Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 325
A Tale of Two Dragons
“I suspect we’re caught in some kind of trap.”
Morningstar conveys this to the others via the mind-link, and the rest are inclined to agree. After all, based on Scree’s scouting report, they should have emerged from the mist in well under a minute, but it’s been over twenty minutes now, and there’s no end to it. Still, they decide to press on.
/*/
That morning, after a heroes’ feast breakfast and discussion of plans, the Company had decided to send Scree on a reconnaissance mission, before the whole group plunged blindly into the unnatural fog. Scree was amenable as always, sunk into the ground at the edge of the cliff, and relayed his observations through Kibi.
“I’m heading straight down … okay, I’d say I’ve gone about thirty feet. I’m sticking my eye out of the cliff face; oh, still misty. I can hardly see at all. I’ll go down some more … Good rock. Quartzy. Strange, but solid. I’m poking my eye out every so often … hey, I’ve come to the bottom, and it’s still foggy … No, wait, there’s another cliff. It’s terraced, you see. If you scaled down the cliff by a rope or something, you’d find yourself on a ten-foot ledge at the top of another cliff! Oh, and I’ve found the bottom of the mist! Here, just a minute … Ah, I see. Now I’m at the bottom of a ravine. I can see the bottom of the fog layer, a couple hundred feet above me, I think, right where the ledge is. The ravine is about fifty feet wide down here … Hey, there are more bone chips too! Maybe it’s the Black Circle army? Or maybe the undead that already live here? Who knows?”
“Can you feel any tremors nearby?” Kibi had asked. He wanted to know if Scree could sense the proximity of the skeletal army.
“Yeah. I feel a bunch of little tremors. Like there are things moving around within a few miles of me, in multiple places.”
“Their army is fanning out,” Kibi had told the others.
“Ooooh, look at that!” Scree had then exclaimed. “A giant! No, wait. It’s just a statue of a giant’s legs. The top part is in pieces, on the ground. The face looks worn. The whole thing does … hey, now I hear something. Sounds like wind blowing somewhere past where this ravine bends out of sight. Getting louder. Oh, whatever it is just turned the corner. Judging from the bone fragments flying around, a huge blast of wind is coming down the ravine this way. I’ll just sink back into the stone and stick an eye out … Huh. Nothing happened, though my eye felt tingly when the wind blew past. Now it’s gone, and it’s quiet again.”
Kibi had then recalled his familiar, after which they made their final plan. Morningstar cast control weather, hoping that a good gale-force wind would sweep the mist away. But while it did have some good effect – she increased visibility inside the fog from 5’ to almost 30’ – it mostly just churned the mist in place. Some magical force kept it from dispersing. Still, it didn’t sound like they had far to go. 150’ of mist, then 200’ more to the bottom of the ravine. One they had cast their buffs, including hide from undead, Aravis shapechanged into his accustomed dragon form, and Morningstar rode on his back while the rest flew on the flying carpet Burning Sky. Down they rushed, expecting to reach the bottom in less than ten seconds.
/*/
That was almost half an hour ago now. They are clearly moving – individual curls of mist are whipping past their faces, and Morningstar’s pale hair streams out behind her like the tail of a kite – but they’ve seen no sign of the bottom of the mist layer, let alone the floor of the ravine that Scree had described.
Kibi, who hates flying with a passion, is gripping the sides of the carpet with whitened knuckles. “This doesn’t seem to match Scree’s report,” he says morosely, though by now that’s abundantly obvious to everyone.
Five more minutes pass, with no change. Morningstar reiterates her opinion that this is at best some kind of defense mechanism that hedges intruders, and Flicker thinks that perhaps it’s a trap from which they cannot escape, but a minute after that the mist ahead actually starts to clear, and in rapid succession goes from thick, to wispy, to not there at all.
They have arrived in the ravine exactly as Scree described. It’s about fifty feet wide, and stretches away in both directions at least a hundred feet before bending away out of sight. The walls are two hundred feet high, sheer, and made of a smooth gray quartz-like stone streaked with black striated veins. The ground is made of the same.
