Crimson Skulls

At the end of the speech, the 6 and 1/2 foot tall, 380 pound whirring juggernaut rises from a kneeling position spooking the Lizardman swaying next to it. The offended humanoid cracks the butt of it’s glowing spear onto the stone floor hissing curses as a Duergar spellcaster floats closer in a defensive manner towards it’s ally. The mage’s glowing red eyes and sparks of light dancing on the back of it’s collar leave small wonder as to the creatures magical power amongst those in the underground haven.

Walking up to the circular table the behemoth casts open it’s massive jeweled cloak exposing what appears to be two right hands and slams them on the circular stone table. As chips of stone come to rest near the point of impact, it raises one hand to point a dull metallic finger at Ryershil. A hollow tinny voice projects from the permanent maw on it’s face speaking with an ancient accent and regards him, “Your fog of Horrors and Death encroaches ever closer Champion. The combined Strength of your Kin is waning and it is known the Brothers are divided. This, even Armor Geddon knows! You require assistance as the realm’s Golden Twins are separated and their Light recedes from the Earth.”

The tin man straightens up and turns slow and purposefully and begins it’s exit from the chamber. It lumbers past some of the unfriendly faces stepping into the dim lit darkness of the hallway. It’s voice is the only thing left echoing into the room as it calls to no one in particular, “Tell your fog that Armor Geddon comes!”

Armor Geddon leaves the center room into one of the adorning rooms marking his passage scraping the door frame as he leaves. A foreboding feeling permeates the room as all called know the severity of the matter at hand. Looking around the room Gromos recalls the stories passed on after his father’s passing of the great Crimson Skulls. The tournaments, the glory of battles, and all else before the name of the skulls were known. While a great warrior Gromos had the notion from the high Sorceress that something was wrong here. Looking around he noted adventures from various ages, places and races. At one corner was the Lizardman Morgan whom stories suggested spoke and commanded elder dragons. In another corner Gromos noted whom he thought was known as Beast Talon – shape changers who transformed into monstrous creatures set for destruction.

Lost in this thought Gromos is startled as a seven foot woman with hair spun of red gold and dark tan skin hands him a letter. While feeling foolish he is still surprised by this Ryershil’s “Handmaidens” whom walk on air for all the sound they make. The letter are directions to a teleportation circle– apparently the gathered (85to 95 by his count) were to be split into groups based on their skill with an assigned team leader. Gromos was to go under the leadership of one Tik-Rundar Nackel. The Gnome was not hard to find and so Gromos headed out on his journey…



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