Brass groaned against worked stone and a wave of foul smells was detectable, permeating even the magic life bubble around the PCs’ heads.
Another horrific sight – bodies kneeling and slumped over a placid, red-tinged pool, their entrails spilling forth into neatly arranged patterns around the pools’ edge.
A bass voice intones raspily, “Alarah, Sleestak, ‘Duchess’ and Emmond, you’ve made it…”
Willow interrupts the cyclopean horror with a battle cry and arrows fly from Sleestak’s bow.
Throughout the battle the atrophied lich cyclops, Vordekai, reveals all he has learned about each member of the party, and how their palsied efforts will fail in the end. His arrogance is certainly not of this age, but one more of the time of prophetic certainty in Golarion. Insults and grand pronouncements irritate and breed fear in the PCs, like maggots wriggling under their skin.
Even as the party seems to damage him, he seems unperturbed in his determination to wear down the party’s will with cleverly chosen speech coupled with blashpemous displays of power.
The party reels against the onslaught of stomach-turning black magic bursting outward from the creature’s unholy focus. That, coupled with mind assaulting magics, pushes the party to their most desperate resistance yet.
Then, it is gone, with the party unknowing of its return. Seconds, perhaps a minute passes. The party discovers a circular chamber, filled with niches of wispy-filled jars. Suddenly, the creature returns, ever more defiant and testing of a party beginning to show weakness.
As PCs consider tactics, and the Duchess places herself firmly between the undead spawn and the rest of the party, time is running out for both sides. Black magic erupts, arrows, sword and fire clash in a terrifying spectacle.
The centaur falls under the onslaught of the Four Horsemen’s eldritch evil, but with a combination of luck, strategic gambits, and through arrogance’s folly, Vordekai is no more.
Alarah dares touch the papered skin and blows bones to bits, channeling positive energy into the lich. Magically imbued arrows pummel the undead wizard’s body, first in the leg, then in the ribs, and finally, crushing a disc from the spine at the neck. The bone-horned head collapses first onto the collarbone, then teeters sideways to the floor far below. Upon impact, the skull splits, and the melon-sized vermillion orb egresses the socket, and rolls to stop at Alarah’s feet, still glowing with eerie sentience.
The party breathes a collective sigh of relief and exhaustion, expended of their formidable resources. A fleeting silence ensues…