Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

//Added some more story to K'yon's background in the School of Necromancy thread: viewtopic.php?f=16&t=5535&start=135

Blood dripped onto the parchment a feint smell of burnt sulfur filled the air and was inhaled, regret displayed on the young drowess facial features had she really sold her soul?

K'yon grinned devilish, his plan was finally coming to fruition, he had made inquiries about demon sightings and after what had felt a sisyphean task, rumors had spread enough for truly interesting characters to appear and finally shed light on this troublesome topic.

Not only had the rumours lured the shady Renor to him but also a further curious drowess called Ilhara, that had tried to spy on the two of them. Renor had confirmed his suspicion of a Demon on the surface World, he had also brought up other incredibly silly options of slaying demons within the Underdark some from the namely houses of Sshamath which K'yon knew about to some extend, and would never consider going after however. He was no fool to risk political repercussions of dramatic scales.

After he had layed out his plans to the two of them, Renor furthered his expedition with yet another female drow, he shamefully had to admit he could only describe as beautiful as bland as that was, Aunrae had joined their union. Only minutes later yet another one of the females of his race, Mehbrien Dae'Antares,
had joined them. She had been the hardest to convince to embark on this rather
adventurous with many dangers picked journey. We are going to save ourselves the details of the bribing and coercing done by Renor to finally break her resistance.

Now he had finally had them where he wanted them, they all, but Aunrae, signed his contract with their very own blood. He had ensured them of the fact that the amount of blood being used would not be enough to utilise for blood magic... Which of course was the utmost truth, when in reality he had just played this charade to scare them, he needed to create or further his reputation if he was to keep such a large entrepreneurial activity under control and his "allies" in check.

[The covertly meeting in the back rooms of Gloura's]


Later that day he had just openly addressed Zer'uil of house Sshamath of he would be interested in his little quest and as it was to be expected of a man of his standing that was probably bored by his life in wealth and abundance, he has accepted the offer pretending a lack of interest of course but K'yon knew he had sparked his interest.

Now he only one last ingredient and his quest for a demons heart could finally begin. The fellowship of the heart had come together. He chuckled to himself. The crazy one, being Renor, the sneaky drowess Ilhara, the scaredy cat brute Mehbrien, perhaps but very likely Zer'uil, the beautiful Aunrae and as leader and brain to hold them all together of course non other than he himself.


//I thank everyone who partook in this little session, I know K'yon can be a bit of a bitch to be around so thanks for enduring. As always I ask anybody reading this to keep it fair and not metagame. If anyone else wants to also join this "legendary crusade" feel free to get in contact I'd love to get us UDers involved and united.

After a harsh meeting with the high necromancer Lyra, K'yon sat down and began writing down the requested essays about "The Alterations of the Weave"

((Metamagic))

((Thanks Max and Aunrae for the great idea, looking forward to the reception of these!))

Abstract:
For this paper we looked into the different ways to alter the Weave and found a manifold of essential ways of doing so as well as multiple ways that were similar in their way of shaping the Weave yet different in specifics. Here we will talk about the different forms in general, in later papers we will go into details about each of the possible Alterations.


Introduction:
The worlds within the multiverse are magical places.
All existence is suffused with magical power, and potential
energy lies untapped in every rock, river, and living or undead
creature, and even in the air surrounding us. Raw magic is the stuff of creation, the mute and mindless will of existence, permeating every bit of matter and present in every manifestation of energy throughout the multiverse.

Mortals can not directly shape this raw magic. Instead, they
facilitate a fabric of magic, akin to strings, connecting the will of a mage to the very stuff of raw magic. Most sentient beings able to utilise said strings refer to them as the Weave.

While mages mostly call it the Weave others capable of manipulating it might have varied ways of naming and visualizing these strings. By any name, without the Weave, raw magic is locked away and inaccessible; the most powerful archmage can't light a candle with magic in an area where the Weave has been torn. However surrounded by the Weave, a mage can shape lightning to blast foes, transport hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye, or even reverse death itself.
All magic depends on the Weave, though different kinds of magic access it in a variety of ways. We will concentrate ourselves mainly on the weavings of mages and to some extent on that of bards.

Our spells rely on an understanding Iearned or intuitive, incase of bards and very likely sorcerers, of the workings of the Weave. The caster plucks directly at the strands of the Weave to create the desired effect. Whenever a magic effect is created, the threads of the Weave intertwine, twist, and fold to make the effect possible.

