ENDGAME
It was the last night of the Champion’s Games and the coenoby was a tomb. Auric and Khellek had retreated to their quarters, offering no word of congratulations or good luck to the members of Impotent Rage. For their own part, the League had larger concerns.
“We have to go back down tonight,” Dwilt said. “It’s our last chance. We know Brokengulf has something planned, and it’s probably going to come off tomorrow. That demon is probably guarding the information that we need,and we are going to have to face it again.”
“Are you crazy?” Vladius shouted. “After the butt-whipping it handed to us last night…oh, and let’s not forget, one of us, who shall remain nameless, ended up DEAD!”
“Maybe we should have left you that way,” Grubber muttered under his breath.
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Dwilt continued calmly. “Either we are here to put an end to this, or we’re not. It’s all or nothing.” He looked around for any further dissent, and when none came, he nodded. “This is our plan. We make our way back to the shrine, trying to avoid any further entanglements with the wardens this time, and check out the scrolls once again. Maybe there’s something we missed. If we get nothing, then we move on to the demon…and we don’t stop this time.”
Miraculously, they made it past the wardens without drawing their attention. Perhaps the shift that night made a conscious decision NOT to investigate anything untoward, noting what had happened when their predecessors became too curious. The team arrived in the coffin storage area, and had begun heading towards the training room, when Dwilt held up one hand.
“Wait a second. Where does this lead?” He indicated a small side passage that branched from the hall between the coffin room and the training area. “Why didn’t we notice this before?”
“Um…we were too busy running too or from a fight,” Vladius offered, “or dieing…”
“Well, let’s not overlook the obvious then,” Dwilt said. “Come on.”
The narrow passage led due north for twenty or thirty feet before turning sharply left and ending at a plain, wooden door. After Shay had ascertained that it was safe to open, Grim led the way. The north part of the small room on the other side was occupied by a piece of ancient machinery built of stone and metal, yet it seemed not to have been in use for centuries. The structure was connected to the northeast wall by a small pipe. Storm eagerly pushed past her team mates to get a better view of the apparatus. Her eyes lit up as she examined it from multiple angles. “Very intriguing,” she said to herself.
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
“It is a water pump, once magical, unless I miss my guess. It looks to have been capable of siphoning enormous quantities of water at one time. I would think that pipe connects to the well.”
“How do you know all this?” Vladius asked. “I thought you studied magic, not engineering.”
“We drow are long lived, my young friend,” she smiled. “Such longevity can at times become tedious, and when a drow, like myself, is not inclined to engage in the murder and mayhem of house politics, other pursuits must be found. Tinkering with machines was a hobby of mine.”
“Next you’ll be telling me you’re an alchemist as well,” Vladius said, shaking his head.
“As it just so happens…” Storm began, but Dwilt interrupted her.
“Fascinating as this conversation is, you said something about a well.”
“Ah, yes,” Storm replied. “Obviously the pump must have a well in which to siphon the water. It should be at the other end of this pipe.”
Dwilt looked appraisingly at the conduit before turning to Vladius, “I think it’s just large enough for you to fit.”
“What? Me?” the mephit shrieked. “And why would I want to go into a smelly, narrow pipe, all by myself, to find Kossuth knows what at the other end.”
“You’re the only one small enough to fit,” Dwilt observed. “Besides, we’ll tie a rope to you and haul you back if you run into any problems.”
“How reassuring,” Vladius spat.
Nevertheless, a few minutes later the wizard was scurrying along the pipe, muttering and cursing to himself all the way. As he rounded one final bend in the tube, he spied a familiar green light coming from up ahead. Advancing cautiously, he approached the end of the conduit. Peering out he beheld a huge, vaulted chamber, dimly illuminated by an emerald glow. There, a colossal, disgusting behemoth, similar to a gigantic, yellowish grub lay on a heap of rubble, bones and rotting foulness. The creature seemed immersed in a magical slumber, and its horrid body pulsated with an abominable, ever-increasing power. Shambling around the perimeter of the chamber was a ragged corpse dressed in rotting noble raiment.
“Holy crap!” Pyro hissed to himself, before backing quickly and quietly back down the pipe.
“Umm…I think we’ve got trouble,” he said as he emerged from the conduit, and then proceeded to tell his team mates what he’d found. “And,” he continued, “it seems like that same force field or whatever it is, seals off the room from this access as well. Oh, and by the way, I think I found Urtos’ dad.”
“Then the scrolls have to be the answer,” Havok stated. “We have to find a way to get rid of that stasis field.”
The group retraced their steps to the altar of Kyuss and the Apostolic Scrolls. Along the way, they noticed a conspicuous absence of bodies, dead or undead. The spawn, the mohrgs, even Bozal Zahol…all gone. There was not even a trace of blood. In the altar room itself, nothing else had changed. The scrolls still floated in mid-air, the arcing beam of emerald energy connecting them to the doors across the room, which had been shut once again. The zone of unnatural silence still permeated the chamber.
Pyro, Grubber, Storm, and Havok wracked their collective arcane knowledge for ways to overcome the temporal stasis. Dispelling fields failed, but did succeed in removing the unhallow effect, and thus the silence, from the chamber. An attempt to encase the scrolls in a resilient force bubble also had no effect. Grubber, at one point, even attempted to call upon the power of Grumbar that allowed him to strike fear into, or even to destroy undead, against the unholy doors which bore Kyuss’ visage. He was rewarded for his attempt by a backlash of negative energy, and decided not to try again.
Ultimately realizing that any ability to affect the scrolls was apparently beyond them, Havok approached the glowing parchments.
“What are you doing?” Dwilt called after him.
“I have one last idea,” Havok replied distractedly. As he stood over the scrolls, he closed his eyes, blinding himself to their words. Then, calming his breathing, and reaching deep into his subconscious, he allowed just a fraction of his true heritage to come to the surface. Instantly, he felt rage, hatred, and the need for murderous violence. Glaring at his team mates, he had to physically restrain himself from melting each of them into slag. Focusing, he looked upon the words of the Apostolic Scrolls. They were scribed in the language of the Abyss, and were clear to him. He realized that it would take hours, if not days, to decipher the entire text, but the underlying purpose of the scrolls was revealed to him: they provided the means to conduct a ritual which would summon a so-called ‘Apostle of Kyuss’ so that it could perform a mass sacrifice in honor of its master. With a great effort of will, Havok closed his eyes again, and centered himself, relaxing his breathing once more. When he looked up, it was simply his friends that he saw.
“Grim,” he said as he walked away from the altar. “Where are we now in relation to the arena?”
The dwarf looked around him, sniffing the air. “I’d say we’re almost directly under it.”
“That would make sense,” Giovanni nodded. “I read a little of the scrolls. Goat-boy summoned the ulgurstasta, the ‘Apostle of Kyuss.’ He needs it to perform a sacrifice…a massive sacrifice. Don’t you see? Its chamber is right under the arena! He and Brokengulf mean to release it there at the height of the games…when thousands of spectators will be present!”
“Oh…” Dwilt said, “oh my…he wouldn’t? Can you stop it Giovanni? Did it tell you how to stop it?”
The warlock shook his head.
“Then there is no point in worrying about what we can’t control,” Dwilt said. “Let’s worry about what we can. First, we’re dealing with that demon. It might be guarding something that will give us some answers.”
