After a near eternity passed, it became clear that the Mists were not advancing into the sanctuary of blue light cast from the Reliquary. Ekel stood alone, holding the golden relic aloft like a lantern, searching for a path through the Mists. The party, in their invisible ghostly states, could only linger near him, seeking protection from the dark call of the Mists…
Soon, the Mists seemed to recede, and a single feature in the gray nothingness around them became apparent. Seeming both close and incredibly far away, a tall spire of a mountain loomed up out of the Mists. It was featureless, gray stone, but the shadows that lurked across its broken surface gave the appearance of broken bones and leering skulls, as if the mountain were instead a massive cairn, piled impossibly high with the remains of the fallen.
“It’s called the Necrolith,” spoke Ekel to the nothingness around him, though he knew the others could hear him. “It lies at the center of the Mists… It is the hub around which the fragmented nightmare lands of this realm are spun.” He held aloft the Reliquary, as if the relic’s presence were explanation enough for his strange knowledge. “It is where we must go to escape this place,” he continued, pointing toward the distant spire. The party questioned the Seeker’s declaration, suspecting some trick of the land, but Ekel instead directed their gaze towards the mountain. There, though a mere speck against the spire’s base, the party could make out a single dark figure, beginning a laborious climb upwards. It was Ghrym; the dwarven smith-priest was apparently seeking something atop the spire.
After some discussion, it was decided to attempt to travel towards the Necrolith by using the magic of the Reliquary to pass through the Mists. This seemed to work, though the mountain grew no closer, and without any other reference point, it was impossible to determine their progress. Soon, however, the landscape around them once again began to change…
The change was first noticed when Ekel suddenly stepped into cold, running water. As he yelped in surprise, the landscape around him seemed to loom out of the Mists, gradually taking shape. Ekel and the ghostly party were in a thin forest, and the old Seeker had just stepped into a stream. Looking around, they could see a sparse hill behind them, and another rise in front of them where upon sat a wooden stockade type fort. In the distance, far behind the fort, the Necrolith towered out of the night.
Cautiously moving forward, the party could hear sounds of occupation of the fort. Suddenly, out of the woods behind them, a large troop of armored trolls came marching in single file, heading for the stockade. Ekel was able to easily hide in the trees near the stream, and from there could observe the trolls approach the fort and enter via a massive gate which solidly shut behind them.
Leaving Ekel hidden in the trees, the party used their unique immaterial states to approach the fort unseen. Quickly gliding over the walls, they drifted into the open yard beyond. The hill had been stripped bare of trees to build the fort, and the ceaseless pounding of trollish feet had reduced the ground to mud and stony rubble. The interior was home to a large camp of armored trolls, moving through military preparations in readiness for some anticipated battle. The party commented on the strangeness of the trolls actions, for normally the large humanoids were not so organized by nature. Suddenly, a door of a central building opened, and a lean, tall man waering black plate armor from head to toe emerged. After a few sharp commands, it became clear that this man, who was obviously not a troll, was the reason for the enforced order. Each word cracked upon the trolls’ hides like whips, and they scattered to carry forth his bidding.
After barking some more orders, the man re-entered his command post, but this time the party followed him, slipping unseen and unfelt past the guards. They entered a large war-room, where upon a map of an unknown land was spread. Small figurines, extremely detailed in their carvings, represented trolls and various engines of war, stretched out in a line around a small model of the stockade. Before the party could discern more details, however, the armored man continued into a smaller chamber in the back of the command post. Following, they found the armored man in a small, sparse bedchamber. With the door closed behind him, the man sat at a small desk, covered in reports. Reaching up, he took off his full helm, and set it beside him. To the party’s surprise, they could see his pointed ears, and his fine elven features.
It was Storin. Or at least, Storin’s body. Something else inhabited that body now.
Storin, in his ghostly form, tried to re-enter his body, much like he had been able to enter Ekel, but found himself blocked. Indeed, nothing that he or the others tried seemed to affect the body thief. Eventually, they determined that they needed the reliquary, so they returned to where Ekel was hiding, outside the camp. There, they formed a plan.
Storin was able to will himself into the Reliquary, while Brandon entered Ekel, and again used his body for a host. Then the rogue took the golden reliquary and snuck over the wall, dodging trolls and eventually reaching the central compound. Meanwhile, the others focused their energies, and found that they were able to manifest physically for a short period of time – just enough to cause a distraction amongst the troll guards. As the alarm was raised, the armored man emerged, and began shouting orders from behind his helm’s visor. Brandon called out to him, and when he looked up, the rogue tossed him the Reliquary, which the armored man caught, surprised.
Then Storin made his move. With the Reliquary in the hands of his stolen body, the elven mage was able to force his opponent’s spirit into the Reliquary as well. There, in a dark chamber formed from their joined spirits, the two did battle. The body thief appeared as a towering man in armor and with sword, enraged at the deception and Storin’s attack. They fought, spirit blade versus spirit spell, until both were nearly beaten. However, the warrior, whose name became known to Storin as Gohrn, was too strong and determined, and Storin fell to his sword.
Out in the compound, the party had returned to their ghost forms, and Brandon had left Ekel after returning him to safety. The others convened on Storin, hoping to help him when he had reclaimed his body, but soon they realized that the battle for dominance had been lost by their companion. Whoever had stolen the elf’s body had apparently won it from its former owner. But not for long.
As the party watched in their ghostly forms, the body thief stumbled out of the command post, staggered by his battle with Storin. The Reliquary was still in his hand;; however, the man had forgotten his helmet inside, having taken it off to gasp for air after the psychic battle. The trolls around him stopped and stared, then suddenly flew into a rage as they realized their commander was an elf, and ancient racial enemy of all trolls. Despite the thief’s commands he shouted out, his own troops descended upon him, tearing him limb from limb.
In the confusion of the fray, the party recovered the Reliquary and returned to Ekel. Around them, the Mists started to absorb the hill and the stockade. Heading towards the still distant Necrolith, they pushed onwards, mourning the loss of their companion and wondering if similar fates awaited them all…