from the floor, busting the chains that shackled them as if they were no more than thin cobwebs.  Its maw engulfed their torsos and drained their blood with a satisfied smile.  “It has been so long since I’ve gorged on man-flesh.  Oh how I miss the sweetness.”
Suddenly the creature averted its attention to the pentagram and tossed the bodies as if they were rag-dolls.  It followed the design in a full circle and seemed to hesitate momentarily.  “Where is it?”
Alandric braced himself.  This was when the fun would begin.  “Are you looking for the flaw in the design?”
The creature snapped its head in his direction and glared at him.
“I corrected it.  Your slave was not very convincing and I’m much more intelligent to miss such a pathetic ruse.  You should learn to be more subtle”.
The creature bellowed in rage.  Alandric was sure that it would have woken the whole town.
“You pathetic human!  You dare test me?” It growled.  “Do you think this pentagram is enough to protect you?”
Alandric tried to shout over the volume of the beast.  “I want something first and then I’ll let you go.  What do you know of a cure for my disease?”
“You do not question me mortal!  Thou conviction irritates me.  You will die for you impudence and I will be the one to deliver it now!”
Immediately the creature forced its will on Alandric.  He could feel it squeezing his mind and body and he floundered to release a spell.  “Revo-“ he tried to call his comrade yet the might of the beast overwhelmed him and his legs buckled.  He managed a glance to Revone and the man was held fast, transfixed with something else.  Alandric realized he too was under a spell.
Suddenly the pain took a new toll.  His mind blasted in agony and his body ached within.  Through the whirlwind of noise in his head Alandric could barely make out the voice of the Balor over its tempo.
“You may have avoided releasing me to your world but I will take your soul with me and add it to my collection.”
Before he lost consciousness Alandric could only remember the two burning eyes of the Balor before all became veiled in darkness.

…then there was no pain….only darkness.  He knew he was dead, it had happened before when he was killed in battle.  It was the void yet usually the void was devoid of any sound.  This time he could still hear the creature, faintly in the distance.  It was communicating with another entity.  Alandric tried to listen harder and eventually began to hear the other voice, or was it voices?
“I own it!  It is mine to take!” he heard the familiar voice of the Balor.
“You cannot.  You will not.  This one belongs to us.”  The voices were three fold.  They were male and spoke in unison.  The voices were calm yet carried much power.
“You have not right to take him from me.  I am cheated!”  The creature contested.
“This Gate was unsanctioned.  He has unfinished business.  This conversation is over,” the voices replied.
 Alandric felt the hairs on his neck perk in reaction to powerful magics being used.
Suddenly he heard the Demon scream in protest which gradually diminished until it vanished.
“We should take him to the tower before he passes.” He heard one voice command.
“We agree came the other two voiced in unison.”
Suddenly all went silent once again and he drifted in the darkness…


... feeling of cold stone was against his back.  His awareness returns and he tries to open his eyes yet they seemed forced shut.  His arms hang limply beside his body.  As he tries to concentrate a cold needle penetrates his breastplate.  The pain is excruciating and he tries to scream.
He drifts out again…  

…he feels the same cold slab of stone on his back.  Is it stone or metal?  He can’t decide.  He can smell formaldehyde solution.  He can hear the bubbling of liquid against glass.  It reminds him of his lab at home.  A cold hand lifts his limp arm.  It is his left arm.  He tries to move it but it will not yield.  All he can feel is the coldness of the fingers that hold it.  It is numbing.  Through the coldness he suddenly feels warmth at his wrist.  It now burns and he clenches his teeth.  The burning subsides and he can feel warmth trickle down his arm.  ‘Is that blood?’ he thinks to himself.
Two voices break the silence in unison. “Ensure you drain his body completely.”
‘Are they opening my wrist?’ he tries to think then suddenly everything seems disorientated within the darkness and everything subsides as he drifts once again….