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Thrakerzog nursed his wounds, cursing Bozal Zahol’s name. That wretch of a half-breed had managed to get himself killed, leaving the alkilith with no way to heal the injuries inflicted upon him by those damnable adventurers. Despite that, the demon smiled. Bozal and his minions had made a fine feast for his ‘pets.’ Thrakerzog would make sure and look the priest up once he managed to return to the Abyss. Perhaps he’d been reborn as a lemure, and Thrakerzog could keep him as a pet.
He was just allowing himself a moment to savor that vision when he heard a clangor of metal coming from the direction of Bozal’s bedroom, where he’d left two of his thralls to guard against the return of the interlopers. It would appear they were back for more…
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When Grim had cautiously opened the door to the priest’s quarters, the first thing he saw where the two large globs, which looked like giant wads of yellow snot, pooled on the floor…and they were moving. They undulated towards him, pseudopods extruding hungrily from their bodies.
“Ochre jellies!” he called behind him to his companions, “I’ve seen’em before in the mines! Nasty buggers…and they secret some kind of acid.”
Havok, still in the altar room, peered down the hall and saw one of the jellies advancing on Grim. Pointing one finger, he sent a thin beam of eldritch energy in a surgical strike past his friends in front of him, striking the ooze and leaving a black scar on its amorphous hide.
“How do ya like that, beastie?” Grim shouted, as he stepped into the room and cleaved the jelly with his axe. Shockingly, his axe went all the way through the ooze, splitting it in two. “Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he said wonderingly. But then his surprise turned to disgust as he realized that now both halves of the jelly where coming towards him and he was now under attack by three oozes. “Didn’t know they could do that,” he said.
Pyro, who could now see the jellies himself, and knew of them from one of Ondabar’s books, shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Even I knew that,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t hit them with anything that slices or dices. Arrows are fine, but otherwise this whole place is going to literally be crawling with these things.”
Shay unslung his bow at Pyro’s reassurance about arrows. Drawing to his cheek, he fired a shaft directly into one of the jellies near Grim. The arrow sank into the blob and just quivered there. “ I thought you said arrows worked,” he said, turning to Pyro. The wizard shrugged, “Well, at least it didn’t split it again. Let’s try this.” Pulling out a thin wand, he spoke a word and loosed a volley of magic missiles at one of the smaller oozes. It dissolved gratifyingly into a harmless pool of goo.
At that moment Grim saw two more jellies enter the bedchamber from the direction of the room where they had first encountered the alkilith. “We’ve got more incoming!” he shouted.
“I’ve got’em,” Storm called from the hallway behind him, and with a few arcane words, she hurled a fireball into the chamber, immolating all of the fine furnishings, and obliterating one of the new oozes as it entered. Unfortunately, Grimm had still been standing at the entrance to the room, and got caught in the fringe of the blast. His stony hide smoked, but he was little more than singed. “Thanks…I think,” he grumbled. “I’ll keep’em bottled up in the room,” he continued, moving to completely block the door so that the oozes could not get past him. “Keep up the assault…just leave me out of it!”
Havok blasted one of the other oozes from behind the dwarf, and Pyro and Storm each fired volleys of magic missiles, destroying a second jelly as Hawk moved up to reinforce the mineral warrior. There were now only two of the ochre jellies remaining, and both were still in the corridor between the bedchamber and the alkilith’s room. Grimm rushed across the bedroom to keep them from progressing any further, and it was then that he saw it…the same roiling, yellow-green cloud that had pursued them last night. It was filling the hallway behind the advancing jellies, coming right towards him. “It’s coming!” he warned the others. “Fall back!” As he heeded his own advice, Pyro flitted up behind him.
“Not just yet,” the mephit said. “If the cloudkill is here, then the demon must be somewhere behind it. I’m going to try to kill three blobs with one stone, so to speak.” Chanting, he then lobbed a fireball right into the middle of the cloudkill. It detonated, scorching the ochre jellies. Just for a fraction of a second, Pyro almost thought that he saw the cloud itself recoil. Probably just his imagination. What was not his imagination was the blast of cold and ice the came out of the cloud next, engulfing him and Grim.
Luckily, Pyro had found himself just on the edge of the cone-shaped blast, though his hands and feet still felt numb to the bone. Grim, however, caught the brunt of it. The dwarf didn’t look good at all. “Get out of here!” the mephit shouted at him. “If you get yourself killed, there is no way I’m hauling your half-ton carcass out. I’m right behind you. I’m gonna give it one more try first, though.” Grim nodded reluctantly, knowing that the wizard was right. He stumbled out of the room, past Hawk, as Pyro unleashed another fiery blast. The jellies looked worse for wear, but still they advanced, the deadly cloud right behind them.
“That’s it,” he said to Hawk as he darted out of the room. “We’ve got to regroup.” Hawk waited until he was clear, then slammed the door closed on the jellies, retreated back to the altar chamber, and closed that door as well.
Grubber was already tending Grim’s wounds, reading a powerful healing abjuration from a scroll. The others took up defensive positions, focusing on the door, knowing it was only a matter of moments before their opponents began battering their way through.
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Thrakerzog was actually enjoying himself. Although the pathetic little wizard’s spells had actually managed to singe him a bit, it was going to be worth it to see their faces as he suffocated the life out of them. They thought themselves safely locked behind closed doors. He simply loved dashing the hopes of little people. He concentrated…and teleported.
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Out of thin air, the fuming vapors of the cloudkill suddenly filled the entire altar chamber, enveloping the whole team in its deadly coils. Instantly, each of them felt the life literally draining out of them, like a leech sucking blood. Storm, in a panic, simply ran. Blinded and stumbling, she managed to lurch out of the edge of the cloud and into the training room. Pyro flew the other way, ending up in the hall leading to the ulgurstasta’s abode. Dwilt, Grubber and Havok also managed to find their way to temporary safety, following Storm.
Giovanni knew something was wrong, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. How could a spell move like that…almost as if it were intelligent. Wait…that was it! Raising his hand, he sent his most powerful blast of eldritch might into the cloud, but it simply flashed on the edge of the mists, not penetrating deeper. Still, he knew he was right. “It’s the cloud!” he shouted. “The demon is the cloud! Attack the mists…now!”
Still within the mist wall, Grim heard Havok’s shout. It sounded useless, but he couldn’t see any better option. With a grunt of effort, he began swinging randomly at the fumes around him, not feeling solid impact anywhere he struck. Shay began firing into the mist as well, aiming upwards so as not to accidentally hit any of his team mates. He heard his arrows strike the stone ceiling and snap, but saw no other effect from his attack.
Pyro heard Havok’s shout as well, and he had a good idea that the warlock was actually on to something. The wizard had one more fireball left…a big one, but if he simply hurled it blindly into the room, he might hit his friends. He reached a decision quickly. It was a risk he would have to take. Otherwise, they were dead anyway.
The blast ripped through the altar chamber, hurling Grim and Hawk against the walls with its force. Shay, his reflexes almost supernatural, somersaulted into the hall leading to the training area, avoiding the searing flames. From within the cloud, they all heard an inhuman howl of pain. Havok was right. The cloud was alive!
Hawk smiled grimly. If it could feel pain, then it could die. He summoned every ounce of holy power that Torm would grant him, focusing it into his blade. With a cry, he jabbed the sword straight up, feeling it meet resistance, and seeing a vivid flash of pure, white energy. With a muffled whoomph, the cloud collapsed on itself, leaving the oozing, yet clearly dead form of the alkilith lying in the center of the chamber.
