Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth

In relation to my post "need a decisive victory"
(Not sure how this will translate into text)

Perhaps I did not put the right emPHASis on the proper syLAble...
The battle will be decisive, it does appear, but I was going more for the Victory part...

Lazybones? You still out there?

I'm missing my updates...

You've been an ongoing source of entertainment for a very long time, more regular than any other story hour author. I'd love to see more of this story, even if it's just enough to close out this module.

wolff96 said:

Lazybones? You still out there?

I'm missing my updates...

You've been an ongoing source of entertainment for a very long time, more regular than any other story hour author. I'd love to see more of this story, even if it's just enough to close out this module.

Click to expand...

Heh, I'm still here. I do intend to finish this story, but I just haven't had much time to write of late. I did have most of two updates after this one just about ready, so here's one, and I'll see if I can get the other finished next week. I do have the second module and a few notes for continuing the story but I'm not going to commit to it at this point. If I do, there are some new character ideas I'd like to work on.

Having written a good chunk of this story in the 4e system, I think that the round-by-round style I typically use may have to give way to more summative posts. The combats drag way out by comparison with 3.xe, and while that works okay in a game environment, it makes the story drag somewhat (IMO).

* * * * *

Chapter 43


Glowing fey lights passed through the curtain in the back of the storeroom. The flickered in the air and took on solid form, coalescing into the form of Elevaren. The warlock lifted a hand and invoked witchfire, drawing a scream from the goblin sharpshooter as white flames streaked from his eyes and ears.

Despite his grievous wounds, Beetle shot up and lunged at the goblin as he turned to face the new threat. Drawing out his last dagger, he stabbed wildly at the goblin, piercing its side and back. The goblin swung the bow in his off-hand like a club, smashing Beetle across the brow and knocking him onto his back. But Elevaren followed up with an eldritch blast that drove the goblin to his knees, and a moment later he toppled over, unconscious.

The warlock moved forward to come to Jaron’s aid, but his opponent had already seen the way that the battle was going. As Jaron parried another swing of his sword, the goblin reached out and grabbed the bolt jutting from the halfling’s chest, twisting it in the wound. Jaron cried out and fell back, nearly losing his footing altogether. The goblin took advantage of the distraction to disengage, falling back toward the door before Elevaren could hit him with another blast of fey magic.

He would have gotten away had it not been for Mara, who stepped into view in the open doorway just a second before the goblin got there. Seeing that his escape was blocked, the goblin still tried to push past, yelling a challenge as he lunged at the fighter. Mara blocked his thrust easily, and responded with a blow that sent the goblin reeling. He fell back into the room, where he found few good options facing him. He started toward Elevaren, perhaps intending to try to get around him and past the curtain, but the warlock hexed him with an eyebite, and he was unable to protect himself as Mara came up behind him and delivered a smash to the back of his head with the hilt of her longsword that laid him out, unconscious.

Jaron had immediately rushed to Beetle’s side, and was cradling in his arms, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his scalp with a pad of cloth. “Devrem! We need you in here!” Mara yelled, coming over to help him. Jaron looked little better than his cousin, with the crossbow bolt still jutting from his chest. “Here, let me,” Mara said, sheathing her swords. She took the crude bandage and lifted the crippled halfling in the crook of her arm, laying him carefully atop a row of crates. Beetle groaned, but otherwise did not stir.

Jaron tried to follow them, but with the rush of battle fading his own injuries caught up to him, and he slumped against a barrel, clinging to it to keep from falling to the ground. Elevaren went to him, kneeling in the sticky mess of ale and blood spread across the floor. “Try not to move. This will need to come out, but Devrem should be here when it happens, to heal you.”

“Did you get the others? The goblins, I mean.”

“Yes. They had us outnumbered, but the cleric summoned his shadow-raven again, and it threw the enemy line into chaos at the door.”

“The guardian of faith is a potent ally,” Devrem said as he entered the room. He took in the scene in a single sweeping glance. To Jaron, the cleric’s expression seemed unchanged when he shifted his eyes from the corpses splayed out across the floor to his companions. To a priest of death, life probably had little meaning, he thought.

