A/N This D&D story has some elements in our world but will (mostly) be told within the world of Lloegyr, a setting marketed under the name Lost Lands by Frog God Games and Necromancer Games. Specifically, it will draw heavily from the settings Cthulhu Mythos connections. Although I will borrow from the Lost Lands setting plus a little from a module or two as well as some Cthulhu Mythos info, the story and main characters are mine. I hope you will enjoy. Also, when I writing, I tend to stray from close adherence to game rules. :D
The World of Lloegyr, otherwise known as the Lost Lands, year 3517 Imperial Record
South-Central region of the continent Akados
Foothills of the Worntooth Mountains in the Kingdom of the Vast
The figure silently moved along the edge of the clearing atop the hill, slipping from one bush to the next. Leather and fur and linen adorned his body while his sole weapon was a wooden cane in his hand with many runes fire-etched onto its surface. He was a follower of the Old Ways and no metal armor or weapons were among the oldest commands Narrah had given to her priests.
The man glanced to the sky above.
A long stretch of low clouds created a ceiling, hiding the stars. Darkness, the man said to himself with a grimace. I know you are there Narrah, my Mistress, he added of the waxing crescent moon also obscured by the clouds above, of the moon who was his goddess. Though she was hidden from sight too, he still felt the malevolent gaze of her Dark Sister, Sybil, the smaller and darker counterpart to Narrah.
Not wishing to attract the dark goddess's attention by staring her way too long, he turned his head down to the clearing before him. Five figures stood in a semi-circle surrounding a great black rock. Three wore dark robes and appeared to be human men, with each holding a torch in one hand and a dagger in the other. The fourth appeared to be a robed priestess with long black hair and the upper half of her face hidden behind a black mask. The fifth figure was a green-skinned metal armored hulk with a massive blade at its side. A hulk that had tusks protruding from its lower jaw, clearly marking it as an orc.
Even at his distance beyond the edge of the clearing, their smell reached the priest's heightened senses, making him want to retch, and emblazoning in his mind the origin of the cultists- the City of Castorhage, the Blight. After barely managing to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged, he focused on the black rock. To be more specific, he focused upon the naked lady chained to the rock and her swollen belly. She had a long red mane of hair that cascaded over the black stone, and a light sheen of sweat that covered her body. Her bare chest heaved up and down with her labored breathing. She will give birth soon, he realized. At the base of the stone was a small pile of clothing the priest assumed to belong to the chained woman.
"The child will not be yours to keep, Malchus," said the priestess to the orc. "It has been touched by my Master. Touched by the Herald of the Awakenings." The orc said nothing, but his bulbous nose twitched, seeking danger. "For your contribution, you will be given command of your brethren in the city, as has been agreed upon."
The priest sat in shock. The lady and the orc are the blood parents but it has been touched by an Old One from beyond. Touched by the Herald of their awakening. Thoughts churned in the priest's mind. Have they found the Herald's statue? Do they know the rite? Narrah, why have you commanded me to allow the babe to live?
The chained woman's breathing intensified. The masked woman nodded and the three cultists began chanting words of power, raising their daggers as they did so. Arthemin, the ancient tongue of the Phoromyceaens, the priest realized, though he did not understand the words. He felt the power radiating from the ground and realization of what lay beneath dawned upon him. The ruins of a Phoromyceaen city lay buried beneath the hill.
The chained woman eyed the dagger wielding cultists, fear and pain in her eyes. Frantic words spilled from her mouth in a language which the priest did not understand, but instinctually recognized as pleas for her life. The priestess began chanting her own words of power and the three cultists lowered their chanting voices to but a whisper, while still holding their torches and daggers high. As her silky voice grew louder, a cold wind rose with it. Filled with the dark magic in her voice, the wind blew across the clearing to the priest and beyond, its cold dread seeping into his bones. Silence filled the priest's ears and darkness filled his eyes as the chanting ceased and the torches extinguished.