Hawk knew the fight wasn’t quite over. There was still the matter of the ochre jellies. He rushed to the door across the room, putting his ear to it, listening for tell-tale sounds. Suddenly, from beneath the door, a pseudopod swiped at his leg. Dancing back a pace, he thrust open the door. Both jellies were right on the other side. Bringing his shield arm back, he smashed the convex surface of it straight into the ooze, splattering it into harmless glop. As the last one surged forward, two scorching rays of fire flashed over his shoulder, burning it to a smoking stain. Hawk turned and saw Storm behind him, guilt in her eyes at her previous fear. He nodded in thanks, patting her on the shoulder.
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A thorough search of the alkilith’s room turned up exactly nothing. It was empty save for the urn, the curtain, and the mosaic image of Kyuss. Still, Shay managed to pry two gem stones from the eye-sockets of the skeletal visage. “No since letting them go to waste,” he said, slipping them into his belt pouch.
A short hallway lead from the room and ended at a small, wooden door. “Maybe we’ll find what we need beyond,” Dwilt sighed, growing ever more pessimistic about their chances of destroying the scrolls. Indeed, what they discovered on the other side of the door was simply Bozal Zahol’s personal privy.
“What now?” Vladius laughed, “Looks like our search has literally turned up Jack and crap…and Jack just left.”
“Now we have no choice left to us but the truth,” Giovanni said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vladius asked. “That we’re screwed?”
“No,” the warlock said, a hard look coming into his eyes. “It means we tell the truth. To Auric and Khellek…and anyone who’ll listen. We need help in this…all we can get.
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When Khellek opened the door to his quarters, still bleary-eyed from sleep, the last thing he expected to see was the entire team of Impotent Rage standing outside.
“The competition is not until morning,” the wizard said dryly. “Planning on ambushing us in our sleep? Not very sporting, is it?”
“We need to talk,” Giovanni said. “It’s important, and though you probably won’t believe us, thousands of lives are at stake.”
Thirty minutes later, Khellek was still standing in the open doorway, Auric behind him now. They were both staring dumbfounded at the clearly insane man in front of them.
“I must say,” the wizard finally began, “I am, for once, speechless. This has to be the most blatant, and stupid, display of gamesmanship that I have ever witnessed. You actually expect us to believe that Prendergast Brokengulf, an icon in this city, is in league with some secret cult of, whom did you say? Kyuss? That he has conspired to have you assassinated, and has managed to summon some undead behemoth, that in turn is planning on turning the entire spectatorship of the arena into undead as well…and you are the only ones who have caught on to this? The Lords, or the Grey Hand Enforcers, or Blackstaff himself are all clueless, yet you geniuses figured all this out for yourselves. Oh, and now you want us to accompany you out of the coenoby, which we are restricted from leaving, to see ‘proof’ of this. How convenient. Do you think we are fools? Is this the best you could come up with to have us disqualified? Do you lack that much confidence in your ability to win fairly tomorrow?”
Giovanni endured the rant. “Are you finished?” he asked
“Is there anything more to say?” Khellek glared, “Or may we go back to bed now?”
“It’s fine that you don’t believe us,” the warlock continued, “but at least grant us this. Tomorrow, after the match begins, we give our word not to attack you with lethal force in the opening minutes, if you do the same. Then, when the ulgurstasta appears, which it will, you give your word to aid us against it. If it does not appear, then we will all lay down our weapons and surrender, declaring you and Auric the champions. What do you have to lose?”
Khellek and Auric stared a moment longer. “You truly are insane,” the wizard shook his head, “but if it is your wish to throw away your chance at victory, farbeit for us to stand in your way. You have our word, but be assured, if you violate your oath, we will kill you to a man, surrender or not.” With that, he slammed the door.
“Well that went well,” Vladius said.
“We had no choice,” Dwilt said. “Giovanni was right. I’m going a step further. I’m taking Grubber with me, tonight, and we are leaving the arena…disqualifying ourselves. We’re going to Dagsumn to tell him what is happening. Maybe he can use his contacts in the city to help us tomorrow. If not, we will be in the stands in the morning. Good luck my friends…to all of us.”
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At noon the following day, a warden entered the coenoby for the last time. “Auric’s Warband!” he called. “Impotent Rage! You are summoned!” The teams gathered their gear and followed the warden up the familiar hall to the lift chamber. Neither Khellek nor Auric even glanced at the opposing team. Once they reached the lift, both teams began their preparatory magics. Khellek and Auric both quaffed potions, and then Khellek created several mirror images of himself which moved about him in a confusing pattern. Pyro transformed Storm into a troll, at her request, to better increase her endurance for the coming battle. Both Shay and Havok faded from view, per their routine, and as usual, Pyro assumed mephit form.
The arena stands were filled almost to capacity as the two teams took their positions. At least ten-thousand strong, they roared their approval for the champions and the challengers. Talabir Welik took the podium, and that was when Havok noticed that Prendergast Brokengulf was not in his usual spot in the VIP box. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. More disturbing, Dwilt and Grubber were not visible either, yet it was a large arena. They could be anywhere.
“Welcome, one and all, to the final match of the Champion’s Games!” Welik shouted. “Without further preamble, I introduce to you our reigning champions Auric’s Warband and the Stoneworks!” Thunderous applause greeted the introduction, and a portcullis lifted directly behind Auric and Khellek, revealing three large stone statues of burly warriors. At a word from Khellek, all three lumbered forward, taking up positions in front of the wizard and Auric.
“Before I introduce their challengers,” Welik continued, “I must first announce that Dwilt Riddick and Colossus have been disqualified.” His proclamation was met with loud boos and jeers. “Yet here they are, the dark horse team from Daggerford, which has shocked and awed us with their prowess during these games! Impotent Rage!” It was difficult to say who received the greater accolades, the champions or their opponents. Anticipation surged through the Field of Triumph. “On my word!” Welik raised his hand, then dropped it, “Fight!”
Auric took flight, obviously enabled by one of the many potions he’d consumed. As he rose into the air, he tossed his shield away from him, where it hovered, following his every move. He drew his greatsword from its sheath, facing Impotent Rage. Khellek also took flight, conjuring up a shining shield of force before him as he soared. One by one, the members of Impotent Rage began fanning out, Hawk advancing to the fore. Ponderously, the three stone golems also began marching forward.
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Standing before the Apostolic Scroll, Prendergast Brokengulf shook with barely contained fury. Bozal Zahol was dead. He had to be. That was the only explanation for his absence. The veteran gladiator had come seeking his erstwhile ally the previous night, to confirm the days plans, only to find him missing, with obvious signs of a massive struggle, and his alkilith pawn dead. It was them again. Always them! First, they had killed Theldrick, Bozal Zahol’s associate in Daggerford. Bozal had demanded their deaths for that affront, and so Prendergast had contacted the illithid Ilserv, and contracted with the creature to assassinate the interlopers, not knowing if they had any clue as to his own involvement with the Ebon Triad, but not willing to take any chances.
Prendergast had originally become involved with Zahol through his wife, Aridarye…that bitch! It was she who had seduced him into arranging the death of her first husband, Lord Urtos I, his friend. Then, when his own feelings of guilt and his advancing age spilled over into their bedchamber, she had introduced him to the fiendish priest, who spoke of secret rituals and potent prayers which, if offered to his mysterious god, could halt the aging process. Initially, when the priest could offer no proof of his claims, nor would he name his patron, Prendergast had him escorted from his villa, but not before Zahol had given him a magical token with which to contact him should he change his mind.
