Rackhir, as you can see from the post above, takes disappointment badly.
And now, a short but, I think, meaningful update.
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Zathara glares at the intruders and snarls, “I did warn you. Nethatar – kill them.”
His paw moves in a quick gesture and he throws up a protective
shield, before casting a second, much more powerful spell. A longsword, apparently made entirely of gleaming black energy, appears next to Nameless and slashes at him. The alienist ducks away, recognizing that the
sword of darkness will sap his life energy, and more importantly, the spells he knows.
Like the ak’chazar, Nameless casts a spell with a word and gesture, the
assay resistance from Saala, following it with a
dispel magic. Though he knows the rakshasa has a
ring of counterspells too, Nameless counts on the fact that multiple castings of the spell will get through. “Korm, Luna,” he half shouts and half telepathically commands, “More
dispels!”
Meanwhile, Nethatar is striding forward, sword at the ready. She addresses Korm, “Twice, I have cut you down and you’re still here? This will be the last.”
“That’s a pretty good threat from a future rug,” says Korm, but he focuses on Zathara, complying with Nameless’ suggestion. With Six, Gareth and Luna already charging the rakshasa, he figures she will soon be busy enough.
Luna’s huge bulk is first, but her claws simply scrape uselessly off the armor and magic protections on Nethatar. Six, saving his specifically enchanted chain for when he tries to actually cause damage, flicks another one around her ankle. And is then quickly forced to drop it as she pulls back powerfully on it.
Gareth, the last to reach Nethatar, and shudders inwardly at the taint of evil that he instinctively recognizes from her.
Blackguard! Then he staggers, as a powerful blow almost caves in the side of his armor. To his surprise, Zathara shouts, “Nethatar – don’t harm him! Kill the others.”
“What?” The thought leaps into Gareth’s mind from the others he is connected to, but there is no time for wondering. He raises the spear that he has specifically enchanted for this moment, calls to the Silver Flame, and strikes. As it comes down, he feels the couatl in his mind channeling the power of the Flame into him, and the paladin feels more truly part of the Flame than he ever has. The spear kindles with argent flames and he plunges it through Nethatar’s armor deep into her chest. She screams in agony, and Gareth sets his feet and pushes more deeply on the weapon*. “Die – damn you!”
The rakshasa stays on her feet, though critically wounded. Her pain and rage overrides her master’s anger, and she slashes again and again at Gareth. Seconds later, he is down and dying in a pool of blood, while Nethatar turns to hack at Luna. As she does so, blood streams from the wound Gareth left. “Master! Heal me!”
Zathara scowls as Gareth drops and then smiles, as he shrugs off a green ray of
disintegrate from Nameless. He casts a spell that both wounds and strips away magical protections from Korm and then glides forward. Luna slashes at him with a huge paw but it might as well have been aimed at the mountain wall. Zathara reaches out with his paw, to cast a quick healing spell.
And that’s when the Angels get lucky. In the middle of the wild melee, Nethatar has had no chance to lower her innate magical resistance. And at this crucial moment, Zathara fails to overcome it, and the spell that would have significantly healed Nethatar fizzles out.
Even more importantly, moving forward has placed Zathara and Nethatar between Luna and one of the lava walls. Nameless, just having cast a spell to summon a huge crocodile, which bites into Nethatar’s leg, grimaces in pain as Zathara’s
sword of darkness strikes him twice. He ignores the resultant weakness and the draining feeling of his two remaining dweomers of the sixth valence fade, and yells, “Luna! The wall! Rush them now!”
Luna’s eyes light up with feral glee and she hurls her
enlarged bulk at them, ignoring the pain of another slash from Nethatar’s blade. 14,000 lbs of bear slams into the two rakshasas, and with a startled cry, both of them are hurled backwards into the lava.
As the liquid flame envelops the pair, their enemies can see that it is surprisingly transparent. The rakshasas are also evidently heavily protected against fire, but few protections can resist direct immersion in lava, and their skin and fur sears. The already badly wounded Nethatar seems especially badly hurt, screaming and convulsing in agony. Zathara, though also hurt, seems less hurt and quickly
dimension doors across the chamber, appearing near where the Angels appeared.
Nethatar too, emerges from the lava, but not as neatly or happily. As she thrashes in the embrace of the lava, Six’s chain, specifically enchanted by Gareth with holy power, lashes out. It wraps around Nethatar’s throat, and Six jerks powerfully, almost falling flat on his back with the effort. The rakshasa’s eyes bulge with the pressure, pain and shock clear in the catlike orbs, and then she is jerked forward and out of the lava, landing wetly on the stone, clearly dead.