In fact, it was the opposite, but he could not know that.

“Beetle... needs help...” Jaron said. He tried to get up, but his limbs failed to obey his commands, and Elevaren had to hold him to keep him from tumbling over.

“I can see that,” Devrem said, crossing quickly to where Mara held the dying halfling. “Do not move; that bolt will kill you if you let it. I will get to you as soon as I can.”

The death-priest moved swiftly. He pulled away the bandage, laying the terrible gash bare. Fresh blood spurted from the wound, and stained his fingers as he laid his hands upon Beetle’s head. The cleric summoned the blessed divine power of his patron. The silver fire flashed around the brooch of the silver raven at his breast, and between his fingers. The flow of blood coming from Beetle’s head eased, and the skin knit shut under Devrem’s touch. The cleric sagged slightly as the magic faded. Beetle lay quietly, but his sleep was natural now, almost peaceful.

Devrem turned to Jaron. “The goblin?” Mara asked.

“Escaped to the south, via the double doors,” Devrem said. His cold blue eyes held Jaron’s. “I will not be able to use my magic again for a few minutes,” he said. “It is important that you remain still until I can extract the bolt.” Elevaren made sure that he wasn’t going to fall when he released him, then the warlock moved to the door, to keep watch.

Jaron nodded slightly. “The goblin that escaped, was it the leader?”

“Who knows,” Mara said. “He was a fat bastard, though, even for a goblin. All he did during the battle was shoot off a few bolts; once things started to turn, he took off fast enough.”

“Do you think...” Jaron began, breaking off as he coughed. When he wiped his mouth, blood stained the cuff, but he shook his head at Devrem’s offered hand. “Do you think there are more of them?”

“We haven’t faced Kalarel yet,” Devrem said. “And I suspect there is more to this complex than what we have seen thus far.”

“We are in no shape to face additional foes at this point,” Mara said. “We must withdraw.”

Jaron watched Devrem’s face. For a moment he thought that the priest would argue, but finally he nodded.

Well, they lived... that's better than the alternative

What they need is a ready supply of curative elixers... or a healing stick =)
But this is a pretty fun way of running combat, makes it more dangerous and risky, not the "charge into every battle" attitude of most D&D groups.
Good Stuff LB, looking forward to more!

Chapter 44


They did not linger long in the storeroom. Not only were they all-too aware of the likelihood of the fat goblin returning with reinforcements, but the stink of the dead goblins quickly soured the air until the small chamber was almost unbearable. Mara tore down the curtain to the north, both to let some fresh air in and to minimize the chance of another ambush. She tore long strips from its hem with her short sword, and used them to bind the arms and legs of the goblin she’d knocked unconscious. The sniper remained out cold, lying on the ground; all that the fighter did for him was to drag him a short distance from the puddle of blood slowly spreading across the floor. Once the prisoner was secure, she joined Elevaren in keeping watch on the outer chambers and passages while Devrem tended to the halflings.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour to the battered adventurers, but was in reality only about five minutes, Devrem bent low over Jaron. “This will require a lot of your own strength, and I know how drained you are,” he told the halfling. “And it will hurt like a demon.”

“I have been shot before,” Jaron replied simply.

Devrem nodded, and grabbed hold of the bolt with one hand, while his other pressed close around the wound. Without preamble he yanked out the missile; Jaron swooned in sudden agony, and would have fallen without the support of the priest’s other hand. Devrem spoke a word of healing power, and magic flowed between them, drawing upon the last of the halfling’s strength to help close the wound. He was still weak, gravely so, but the nasty wound no longer threatened his life.

“You have a fierce spirit,” the cleric told him, when Jaron was finally able to stand unassisted.

“What about Beetle?”

“Unfortunately, he is too weak for me to help any further; he needs rest,” Devrem said. “But as long as we are in this place, we cannot spare anyone to carry him. He should be able to walk, if you wake him. But try to see that he does not get stabbed or shot again, at least not until tomorrow.”