The broken Giantish statue is also there, smashed and wind-scoured.
Dranko wonders out loud, “How does anything get weathered down here?”
Morningstar realizes with a start that her control weather spell is no longer active, though by rights it should have lasted for hours. There is no breeze at all here in the ravine; high above them the thick white fog hangs still like a cotton blanket. There are no animals, no sounds, nothing that betrays any hint of why this place is here.
Aravis rubs his chin. “My suspicion is that Drosh had a blind spot for things moving through the ground.”
Which seems true; whatever magics that were active in the mist were evidently bypassed entirely by Scree. Down here below the mist, Dranko finds that his inherent ability to detect magic works just fine, suggesting that the prohibition against divinations only applies across the mist and not beneath it.
There’s nothing to recommend one way over the other, so the Company picks a direction at random and heads down the ravine; after all, this place isn’t going to just scout itself. A five hundred feet the ravine bends away to the left, continues on for three hundred feet, and splits. There are bone fragments down both of the new branches, so once again they choose randomly, flying along about half way up the ravine’s height, Morningstar still on Aravis’s dragon-back and the rest on the flying carpet. While the ravines vary somewhat in width, they are all of an unnaturally uniform height, and the quality of the stone never changes. Dotted here and there are more statues of giants, all in varying poses and states of decay. Most are broken in places, and weathered smooth to the point where few facial features remain.
Nearly an hour has passed, when the party rounds a corner and sees something approaching, several hundred feet ahead of them. It seems that a force of undead has also just turned a corner, and now the two groups are facing each other. The Company is still enchanted to be invisible to non-intelligent undead, so they proceed, though cautiously.
The undead contingent consists only of skeletons, many dozens of them, mostly of human sized, but a dozen or so of a giantish variety standing some twenty feet high. All of their bones are inscribed with glowing blue runes, on arms, on legs, even on the tops of their skulls. None of them are reacting in any way to the party; it seems their spell is holding, so they rise up a bit higher and move to fly over the enemy. (Though they are not entirely sure that this is the enemy; the odd runes lend to the theory that these are the indigenous undead population.)
A few seconds later, a second group of skeletal creatures rounds the corner: four little flying skulls the size of large crows, and a huge skeletal dragon. The skulls have gems in their eye-sockets: a red gem in the left eye and a black one in the right. All of them, and the dragon as well, have blue runes etched upon them.
The dragon pulls up when it sees the party. Oops! It screeches loudly at the army below. The Company hastily starts casting buffing spells, as the rune-covered dragon and its accompanying flight of skulls draws nearer. It is precisely at the moment Aravis realizes he’s seen those runes before – they belong to an obscure language he ran across while perusing some of their pilfered Black Circle books – that the skulls let loose their attacks on him.
Twenty magic missiles streak from their black right eyes – five per skull – and all of them slam into Aravis’s draconic body. He has scarce time to recover before they each launch fireballs at him, engulfing him (and Morningstar) in a small inferno. He survives the attack, the fireballs triggering his energy buffer, though he is severely scored and burned. Aravis responds by quickening a shield spell and breathing out a massive cone of electricity. The dragon doesn’t even try to avoid the blast, and comes away scorched and smoking. The skulls zip around in the air, partially dodging the blast. None of the flying enemies have dropped. The many humanoid skeletons below are now looking up to observe the aerial battle, though none can do anything about it.
Kibi watches the skeletal dragon approach, and wonders what kind of breath weapon it might have. Negative energy? Or maybe positive energy, since it’s presumably designed to fight other undead? Whatever the case, he doesn’t want to find out the hard way. He casts control undead upon it. The dragon jerks to a halt as if caught in a net. Kibi smiles.
“Curse you!” spits the dragon.
“Don’t attack me, or any of my friends,” the dwarf commands.
“Yes, fine.”
“Where is your master?” asks Kibi.
“I don’t know.” The dragon’s harsh screechy voice drips with frustration and contempt.