As her corpse hits the ground, the amber beam (which still links her to Zathara, just as the cone of amber from the Key still shines on the far wall, where the lava continues to slowly recede) flexes, just as Six’s chain had, barely a second ago. To the surprise of everyone, including Zathara, the corpse flies through the air and into the lava wall the amber cone shines on. The beam linking her to Zathara disappears, and the cone grows slightly dimmer.
There is a brighter flash of amber light around the corpse and it immediately begins to sink deeper into the lava. Simultaneously, the body begins to fall apart, even faster than would be natural. While her armor and sword, which had remained attached to the gauntlet on her hand, remain untouched, the flesh and bone falls away, not searing but rather breaking up into tiny flakes that wash away like ashes on a high wind.
“What the – ?” is the thought in every mind.
Zathara cries out, “No! Nethatar!!” And then, with an angry snarl, he turns toward the unconscious Gareth. “Now!”
Instantly, silver flames erupt along the sheathed blade of Kizmet on the paladin’s back. Healing energy pours into Gareth and he opens his eyes.
“You!” snaps Zathara. “Join me! It is your destiny!”
”What?”
A cold, metallic voice speaks in Gareth’s mind. Over the telepathic link, the others can only hear a soft murmur, but the paladin hears and knows that Kizmet is speaking. “Yes – join him! You know your companions,” says the sword, its tone dripping with scorn on the last word, “Are not worthy of the Key. They will betray you for it. Join Zathara and you will become all you deserve to be.”
Certain that it is a trick of the rakshasa’s, Gareth tries to fool it and buy some time. “Very well, I…” he begins mentally, but is instantly interrupted. “Fool. I am in your mind. You cannot lie to me.” Gareth feels Kizmet quiver slightly and a mild pressure around his head, but it disappears instantly and the voice resumes. “You owe much to me. And Zathara. Join us.” The voice grows grimmer. “I will not warn you again. Will you join us?”
Gareth’s answer this time is both audible, and unequivocal. He stares the rakshasa in the eyes and rises to his feet. “
. You.”
“Very well,” says Zathara, paws already moving in the gestures of a spell. “Come forth.”
Gareth’s vision blurs instantly, and it is replaced by a moment from the past. The other Angels also see it, linked as they are to him mentally. It is a battlefield, strewn only with the bodies of the fallen, except for a single stalwart figure in shining mail. The paladin recognizes it instantly. It is the Battle of Grace.
The figure he looks at is Marshal Byron d’Deneith, standing with Kizmet in hand. Gareth himself lies at his father’s feet, eyes closed, a deep cut across his forehead. Byron raises Kizmet and a bright silver glow shines out over the field. The viewpoint which Gareth, in the present, is watching through suddenly shoots forward into the light. An instant later, it changes, to a strangely angled and narrow field, which he quickly realizes is as if one were looking through the blade of the sword.
Kizmet falls to the ground beside Gareth as his father drops to his knees and lays his hands on Gareth. Byron’s lips move in prayer and a silvery glow shines from his hands. Already deathly pale, he grows paler still, while the blood flowing from Gareth’s head slows and fades. Byron sighs in relief and then slowly collapses over him.
A voice begins to speak, the same voice that Gareth now knows as Kizmet’s. “Your father sacrificed his life for you. He asked the Flame to pass on his gifts as a paladin to you. You saw Tira Miron appear to you in a vision.” The voice chuckles. “Didn’t you?” And the vision fades, the entire thing having taken barely a second.
And, with a deafening crack, Kizmet explodes. The hilt, with only a six inch jagged shard of the blade still attached, clatters to the ground.
Simultaneously, a figure appears adjacent to Gareth. It is a fifteen foot tall monstrosity, four arms attached to its heavily muscled body, two ending in clawed hands and two in pincers. Its head is roughly canine in shape and horned, and the large muzzle bears sharp dripping fangs. The cold eyes have a dark humor in them. To the others, it is clearly a demon. To Gareth, it is the one his father banished at the Battle of Grace.
“Greetings, idiot,” it says to Gareth, and then turns to Zathara. “And master!”
“!” think Nameless and Korm simultaneously, recognizing the creature, though neither has encountered one himself.
“Glabrezu!
Gareth, who also recognizes it, has a bigger concern, and as the horrified realization flames in his mind, all of his companions realize it too. As the glabrezu emerges from within Kizmet, where it has lain in wait since the Battle of Grace, Gareth loses every paladin ability that he possesses.
Or, more precisely, every paladin ability that the fiend in his sword had granted him.**
* Gareth did two Smites with Divine Might, hit on both, and criticalled on the first. 123 pts of damage in one round.
** I really wish I had a snap of the various facial expressions when I pulled this off. I’m quite impressed that nobody, especially Gareth’s player, threw dice at me.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