Jaron looked up at the cleric, trying and failing to judge if he were making a jest. But Beetle stirred at his gentle touch, and when Jaron helped his cousin to his feet, he could stand, if a bit wobbly. Beetle’s natural curiosity and energy was muted, however, and he followed Jaron silently as the trio left the storeroom and rejoined the others.

“Let us be free of this place while we can,” Mara said, after verifying that the two halflings were all right. She took up her prisoner like a sack of oats, slinging the unconscious goblin over her shoulder while holding her longer sword ready in her prime hand.

“Do you think you’ll get him to talk?” Jaron asked her.

“He’ll talk,” the fighter replied, her voice full of grim certainty.

They made their way out into the larger room and then back north along the wide passage that led to the entrance chamber. The rats continued their din within the pit, as they fed on the corpses that Beetle had tossed down earlier.

They didn’t linger, heading around the pit toward the staircase leading up. The amount of light filtering down from above had dimmed considerably, suggesting that they’d spent longer down here than it seemed; time was a funny thing, underground.

“Hsst!” Jaron warned, drawing their attention around just as a goblin emerged from the corridor to the west. He was a scraggly unfortunate, clad in a dirty tunic that was little more than rags. The goblin’s eyes widened as he saw the companions at the same time that they saw him. He didn’t have a weapon, and flinched back as Beetle stepped forward, a knife appearing like magic in his hand. As hurt as he was, there was still something menacing in the way that the little halfling carried himself.

“No kill! No kill!” the goblin urged, spreading his empty hands wide. “Can helps you!”

“Hold, Beetle,” Devrem said, but they never got a chance to learn more from the creature, as a loud noise sounded from down the passage behind the goblin, a guttural roar that was followed by the heavy tread of running feet. The goblin hurled himself aside, moments before a big, broad-chested hobgoblin came around the bend of the passage. The creature was covered in old scars, which ran out from under the tunic of stitched hides he wore over his bulging torso. The hobgoblin carried a long iron poker, the end of which glowed bright red, as if it had been just taken from the depths of a forge.

The hobgoblin found himself confronted not with a single escaping prisoner, but by a heavily armed and experienced company of adventurers. Even as big and as mean as he looked, the odds were clearly against him. But he didn’t hesitate, growling a challenge as he surged forward toward them.

Mara shrugged, letting her prisoner fall hard to the floor at her feet, and stepped forward to meet him. She reached for her short sword as she lifted her longer blade to parry the hobgoblin’s lunge. But the hobgoblin was deceptively fast, and he slid the end of the poker down under her swing and smashed it up into her face. The red-hot, slightly curving end of the poker caught her just under the lip of her helmet, smashing her jaw. The fighter was knocked roughly to the side, and she slumped against the wall of the corridor, the sick stink of burning flesh coming from her ravaged face.

The hobgoblin lifted the end of his weapon to his face, his lips twisting into a slight smile as he sniffed at the blood that hissed on the glowing iron. Then he stepped forward to confront Devrem, who’d taken up a position in front of the crippled Mara.

“Time for pain,” the hobgoblin grunted. The creature’s Common was so thick as to be barely discernable, but there was no mistaking his intent as he stepped forward to engage the cleric.

Chapter 45


Already wounded and exhausted from their battles against the goblins, the adventurers now found themselves facing a homicidal hobgoblin with obvious combat experience.

The hobgoblin lunged at Devrem, who thrust his staff into the creature’s face. Silver sparks flashed, but the hobgoblin seemed little fazed by the priest’s Sacred flame. He thrust the hot poker like a spear, jabbing the hot end into Devrem’s shoulder. The cleric was driven back by the hard blow, and fell heavily to one knee, grimacing in pain.

Mara tried to get up, but her strength was gone. She would have fallen, but Elevaren was there to support her, taking her weight against his body as he pulled her from the fray. Jaron tried to cover their retreat, but his arrow flew wild, and the hobgoblin barely seemed to notice.