When mages use divination spells such as detect magic or
identify, they catch a glimpse of the Weave. A spell such as dispel magic smooths the Weave. Spells such as antimagic field rearrange the weave so that magic flows around, rather than through, the area affected by the spell. In places where the Weave is damaged or torn, magic works in unpredictable ways-or not at all.

Then there are the various ways to altering spells by pulling on said strings in a different fashion.
This enables the fine tuned arcanist to for instance lenghten the duration of spells cast by him, cast even incredibly difficult spells without physically moving or any of its somatic components. Others are able to cast their weavings at incredible speed and then there are ways to increase the devastating power of a spell or to maximise its effects entirely.

Author Contributions Statement :
K'yon Oblodra research on the Weave itself, the impact of specific spells onto the Weave and the different forms of altering the interaction with the weave.
Aunrae Releth research on the intuitive utilisation of the Weave as well as helping to further the understanding of certain forms of altering the interaction with the Weave.

((I hope that this knowledge is not too deep for K'yon to know, I honestly wouldn't think so as it would seem rather basic and the examples mentioned easy to derive, if however DMs should find this information unreasonable, I'll with a tear in my eye, change necessary parts. I hope this is somewhat enjoyable and will extend it further possibly resulting into a guide on the topic and very likely into a book in game. Please do tell what you think and if you see need for improvement or as mentioned before if any DMs object just shoot me a message))

Necromancer Lyra gives it a quick look over to check its not complete garbage and then throws it in her waste paper basket and goes off for a glass of wine.

He looked down his robes, pleased with the fact they were still clean. No blood had been shed onto them, not a single droplet. Which was astounding taking into consideration how much carnage these tunnels they'd been in for hours had seen.

Zer'uil and him, and his little army of death slaad and one of them had been mutilating the populace of the duergar compound.
The slaadi with their incredible ability to regenerate entire limbs and a very zealous Duergar K'yon had convinced he was fighting Illithids that had taken a hold of his former home, were slaying everything Zer'uil's energy blasts had not turned into a nauseous smelling pile of goo.

Any limb or head that was flying through the air or just plainly falling to the ground, severed by the duergars axe, put a smile on K'yon's fine features. He enjoyed the terror this Ilbith (lower race scum according to drow standards) was causing in his unsuspecting clan members. Guiding the weak minded to aid the greater good, their own extinction, chuckled to himself as a fiery figure caught his attention.

From the hallway to the left came a smell of burned flesh and as he narrowed his eyes to get a closer look at the scorching schemes there was all of a sudden a humanoid silhouette. The being had a mask on so Zer'uil and him could not be sure of which race the mysterious being might have been.
"You are....Ilythiri yes? It is hard to be sure in these caverns...So many faces appearing to be...other than they are..." K'yon swiftly introduced himself as he had so often done proudly as the Silent Seat of the School of Necromancy. Zer'uil followed his example giving his name and his affiliations.

Apparently they dealt with a drow faern (mage) that struggled to remind himself of what he was. The time in the tunnels had taken a terrible toll on him. He weaved potent spells at the duergar as they made their way out of the compound. His whole "being", K'yon lacked for a better word, however seemed twisted out showed in his weavings and his words, his tone, his every movement. It sparked a petite flame that grew in K'yon's, knawing on his scientific mind awakening his inquisitiveness.

A lot of his recent and old research had been on the way brains function, their anatomy, their chemistry. His main interest had been Illithid cerebrum but circumstances given he had looked at a manifold of species to increase his spectrum, a greater depth to his comprehension could only help in his futile quest to restore his old psyonic capabilities.

So in aiding this creature K'yon was not simply aiding a fellow drow for charity, such was not a concept amongst the majority of drow either way and never a thing that would be a notion for him to follow. It was all in the name of furthering his knowledge and who knew, personal gain.

As they finally reached the outside of the compound it was clear Zer'uil wasn't charitable either he had taken what loot they had found amongst the Ilbith, his share only obviously and quickly lost interest in the two faern's discussions, leaving them to themselves. The relative safety outside of the grim duergar fortress seemed to ease the masked drow that hardly noticed Zer'uil's departure.