Exactly one year later, Prendergast did just that. He had discovered that the slut Aridarye was cheating on him with a young gladiator named Auric, exactly as she had cheated on her first husband with him. She had coldly informed Prendergast that he was no longer welcome in her bed, saying that he was too old to satisfy her, and had rejected her efforts to find a way to keep him young. Still consumed with guilt over his betrayal of Urtos, and now morbidly depressed over Aridarye’s rejection, he had convinced Zahol to return to Waterdeep. He spent many long hours with the priest, learning more about Kyuss and his dark promises. He began funneling money, at Zahol’s behest, back to the secret cell of the Ebon Triad in Daggerford. He and Zahol secretly plotted to prepare the ritual which would mark Prendergast as a favorite of Kyuss, so that he might escape death and decay. Such an unholy miracle required a massive sacrifice performed by one of the Apostles of Kyuss, the ‘blood of a champion,’ and the bones of a victim murdered by the would-be favorite of Kyuss. To meet the last requirement, Prendergast had the corpse of Urtos I stolen from House Phylund’s family tomb and gave it over to Zahol.
Unbelievably, Ilserv and his doppelgangers had failed to kill the upstarts from Daggerford, and Prendergast was convinced that they now knew of his involvement with the cult. Miraculously, they had signed up for the Games, undoubtedly to get closer to him, but it was he who would use the Games to destroy them…or so he had thought. They had defeated the premier team that he had sent against them…Pitchblade. They had killed Madtooth, which he had arranged for them to fight instead of Auric’s band, and now they had apparently murdered Bozal Zahol. They had not managed to undo the ritual though. He smiled grimly as he looked down at the still glowing scrolls. They were all against him. All of them! He knew the gladiators schemed and plotted, waiting eagerly for his demise so one of them could replace him as the younger, more handsome director of the Field of Triumph. Auric in particular wanted to take his place, and it was he who would suffer the most. It was his blood which would anoint the Apostle during the final match.
Brokengulf then raised the black rod he had procured and touched it to the energy field surrounding the scrolls. Instantly it vanished, and the scrolls dropped to the floor. “Now go,” he whispered. “Go to the champions you seek.”
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A rumble shook the arena. At first the crowd thought that some destructive magic had been conjured by one of the battling wizards, but then the center of the arena floor heaved, sending a geyser of dirt and rubble into the air.
“Destruction of the arena floor is not allowed!” Talabir Welik shouted. “That is a disqualifying offense!” The words had barely left his mouth, however, when the ulgurstasta appeared. It looked like a massive pale-yellow maggot. Twin rows of dozens of pulpy, rudimentary legs tipped with bony spurs lined its underbelly. Its head was studded with dozens of humanoid eyes, below which drooled a maw filled with hooked teeth. Millions of distended pores that continuously weeped a foul-smelling mucous covered its body. It radiated a cloying stink of rotting flowers and sour milk. Protruding from the pores were forty-foot long, hair-thin tendrils, which whipped about in a frenzy, lashing at the nearby members of Impotent Rage, as well as the stone golems.
The audience was shocked into stunned silence, not sure if this was part of the competition or not. At that moment, Havok appeared in the midst of the crowd. “Flee for your lives!” he shouted, and the moment broke. Screams of panic were deafening, and a mob scene of panic ensued.
Auric couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They had actually been telling the truth. All of it was true…and Brokengulf was behind it. For a moment, the face of Aridarye Brokengulf flashed in his mind, and he briefly wondered if his secret lover’s hand was involved in any of this. Then his focus returned, and he was once again what he had always been at his core…a warrior…a gladiator. Bellowing a war cry, he flew towards the behemoth in front of him, but he got no closer than twenty feet from it, when it’s massive maw snatched him from the air.
Pyro had already begun casting his spell when Auric charged, and he could not pull it back. With a massive concussion, a huge fireball erupted around both the ulgurstasta and Auric.
Shay was afraid. He had seen many bizarre and evil things in his short time with the League, had even faced death. But this…this was so far beyond his capabilities that he could not even fathom where to begin. Acting on pure instinct, he fired a single arrow at the monstrosity, and then ran for arena wall, which he nimbly scaled into the stands.
Khellek was horrified. Not only had those idiots been right, but now Auric was caught, and might be killed at any moment. Khellek was not a man who made friends easily. He belonged to an organization known as the Seekers, a less-than scrupulous group of archaeologists and adventurers who sought out knowledge regardless of the cost. He had initially joined up with Auric and Tirra simply because they suited his needs at the time, but now he honestly considered the man to be more than just a resource. Drawing a wand from his robes, he pointed it at the ulgurstasta and sent a pair of scorching beams of flame at it, simultaneously ordering his golems to attack without mercy.
Storm flew into the stands to join Havok. “Were you prepared for this?” she asked, indicating not only the ulgurstasta, but also the panicking crowd.
“No,” Havok answered honestly, “but what choice did we have? This is our hand, and we must play it till the end.” Raising his palm, he unleashed his magic at the great worm before him, only to see the beam vanish as soon as it struck the creature’s hide.
As one, the stone golems struck. Wading through the whipping tendrils as if they didn’t exist, the three constructs surged towards the ulgurstasta, hammering at its bloated body with their massive fists, sending great gouts of ichor splashing over them. The undead worm roared its rage, but instead of turning on the golems, it instead faced towards Hawk and Grim, with Shay standing just above them in the lower tier of the stands. It’s great body heaved in a lurching spasm, and from its maw spewed a vile cone of steaming, acidic stomach contents. Shay managed to leap backwards to safety at the last moment, but Grim and Hawk could not. As the horrid liquid touched their skin, it didn’t burn. Instead, a cold like the hand of death seeped into their pores, and they felt numbing weakness overcome them. Auric too was caught in the brunt of the blast, trapped as he was in the creature’s mouth. Instantly, his struggles ceased, and he went limp. Even more appalling than the stew which the ulgurstasta regurgitated, what appeared to be nine corpses also spilled to the ground around Hawk and Grim. However, no sooner had they hit the dirt, than they lurched to their feet. Seven of them were skeletal, with one of those draped in ragged, decaying noble garb, but the other two corpses were unquestionably Kyuss spawn, green worms spilling from their eye sockets and mouths.
Almost as an afterthought, the ulgurstasta dropped Auric at the feet of the spawn. Almost gently, each of them reached down to touch the gladiator’s exposed flesh, and where their hands met his skin, a black imprint was left behind.
Pyro hurled another fireball at the ulgurstasta, at the same time that Khellek unleashed another pair of scorching rays. Both spells simply dissipated upon contact with the brute.
Slowly peering over the wall behind which he hid, Shay’s eyes grew wider at the horror he was witnessing. Steeling his resolve, he knocked another pair of arrows and let fly.
