The Four Tales Of Wickatunk

Tomb Of The Blood Cape

Wickatunk sat in the desert, with four great pillars surrounding him. He marveled at the night sky as the cool air filled his lungs and froze his skin. Yet, he wasn’t cold. The stars were out and the tops of the pillars were emanating a marvelous brush of colors. These colors waved like the ocean across the sky, and Wickatunk’s eyes stayed fixed on them. He was told to come here, to the pillars that sit in the ruins of Ghania, and by his uncle’s command. His uncle, the greatest sorcerer, once known as Eliphus, and Balphus, before that. 

When Wickatunk arrived, there was a great heat that filled the air. As he jumped off of his teil, and sunk his feet into the sand, he felt the source of that heat emanating from the steamy horizon. But, it was not the desert that let out this heat. No, this was the breath of terrorhydes, hot on Wickatunk’s trail, thirsty for the blood of his teil. Perhaps, even thirsty for his. The terrorhydes approached from behind, gaining on Wickatunk. He let out a cry as he took his teil’s saddle and yanked it along, trying desperately to reach the the center of the pillars.

Wickatunk made the hand gestures his uncle had told him to, before entering. The pillars shined, granting passage to Wickatunk and his steed. The terrorhydes weren’t far behind, and with claws as sharp as a scared man’s wits. The beasts leaped, but were knocked backward by the unseen barrier, surrounding the pillars. Wickatunk looked up as a loud roar boomed from, the now cloudy, sky above. ‘One of the ten dragons’, made of life and the flame of creation, came down upon the hoard of terrorhydes.

It’s breath turned them to nothingness, as ash soon stood in their place. It was then that the ‘one of ten dragons’ glided back into the cloudy sky, and the clouds cleared. Now, Wickatunk’s eyes stay fixed, solely on the colors of the night. Before he knew it, a platform beneath the sands began to sink, and down Wickatunk went, beneath the pillars, beneath Ghania. Before long Wickatunk was within the Tomb of the dark-deity, Thotep. With his teil staying behind, Wickatunk moved forward and unto the thin corridors that delved deep into the tomb.

He remembered his mission; to retrieve the cape of the unnamed pharaoh. This pharaoh was the first to serve the deity, Thotep and the last to witness the presence of Ganza, the Unfathomable. His cape, made from the blood Thotep’s mortal victims, would be the last ingredient needed to construct a virus. This virus would be the only thing able to kill Thotep once and for all, as his evil was growing, threatening the lands of Livaria and Questhor. Eliphus, now Kumerox, remained in the ruins of Endymion’s palace, in the tarnished land, Xanialis.

Kumerox was preparing the virus, working many long moons to cook and ready the liquid sin that would be Thotep’s downfall. The final ingredient was the pharaoh’s blood cape. Wickatunk did not fear the presence of Thotep, as he knew the evil-god no longer lingered within his tomb. But he did fear Sh’ehm, Coveter of Jewels. this deity lived deep in the earth, moving among the plated rocks of the crust and causing earthquakes. Wickatunk feared Sh’ehm would sense his ‘Stone of Guidence’. The very stone that helped him find Thotep’s tomb.

The white stone lit the dark as steps began to sink. Wickatunk ran while pendulums dropped from the ceiling. All fear of Sh’ehm suddenly vanished as the corridors of the tomb became a deathtrap. Spikes and needles and blades covered with poisons stuck out of every nook and cranny. Wickatunk dodged them with incredible accuracy and finally dived into the three-room of the pharaoh, unscathed and quite panicked. Catching his breath, Wickatunk gazed upon the pharaoh’s throne. Upon the sandstone chair, there sat the blood-cape.

Wasting no time, Wickatunk snatched the cape, tossed it over himself and made for a quick exit. Before he could enter the corridors once more, he was confronted by three hooded specters. At once he knew, these were the last of the Hal’mystics; Sages that his uncle had fought in retrieval of a grand panacea. Wickatunk drew his sword and took a stance, but the Hal’mystics stepped aside, urging him towards the exit. Taking his chance, Wickatunk ran like the speed of light, hearing the voices of the Sages behind him; Hearing them whisper into his head.

The sages spoke, revealing that it was to be a greater evil that would stop him on his journey. Wickatunk pushed their words to the back of his mind as he raced back to the platform where his teil awaited his return. From a distance, he could see the platform begin to rise and he ran as fast as he could to reach it before the entrance to the tomb was enveloped. The cobblestone ground began to fall behind him, and before long he was running on sinking stone. He jumped for the platform and reached the outside, pulling the blood cape through the crevice.