It was then a young drowess, her hips moving in a swift slightly swinging motion, red rubies for eyes, her white locks laying on her perfectly set in scene bossom and pristine white teeth forming a wide smirk, sauntered in on them, drawing K'yon's attention from his object of study.

There it was again the masked faern twitches nervously as Aunrae approaches, its voice saturated with grunts and irregular mannurism, not stable in mind. "She's a friend? Good...More...ilythiri...Worse for the walking husks..."

It would not come to a fight with the husks again it was clear the mage wanted safety, Aunrae suggested to return to Sshamath but the wizard in his current state, little to K'yon's surprise preferred not to visit such a crowded place. He preferred something a little more quiet to regain his senses and at last teleported them to mistlake where each had some of their loot to sell and errands to make before they met again discussing how to proceed.

K'yon would offer the faern to prepare tests to find ways to help him regain composure, much to his dismay he'd be rejected. It was Aunrae who's empathy felt out what the tormented soul wanted, it had been on the run from, beings willing to kill it for so unimaginably long it just needed solitude. It would find just that in a quiet and dark place like Rockrun where Aunrae set there course their course.

As they left the relative livelihood of mistlake and plunged them selves deeper into the depths of the quiet isolation of Rockrun.
"No eyes, no prying ears....good... Yes...this is pefect... You can aid me here male..." K'yon sighed to himself, he had little to no equipment here, in the School's Laboratory, "helping" in shape and form of tests would have been so much easier. His thoughts were racing he barely listened and cared for what Aunrae and the masked mage talked about. The male was moving up to Aunrae, offering a nod extending his shaking hand in a thankfull gesture to her. "You... have taken me to safety..." Aunrae in turn would courteously as she is bring her hand to her chest, dipping her chin before clasping his hand for only a moment offering a smile, in a warm fashion that was so typical for her. Still in thought K'yon only just barely caught a chilling sensation, his weary, from the long and strenuous travels, glance would catch an obscene view.

Aunrae seemed to be stuck motionless a small cut barely bleeding and the mage with daggers clad with a thick viscous fluid. "Poison!" It shot through K'yon's head as he sprung backwards.

"What have you done!" Fear encroched him from within, horror striking his heart as he looked over to an unable to move Aunrae. He weighed his chances, his opponent was a capable faern and it was impossible to think of what spells he'd have at his disposal, while K'yon's options were highly limited. He had not had a chance for even a short rest after returning from the duergar compound so only slivers of his true potential weavings remained.

He decided his best option in a battle of worn out mages was to put on some direct and constant pressure, no flashy explosion would keep his opponent on his feat longer than a being of flesh and blood a and so he used his last summon. With a clicking noise the infernal spider approached his opponent, who quickly unleashed a storm of magical daggers onto the gargantuan effigy of the drow's dark mother (reference to Loth) before dissipating in the dark. K'yon launched a web spell at the spot, if he thought about it there really was not even a single flashy explosive spell left over, so he had to make it count. The webbing revealed his opponent's position the spider was promptly all over its prey and eventually took it down, being unsummoned before beginning to feast on it.

Aunrae was now slowly beginning to move again the poison had been a potent mixture but its effects wore off as quickly as they were intense. K'yon let himself fall into a sitting position next to the defeated opponent, he took off his mask as a puny black thing jump towards his face. With a gesture he stopped it in mid air, the thing fell to the ground and turned out to be an all to familiar type of larvae. He watched it twitch and turn it was about to die starved off of nutrition. Then he took a vial from the bag he had hanging on his hip, filling the creature into it. For a moment he watches it relax in the more friendly medium then he closes the vial and tugs it away.

In the aftermath K'yon and Aunrae found a very confused elderly drow in a weakened confused state offering him shelter and aid as friendly as Aunrae often appears to be and following his own agenda in K'yon's case.

((huge thanks to everyone involved especially the player offering us this great event. He did not wish to be mentioned so I'll stay true to that.

I am a bit sorry that most characters mentioned in these stories always come a bit short but yea it's not easy to incorporate too much of the actual game happenings without getting too overburdening.

I feel this was a bit long and quality might be lack luster, please bear with me as in the process of writing the story I had it crash twice almost completely mutilating my motivation. I hope I still gave it a good shot in the end. Please let me know what you think.