“Then how will you find him?”
“I will fly back to where I saw him last. He has ways of locating us, or calling us to him.”
“Has he found what he’s looking for?” asks Kibi.
“Maybe.”
“Are you all still marching?”
The dragon sneers. “I fly, I don’t march.”
Kibi sighs. “Is the army still on the move, then?”
“The army is still searching, if that’s what you’re asking.”
That tells Kibi something important, at least. The dragon doesn’t think Ten Old Bones has found the Skysteel Hole.
“Attack those stupid flying skulls,” he commands.
The dragon groans, but turns to do as it is bidden. Morningstar, herself singed by the barrage of fireballs, casts a healing spell on herself and Aravis. Grey Wolf uses a wand of fly on Dranko, before quickening an ironstorm down among the ambulatory skeletons. As even more skeletons come into view around the distant corner of the ravine (including four more flying skulls), Ernie pops one of the nearby skulls with a positive energy ray. All that remain are its two gems, which plummet to the ground. Dranko (now flying) and Flicker (already flying) become a flank-and-destroy team, their weapons magically augmented to allow sneak-attacks on the undead. Together they finish off a second of the nearer set of skulls. The dragon, firmly under Kibi’s command, destroys a third skull in a flurry of teeth and claws. “The dwarf!” it cries in frustration. “The dwarf is making me do it!”
The fourth and final skull in the group targets Kibi with all of its attacks. Five magic missiles strike him, and the fireball triggers his energy buffer. Aravis takes some fiery splash damage, and glares. In retaliation he sends a chain lightning into Grey Wolf’s ironstorm down below. Skeletons explode – nearly every one of them in a 40’ radius, in fact. The ranks behind them start to fill in the gap; some instinctively avoid the plinking iron filings, but others wade mindlessly into the killing zone. More skulls move up as well.
Kibi continues to query the dragon. “How far back in the ravines did you last see your master?”
“Miles away,” barks the dragon. “Days ago.”
Unfailingly polite, Kibi requests that the dragon descend and take on the humanoid skeletons. Given how many of them there still are, Kibi instructs: “Use your full breath attack capabilities on the army below you!”
“Whatever you say,” answers the dragon, a bit too eagerly. It flies down and hovers over the mass of undead. Kibi frowns, and figures it can’t hurt to fill the canyon with spike stones, just in case.
A darkbeam from Morningstar and an ice storm from Grey Wolf take out another flying skull. Grey Wolf then casts fly on himself and absents himself from the party’s clustered formation.
Down below, the smaller skeletons grind themselves down upon the spike stones, unaware that they’re killing themselves. The giant-sized ones seem to be a bit smarter; they stop moving through the spikes, and instead pick up their shattered brethren to use as missile weapons. Dranko dodges two armored skeletons, but a third smacks him right in the chest. He sees that their blue runes continue to glow even after de-animation.
Ernie drops a flame strike on two of these larger specimens. Flicker and Dranko flank and annihilate another skull like a two-headed blender. Then the dragon, facing dozens of its fellow skeletons, opens his jaws and breathes.
Nothing comes out, save a tiny gasp of stale air, an impotent cough.
“That was my best,” it chortles. “Anything else?”
More of the skulls target Kibi, but he weathers the storm of magic missiles and fireballs, and that’s the last serious attack these undead are able to make. Aravis shows how dragon breath is supposed to work, blasting most of the remaining skeletons on the ground into charred fragments. Grey Wolf terminates another skull via a maximized greater fireburst channeled through Bostock. Morningstar and Kibi’s controlled dragon finish off all the rest of the enemy except for a single giant, which finally topples due to the incessant chipping from the ironstorm.
Kibi orders the skeletal dragon to lead the Company to where it last saw Ten Old Bones. It’s large enough that he rides upon its back along with Dranko and Flicker. Ernie, Grey Wolf and Morningstar ride upon Aravis’s back, and the pair of dragons makes excellent time. They fly through the canyon maze at great speed for the next fifteen minutes. They only pull up short when Grey Wolf, under the effects of enhanced senses, hears something ahead. They all stop, and they all hear it. It sounds like wind.