The goblin that had precipitated this encounter tried to take advantage of the confusion to slip away, slinking along the shadow of the wall away from the melee. But he stopped short as Beetle stepped into his path, a dagger gleaming brightly in his hand.

“Eh, eh,” he said. He lifted the dagger, and the goblin flinched, but as the halfling snapped his wrist the small blade shot well over the goblin’s head, flipping end over end before the tip buried itself several inches into the hobgoblin’s throat.

The hobgoblin roared in pain, reaching up to yank the little knife free. Blood poured down his chest from the wound, although it was obviously not life-threatening. Still, it was more than the halfling’s companions had been able to do, and the hobgoblin surged forward to even the score.

But before he could get past those battered companions, Devrem leapt up to block the hobgoblin’s charge. The cleric, fighting with a surge of desperation, seized hold of the poker, struggling for control of the weapon. For a moment the two wrestled, matched in size, but the hobgoblin had the edge in strength and stamina, and finally he tore his weapon free, snapping the iron shaft up into Devrem’s face. The cleric collapsed, falling over onto his back, stunned by the blow.

The hobgoblin sneered as he lifted his weapon in both hands, aiming for the priest’s unprotected head. But before he could strike, flickering fey-lights exploded around his head, dazzling him. The eldritch blast didn’t hurt him, at least not much, but the same could not be said for the arrow that buried deep into his side, the steel head piercing the layered hides that protected his torso. Even so, the hobgoblin’s fury fueled his strength, and he managed to step forward, still focused on his prey.

The unarmed goblin watched Beetle in amazement as the halfling produced another knife, which appeared in his hand seemingly from nowhere. Beetle smiled at the goblin as he tossed the knife almost casually in a low arc that intersected with the hobgoblin’s knee. The joint crumpled as the hobgoblin shifted his weight onto it, and he fell hard, nearly smashing Devrem beneath his weight. Even still the creature fought, trying to get up, thrashing against the cleric as he tried to get free. His hand quested toward his belt, seizing upon the hilt of the dagger secured there. He drew the blade with his left hand, while he grabbed onto Devrem’s chest with his right, yanking himself close enough for a killing thrust.

But the noise of a bowstring being drawn taut drew his attention up, just in time to see the gleaming point of Jaron’s arrow before it drove forward into his right eye.

Huzzah! Now if they can just Get Out and rest!
I wonder if Beetle will have a Goblin for a follower?

Chapter 46


Splug was alternatively helpful and evasive, in nearly equal measure.

The companions were encamped in a small dell buried within the hills surrounding the ruined keep. Huge trees gnarled with age loomed all around them, enfolding them in a protective circle of low-hanging branches. Roots jutted from the ragged loam, forming an accidental rampart around their camp. A tiny fire burned in a pit dug between two of those roots, offering a pittance of warmth without compromising the location of their hideaway. Mara lay nearby, wrapped in her blanket, sunk into a slumber that was more like unconsciousness than simple rest. Elevaren sat near her, exhaustion visible in his features even through the usual impenetrability of the eladrin. He poked at the fire, his dark eyes perceiving things perhaps beyond the ken of the others.

Devrem was tired as well, but he continued his interrogation of the goblin prisoner. Splug had accompanied them on their flight from the dungeon under the keep. Mara’s prisoner had somehow escaped during the fight, slipping its bonds and slinking away deeper into the complex. Their new captive had clearly not been in the good graces of the goblin leadership; the hobgoblin torturer that they’d killed near the exit had been chasing him, and he bore bruises both old and new upon his scrawny body. Splug had told them that he’d been unfairly imprisoned by his peers for advocating restraint in dealing with the humans of Winterhaven, a claim which none of them found likely. Still, they needed intelligence as to the enemy’s remaining strength and defenses, and Devrem had ordered Beetle to watch their new companion closely, binding the prisoner’s arms and leaving a tail of rope to ensure that he didn’t decide to depart prematurely.