Back at the side of his teil, Wickatunk watched as the platform began to rise and the light of day appeared above him. Sands began to fill the ground as the four pillars of the ruins of Ghania came into view. As he reached the surface, Wickatunk folded the blood cape and re-saddled his teil. Back into the desert, they rode; Back to the palace of Endymion, where Kumerox resides. For now, they could complete the virus that would put Thotep to sleep, indefinitely. In time Wickatunk would come to look back on the words of the Sages; That time was yet to come.

Mountain Of The Nethereths

Wickatunk looked up, and there he saw the rain running down the mountain’s edge. The three great structures punctured out of the earth, and they stretched higher than any other. Completely stone, not a speck of grass grew upon the sides or peak of these dead-stone tops. Between these mountains laid flat land and bridges, constructed of wood and bone. Giant towers that made up the Nethereths Fortress were connected by the peaks. Here, it always rained outside the halls of the dead-fortress.

Within the fortress, the Nethereths, in endless numbers, made up a feast of the afterlife. For the Nethereths were a continuum of the undead, regenerative and eternal. They existed as an endless force of chroniclers. So, from their fortess, high up top the Mountains of Cha’ar, the Nethereths watched the earth; And it was here that Wickatunk had come. The reason behind his arrival was in service of his uncle, Kumerox. Wickatunk came to ask the aid of the Nethereths in slaying Ganza.

Ganza, the Unfathomable had begun to make his mark among the highlands, north of Livaria. It was then that Livaria asked the king of Questhor for aid. though the king could not risk the lives of his armies against Ganza himself, the king of Questhor sent a plea to Knumerox, who resided on Xanialis, across the sea. Kumerox knew that only the Nethereths held the power to overrun Ganza. So, it was from there that Wickatunk tasked, to find the Mountains of Cha’ar and the Nethereth forces.

Told in the stories of old, Ganza was the creation of pure hate, grief and pain, summoned up by the nameless pharaoh in a fit of unhealthy concealment. When Ganza first manifested before the pharaoh and his court, Ganza’s birth cost his creator his very life. In the temple of the nameless pharaoh, Ganza’s appearance blinded his maker and his maker’s court. Then, Ganza’s voice made deaf the pharaoh and his court. Lastly, Ganza’s presence boiled the skin of the pharaoh and his court.

Through the screams of all who witnessed him, Ganza, the Unfathomable, was feared by all, as he faded into the shadows of the new ages to come. The Nethereth’s flesh could boil, yet it would grow back. Their eyes would melt, yet they were already blind. Their ears would go deaf, yet there only heard one another. The Nethereths were the only ones who could stand against Ganza. So there, Wickatunk stood on Cha’ar; The rain growing heavier, and the halls of the fortress lit ever so faintly in black-light.

As Wickatunk ventured over the bridges, he looked down to take note of where the rocky mountains had connected, forming the flat land. He wasted no time in opening the doors to the Fortress’ Hall. There he looked upon a sea of the undead, rotted flesh, grey and faded, hollowed eyes and loosened fangs. He greeted them, as well as the nephew of  grand sorcerer would, and made whiskey inside. The room had gone silent and all the many dead glared at Wickatunk with hollowed skulls. They sat in a long hall, with long double-sided tabled seating four rows of them.

The middle of the room was a straight shot to where the Grandmaster Nethereth, Faul, was seated upon a wooden chair, with a golden goblet in his left hand. He was the biggest of all the dead. Standing ten feet tall, Faul spoke in a deep voice, and with the emanating intimidation of a great oak. Wickatunk looked up at the immortal being, yet no fear came from him. The dead behind him growled and hissed to keep up their appearance. It was then that after taking one look at Wickatunk, Faul knew who he was, and knew who he was related to.

Paul spoke to the other undead, telling them to stand down. Silence followed as Faul spoke to Wickatunk through his mind. Wickatunk told Faul of Ganza’s awakening; And for a moment Wickatunk’s head was flooded with the undead’s pleads; Cries to keep the problems of the outside world out of their business. Faul told them to be silent. After thinking it over Faul had decided. Wickatunk was to return to Livaria. Upon his arrival he would be tasked in telling the elder, Endymion, that Faul himself would travel overseas and stand against Ganza.