…he can open his eyes for the first time.  He can’t lift his head yet he manages to turn it just enough to glance on either die of his body.
His right arm is strapped to a metal table.  Tubes protrude from veins, connected to some apparatus he cannot identify.  Suspended above the apparatus are three humans, recently deceased from what Alandric can tell.  They are crudely held via hooks through the shoulder blades.  Their faces are blank, white with eyes locked in a deathly stare.  They are naked except from a gown which covers their torso.  Blood trickles down from incisions made beneath the gowns.  It drips down to their toes and into a metal trough which feeds the bizaare apparatus.  He looks to his left and can his arm which is strapped in the same manner.  A crude incision opens his wrist to the bone.  He feels suddenly nauseous.  With a deep breath he closes his eyes and controls his breathing.  After long moments he opens them and suddenly a gloved hand appears right before his sight which pushes his head down shutting his vision.  A small blade cuts deep into his neck and he screams.   Everything drifts off again into darkness.…

…he is in a vertical position strapped to a cold metal surface.  He looks around the room and his thoughts were correct.  It is a laboratory.  Beakers, flasks and all manner of jars line the shelved walls.
He looks at his wrists and it is crudely sewn shut.  He looks down at his torso and can see scars across his abdomen and chest.  They have also been crudely shut.  He gulps his saliva and it is cold and tasteless.  ‘What have they done to me?’ Suddenly he yawns.  He closes his eyes and falls to sleep.

…when he wakes this time he is in his own bed.  He leaps up and gazes around the room to ensure it is his own.  He reaches down to touch his stomach.  He can feel the scars.  ‘It wasn’t a dream’.  Alandric shivers and looks down at his left arm.  The wound is still very raw.  ‘Odd that this has not healed when the others have.’
His body feels cold and he covers himself with a blanket.  It does not seem to help.  He grabs another and again nothing changes.  In defiance he tosses them both and falls back to the bed, head in hands.  ‘What was it they said?’ he questions himself.  ‘This one is ours?  This one has unfinished business?’  He rubs his face and feels a lengthy beard.  ‘How long has it been?  Must be at least a month or two by this beard.’

Days pass and the reality of ordeal finally hit home.  Alandric feels changed.  He no longer feels the arcane powers he once knew, however, his body seems transformed.  Food has lost its taste and he feels constantly cold among other things.  Above all these hindrances Alandric feels a sudden eagerness to get back to work with vigour he had never experienced before.
“What has happened to me?” he whispers to himself and falls back to the bed contemplating his next moves.

[Polak76]

I've just made a purchase with Revone on Central.  A house in Prantz will be our new base for operations.  This is the first step of many before I challenge the High Priest and take control of the temple.  I'm slowly building an army of followers.
First and foremost I have Revone, an able swordsman who has complimented his skills from my arcane teachings.  I foresee he will be a force to be rekoned with.
Secondly Hal has proved a worthy ally.  Of all the Priests within the clergy I place my faith in him.  Through his seeming impairment I believe there is an intelligent person, one who can be persuasive and intimidating simultaneously.  I feel more comfortable having a priest up my sleeve.  He is easily lead, or perhaps he is simply allowing me to lead for now.
Lastly a new recruit is displaying the makings of a great warrior.  His name is Dog and he is both fearless and respectful.  He does what he is told regardless of the consequences.  He will be an asset.


Our endeavours in Fort Llast have also surfaced.  Rumours are spreading of the family we sacrificed within the basement of one of the houses.  They know not what they are dealing with yet, however, I had better change my attire before someone recognises me from my frequent visits.  Best to eliminate suspicion, especially when it involves Toranites.

[Polak76]

//this is to all players whom may be able to make Alandric's CDQ//

***From the darkness a hideous and vile zombie appears bearing a rolled up scroll. Normally a site such as this would frighten ten strong men, however you are a Corathite and thus conditioned to much worse. You take the scroll and the creature immediately returns into the darkness from whence it came. The scroll is made from what seems to be dried human flesh (appraise DC 5). The scroll is sealed with red wax bearing the insignia of a rams skull. Breaking the wax you unroll it and are confronted the elegant flowing writing in black ink signed at the bottom by Dr Vensk. It reads: ***

[to whom it reads it],

I have taken the liberty to offer you a choice. Few know my true name, however many will recognise and address me as Dr Vensk. Yes I am the man who enjoys tinkering with the anatomy of all living things, most of which cease to exist once I complete my work. I am the man who dabbles in the dark arts and have been blessed by it's unholy power. I am also the man who carries a legacy of immense magnitude that burdens my existence and brings me to the essential point. I am angry. I am disgusted and restless with the current condition of the church and seek to bring those in charge to their knees.