When they’d emerged from the dungeon they realized they’d been underground longer than expected; the sun had already vanished behind the horizon, and a deepening gloom was rapidly shadowing the space between the hills. All of them were in a sorry state, particularly Mara, who was being all but carried between Elevaren and Devrem. But with night approaching fast, the long trek back to Winterhaven seemed impractical, if not impossible. It was Jaron who found the dell, following an old game track that had clearly not seen use in some time. The halfling lingered behind them as they moved to the shelter and set up camp, doing what he could to erase the signs of their passage. The big concern was pursuit from the forces still present in the keep. In addition to the goblins that had escaped, including the fat leader, there was the cleric Kalarel, and whatever allies the evil priest still had to call upon.

Kalarel was foremost on Devrem’s mind as he questioned Splug. “Let’s go through it again. How many hobgoblins does Kalarel have working for him?”

Splug took on a long-suffering expression, and muttered something in the Goblin tongue. The goblin slipped in and out of his own language and Common interchangeably, and Devrem considered calling down Jaron to help; the halfling scout had learned that language during the long fight against Dal Durga and his goblinoid raiders. But he knew that Jaron’s sharp eyes were best employed watching for foes searching out their hiding place.

Instead his eyes shifted to Beetle, who was sitting on a rock nearby, watching the exchange. Splug shivered as he followed the priest’s gaze. The halfling smiled as their eyes met, but there was something cold in his look as well.

“I tell you,” Splug blurted out, turning back to Devrem. “They not let me in lower level. Goblins only on top level, hobgoblins on lower level. I tell everything, help you much. Splug good friend of humankinds, little halflings too. Good friend... yelp!”

The goblin started as Beetle appeared silently beside him, his head cocked slightly, close enough for his breath to be felt on the goblin’s sensitive ear. Devrem stifled a slight grin; Jaron’s cousin had a certain flair for spookiness. Splug controlled himself, sidling away to a point midway between the cleric and halfling.

“All right,” Devrem said. “Let’s talk about Balgron.”

The night deepened, and around midnight clouds drifted over the sky, concealing the moon and stars behind a cloak of shadow. Within the dell, it was almost utterly black. Devrem slept in his cloak. Jaron remained on watch, concealed above them along the trail that led into the dell. Splug had been trussed with ropes and covered with a spare blanket, his ankle fastened by a complex knot to an exposed root as thick around as an ogre’s meaty thigh.

The goblin shifted slightly. He emerged from the blanket, leaving the ropes behind. He crept as silent as the night to the edge of the camp. The web of roots presented no real barrier. He paused, and looked over at a nearby trunk, where one of Mara’s swords hung from a stub of a branch, next to a pack full of supplies.

The goblin looked over the silent, slumbering forms, and reached slowly out toward the treasures.

A thud startled him, and he nearly cut his hand on the knife blade that now jutted out between two of his probing fingers. Turning, he saw a shadow watching him, with two glistening points where the faint light reflected off of the halfling’s eyes. Beetle did not move, but it was clear that those bright points missed nothing.

Moving slowly, Splug retreated, and crept back under his blanket, shivering from more than just the cold of the night.

Thanks to my readers for their patience, here's another update.

* * * * *

Chapter 47


Jaron was trapped, caught in a web of darkness. He writhed in terror as insubstantial claws bit into his flesh, driving icy cold daggers of fear deep into him, but he could neither see nor feel their source. He could sense a presence, however, a thing darker than far than the blackness that enfolded him. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, knowing that to draw the attention of that shadowy form was Death.

He started, and awoke to find himself in their camp. Bright rays of sunlight drifted into the dell, sparkling on bits of dust that floated in the air like fireflies. His back hurt, and he looked down to see a root jutting from the ground where he’d been sleeping. A slight coppery taste lingered in his mouth, but he knew that if he checked, he’d find nothing there.

“Bad dreams?” Devrem said, looking up from where he tended the small fire. The familiar scent of coffee began to drift over the camp. Mara and Elevaren were still sleeping, he saw, draped out under their blankets like corpses. The halfling shuddered and took up his gear, belting his sword around his waist with deliberation. His hands did not shake, but the cleric could see though his attempt to dissemble his feelings. The priest nodded to himself. “It’s beginning,” he said. “I hope that we are not already too late.”