Hawk was surrounded. Skeletal corpses ringed him, separating him from both Grim and Auric. Meanwhile, the ripping tendrils protruding from the ulgurstasta continued to lash at his skin. He needed to clear some room, and fast. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, sending out a mental summons into the ether. ‘Alice,’ he cried, ‘my need is great! Heed my call!’ Suddenly, a thunderous trumpeting filled the air, and materializing just beyond the ring of skeletons was an elephant of truly monstrous proportions…Big Alice. Knowing her master’s will instinctively, she lowered her head, leveling her massive tusks, and charged, trampling a pair of the skeletons under her tree-trunk feet, and batting one of the spawn aside like a rag-doll. With a gesture, holding forth his shield emblazoned with Torm’s symbol, Hawk cried out, “In Torm’s name, I destroy and rebuke thee!” The remaining skeletons crumbled to dust at his feet, while the second spawn quailed from him, turning and fleeing towards the opposite end of the arena.
The crowd surging around Havok and Storm was getting out of control. In moments they would be overwhelmed. Quickly, the warlock stepped between dimensions to a relatively clear spot, while the sorceress took to the air once more, conjuring an orb of concentrated acid in her hand and hurling it at the ulgurstasta, only to see it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s grotesque hide.
The golems continued to pound on the ulgurstasta, the damage they were inflicting obviously taking its toll. Ponderously, the behemoth turned on them, seizing one of them in its jaws and swallowing it whole. As soon as its attention was turned from him, Hawk charged forward, but the creature moved with the speed of a striking cobra. Whipping around, it lunged at the civilar, sinking its fangs into his chest and back, and lifting him bodily from the ground. As he screamed in agony, Alice looked up from where she has just finished impaling the spawn which had fled, unusual intelligence, and fear showing in her eyes.
“Hawk! No!” Havok cried, and summoning all his power to him, he loosed an awesome amount of energy at the ulgurstasta, blowing its bloated form into a hundred pieces.
It was the last night of the Champion’s Games and the coenoby was a tomb. Auric and Khellek had retreated to their quarters, offering no word of congratulations or good luck to the members of Impotent Rage. For their own part, the League had larger concerns.
“We have to go back down tonight,” Dwilt said. “It’s our last chance. We know Brokengulf has something planned, and it’s probably going to come off tomorrow. That demon is probably guarding the information that we need,and we are going to have to face it again.”
“Are you crazy?” Vladius shouted. “After the butt-whipping it handed to us last night…oh, and let’s not forget, one of us, who shall remain nameless, ended up DEAD!”
“Maybe we should have left you that way,” Grubber muttered under his breath.
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Dwilt continued calmly. “Either we are here to put an end to this, or we’re not. It’s all or nothing.” He looked around for any further dissent, and when none came, he nodded. “This is our plan. We make our way back to the shrine, trying to avoid any further entanglements with the wardens this time, and check out the scrolls once again. Maybe there’s something we missed. If we get nothing, then we move on to the demon…and we don’t stop this time.”
Miraculously, they made it past the wardens without drawing their attention. Perhaps the shift that night made a conscious decision NOT to investigate anything untoward, noting what had happened when their predecessors became too curious. The team arrived in the coffin storage area, and had begun heading towards the training room, when Dwilt held up one hand.
“Wait a second. Where does this lead?” He indicated a small side passage that branched from the hall between the coffin room and the training area. “Why didn’t we notice this before?”
“Um…we were too busy running too or from a fight,” Vladius offered, “or dieing…”
“Well, let’s not overlook the obvious then,” Dwilt said. “Come on.”
The narrow passage led due north for twenty or thirty feet before turning sharply left and ending at a plain, wooden door. After Shay had ascertained that it was safe to open, Grim led the way. The north part of the small room on the other side was occupied by a piece of ancient machinery built of stone and metal, yet it seemed not to have been in use for centuries. The structure was connected to the northeast wall by a small pipe. Storm eagerly pushed past her team mates to get a better view of the apparatus. Her eyes lit up as she examined it from multiple angles. “Very intriguing,” she said to herself.
“What is it?” Hawk asked.
“It is a water pump, once magical, unless I miss my guess. It looks to have been capable of siphoning enormous quantities of water at one time. I would think that pipe connects to the well.”
“How do you know all this?” Vladius asked. “I thought you studied magic, not engineering.”
“We drow are long lived, my young friend,” she smiled. “Such longevity can at times become tedious, and when a drow, like myself, is not inclined to engage in the murder and mayhem of house politics, other pursuits must be found. Tinkering with machines was a hobby of mine.”
“Next you’ll be telling me you’re an alchemist as well,” Vladius said, shaking his head.
“As it just so happens…” Storm began, but Dwilt interrupted her.
“Fascinating as this conversation is, you said something about a well.”
“Ah, yes,” Storm replied. “Obviously the pump must have a well in which to siphon the water. It should be at the other end of this pipe.”
Dwilt looked appraisingly at the conduit before turning to Vladius, “I think it’s just large enough for you to fit.”
“What? Me?” the mephit shrieked. “And why would I want to go into a smelly, narrow pipe, all by myself, to find Kossuth knows what at the other end.”
“You’re the only one small enough to fit,” Dwilt observed. “Besides, we’ll tie a rope to you and haul you back if you run into any problems.”
“How reassuring,” Vladius spat.
Nevertheless, a few minutes later the wizard was scurrying along the pipe, muttering and cursing to himself all the way. As he rounded one final bend in the tube, he spied a familiar green light coming from up ahead. Advancing cautiously, he approached the end of the conduit. Peering out he beheld a huge, vaulted chamber, dimly illuminated by an emerald glow. There, a colossal, disgusting behemoth, similar to a gigantic, yellowish grub lay on a heap of rubble, bones and rotting foulness. The creature seemed immersed in a magical slumber, and its horrid body pulsated with an abominable, ever-increasing power. Shambling around the perimeter of the chamber was a ragged corpse dressed in rotting noble raiment.
“Holy crap!” Pyro hissed to himself, before backing quickly and quietly back down the pipe.
“Umm…I think we’ve got trouble,” he said as he emerged from the conduit, and then proceeded to tell his team mates what he’d found. “And,” he continued, “it seems like that same force field or whatever it is, seals off the room from this access as well. Oh, and by the way, I think I found Urtos’ dad.”
“Then the scrolls have to be the answer,” Havok stated. “We have to find a way to get rid of that stasis field.”
The group retraced their steps to the altar of Kyuss and the Apostolic Scrolls. Along the way, they noticed a conspicuous absence of bodies, dead or undead. The spawn, the mohrgs, even Bozal Zahol…all gone. There was not even a trace of blood. In the altar room itself, nothing else had changed. The scrolls still floated in mid-air, the arcing beam of emerald energy connecting them to the doors across the room, which had been shut once again. The zone of unnatural silence still permeated the chamber.
Pyro, Grubber, Storm, and Havok wracked their collective arcane knowledge for ways to overcome the temporal stasis. Dispelling fields failed, but did succeed in removing the unhallow effect, and thus the silence, from the chamber. An attempt to encase the scrolls in a resilient force bubble also had no effect. Grubber, at one point, even attempted to call upon the power of Grumbar that allowed him to strike fear into, or even to destroy undead, against the unholy doors which bore Kyuss’ visage. He was rewarded for his attempt by a backlash of negative energy, and decided not to try again.
Ultimately realizing that any ability to affect the scrolls was apparently beyond them, Havok approached the glowing parchments.
“What are you doing?” Dwilt called after him.