Wickatunk was to tell his uncle that Faul had also taken notice of Ganza’s rapidly growing strength; And that if Ganza were to continue to flourish, it could mean the end off Questhor and the lands of Livaria. So Wickatunk departed back to Livaria as the settlements began preparations to welcome Faul, Grandmaster of the Nethereths. Wickatunk not only planned to be the recruiter of Faul, but he had also planned to be witness to Faul and Ganza’s great battle; Something he wouldn’t miss for the world.

Toll Of The Mancer

All the paladins have gone away, and in there absence there lingers a faint fear. This fear first manifested at the cry of the Eastern battle-horn that sounded the previous morning, just after the noblemen had awoken. The Vanguardians were on their way to this small village called ‘Fanbrooke’, yet their forces were said to have been heavily armed and in a battle-ready march. The Townskepper wasted no time in preparing the local forces for a confrontation. They had planned to halt the Vanguardians before the bridge into town;

By the river where the streamlings sleep. It was faintly snowing by morning and the bell had awoken the entire town. Wickatunk had been up the entire night prior, waiting to join the paladins upon the bridge and chronicle the events that were to conspire between the town and the Vanguardians. The paladins crossed the bridge and met up with the group just out of the underbrush. Wickatunk waddled behind with pen and paper in hand. The paladin leader cried out for his forces to halt as the opposing leader commanded his men to do the same.

All was quiet for a moment before the paladin-commander inquired upon the Vanguardian’s arrival. The head of the group called out so that all could hear him. As Wickatunk knew well, the Vanguardians, for a time, had been serving as the Questhor Kingdom’s law-enforcement since the time after the Ceron War. The Vanguardian’s head informed Fanbrooke’s forces that payment for their town’s monthly land fee had not been payed for several months. Of course, as Wickatunk all knew, payment would be taken by the messenger of the towns and villages around Livaria, and brought to the Questhor Palace, where it would be presented to the king.

But, the king had not received the land’s bill for sometime, which in turn caused the townsfolk to place blame upon Fanbrooke’s messenger, Fennan. Furious the paladins marched through Fanbrooke, hunting down the young man. Wickatunk also joined in the search, but Fennan was nowhere to be found. Wickatunk had his suspicions, believing that not everything was as it seems. And being the last member of an extinct race, Wickatunk was quick to question the Delphite’s manner of blame placement.

Wickatunk proposed to the Townskeeper, and his men, that the thievery might have been the cause of the local hooded specter that had been seen passing through the local towns. Wickatunk supposed the idea that this hooded figure was a ‘mancer’ of sorts. He supposed that the mancer could have hypnotized Fennan into giving him the town’s payment to the king, and made him completely forget their encounters each month. Fennan, seeing the Vanguardians arrival must have realized something was amiss, remembered something about the encounter and fled the previous  night to avoid persecution.

The Vanguardian’s head questioned Wickatunk as to how he could specifically propose this string of events. Wickatunk replied by revealing that he had witnessed the events himself, showing that he even had documented the instances of when he first caught on to what was happening, just four months prior. Wickatunk explained that he did not tell anymore, for fear that the town’s forces would move too quickly and the mancer would escape capture. The Townskeeper asked Wickatunk of what their next course of action should be, and Wickatunk replied simply.

He told the paladins and Vanguardians that he himself has been tracking some of the smaller crimes this mancer had committed. This involved a number of small thefts, robberies, burglaries and an assortment  of other crimes; All with ‘mind-control’ being the head-piece in the accomplishment of the crimes. Wickatunk revealed that he had pinpointed the mancer’s next target, the village of Glennam. Wickatunk joined the Vanguardians as they left for the next target of the mancer. Meeting with Glennam’s Townskeeper, Wickatunk took up the mantle of the village’s messenger and took to the roads to deliver the town’s monthly payment.

As Wickatunk suspected, the mancer appeared on the road before him, inquiring about the money he was holding. It was then that Wickatunk revealed his identity and slapped the mancer with a spell-canceling bond. Unable to control minds, the mancer snatched the sack of coins out of Wickatunk’s hands and made for the forest. By this point, Glennam’s paladins were deployed and they eventually captured the mancer. Wickatunk figured that if the mancer hadn’t taken the extra time to wrestle the coin-sack from him, he might have gotten away.

Which infuriated the mancer even more as Wickatunk revealed there was never any coins in the sack; Just metal-coated pebbles.

Skull Of The Krawl

In the Merceron Dynasty of the noble, Garik, there sat Garik’s father upon a throne of sorrowed pasts. His father, Tanon Belik, first of his name, sat in great despair over a feast played out before him. As Wickatunk watched from the far corner of the dining-hall, he noticed King Tanon taking heavy breaths and going white. As the king attempted to get up from his seat, he fell with haste and broke into a cough. The room when silent as Wickatunk jumped up, rushing to Tanon’s aid and declaring his weaken state to the surrounding hall-folk.

