The Golem Pendant Report

General Summary

The group learned about the Hengehold's connection to the Crimson King. They succeeded in destroying one of his glyphs, several of which have been drawn throughout the city. They seem to be functioning as some sort of divination magic, through which the Crimson King can keep tabs on the city. The PCs were surprised to see their old friend, the dwarf lord Torendil, who had come to Giantshead Bay as part of the summit to discuss the threats to the Tranquil Coast. The group agreed to leave the elf Aderlain in his care. For the next session, the group has decided to head north to the Temple of Golgolah. Benn's hexblade weapon, which seems to be inhabited by a minor deity calling herself Nisanna, told him that she believes she knows where the temple is, and can lead the group there. She is also extremely insistent that Benn go, if only to find the Pendant of the Golems, an ancient dwarven device which is thought to give its wearer the ability to control golems.

Character(s) interacted with

While touching the glyph, Benn experiences a vision of the King: A tall humanoid figure, its form and face hidden beneath a voluminous red robe, sits on a crooked throne on a raised dais. Ahead of him, a procession is in progress. A man approaches the throne while holding a lance aloft in front of himself, followed by group of men. Behind them is a procession of women, led by one who carries a large dish or bowl to the king. As the procession continues, the King seems to become aware of Benn's presence. The King turns to look at Benn, or at least where his eyes would be if he were in the throne room. Inside his mind, Benn hears a sepulchral voice...no, voices. Whispering, distant, susurrant voices, only some of which speak languages Benn can understand. They seem to be calling to him. They are calling to him. They call to him by both his true names and his false ones: Benn, Arvin, Cassius. Come to us. The figure inclines its head toward Benn. Where it's faces should be there are only shadows. Perhaps there isn't really anything there to see. But the figure reaches out, and Benn catches a glimpse of a skeletal hand and forearm beneath the robes. The void where a face should be. No, not a void. There is a light there. Two faint red pinpricks where eyes might be on a human face. If it were human. Benn, the voices say. WE SEE YOU. With that, the connection is broken. After pulling his hand away, Benn's face is covered in sweat, his face pale. Looks like he's seen a ghost. The thought springs unbidden into Silas' mind. A ghost. Without understanding why, Silas finds his hand moving toward the cuff of his left sleeve. As if driven by instinct, he pulls out the rolled up parchment he had hidden there. The parchment with the symbol of the metatron on it. But what's the connection? The symbol was repeated throughout the Hengehold family's tapestries and etched into goblets of silver that Feydh said dated back to a time before the family had even adopted the Hengehold name. Silas slips off the red string he'd tied to the parchment and unrolls it. A hexagon, with circles at each vertex. And inside the hexagon were lines that radiated out from each vertex to every other. And within that, yet another hexagon, smaller but otherwise identical to the larger one, and more lines and...something else. Another pattern. There were other lines, forming other shapes. A pattern and a meaning Silas knows he can tease out if only he can concentrate- But the symbol is no longer there. It, and the paper and the alleyway, and Akin and Setanta and Benn are gone. Silas finds himself standing within a great desolation. Or thinks he does. Is he really here? And where would here be, anyway? The flat charred landscape reminds him somewhat of some of the islands in the far east of the Peleset, the ones said to be formed by underwater volcanoes. That must be it, Silas finds himself thinking. all around him, the ground slopes gently upward, as if he were standing at the center of an extinct caldera. But if it's extinct, why is it still smoking? And it is smoking. No, not smoking. Steaming. Like a lake at morning. A faint hiss echoes through the caldera. It isn't very deep, though it is quite wide. Larger than any room he's ever played. Larger even than any place he has robbed. He can see trees beyond the lip of the caldera: pathetic little sticks, their branches stripped of any leaves, and bent backward away from the caldera, as if blasted by a tidal wave that exploded from the center. There is no water in the center, of course, despite the prodigious amount of steam. But there is something. Silas draws closer to shape to get a better look. The steam has dissipated somewhat, enough for him to see the black misshapen thing beneath. Bits of it stick out at weird angles, like crystals growing outward from the skin. Silas things he sees shades of green and purple as he approaches, but the colors seem to blend and fade and move, like an oil slick in water. The surface almost seems to move and undulate. Silas shakes his head. It's just the way black swallows the light, the way your eye seems to slide off of it. He finds himself thinking of one of the distant northern islands in the Peleset, the one where the villagers were said to offer their newborns to the sea. Near the beach, sitting among the crags and rocks of the shore, is a stone chair. Silas saw it once as a child. At first he'd thought it was carved out of the surrounding rock, but he'd soon realized his mistake. The chair was carved from stone, true. But while the rest of the rocks were gray and rust-colored and eroded and pockmarked by centuries of surf, the rock the chair is made of is something else entirely. Black, smooth and unbroken. A black so dark it seemed to make the space around it darker, as if it swallowed the light around it. The islanders said it was older than anything, older than the Peleset, older than people. The same rock, Silas thinks, although he knows that can't be true. Wherever he is, it is not the Peleset. Not even anywhere within a thousand leagues of the Peleset. And there is something on this one. An inscription or an etching, although Silas suddenly doubts anything manmade could scratch this material. He does not need to look to know that the symbol inscribed on the stone is the metatron. The back of his neck tingles, and Silas realizes he's not alone. He whirls around. Standing on the lip of the caldera is a tall, helmeted figure in strange looking armor, staring down at Silas. No, not staring at Silas. Staring behind him. Silas turns back to the rock, but it is no longer there. The caldera is no longer there. He's in a great hall. In front of him, hovering in the air, is an enormous black goblet, made of the same greasy stone as the rock in the caldera. Silas turns back to the armored figure, but he too is gone. In his place is a smaller, stooped figure, enveloped in red robes, standing only a few feet away. Silas jumps back in surprise, but if the robed figure notices, he makes no indication. Instead, the figure seems to ignore Silas, walking past him to approach the goblet. Despite its frail appearance, the figure grasps the goblet with both hands, lifting it from whatever invisible force had been keeping it in place, and lifts it to its face, or where its face should be. As the figure tilts its head back, Silas can see the metatron symbol etched into the goblet, glowing a bright, angry red. The figure tilts its head back further, and the cowl of the robes seem to fall away, revealing... Silas blinks. The figure is gone. The goblet is gone. He is holding the parchment with the metatron symbol on it, standing in an alley in Giantshead Bay.

Campaign

Bad Moon Rising

Protagonists