“I have one last idea,” Havok replied distractedly. As he stood over the scrolls, he closed his eyes, blinding himself to their words. Then, calming his breathing, and reaching deep into his subconscious, he allowed just a fraction of his true heritage to come to the surface. Instantly, he felt rage, hatred, and the need for murderous violence. Glaring at his team mates, he had to physically restrain himself from melting each of them into slag. Focusing, he looked upon the words of the Apostolic Scrolls. They were scribed in the language of the Abyss, and were clear to him. He realized that it would take hours, if not days, to decipher the entire text, but the underlying purpose of the scrolls was revealed to him: they provided the means to conduct a ritual which would summon a so-called ‘Apostle of Kyuss’ so that it could perform a mass sacrifice in honor of its master. With a great effort of will, Havok closed his eyes again, and centered himself, relaxing his breathing once more. When he looked up, it was simply his friends that he saw.
“Grim,” he said as he walked away from the altar. “Where are we now in relation to the arena?”
The dwarf looked around him, sniffing the air. “I’d say we’re almost directly under it.”
“That would make sense,” Giovanni nodded. “I read a little of the scrolls. Goat-boy summoned the ulgurstasta, the ‘Apostle of Kyuss.’ He needs it to perform a sacrifice…a massive sacrifice. Don’t you see? Its chamber is right under the arena! He and Brokengulf mean to release it there at the height of the games…when thousands of spectators will be present!”
“Oh…” Dwilt said, “oh my…he wouldn’t? Can you stop it Giovanni? Did it tell you how to stop it?”
The warlock shook his head.
“Then there is no point in worrying about what we can’t control,” Dwilt said. “Let’s worry about what we can. First, we’re dealing with that demon. It might be guarding something that will give us some answers.”
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Thrakerzog nursed his wounds, cursing Bozal Zahol’s name. That wretch of a half-breed had managed to get himself killed, leaving the alkilith with no way to heal the injuries inflicted upon him by those damnable adventurers. Despite that, the demon smiled. Bozal and his minions had made a fine feast for his ‘pets.’ Thrakerzog would make sure and look the priest up once he managed to return to the Abyss. Perhaps he’d been reborn as a lemure, and Thrakerzog could keep him as a pet.
He was just allowing himself a moment to savor that vision when he heard a clangor of metal coming from the direction of Bozal’s bedroom, where he’d left two of his thralls to guard against the return of the interlopers. It would appear they were back for more…
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When Grim had cautiously opened the door to the priest’s quarters, the first thing he saw where the two large globs, which looked like giant wads of yellow snot, pooled on the floor…and they were moving. They undulated towards him, pseudopods extruding hungrily from their bodies.
“Ochre jellies!” he called behind him to his companions, “I’ve seen’em before in the mines! Nasty buggers…and they secret some kind of acid.”
Havok, still in the altar room, peered down the hall and saw one of the jellies advancing on Grim. Pointing one finger, he sent a thin beam of eldritch energy in a surgical strike past his friends in front of him, striking the ooze and leaving a black scar on its amorphous hide.
“How do ya like that, beastie?” Grim shouted, as he stepped into the room and cleaved the jelly with his axe. Shockingly, his axe went all the way through the ooze, splitting it in two. “Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he said wonderingly. But then his surprise turned to disgust as he realized that now both halves of the jelly where coming towards him and he was now under attack by three oozes. “Didn’t know they could do that,” he said.
Pyro, who could now see the jellies himself, and knew of them from one of Ondabar’s books, shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Even I knew that,” he said sarcastically. “Don’t hit them with anything that slices or dices. Arrows are fine, but otherwise this whole place is going to literally be crawling with these things.”
Shay unslung his bow at Pyro’s reassurance about arrows. Drawing to his cheek, he fired a shaft directly into one of the jellies near Grim. The arrow sank into the blob and just quivered there. “ I thought you said arrows worked,” he said, turning to Pyro. The wizard shrugged, “Well, at least it didn’t split it again. Let’s try this.” Pulling out a thin wand, he spoke a word and loosed a volley of magic missiles at one of the smaller oozes. It dissolved gratifyingly into a harmless pool of goo.
At that moment Grim saw two more jellies enter the bedchamber from the direction of the room where they had first encountered the alkilith. “We’ve got more incoming!” he shouted.
“I’ve got’em,” Storm called from the hallway behind him, and with a few arcane words, she hurled a fireball into the chamber, immolating all of the fine furnishings, and obliterating one of the new oozes as it entered. Unfortunately, Grimm had still been standing at the entrance to the room, and got caught in the fringe of the blast. His stony hide smoked, but he was little more than singed. “Thanks…I think,” he grumbled. “I’ll keep’em bottled up in the room,” he continued, moving to completely block the door so that the oozes could not get past him. “Keep up the assault…just leave me out of it!”
Havok blasted one of the other oozes from behind the dwarf, and Pyro and Storm each fired volleys of magic missiles, destroying a second jelly as Hawk moved up to reinforce the mineral warrior. There were now only two of the ochre jellies remaining, and both were still in the corridor between the bedchamber and the alkilith’s room. Grimm rushed across the bedroom to keep them from progressing any further, and it was then that he saw it…the same roiling, yellow-green cloud that had pursued them last night. It was filling the hallway behind the advancing jellies, coming right towards him. “It’s coming!” he warned the others. “Fall back!” As he heeded his own advice, Pyro flitted up behind him.
“Not just yet,” the mephit said. “If the cloudkill is here, then the demon must be somewhere behind it. I’m going to try to kill three blobs with one stone, so to speak.” Chanting, he then lobbed a fireball right into the middle of the cloudkill. It detonated, scorching the ochre jellies. Just for a fraction of a second, Pyro almost thought that he saw the cloud itself recoil. Probably just his imagination. What was not his imagination was the blast of cold and ice the came out of the cloud next, engulfing him and Grim.
Luckily, Pyro had found himself just on the edge of the cone-shaped blast, though his hands and feet still felt numb to the bone. Grim, however, caught the brunt of it. The dwarf didn’t look good at all. “Get out of here!” the mephit shouted at him. “If you get yourself killed, there is no way I’m hauling your half-ton carcass out. I’m right behind you. I’m gonna give it one more try first, though.” Grim nodded reluctantly, knowing that the wizard was right. He stumbled out of the room, past Hawk, as Pyro unleashed another fiery blast. The jellies looked worse for wear, but still they advanced, the deadly cloud right behind them.
“That’s it,” he said to Hawk as he darted out of the room. “We’ve got to regroup.” Hawk waited until he was clear, then slammed the door closed on the jellies, retreated back to the altar chamber, and closed that door as well.
Grubber was already tending Grim’s wounds, reading a powerful healing abjuration from a scroll. The others took up defensive positions, focusing on the door, knowing it was only a matter of moments before their opponents began battering their way through.
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Thrakerzog was actually enjoying himself. Although the pathetic little wizard’s spells had actually managed to singe him a bit, it was going to be worth it to see their faces as he suffocated the life out of them. They thought themselves safely locked behind closed doors. He simply loved dashing the hopes of little people. He concentrated…and teleported.
________________________________________________
Out of thin air, the fuming vapors of the cloudkill suddenly filled the entire altar chamber, enveloping the whole team in its deadly coils. Instantly, each of them felt the life literally draining out of them, like a leech sucking blood. Storm, in a panic, simply ran. Blinded and stumbling, she managed to lurch out of the edge of the cloud and into the training room. Pyro flew the other way, ending up in the hall leading to the ulgurstasta’s abode. Dwilt, Grubber and Havok also managed to find their way to temporary safety, following Storm.