“What will happen if Kalarel completes the ritual?” Jaron asked. He took up his bow, and moved over to where the priest sat. Beetle’s bedroll was empty, but he knew his cousin’s habits too well to be unduly alarmed by that. The goblin was another matter; Splug sat against the bole of a nearby tree, a rope wound once around his body, his wrists still bound and a gag stuck in his jaw. Jaron looked at Devrem.

“I grew tired of his chatter,” the priest said. Taking up one of his gloves to protect his hand, he lifted the pot from the fire and poured coffee into a beaten iron mug that looked as though it had seen a few campaigns. Jaron nodded gratefully and sipped at the hot beverage. Splug made noises, but it was impossible to determine what he was trying to say through the gag.

“Be silent,” Devrem said. The goblin obeyed, subsiding with a sullen look at the cleric.

“You do not believe his story?” Jaron asked.

“It does not matter whether I believe. He is a goblin, and he has some knowledge of the operation of Kalarel’s organization. He is useful to us for the nonce, and so he lives.”

“Where is Beetle?”

“He crept off a few minutes ago.”

“And you just let him go?”

“I did not notice his absence until he had left. In any case, he is his own man, or halfling, in this case. And to answer your original question: the terrors of which I spoke before are very real. Kalarel would open a portal to the Shadowfell, a realm of death and decay. Beings of the unlife dwell there in large numbers, waiting for a chance to enter our world and prey upon the living. This realm would fall into shadow, ruled by corrupted things such as Kalarel. Although ultimately, for all his power, he is but a man. Things darker yet by far dwell within the Shadowfell. Darker, more cunning, and more powerful.”

“And nothing could stop this?”

Devrem shrugged. “It was done before. Perhaps, if the surrounding kingdoms rallied their armies, their magic, and their will. But the lands of man are more divided and fragmented today than they were in the time of the old empire. And even if the portal could be sealed again, there would be great suffering ere that day came. No, my friend, it is up to us, to stop this thing before the portal is reopened. Once the door is opened, then it is already too late.”

Jaron shivered, and took another draught from the cup. It was a strong brew, and bitter. He looked up as something shifted slightly in the brush. He turned, wary, aware of Devrem reaching for his staff behind him. But it was only Beetle, grinning as he held up a dead rabbit by its hind legs. “Bacon,” the halfling said.

They lingered in the camp as the morning brightened. Mara and Elevaren woke, and joined the others for breakfast. Mara was still rather groggy from the events of the day before. The fighter’s cracked jaw still pained her, and she could barely speak until Devrem reset it, using his divine power to heal the cruel injury. Even after that the fighter said little, but her expression remained dark as she went over all her gear, checking and cleaning each weapon, every piece of armor. A few times she shot meaningful looks at Elevaren, a private conversation exchanged without a single word being spoken. The eladrin had regained some of the otherworldly air that he’d lost in the aftermath of yesterday’s battle; as he meditated in the shadow of a looming tree at the edge of their camp, he seemed more like some spirit of the wood than a normal man.

Splug was ungagged and given some leftovers to eat as the others prepared to break camp. The goblin muttered about the injustice of the situation, but was careful to keep his voice low. Beetle was assigned to keep watch over him.

It wasn’t until they had packed up all of their gear, and buried the evidence of their stay, that Mara finally confronted Devrem.

“We need to talk about this mission,” she said, taking up a position astride the narrow path that led back up out of the dell.

“I have told you all that I know of Kalarel and his allies,” Devrem replied. “You all know what is at stake here.”

“What I know,” Mara said, “is that there are five of us here. We’ll all decent in a fight, I’ll grant. We held our own against those goblins, when the odds were against us. But if even half of what that goblin said was true, we’re up against even worse odds back in that dungeon. Kalarel’s hobgoblin mercenaries aren’t going to be as easy as those goblins were… and they nearly killed us. Leaving aside the cleric’s own powers, about which you have been rather vague.”