He declares the king as been poison, yet Tanon has not spewed blood nor vomit. A fearful pulse emanates off of the king, throwing Wickatunk and those around him backward. When they get to their feet again, the king is on his back and crying out in the voice of a beast. His torso grows and twists, giving him claws, ears, fangs and wolf-like legs. Tanon’s white skin goes brown as he morphs into a leathery monstrosity. His kinsman as this Cengon king grows unrecognizable. Wickatunk looks upon the poor transformed man and thoughts of him being poisoned quickly flee his mind.

This was cursed enchantment, a spawning, brought on by the wine fed to Tanon. Wickatunk urged the others to not to touch the king’s goblet after taking a sample of the wine for examination. Tandon, in his monstrous form, was calm for a while. Then the heavy breathing began again as his eyes went black. Wickatunk was talking to the settlement’s head doctor by this point. Wickatunk looked over for a second to see Tanon going wild. He began smashing and clawing at those around him. Wickatunk, seeing that Tanon had lost his mind to the primitive will of the beast he now was, commanded the hall-folk and the king’s hands to evacuate the dining-hall.

Tanon, the beast, took up his kinsman between his jaws and swallowed them whole. His claws sunk into his former brothers and he slaughter the mightiest Cengon warriors his kingdom had to offer. About one hundred fell to him, all opposed to taking the life of their former king. In a panic, Wickatunk was able to evacuate Tanon’s Court and had them barricade the dining-hall. Tanon's son, Garik, stormed up to Wickatunk, demanding answers. Wickatunk mixed the wine of the king within a bottle of his own ‘testing liquid’.

When the liquid turned a bubbly-purple, he knew what they were dealing with. Wickatunk explained that this act of enchantment could have only been casted by the Cengon’s themselves, or rather, Tanon’s rival kingdom of Eemilor. There, on that very day, while anon dined, the Cengon, King Krawl of Eemilor sat in defeat over a grand battle that had ended only days prior. And so, in spite of his defeat, Krawl hired one of his own to infiltrate Tanon’s great feast and feed him an elixir. The elixir would make Tanon a great monster, and his soldiers who had survived the battle would then become the feast.

Krawl knew no mercy, not nobility, no compassion, no honor. This act wiped out Tanon’s greatest men and left their celebration in ruins. Garik asked Wickatunk for an analysis on his father’s condition. Wickatunk explained that the effects of the transformation were not permanent, likely due to Krawl’s desire to have Tanon live in shame, having slaughtered his own men. He was correct. For when the breathing of the beast subsided, Garik commanded his soldiers to open the doors of the dining-hall so that he may look upon his father.

Wickatunk allowed this, assured that the enchantment had worn off by now. Garik opened the hall’s doors to a ghastly sight. Tanon, after reverting to his human form and seeing the carnage he had caused, sliced his throat. Garik held his father’s body as his Court gathered around in mourning. Garik demanded justice and made immediate plans to invade Eemilor and take Krawl’s head. Despite Wickatunk’s protests, Garik, now king, would not waver from this goal. Wickatunk’s protests followed all the way up until Garik had his men surrounding Krawl’s castle.

Krawl did not have any soldiers guarding the fields to his kingdom. His castle seemed vacant as Garik's men marched closer and closer, eventually breaking down the door. Searching top to bottom, Krawl and his lesser were nowhere to be found. this infuriated Garik as Wickatunk ask if he really believed that Krawl would stick around after what he had done. Garik would go on to launch a continent-wide search for Krawl. Stripping him of his title, Krawl or Eemilor, Cengons would now only refer to him as ‘The Krawl’.

Garik’s search would consume most of his kingship, developing into an obsession that brought him to points of insanity. For a time Wickatunk stood by, unable to break Garik’s rage. One day, fed up with the furious boy-king, Wickatunk left, unannounced, finally believing that Garik’s obsession for Krawl’s head would lead to his people’s collapse. Wickatunk crafted a skull that resembled Krawls’. making believe he was ashamed of the act of killing, Wickatunk presented the skull to Garik who first protested that it wasn’t him who took Krawl’s life.

Never the less, Garik was pleased. The bounty on Krawl’s head had vanished and Wickatunk planned to hunt Krawl in secret. For now Tanon's kingdom was safe from the plight of blind fury and the Cengon's were once again at peace, and celebration, for a time.