Game Thread

-Prologue-

There are whispered in the darkness, a tale by shadows told.
Of dark and ruinous powers, and the death of gods of old.
"For the age of light is passing", echo screams through prison cells.
By madmen beyond hopelessness, souls condemned to deepest hells.
The shadowmen triumphant proclaims,the ending of their days.
As magic begins to crumble, the fabric of reality it frays.
The powerful feels it's summons, they go to answer it's call.
And seek out the mistress of shadows, chosen by loss in despair's hall.

A prophecy found written in blood in a dark tounge, found in the hand of a destroyed Lich. Now circulated in all sinister networks.

-----------

Your journey has come close to fruition, as you stand before the palace of loss. You are sure that your interpretation of the deranged prophecy is true, ultimate power lies within those hall, ready to be claimed by one of sufficient power. Travelling via spell into the palace or it's surrounding area is impossible, no matter how you arrived on the plane, a pilgrimage through the dark and twisted landscapes of the plane of shadows was still require. You brought neither cohort nor followers, the first might have stolen the power you wished to claim, the later would have only held you back.

Around the dark and twisting towers of that impossible keep a small ramshackle village clings desperately against the utter despair of this place, most within the village bear the appearance of figures cloaked from head to toe in thick cloth, the wails mark them as petitioners, seeking release from their eternal suffering placed upon them by the cruel and malicious deity. Others wear the vestments of the clergy and sign dirgeful hymns to the lady of loss. The residents of the village refuse to acknowledge you. The doors to the palace stand open, niether guard nor spell protects them. Yet very few enter and none leave. Stealing you mind you plunge into the darkened depth.

Within the palace, you wander aimlessly trying to find some indecation of the power the prophecy spoke of. Yet nothing can be found at all, you must constently steal your mind against the crushing despair that fills the halls, there are plentiful reminders of the effects of failing; occasional figures break the endless nothingness, huddled, broken, lost for eternity.

You know not how much time passed before you arrived at a large door. Carved from obsidian with elaborate motifs the door stands 15ft tall ad 10ft wide, it is not locked. As you enter the details of the room fill your eyes, hungry for a change in landscape. The hall is devoid of featured except for a 10ft hemisphere of shadows. In the depth of the shadow, if you have the power to see it, floats a small pendant. There are four other beings in the room, three entering through doors similar to the one you came through, the final standing near the centre. He is a man obviously deeply suffering the effects of the taint of evil his fingers dart wildly and his head moves sharply and at strange angles. He  shouts out in a strangely slurred voice, filled with the sounds of the deranged, "Bachk all er'ya. I r'cieved the vishon  from the shadows, the talasmin, the missstresh o' shadows, will be MINE to command. Besht not shlight one who iss bout ter ascend." He charges into the shadows before any have a chance to react. When at first he tries to grab the amulet his hand passes trait through it, but with is other hand, donned in some kind of glove he picks it up and places it around his neck.

The man cackles triumphantly as he begins to lift into the air, the shadows seem to coalesce around him, forming a winged visage around him. Suddenly the cackles turn to screams of agony. You feel as though winters frozen claw has clasped your hear and the winds of deepest winter blasts away your soul. The feeling fades but its memory  remains. If you have the talent of spellcasting you can sense magic being woven, but it seems neither arcane nor divine in origin, the spell is impossible to recognize but it tares the man asunder bloody giblets evaporating into nothingness leaving behind only the visage that had formed around him. The sphere of darkness has increased to 20ft, with the 10ft sphere now inky blackness, not even darkvision can penetrate it.

A voice softer than a whisper, but still filling the room speaks full of malice. "I will never comprehend why fools seem to want to steal my holy symbol," her voice is compelling and you cannot help but find it pleasing to the ear, "I can sense that you are not companions of this fool. Quick, tell me of your business here, lest you taste my wraith, or worst suffer the attentions of my mistress."

The first of the remain four was a serious looking man, adjourned with the iconography of Shar, raising his holy symbol he cried with command "Shadows! The time has come for you to relinquish your power so that I may do what Shar has deemed my destiny..." As he spoke his certainty falters, he stares at his disk as if it had ceased to work. In response the voice again speaks out with chilling malice, "It seems the power you have relied upon has left you. Perhaps it is because you have violated on of the tenants, dreaming to better yourself in Shar's eyes. For this I enact judgement." With that final word the man screams in agony as his very innards fly out from his body hoisting him in the air. Only for a bolt of what looked like a hole in reality taken the form of flame ended the mans misery. At this sight another who looked to be a necromancer turned to flee, the voice calling out after him "Coward, you may not hide in MY shadows!" The only response an agonising howl.

She turned to the remaining two, "Speak now! I am swiftly loosing my patience."