I might edit it a bit later if I had some rest XD))

A young yet weary faern walks up to the front desk of the School of Necromany. Three dozen displacer beast hides are unceremoniously lowered onto the desk, soon followed by five large vials of an obsidian coloured liquid. The faern stares at the person behind the desk and states, "These are for K'yon Oblodra. Please make sure he gets them.", before walking away before a response could be said.

How had he gotten into this Madness?

Sitting on the floor, his head in his hands, he could not believe it. They had said he'd been infected and it was spreading fast. While he was trying to keep himself together he heard their voices as if from a distance "Maybe he'll get scars from them." He had been so close to collecting himself but the thought of scars on his dear, immaculate, unmatched skin drove him to the brink of insanity.

Had he not tried everything? He'd tried to stay away from it, backed off as far as he possibly could have, almost fallen into the stream behind him in doing so. "Scars make you look tough at least." Stone was layered over his skin in thick wavery coatings, could the minuscule particles truly have gotten past each of these bastions of tiers and tiers of layers? He heard her say: "They're already spreading!" He felt himself commencing to weep again and could not fight it - as the spores had encroached on him he had scorched every single of them, however diminutive it might have been, could it really, in spite of all of his numerous precautionary measures - She had touched him, with her gloved hand, the one that had touched, it! - his mind began to race.

"I say we put acid on it." There was a hint of a smile on her face, a teensy tension in the corners of her mouth, pulling them upward just barely noticable.
His eyes became small slits, as he murmured a weaving and before they knew what even happened, K'yon was surrounded by K'yons, there were eight of them, his eyes frantically searched each and everyone of them in grim determination ready to resign to the shock entirely. There was none, no warts, he would not need any surgery nor acid, he'd not get scarred! "Do you not see them?" "You!" Looking at her fine featured face, clinging to the hope her beauty would have its soothing effect, it always did. As a mixture of feelings, rage, hatred, pain grow within, he's aware of a strong wind blowing through his garbs and a circle forming on the floor around him, then, in the blink of an eye, he is gone.

((Thanks a lot to Bastagar Dustwalker, Krueger Copperknuckles and Aunrae for letting me go a little bit crazy on this one))

K'yon would return from his task clearly taxed, his robes turn asunder and burned on their edges, the look on his face stale, his eyes empty. He'd lay his report onto the front desk asking it to be delivered to Necromancer Lyra.

The report would file the observed denizens with detailed descriptions of their look behaviour and astonishingly enough abilities, a further hint at him not getting not getting through this expanse of hell unscaved.

Folded together and added as an addendum lies a map of the lava compound clearly not the work of a cartographer yet in enough detail of all areas even the pit fiends lair itself.



((K'yon was given the task to file above report by his mentor Necromancer Lyra. It is part of his trial to become an Associate Necromancer. Thank you for the incredibly heart racing experience ))

From Lowly Deeds Done Diligently

This discussion had been going on far too long, he had summoned them knowing their finely tuned fingers were about the only in the realm of the undead able to keep up to the standard they'd expected of him. He hated the stench on himself, the sulfurous odour from his time amongst the baatezu. For once he'd not had the strength and sense to rid himself of it, solely focused on the success of his venture.

Sadly these beasts were far too proud, much like himself to do as he had been tasked to. So within a matter of a few complicated gestures in unison with syllables spoken in arcane the front row of the pale figures with the pointy teeth abruptly.

Only a meagre few further resist, a couple of gruesome displays of his supremacy later, they finally go to work, avoiding the smoldering corpses of their breathren on their path between the large glowing fungi and the sturdy transports. A strange sight to those who would pass, proud vampires cutting away at fungi with exquisite tools lent for gold he'd miss in his pockets.

A few more are desintegrated for poor results in their cutting procedures, then K'yon is busy with further quality control making sure only fungi meeting the requirements of his High Necromancer L' Beldroin, are placed carefully into their partitions on the wooden carts.

[The glowing fungi in there natural habitate]

Several hours pass and drain the Necromancers mind, focusing on maintaining his rather large force of delicate undead to do his masters "bidding", all the while ensuring to meet or exceed given quality standards.

Once the dozen loaned wagons are ready, a horde of more simple undead is raised, usually he'd pay attention not to raise overly rotten and distorted creatures, this cycle he lacks the will and so a wild array of living corpses pull the heavy load onto School's premises.