“Do you know what’s causing that sound?” Kibi asks the dragon.
“Wind. It’s blown on us before.”
“What happened to you when it blew on you?”
“Nothing,” says the dragon. “It tingles.”
“Does it affect anything that’s not undead?”
The dragon laughs. “How would I know?”
From around a distant bend in the ravine, the wind comes, just as it did when Scree was first scouting. They can see the cloud of bone debris kicked up along its leading edge. High up, the bottom of the mist layer is stirred by the gusting air. They have about fifteen seconds until the wind reaches them.
For a couple of seconds they think they might try riding it out, but then they see that as the wind passes by some of the giantish statues ahead, one of their stone arms is snapped off. Dranko feels his blood run cold.
“We’ve got to find cover! Aravis, can you make us a shelter?”
He can. Even as the party flies down to ground level, Aravis casts a secure shelter, and they swoop in through the door as quickly as possible. Aravis himself has to hastily shrink down to human size in order to fit.
“Wait out here until I come back,” says Kibi to his dragon, before closing the door to the shelter. And just in time, too! The door has been closed only three seconds when the wind reaches it, and their little house shudders and vibrates as the gale rushes past. Dranko fishes a long strip of jerky from his pack, opens the door a tiny crack, and pokes the jerky into the wind. It instantly becomes much heavier, and when Dranko pulls it back, he finds that the exposed section has turned to stone.
“Well,” said Kibi. “Hiding in here was certainly the right thing to do!”
After a minute or two, the wind dies down almost instantly. Scree gives the rest the all-clear, and they leave the shelter. The dragon is still there, waiting for them.
“What are the capabilities of Ten Old Bones and his army?” Kibi asks it.
The dragon looks as though it would puff up proudly, if it had any flesh to puff. “His army is vast. Tens of thousands. It will roll over you.”
“Is it broken into more groups like the one you were part of?”
“For now,” croaks the dragon, “but we’ll all be together before too long. Ten Old Bones can contact us when we’re close enough, and guide us to him.”
“What does he look like?” asks Kibi.
“Like a skeleton.”
“Is he a lich?”
“Why? Does that scare you?” The dragon chuckles again, a grinding, rattling sound.
“Answer the question,” demands Kibi.
“I don’t know what he is, and that’s the truth. He’s very old, and very powerful. More powerful than any of you, I can tell you. But he’s like you. Human-ish.”
“Does he wear anything in particular?” asks Dranko.
“Clothes,” says the dragon.
Dranko shakes his head. “Describe the clothes. Are they unusual? Honestly, it’s like talking to a child.”
“I don’t need to answer you,” spits the dragon.
“Yes you do,” says Kibi. “I command you.”
“Fine. He wears black. A cloak. Those things on your legs… pants. And he is adorned with various magic trinkets.”
“What kind of spells can he cast?” Kibi presses.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he create you?” asks Dranko. When the dragon shakes its head, Dranko adds, “Then why are you working for him?”
“Because the person who did create me works for him. His name is Six Bone Shards.”
“Is he also with the army?”
“No.”
“Are there any living creatures in your army?” asks Kibi.
“I don’t think so.”
“Spellcasters? Other than those skull things?”
“I don’t know,” says the dragon, exasperated. “I’m not privy to the abilities of every creature in the army.”
“How about this, then,” says Morningstar. “Are there more creatures as powerful as you, or more powerful?”
The dragon doesn’t answer at first, until Kibi glares at it. “I don’t know. Fifty maybe. That’s only a guess.”
“And what are you all looking for?” asks Kibi.
“A tower,” says the dragon. “And a great ring of metal.”
At this point Kibi thinks he only has about a minute left before his control undead expires, and he has no desire to endure the revenge the creature will doubtless try to exact. With only the tiniest of moral pangs, he orders the dragon not to defend itself, and Flicker, Dranko and Grey Wolf smash it to pieces.
…to be continued…