Though human, his service to Narrah had vested him with the eyes of the Owl and they quickly adjusted to the near complete darkness, allowing him to witness the rite before him. The three cultists leapt forward, bringing their daggers down, again and again, into the woman's chest. In a moment, they were finished and stepped back from the limp body. Blood was streaming from her chest but her swollen belly was untouched…and moving.
The priestess stepped forward to the head of the red-haired woman and leaned forward over the black stone and corpse alike. She reached with her long, dark blade and carefully ran its point along the swollen belly, splitting flesh wide as she did so. The priestess reached within the open belly with her hands but the priest could not see what she did within. She silently raised back up and placed the blade within her robes. The priestess stared into the open belly for a long moment, then reached both hands in and pulled them out. In one hand she held a blood-covered babe with dark-greenish skin and a long piece of cut umbilical cord still trailing from it. In her other hand was a small writhing monstrosity with multiple limbs, perhaps tentacles or antennae.
There are two of them? Shock filled the priest as he stared into the clearing.
The priestess tossed the humanoid babe to the ground onto the pile of clothing and it immediately began to scream, a call like thunder that filled the priest's head. "Leave it and her corpse for the carrion birds to feast upon," laughed the priestess as she turned away from the black stone altar and began walking toward the hidden priest. He remained motionless, not releasing so much as a breath as the priestess passed, cradling the writhing babe into her robe. The humanoid babe's screams still filled the night air as the three male cultists passed by the hidden priest.
Malchus stopped, standing directly over the motionless priest and looked back at the altar and listened to the babe cry. "Survival is only for the fittest. If you survive this my son, you will be a great one," he muttered in the orcish tongue and then followed the men. The dark priestess and her retinue made their way in silence down the hill to the moor below. Made their way in silence that was broken only by the cries of the child left behind.
The young priest quickly sprang to his feet, then approached the bloodied stone altar. She deserves a proper burial, he told himself and brushed aside the screaming babe from the clothing to see what personal articles she might have been carrying. The babe rolled off the pile, onto the blood-slick grass, and became momentarily quiet.
Rummaging through the clothing, the priest uncovered a small bound book but left it untouched, instead reaching into a pocket and removing a strange card. It was rectangular in shape, and smaller than his palm, but firm. The card appeared to have been dipped in some form of clear laminate which had dried, protecting what had been scribed onto its surface. In one corner there was a remarkably detailed picture of the woman's face while the remainder of that side of the card was covered in a script he did not recognize and a coat of arms. The back side was bare, with but a single black line that ran its length. The priest turned the card over, again and again, viewing each side before reaching up to a string of beads he wore around his neck and grasping one. He chanted a few words, activating the bead's power, and then looked again at the card, the magic he had released allowing him to comprehend the script he viewed.
Beneath the rendition of the woman's face, the script read STUDENT NAME: Elena Lleullaw. The banner atop the shield read MISKATONIC UNIVERSITY, the name of an institution of learning. While the lower banner used the same script, it was written in a different language and read EX IGNORANTIA AD SAPIENTAM EX LUCE AD TENEBRAS which, translated by the priest's magic, meant From Ignorance to Wisdom and from Darkness to the Light.
This card is some sort of badge of station, he decided while continuing to turn it over in his hand. She was a scholar and, perhaps, a seeker of the truth like her namesake, Lleu Llaw himself. Perhaps she was a follower of the Old Ways too. I will bury her as such.
The priest began to examine the remaining facets of the shield which composed the center of the coat of arms when the babe screamed again, snapping his attention back to it. The newborn was still covered in its mother's blood with its dark-green skin showing underneath, and its strong, dark eyes stared up at him, yearning to be held. Its soul and body are tethered to the Herald, he told himself. And that connection must be broken.
Down came the end of his cane, smashing the babe's skull.
A/N I currently don't have a release timeframe for the next chapter.