“I have held nothing from you,” Devrem said. He met the woman fighter’s gaze with a hard look of his own, and for several quiet seconds a tension grew between them, one that neither seemed willing to break.

“We are not saying that the mission is not important,” Elevaren finally said, stepping between the two. “But it helps nothing if we are slain; no one would even know of what we have learned here. Perhaps if we returned to Winterford, convinced Lord Padraig…”

“He does not understand. None of them do. They dwell safe in the security of their stone walls and empty lives, refusing to believe in the shadows that they can only dimly sense. They sit by the fire and tell tales, and laugh away the darkness that waits to claim them.”

“Why do you fight to defend them, if you hold them in such contempt?” Mara asked.

“I might ask you the same, fighter.”

Mara flinched, and her expression darkened. She stepped forward, thrusting closer to priest, until Elevaren laid a hand on her shoulder.

“This is crazy!”

They all turned to look at Jaron, who’d stepped up onto a fallen log along the edge of the camp facing the trail. “Look, we’re all on the same side here, right? I’ve seen enough already to know that Kalarel is a threat to the region. I don’t know what’s going to happen if he completes this ritual, but I can’t risk the lives of my people on the hope that Devrem is wrong. There’s something building here, I felt it last night. Something… wrong, about this place. Dark powers at work…”

“Dreams are not a good reason to risk your life,” Mara said.

“I have made my case as best I could,” Devrem said. “I could use your blade, warrior, but if you have not the stomach for this fight, then you can at least bring word to Winterhaven. Perhaps it will not be too late, if I fail.”

“I will go with you,” Jaron said, sounding resigned.

“Me too!” Beetle said.

Mara looked at Elevaren. “What of you, old friend?”

The eladrin’s eyes fell to the tangled growth at his feet. “I little feel as though I am master of my own course, these days.” He looked up at Devrem. “I suspect I was brought here for a reason. I will accompany you.”

Devrem looked at Mara. “Damn it, fine then,” she said. “Without me, you won’t have even a slim chance. But I want your word, priest, that if we are overmatched, we fall back, and reassess the situation. I’m not signing on for a suicide mission.”

“Death is inevitable for all of us,” the priest said. “But I am not a madman. I am here to stop Kalarel, not to throw my life away.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Mara muttered under her breath, as the group set out again back toward the keep.

Chapter 48


They returned cautiously, alert for an ambush. Their enemies had not pursued them out of the dungeon, but they’d had almost a whole day to prepare a response against their return. Hobgoblins were wily, cunning foes, adept at group tactics and siegecraft, including the construction of fortified defenses. Both Mara and Jaron had fought them in the past, in the days of Dal Durga’s violent horde.

But the dungeon greeted them only with cold, musty darkness on their return. The torches in the entry chamber and the adjacent corridors had burned down, leaving the place mired in shadow beyond the radius of the shaft of morning light that drifted down the stairs from the ruin above. The bodies left from their last battle were gone, although dark streaks marked the floor as a memorial to their passing. Even the rat pit in the center of the room was strangely quiet, although a faint rustling could be heard now and again.

“Maybe they decided they’d had enough,” Jaron ventured. “Their operation was compromised; perhaps they abandoned the site.”

“No,” Devrem said. “The ritual continues, deeper within this place.” He did not elaborate on the source of his knowledge, and no one asked. They could all feel it, a vague pulsing on the edge of perception that caused the hairs on their arms to stand up.

Splug was still with them, still attached to his halter, currently in the custody of Elevaren. The goblin seemed subdued this morning, avoiding his usual comments and protests. Devrem drew out a small metal lamp from his pack, lit it and handed it to Splug. The flame cast a fitful glow that drove back the darkness as they moved away from the entrance, deeper into the complex.

They already knew which way to go, from their interrogation of their goblin prisoner. They moved to the south, toward the doors that the defeated goblins had fled toward in their last incursion here. A few beetles the size of gold pieces scattered out of their way as they moved into the anteroom to the south; one crunched loudly as Beetle jumped onto it, grinning as the others flinched at the sudden noise. The heavy wooden double doors were closed, but opened easily to Mara’s shoulder. Beyond them, a set of rough-hewn stairs descended into darkness.