Giovanni knew something was wrong, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it. How could a spell move like that…almost as if it were intelligent. Wait…that was it! Raising his hand, he sent his most powerful blast of eldritch might into the cloud, but it simply flashed on the edge of the mists, not penetrating deeper. Still, he knew he was right. “It’s the cloud!” he shouted. “The demon is the cloud! Attack the mists…now!”
Still within the mist wall, Grim heard Havok’s shout. It sounded useless, but he couldn’t see any better option. With a grunt of effort, he began swinging randomly at the fumes around him, not feeling solid impact anywhere he struck. Shay began firing into the mist as well, aiming upwards so as not to accidentally hit any of his team mates. He heard his arrows strike the stone ceiling and snap, but saw no other effect from his attack.
Pyro heard Havok’s shout as well, and he had a good idea that the warlock was actually on to something. The wizard had one more fireball left…a big one, but if he simply hurled it blindly into the room, he might hit his friends. He reached a decision quickly. It was a risk he would have to take. Otherwise, they were dead anyway.
The blast ripped through the altar chamber, hurling Grim and Hawk against the walls with its force. Shay, his reflexes almost supernatural, somersaulted into the hall leading to the training area, avoiding the searing flames. From within the cloud, they all heard an inhuman howl of pain. Havok was right. The cloud was alive!
Hawk smiled grimly. If it could feel pain, then it could die. He summoned every ounce of holy power that Torm would grant him, focusing it into his blade. With a cry, he jabbed the sword straight up, feeling it meet resistance, and seeing a vivid flash of pure, white energy. With a muffled whoomph, the cloud collapsed on itself, leaving the oozing, yet clearly dead form of the alkilith lying in the center of the chamber.
Hawk knew the fight wasn’t quite over. There was still the matter of the ochre jellies. He rushed to the door across the room, putting his ear to it, listening for tell-tale sounds. Suddenly, from beneath the door, a pseudopod swiped at his leg. Dancing back a pace, he thrust open the door. Both jellies were right on the other side. Bringing his shield arm back, he smashed the convex surface of it straight into the ooze, splattering it into harmless glop. As the last one surged forward, two scorching rays of fire flashed over his shoulder, burning it to a smoking stain. Hawk turned and saw Storm behind him, guilt in her eyes at her previous fear. He nodded in thanks, patting her on the shoulder.
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A thorough search of the alkilith’s room turned up exactly nothing. It was empty save for the urn, the curtain, and the mosaic image of Kyuss. Still, Shay managed to pry two gem stones from the eye-sockets of the skeletal visage. “No since letting them go to waste,” he said, slipping them into his belt pouch.
A short hallway lead from the room and ended at a small, wooden door. “Maybe we’ll find what we need beyond,” Dwilt sighed, growing ever more pessimistic about their chances of destroying the scrolls. Indeed, what they discovered on the other side of the door was simply Bozal Zahol’s personal privy.
“What now?” Vladius laughed, “Looks like our search has literally turned up Jack and crap…and Jack just left.”
“Now we have no choice left to us but the truth,” Giovanni said quietly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vladius asked. “That we’re screwed?”
“No,” the warlock said, a hard look coming into his eyes. “It means we tell the truth. To Auric and Khellek…and anyone who’ll listen. We need help in this…all we can get.
_________________________________________________
When Khellek opened the door to his quarters, still bleary-eyed from sleep, the last thing he expected to see was the entire team of Impotent Rage standing outside.
“The competition is not until morning,” the wizard said dryly. “Planning on ambushing us in our sleep? Not very sporting, is it?”
“We need to talk,” Giovanni said. “It’s important, and though you probably won’t believe us, thousands of lives are at stake.”
Thirty minutes later, Khellek was still standing in the open doorway, Auric behind him now. They were both staring dumbfounded at the clearly insane man in front of them.
“I must say,” the wizard finally began, “I am, for once, speechless. This has to be the most blatant, and stupid, display of gamesmanship that I have ever witnessed. You actually expect us to believe that Prendergast Brokengulf, an icon in this city, is in league with some secret cult of, whom did you say? Kyuss? That he has conspired to have you assassinated, and has managed to summon some undead behemoth, that in turn is planning on turning the entire spectatorship of the arena into undead as well…and you are the only ones who have caught on to this? The Lords, or the Grey Hand Enforcers, or Blackstaff himself are all clueless, yet you geniuses figured all this out for yourselves. Oh, and now you want us to accompany you out of the coenoby, which we are restricted from leaving, to see ‘proof’ of this. How convenient. Do you think we are fools? Is this the best you could come up with to have us disqualified? Do you lack that much confidence in your ability to win fairly tomorrow?”
Giovanni endured the rant. “Are you finished?” he asked
“Is there anything more to say?” Khellek glared, “Or may we go back to bed now?”
“It’s fine that you don’t believe us,” the warlock continued, “but at least grant us this. Tomorrow, after the match begins, we give our word not to attack you with lethal force in the opening minutes, if you do the same. Then, when the ulgurstasta appears, which it will, you give your word to aid us against it. If it does not appear, then we will all lay down our weapons and surrender, declaring you and Auric the champions. What do you have to lose?”
Khellek and Auric stared a moment longer. “You truly are insane,” the wizard shook his head, “but if it is your wish to throw away your chance at victory, farbeit for us to stand in your way. You have our word, but be assured, if you violate your oath, we will kill you to a man, surrender or not.” With that, he slammed the door.
“Well that went well,” Vladius said.
“We had no choice,” Dwilt said. “Giovanni was right. I’m going a step further. I’m taking Grubber with me, tonight, and we are leaving the arena…disqualifying ourselves. We’re going to Dagsumn to tell him what is happening. Maybe he can use his contacts in the city to help us tomorrow. If not, we will be in the stands in the morning. Good luck my friends…to all of us.”
__________________________________________________ _
At noon the following day, a warden entered the coenoby for the last time. “Auric’s Warband!” he called. “Impotent Rage! You are summoned!” The teams gathered their gear and followed the warden up the familiar hall to the lift chamber. Neither Khellek nor Auric even glanced at the opposing team. Once they reached the lift, both teams began their preparatory magics. Khellek and Auric both quaffed potions, and then Khellek created several mirror images of himself which moved about him in a confusing pattern. Pyro transformed Storm into a troll, at her request, to better increase her endurance for the coming battle. Both Shay and Havok faded from view, per their routine, and as usual, Pyro assumed mephit form.
The arena stands were filled almost to capacity as the two teams took their positions. At least ten-thousand strong, they roared their approval for the champions and the challengers. Talabir Welik took the podium, and that was when Havok noticed that Prendergast Brokengulf was not in his usual spot in the VIP box. In fact, he was nowhere to be seen. More disturbing, Dwilt and Grubber were not visible either, yet it was a large arena. They could be anywhere.
“Welcome, one and all, to the final match of the Champion’s Games!” Welik shouted. “Without further preamble, I introduce to you our reigning champions Auric’s Warband and the Stoneworks!” Thunderous applause greeted the introduction, and a portcullis lifted directly behind Auric and Khellek, revealing three large stone statues of burly warriors. At a word from Khellek, all three lumbered forward, taking up positions in front of the wizard and Auric.