The church on mistone is growing weak. Those whom hold positions of power grow fat from their idleness as they wallow in the decadance created from the blood of the true followers from many years ago. Their mere existence disgusts me and my tollerance is at an end.

I seek to assume a position of power within the church. I can not describe to you what this position will be, only that when I succeed I will break the idleness and bring the church to it's intended glory. Those weak leaders will learn to fear my wrath should they live long enough, and should they not, I'll animate their corpses to serve in their afterlife.

The decision I give to you is to join me on this journey, show some allegience to the rightful cause and share with me the spoils of victory. As a Corathite you no doubt have seen many battles within the church as members fight for positions of power. I ask you not to sit on the fence this time. Join with me and earn the respect from the most Unholy. If you choose to not aid my cause then stand aside unless you seek to become my enemy.

The time is nigh and I act soon. My summons will contact you when I plan to strike. Be ready at the Chruch and do not spread word of this.

You have been warned.

Dr Vensk

//I know many of you can not make the CDQ. Feel free to comment IC if you so wish.//

[Polak76]

//Following Alandric's successful CDQ//

**the following is written in large print with a heavy hand denoting both exuberance and elation.**

Alas I am triumphant!

I have stepped away from the shadow of my father and taken fate by my own grasp.  I have proven to all within the temple that I am truly the rightful leader of the Veneficus.  Surely the Mad One deems me worthy.

By curies minio I have eliminated a long standing Stipatio and taken his place.  No longer will the church sit idle while our enemies grow stronger.  As the new oraculum Stipatio I'll see to the carrying out of the dark ones will. First however I need to solidify my allies within the church.  No doubt the remnants of the previous Stipatio plot and scheme revenge against me.  I must eliminate all competition swiftly to strengthen my resolve.  Then I will set myself up for the highest position, the Oraculum Mortis.

There are few who are worthy of noting due to their aid and thie loyalties.
**Alandric lists them in tabular order*
Brandin Fleetfoot - whilst not a member of the faith he is a truly resourceful servant
Revone Starr - My apprentice has the courage that few can match.  His skill with both sword and spell have solidified his position under me.
Jehoram - This one heeded my call when I sent out my challenge.  His sword arm is strong and swift.  The casualties in his wake announce his abilities.  He is a truly worthy ally.
Dog - This one like Jehoram also has the skills surely fit for his unholy glory.  He loyalty to me, obedience and fearlessness are a useful and reliable tool.
Hal - This priest has ability to lead the church but seems content to ally with me.  To have his favor is another string to my bow.

There are many others I have in mind to join me.  First I will need to test their abilities and evaluate their loyalties.

Now, once I clean all hint of my predecessors stench, I'll set to work immediately spreading the will of the dark one.  

I will not fail like my father had!

[Polak76]

Tonight I write of Victory against one of my most hated foes, the Toranites.  As circumstance would have it a Dark Elf female crossed our path, offering a bargain to slay the Toranites for a fee.  5000GP per person to lay waste to their fort west of Fort Miritrix.  The gold was of no consequence as I would have completed the task for free.  The interesting aspect was having a cohesive unit to take down these advesaries.  My comrades are well chosen and whilst some linger and twist their moral over right from wrong, in the end they will bend to my will.
In the end the blood of over a dozen Toran warriors drained into the soil.  I only hope it reaches far enough to appease the Dark Lord.

[Polak76]

Surely the Mad One is pleased.
We spent yet another night bathed in bloodshed, this time near Haven.  Through Jehoram we were fortunate to end the miserable lives of many paladins of Vorax.  During the foray however, we did fell some of our own who sort to betray and profit from our actions.  Their lives are of no consequence and their corpses will line the halls of the dark lord in row.