They did not speak, and clumped together within the brightest core of the lamplight. The stairs culminated in a passage that split to the north and west, with each direction forking again after a short while. They turned to the right and then left, following Jaron, who was peering closely at the floor, looking for traces of recent passage. Dust and cobwebs clung to the walls and the angles where ceiling and wall, wall and floor met, but the center of the passage was more or less clear, suggesting at least occasional traffic through the area.

The passage continued straight for a good distance, then split again, offering side corridors to the left and right in addition to pressing on ahead. After a moment’s examination of the options Jaron indicated the right turn, but hesitated.

“What’s the matter?” Mara asked. In response, Jaron indicated a spot on the floor ahead.

They advanced warily. The spot that Jaron had indicated was a circle etched into the floor, with three runes carved into the stone within. The runes were each a good three feet across, and formed an interlocking pattern that joined together in the center, like three spokes of a wagon wheel. They were just simple carvings, gouged deep into smooth stone of the floor, but they seemed to glisten slightly in the light of Devrem’s lamp.

“What is this?” Mara asked. “Goblin?” she asked, but Splug merely shrugged and shrank back.

“Perhaps we can slip around it,” Elevaren suggested, but Devrem, who had knelt in front of the diagram to study it more closely, shook his head. Beetle started forward to get his own closer look, but Devrem shot out a hand, keeping him back.

“No,” he said. “No, the ward is set across the whole passage. It might be leapt, but any step in this area,” he said, indicating the entire length of the circle, “would be hazardous.”

“What does it do?” Mara asked.

“I do not know. There is magic bound here, and evil.”

“Beetle and I could probably jump it,” Jaron said to Devrem. “And Elevaren has his magic. But you and Mara…”

“Not in all this metal, at least,” the fighter conceded. “Maybe there’s another way around?”

That was too practical a suggestion to ignore, so they retraced their steps. But at each fork in the tunnel they ended up at another of the runic markings. Finally Devrem called a halt.

“All right, we don’t have time to linger further. I will trigger one of the runes, and call upon the power of the Goddess to protect me. Stay a good distance back; the ward may have an area effect.”

“This is crazy,” Mara said. “Maybe we should just…”

But Devrem simply turned and stepped into the circle. Mara and the others jumped back in surprise.

A scream pierced the air, echoing through the corridor. Each of them felt a cold chill pass through them at that unnatural cry, but they only felt an echo of the released magic, a discharge that hit Devrem fully. The priest swayed for a moment, a low moan escaping his lips as he clutched tightly to the bole of his staff for support. But then he seemed to draw strength from within himself, and straightened. He drove the staff down into the floor, the iron-shod end ringing on the stone, chipping into the floor at the point where the runes met. The sepulchral cry faded at once, and the unnatural gleam that reflected from the circle likewise dissolved, leaving the corridor again more or less as it had been.

The others came forward to rejoin the cleric. “You’ve got balls, I’ll grant you that, priest,” Mara said. “But maybe give us a bit more warning, next time.”

Beetle had stepped forward to examine the now-defunct ward more closely, but Jaron drew their attention with a raised hand. “Do you hear that?”

They all stopped moving. The sound that had alerted the Halfling was only barely audible, a soft groaning that drifted out of the darkness ahead. Then a noise only slightly louder, a gentle shuffling noise, sliding on stone.

“Shine the light!” Devrem commanded. Splug had retreated almost to the end of the rope held by Elevaren, but as the attention of the others turned to him he obeyed, thrusting the lamp before him toward the darkness. The shadows of the companions elongated down the passage as the illumination brightened, until they could see the next bend in the passage ahead.

A thing came around the bend. It looked almost like a man, at first glance, but even at the edges of the light, it was quickly evident that the creature was not alive. The rotting corpse staggered toward them, followed by another, and more, until it was a pack of zombies approaching. Their moans intensified as they caught sight of the companions, and their arms lifted, their claws clenching as if anticipating the rending of living flesh.