There K'yon sighs heavily, the hard part of the work commences.
The Weave retreats from his undead, some he was able to sell to the school to cover at least part of his expenses. After collecting this teensy payback, he begins the daunting task, all alone, no magic, no wordly support, carrying over one-thousand-five-hundred pounds worth of glowing mushroom into the preparation room for the alchemy class, past students, acolytes and other members of the School, all murmuring quietly at the cocky faern doing, what would seem like lower chores.

A shaming experience he'll not forget all to soon.

((This is a response to the post in the School of Necromancy Thread: viewtopic.php?f=16&t=5535&p=877696#p877696

If any DMs want to take any gold off of my character for services taken into account let me know))

He would need a true laboratory.

Over time, K'yon had amassed equipment, ingredients body parts of various creatures, from ilithid brains and the larva he had recently aquired, to several colours, he'd made out of anything flora and fauna surrounding Sshamath had to offer, lastly he had received a whole mass of displacer beast hides as well as vials filled with a fluid sometimes translucent sometimes obsidan in appearance.

He had tried to conduct his research in a small corner he had claimed for himself in the barracks, here all kinds of members of the school rested in between their duties.
It was a busy place, his attempts to wards his precious work had been futile. He could not ward a place in the midst of everyone with too dramatic effects and so even if the first couple of pesky intruders might get zapped or otherwise thwarted, his distillery had been kicked over more than once, once the wards he had set up were broken by some ignorant fool.



There was no way around it, he had made mistakes in handling his promotion and misjudged the working relationship between his direct superior Necromancer Lyra and his former mentor L' Beldroin. Already testing the waters had resulted in significant backlash, he'd almost paid with his life and suffered indescribable humiliation.

Now he'd have to crawl on his knees and beg for a favour, he began writing his plea uneasy at mind yet full of determination:

((a fair warning this is an exact copy of the entry in the Conflict of the Netherese Ruins thread. I want to compile everything about the character here, so if you've read the other post better skip in this XD))


So this was the place where the Conclave sat, steering the cities faith in the most of important matters. He felt the urge to leave again, with his mask and hood there were moments of safety, as the anonymity had eased his mind. However deep within, his fear of people that had power over him, he had developed in his younger days, thanks to the sadistic rule of his matron mother, still lingered threatening to turn his eloquent self, into the old mumbling and stumbling servant he had been for so many years.


[K'yon in front of the Stone Stave attempting to retain a self-confident image]

As he was ordered inside he had a firm grip on himself once more and was ready to do what he had came for. The representative looked as excited as a Rothe that was send out into a rocky cave with nothing to feed off, well maybe even less so. For a moment K'yon was infuriated, yet the surroundings brought him back to reality, a fearsome deadly reality, where any misstep could cost him dearly if not his life.

He began to tell the male about his musings in regards to the Netherese excavation, their trip down there and his proposed cause of action, about the portals to the different elemental planes each of which sparked a vivid image, of the from there sprouted monsters.


[The colossal fire elementals had burned the "poor" Imaskari Thia to a crisp, suddenly he could almost taste the burned flesh ]

His depictions of the portals he kept short and to the point, close to how his report had been the representative almost seemed to roll the red in his eyes away, displaying even less interest compared to the beginning of their conversation.


[ He had fired his flame arrows at one of the giant blobs of water, but instead of bursting it apart it had sizzled for a moment, until he realised how futile his attempt had been ]

He still informed him about the shadow mages that had come out of the portal to the negative energy plane, despite the sheer pain this awfully dismal part of his description seemed to cause the representative, it was solely meant to further lull the official.


[ The shadow mages had been able to strip one of their most powerful faern of almost all of her wards, his Mentor Necromancer Lyra]

Now would get to the meat and fungi of his tale. He mentioned that the there was only red slaad. His opposite almost yawned, K'yon was infuriated, it was such an important detail. Red slaad were the weakest of their kin and the beholder had clearly stated, in his complete and utter feeling of superiority, that the war between the slaad and beholder was still going on. If there was the teeniest bit they'd learned from the babbling beholder, it was that the war was still fiercely being fought. Nawiel had lured the Quardurxekai's into feeling wholefully save. Their opponents had they solely managed to get a firm grip on a few irrelevant red slaad still far away from a decisive victory.


[ Foot soldiers in comparison to the stronger blue, green, grey and death slaad ]

Formulating the idea of preparing a sudden attack, while they were still squabbling with their frog like opponents, seemed to for once to not entirely put the representative to sleep, thiugh his impression of him could as well been completely off. Never before had he had to deal with such an individual, so void of emotions he thought to himself.