*lifts his quill from the paper while a memory makes him chuckle, careful not to smudge the ink.  When the moment passes he continues writing.*

Jehoram came out of it less fortunate.  Hal took his eye prior to ressurecting him as a lesson in the service of the dark one.  He had fallen to a demilich, a nobel advesary to fall against, however his actions earlier had irritated Hal and myself.  His mind was clouded and confused, too much indecision and second thinking.   If he seeks to become a feared leader of the Ravens then he must learn to strike first and contemplate later.  Regardless Hal's purefication will be a long lesson learnt.

One other aspect that is niggling at me is the Dark Elf language.  I feel it is time to learn it while I have time.  To many around me speak the underground language and I cannot allow them to conspire behind my back.  I have had many comrads over time speaking the language and have picked up various words and phrases.  People such as Yvale, Leisa, Nih, Daralith and more.
I require one who is willing to teach, or perhaps I will capture one as my slave.  My superior is a Dark Elf and my many recent confrontations with them has cemented my decision.  I will begin at once.

//This leads into Alandric sourcing Hoodlums recent submission for Dark Elf Cleric/Fighter from within the temple at Arnax.//

[Polak76]

He sits by the fireplace in deep contemplation.  The night is cold and all nightlife seemed to have abandoned the vicinity, creating a deathly quiet ambience with only the crackle of the fire to break its solace.  His team, once tallying a dozen is now down to three...three plus a child.  The child.  Always the child.  A beacon of chaos incarnate.  He gazes at the child who unnaturally seems to look back coincidentally bearing a visage of anguish and hatred towards him.  Behind those black portals of the child's eyes are immense powers that are twisted and unified to god-like proportions.  It seems almost unfair that Alandric is burdened with a legacy passed down from his father's failures and compounded with interest into a human form.

Suddenly the scrape from a wet-stone over a well-used blade brings his attention back.  Jehoram idly sharpens his great sword rhythmically as he contemplates his own ambitions.  He is a good servant, destined to be a high ranking member of the Raven Guard one day.  For now he is one of the few Corathites that Alandric can trust....but only at arm's length.

Hal on the other hand is one that Alandric watches least.  They have grown over time to accept one another, each with his own unique interests that would upset the balance of a normal persons we'll being.   Their appreciation revolves around the 'end' overpowering the 'means'.  This cohesion was built on actions, not thoughts and in doing so they're alliance could almost be called a friendship.

These two are all he has to rely on other than himself.  He sent the others away.  He had to.  Mercanaries they were.  At least that was how they started.  Perhaps it was the child's powers of corruption or the manner of the work that got the better of them.  In the end they were worse than mercanaries.  They were worse than...s.  Men and women who accepted payment for dirty work, only to question the manner of their work once they were paid.  Pathetic!  Good riddance!  The poisons would get them in the end.  They would succumb to Alandric's trickery.  He had no intention of saving their pathetic lives.  At least that would save him looking over his shoulder in the months to come.  

Then he had to dwell on his own kind.  All factions from the church tracking him down.  Fools!  They think the child a boon from the Mad One. A prize to claim and for the victor the unholy eye of Corath to bestow his favour and infinite wisdom.  How wrong they are.  Unable to enter his own temple without preparing for battle before-hand.  Unable to confide in leaders from the two churches for guidance.  Unable to gain their support for the well-being of the church.  No...he doesn't expect them to understand.  Why should they?  They are all feeble minded and undisciplined.  None lack the supreme intelligence as his.  None ever had.  Correction.  Some do...

...the Black Wizards...a group who saved his life once, replaced it with another which leads to un-life.  One would think this a curse yet Alandric has a sense of indebtedness to them.  They make arrangements which are the most amicable that Alandric has experienced since the onset of his quest.  Strange that he now confides in their strength and for the first time trusts someone. ..

...But...during the course of adventure and desperation, Alandric also places his trust in another...Storan.  The man..correction...lich, tells his story and Alandric is both captivated and willing to assist.  Alandric sets in stone a new contract with Storan.  He now has contracts with many factions and individuals.  Some Alandric knows he must break, others he knows he will fail, but in the end his self preservation will remain, his powers will grow and over time the means in doing so will become a distance memory...