Dorl the Cursed

The gigantic, magically empowered forms of Haerak and K’larsh tossed open the heavy iron & brass doors of the temple of Dorl the Vain with ease, weapons at the ready.  The Chimera, a beast forged by divine power from the blood of a would be god, was ready, it dropped from the ceiling, blasting a wave of terrible cold into the midst of its would be killers.
Haerak and K’larsh shrugged off the assault, and charged the beast, while the rest of their allies fanned out around the creature, surrounding it.  The fighting was fierce and terrible, Haerak and K’larsh attacked with desperation, simply throwing caution to the wind and trying to slay the beast before it ripped them to bloody pieces.
For all of the magic that enchanted them, Haerak and K’larsh’s blades found little purchase in the beasts hide, a few blows struck true, but the snapping jaws of the creature, and its thick scaly hide turned the majority away harmlessly.  However the fury of their assault allowed Fjensir to lay open the beasts flanks with a series of strong strikes with his longsword.  The bandit Jhota risked a shot with his crossbow from the antechamber, but it fell well wide, and he disappeared, whether to cower or reload, Haerak knew not.  Rain surprised them all, showing that there was more than bluster to his claims of magical power, he summoned a powerful stroke of lightning into his palm and slammed it into the creatures hide, filling the room with the acrid, metallic odor of ozone and burning flesh.  When K’larsh staggered and fell to the beasts relentless flurry of tooth and claw, Fjensir saw his opening, and drove his blade into the beast to the hilt.  The sword was pulled from his hands as the great chimera convulsed in agony, and turned upon him.  It’s dragon head gathered for one last terrible blast of icy death, but it’s heart’s black blood was all that trickled forth.  Confused and in agony from its terrible wounds, the best collapsed, shuddered, and then was still.
The Chimera made its lair in a small, unworked stone chamber behind one of the great temple tapestries.  Its nest had a few small trinkets of value, but, more interestingly, the party found strange green shards of metal.  A thorough search turned up quite a number of these, enough to form an entire blade, including the hilt.  All that was missing was the pommel stone, and the sword Verdane, the famed green blade of Dorl would be complete.
The party searched the temple thoroughly for some time, Haerak and K’larsh dipping their blades in the temple font, watching the strange blue magic fire slowly lick it’s way along their weapons.
Eventually, they discovered the secret exit, a small, illusioned passage high above the fountain, just barely distinguishable from the wall itself.  Climbing there was no easy feat, but, after some struggling, scrambling, falling and cursing, Haerak was able to grasp the disguised ledge and pull himself up into the chamber, a small passage leading far, far down.
A lowered rope allowed his friends to easily follow, and Haerak made his way to the hidden, private chamber of Dorl the Dandy, not vacant, even after all of the centuries that had passed, but rather, inhabited by the hateful, cursed spirit that was once the mighty hero known as Dorl.
For a time, Haerak was able to assuage the rage of the spirit with platitudes and a ruse of loyalty, but the curse of St Leofar had changed the once mighty Dorl into something far less than human.  The twisted and hateful spirit grew more and more angry at the adventurers for bringing their life into his presence, mocking his lack of it.  Eventually, the spirit could stand them no longer and it attacked.

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The thing that once was a man proved a horrific opponent in battle, even with their weapons bearing the flames of the pool above, their blows could find little purchase, as the spirit flickered in and out of reality as easily as breathing, and its touch was death itself, stealing the very life and essence from the adventurer .  Rain attacked with his enchanted, shocking grasp, but the spirit struck him down quickly.  Fjensir was more resilient  striking the horror of unlife with his healing magic.  Grestmaul stripped the enchanted greataxe from Haeraks back, and attacked, but his blows did not strike true.  Haerak and K’larsh managed a few blows, but were driven back by the relentless assault of the horror.  As the creature moved to finish Haerak he timed one last, desperate attack.  The blow struck true, and, with a howl of agony, and, perhaps, relief, the terrible spirit of Dorl the Vain was put to rest at long last.
Dorl’s chambers held no secret escape, but the party was able to find several interesting treasures, including the spellbooks of the powerful wizard.  Rain nearly wept at the site of these, leafing through the first with shaking hands and a reverent expression.  He found several scrolls of power within, including one that would allow him to magically transport several party members directly out of the caverns.  Unfortunately, this only accounted for four of the group, the others would have to chance riskier methods, for K’larsh, a strange potion that would turn his flesh to naught but gas, allowing him  to escape through the natural air vents of the complex.  Haerak would take a riskier route, with rain using a scroll that would turn him invisible.  He planned to simply run through the goblins that had retaken the temple in the confusion caused by an illusory monster, summoned by yet another of Dorls scrolls.
As for Jhota, Haerak had no answer for the bandit, nor would he risk his life, or the lives of his friends for the cowardly man who had done nothing to help them thus far.  He gave the man a potion that would offer him some protection from the goblin arrows and simply told him to run, and run fast.  

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