K'yon went on to cement the strategy he wanted to propose to the Conclave explaining how everything about the personality of the beholder asked to be abused, by the keen and deadly opponents, they surely posed to him.
Describing the megalomaniac and paranoid facets of Quardurxekai's traits. Carefully placed doubts, coupled with some "troop movements" forced onto the beholder troups, would easily spark the fear of treason of his queen within the unstable beholder.


[ Quardurxekai as he shoots his rays at its surroundings out of utmost paranoia]

To him it was clear, they could play the beholder against his queen and if they were do this soon, they would topple the whole abyss into a chaos that would be much easier to handle. Finishing his flaming plea looking into the representatives face, once more not a single emotion to be found. It was enraging, he could only hope that the council, these most smart and cunning of their kin would come to the same conclusion. His conclusion, they would, he was sure. Or where there doubts, could the rulers of this city, this precious city really be that dumb, would it really be necessary for him to step up and rule. He hoped not or did he. There was nothing left to do but hope, they would do right by Sshamath, this city he had learned to love over the past years. Demanding to have the initial part about the portals cut from his report, he for the first time time managed to get an emotion from the official that was not boredom. He handed him a substantially more gold than it was the usual sum, hoping to ensure the delivery of his plea and left the confused male behind smiling under his mask, leaving towards the Z'orr'bauth to enjoy the view over this captivating home of wizards and wonders.


[ His beloved Sshamath ]

Around him were lush trees, dim sunlight breaking through the cracks between the myriad of leafs moving softly in the wind. The grass between his toes is tickling, he can feel the velvet breeze where his skin is naked. Listening to the birds singing, their lovely voices intertwined into a great orchestra, frail yet powerful. A pair of butterflies mingling in lovely embrace, swarming through this warm place of serenity.

His first contact with the surface world had occurred here, though it was quite different. Everything was so vastly contraire to the life in the tunnels beneath.
Peaceful rather than threatening, you'd see an enemy approaching far, the wide world compared to the cramped caverns and tunnels would allow for spotting an enemy way ahead of time.
The sky, endless beauty with sparkling little lights and the ever present round plate they called moon. Everything had been tinted in grey, much like the caverns appeared in his natural vision of the dark, it had made this first contact less alien, taken away some of the overwhelming differences, made it easier to focus on a few aspects of the new and foreign, the overall softness in each and every little thing and the vast sky and horizon, in themselves miraculous enough to leave him astonished and staggering for breath.

This time, with the bright light, now there was so much more, the fountain murmuring, the light broken into its different colors, ranging all the way from a purplish blue to a deep almost dark red. The dry grass caressing his bare feet, flowers in a buttery yellow, orange as he had not seen it from any fungus or moss before and bright white blossoms, it almost hurt his eyes.

There is something wet at his feet, not water from the fountain, he is in the sun lit part where no single droplet dared to resist the glowing orbs influence. He looks down and there is brown grass he is wading through, it wets his feet and obsidian skin up to his bare ankles, with a sigh he takes in a deep breath and there is this familiar scent. It reminds him of his dark home, he realizes that the brown is only a product of the green grass and the red of blood mingling together, a sight he had not had not yet had the chance to stumble upon.

Realizing he is following a trail of blood he looks up and his eyes meet a broken body. There lies his sister Quavylene her throat cut. He looks into her staring dead eyes realizing there are no tears, far removed from his emotional center lies the memory of his sister, the one person that once was his world. Turning the cold body around, objectively looking at the deep wounds delivered by short weapons, maybe daggers or short swords. Relief spreads itself within, he looks back at the unmoved face with its glassy eyes, a flicker her features seem to move, reshape, his eyes fill with tears quickly as his sister's face transforms into one more dear, much more dear he realizes and releases a blood curdling scream. His heart racing, his sheets wet of cold sweat his pillow from tears. Dreams have not been good to him these cycles.

((I'll try to find some pictures for this... sadly no success as of yet...))

A giant Hammer came flying down towards him, he saw the shadow emerge as he was wearily looking to the floor in thought, following a droplet of his sweat dripping. It rippled as it hit the floor and froze. The cold here was biting yet he was sweating and exhaustion had slowly encroached him like a living ooze.
He barely had the strength to throw himself to the side dodging the enormous mass of the hammerhead. He lay there struggling for breath, his sides stinging. While he was looking at the beast, clearly it was humanoid, like his very own body it was lacking any and all hair.
After the Hammer had hit the floor the beast was standing, almost motionless only turning its faceless grey head. Solely its razor-sharp claws twitching, its great toothed mouth in the center of its body remaining still.

[The Thalaud swinging it's heavy hammer in a devastating blow]

He focused, he needed to, his arms and legs were getting heavier and heavier. They had fought for what felt like hours. K'yon's strangely alive sword the "Jealous Edge" had not been able to as much as put a scratch on his opponent's pale and smooth body. In many of his prior fights the sword's acidic surface had corroded the heaviest plating, but here it felt like the "thirst" had left the usually so bloodthirsty blade. Exhausted he got onto his knees, drew the small pouch out of his trouser's pocket with the left, while his right hand was holding the flint. He slightly raised his left above the flint and quenched the pouch, a fine drop made it's way slowly towards the cold stone in K'yon's hand, as the two met there was a small thud and K'yon could have sworn he had seen his opponent flinch but as he finished his incantation, not much more than a whisper, fiery bolts flew roaring at the shear impervious faceless terror.
The flames flying towards it, the beast again faced, figuratively speaking, in the direction of the drow.

It was then it hit him and the bolts hit it, now he understood this fierce beast was reacting to sound. The bolts had exploded with a blast, he had aimed for its head. There was no sign of actual damage being done but the thing was shaking its faceless stump of a head and K'yon was sure it was more impacted by the noise than anything else.


[The Netherese ruins, stage to the fight between the drow and the faceless terror]

He stood still. The tomb tapper as he remembered now, these things were called, mimicked him. It had troubles locating him, he was like a ghost, but his heart was racing and he needed to take his next breath soon. Ghost of course! An idea emerged, he had started the fight self-assure using his magical powers as he was used to. He was used to summoning his powerful outer planar allies to fight for him. Heavily warded, he expected them to make short work of the guardian of the old ruin he had wanted to inspect. But as things turned sour, he used what was left of his wards to protect himself. An uneven battle had raged between the ruins of an old Netherese tomb, with K'yon being mainly on the back foot of things.

Now that his magic had left him and his body was beginning to give in to the hard work he had put it through, his sharpest weapon seemed to have taken control. Thoughts racing, he came up with a plan, one that would just have to work or he was doomed. His sword, while it had not been able to dent his opponent was getting so heavy he had trouble just lifting it, his weavings had left him besides a few teeny cantrips, he came to the conclusion that he would have to make what he had left count or suffer the consequences.

The thing was chasing him whenever he would make a noise, be it a breath or a heavy step on the hard and slippery floor, it would turn itself around to focus on the point of origin and chase the creature it originated from down, him.
It kept missing him but it seemed the evasive maneuvers of the once nimble drow were slowing down with every attempt of the tireless being.
It was getting closer and closer the sound of heavy breathing got louder and louder as the resistance began to crumble.
Now the breathing was rustling, the lungs of the living being seemed close to bursting and it seemed to have stopped, the faceless guardian lunged, its razor sharp teeth ready to dig deep into little magelings flesh.

There was no impact though and after a few moments only there was a loud howling of wind, the guardian was falling, the noises it heard were caused by the air that it fell through ever faster into a deep deep rift.

K'yon lay on the ground the cold prickling at his skin, he had caught a few breaths by now, the wool he had used for his weaving was still at his hands, glued to them by the wax he had used in conjunction to fuel the spell.
As he lay there he could not believe a single simple cantrip had saved his life. Ghost Sound allowed the caster to emulate a sound, send it into a direction and adjust its intensity. The tricky part had been to find a decent spot to emit the sound while being quiet enough to not raise the creatures suspicion.
Deciding to learn as much of the intricacies of each weaving as he could, he went on into the ruins and delved deep into its secrets.

((I hope this story is enjoyable, it's about the time K'yon spent in the lower dark during the two years of his absence from Sshamath.

I've been wanting to write it to further explain K'yon's change to a more magically interested character compared to initially one that would also fight himself.

There will most likely be a story about the demon hunt eventually but I have to warn that it might take me some time to come up with a good way to tell the tale.

As always feel free to let me know if you have any criticism))