“Before I introduce their challengers,” Welik continued, “I must first announce that Dwilt Riddick and Colossus have been disqualified.” His proclamation was met with loud boos and jeers. “Yet here they are, the dark horse team from Daggerford, which has shocked and awed us with their prowess during these games! Impotent Rage!” It was difficult to say who received the greater accolades, the champions or their opponents. Anticipation surged through the Field of Triumph. “On my word!” Welik raised his hand, then dropped it, “Fight!”
Auric took flight, obviously enabled by one of the many potions he’d consumed. As he rose into the air, he tossed his shield away from him, where it hovered, following his every move. He drew his greatsword from its sheath, facing Impotent Rage. Khellek also took flight, conjuring up a shining shield of force before him as he soared. One by one, the members of Impotent Rage began fanning out, Hawk advancing to the fore. Ponderously, the three stone golems also began marching forward.
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Standing before the Apostolic Scroll, Prendergast Brokengulf shook with barely contained fury. Bozal Zahol was dead. He had to be. That was the only explanation for his absence. The veteran gladiator had come seeking his erstwhile ally the previous night, to confirm the days plans, only to find him missing, with obvious signs of a massive struggle, and his alkilith pawn dead. It was them again. Always them! First, they had killed Theldrick, Bozal Zahol’s associate in Daggerford. Bozal had demanded their deaths for that affront, and so Prendergast had contacted the illithid Ilserv, and contracted with the creature to assassinate the interlopers, not knowing if they had any clue as to his own involvement with the Ebon Triad, but not willing to take any chances.
Prendergast had originally become involved with Zahol through his wife, Aridarye…that bitch! It was she who had seduced him into arranging the death of her first husband, Lord Urtos I, his friend. Then, when his own feelings of guilt and his advancing age spilled over into their bedchamber, she had introduced him to the fiendish priest, who spoke of secret rituals and potent prayers which, if offered to his mysterious god, could halt the aging process. Initially, when the priest could offer no proof of his claims, nor would he name his patron, Prendergast had him escorted from his villa, but not before Zahol had given him a magical token with which to contact him should he change his mind.
Exactly one year later, Prendergast did just that. He had discovered that the slut Aridarye was cheating on him with a young gladiator named Auric, exactly as she had cheated on her first husband with him. She had coldly informed Prendergast that he was no longer welcome in her bed, saying that he was too old to satisfy her, and had rejected her efforts to find a way to keep him young. Still consumed with guilt over his betrayal of Urtos, and now morbidly depressed over Aridarye’s rejection, he had convinced Zahol to return to Waterdeep. He spent many long hours with the priest, learning more about Kyuss and his dark promises. He began funneling money, at Zahol’s behest, back to the secret cell of the Ebon Triad in Daggerford. He and Zahol secretly plotted to prepare the ritual which would mark Prendergast as a favorite of Kyuss, so that he might escape death and decay. Such an unholy miracle required a massive sacrifice performed by one of the Apostles of Kyuss, the ‘blood of a champion,’ and the bones of a victim murdered by the would-be favorite of Kyuss. To meet the last requirement, Prendergast had the corpse of Urtos I stolen from House Phylund’s family tomb and gave it over to Zahol.
Unbelievably, Ilserv and his doppelgangers had failed to kill the upstarts from Daggerford, and Prendergast was convinced that they now knew of his involvement with the cult. Miraculously, they had signed up for the Games, undoubtedly to get closer to him, but it was he who would use the Games to destroy them…or so he had thought. They had defeated the premier team that he had sent against them…Pitchblade. They had killed Madtooth, which he had arranged for them to fight instead of Auric’s band, and now they had apparently murdered Bozal Zahol. They had not managed to undo the ritual though. He smiled grimly as he looked down at the still glowing scrolls. They were all against him. All of them! He knew the gladiators schemed and plotted, waiting eagerly for his demise so one of them could replace him as the younger, more handsome director of the Field of Triumph. Auric in particular wanted to take his place, and it was he who would suffer the most. It was his blood which would anoint the Apostle during the final match.
Brokengulf then raised the black rod he had procured and touched it to the energy field surrounding the scrolls. Instantly it vanished, and the scrolls dropped to the floor. “Now go,” he whispered. “Go to the champions you seek.”
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A rumble shook the arena. At first the crowd thought that some destructive magic had been conjured by one of the battling wizards, but then the center of the arena floor heaved, sending a geyser of dirt and rubble into the air.
“Destruction of the arena floor is not allowed!” Talabir Welik shouted. “That is a disqualifying offense!” The words had barely left his mouth, however, when the ulgurstasta appeared. It looked like a massive pale-yellow maggot. Twin rows of dozens of pulpy, rudimentary legs tipped with bony spurs lined its underbelly. Its head was studded with dozens of humanoid eyes, below which drooled a maw filled with hooked teeth. Millions of distended pores that continuously weeped a foul-smelling mucous covered its body. It radiated a cloying stink of rotting flowers and sour milk. Protruding from the pores were forty-foot long, hair-thin tendrils, which whipped about in a frenzy, lashing at the nearby members of Impotent Rage, as well as the stone golems.
The audience was shocked into stunned silence, not sure if this was part of the competition or not. At that moment, Havok appeared in the midst of the crowd. “Flee for your lives!” he shouted, and the moment broke. Screams of panic were deafening, and a mob scene of panic ensued.
Auric couldn’t believe what he was seeing. They had actually been telling the truth. All of it was true…and Brokengulf was behind it. For a moment, the face of Aridarye Brokengulf flashed in his mind, and he briefly wondered if his secret lover’s hand was involved in any of this. Then his focus returned, and he was once again what he had always been at his core…a warrior…a gladiator. Bellowing a war cry, he flew towards the behemoth in front of him, but he got no closer than twenty feet from it, when it’s massive maw snatched him from the air.
Pyro had already begun casting his spell when Auric charged, and he could not pull it back. With a massive concussion, a huge fireball erupted around both the ulgurstasta and Auric.
Shay was afraid. He had seen many bizarre and evil things in his short time with the League, had even faced death. But this…this was so far beyond his capabilities that he could not even fathom where to begin. Acting on pure instinct, he fired a single arrow at the monstrosity, and then ran for arena wall, which he nimbly scaled into the stands.
Khellek was horrified. Not only had those idiots been right, but now Auric was caught, and might be killed at any moment. Khellek was not a man who made friends easily. He belonged to an organization known as the Seekers, a less-than scrupulous group of archaeologists and adventurers who sought out knowledge regardless of the cost. He had initially joined up with Auric and Tirra simply because they suited his needs at the time, but now he honestly considered the man to be more than just a resource. Drawing a wand from his robes, he pointed it at the ulgurstasta and sent a pair of scorching beams of flame at it, simultaneously ordering his golems to attack without mercy.
Storm flew into the stands to join Havok. “Were you prepared for this?” she asked, indicating not only the ulgurstasta, but also the panicking crowd.
“No,” Havok answered honestly, “but what choice did we have? This is our hand, and we must play it till the end.” Raising his palm, he unleashed his magic at the great worm before him, only to see the beam vanish as soon as it struck the creature’s hide.
As one, the stone golems struck. Wading through the whipping tendrils as if they didn’t exist, the three constructs surged towards the ulgurstasta, hammering at its bloated body with their massive fists, sending great gouts of ichor splashing over them. The undead worm roared its rage, but instead of turning on the golems, it instead faced towards Hawk and Grim, with Shay standing just above them in the lower tier of the stands. It’s great body heaved in a lurching spasm, and from its maw spewed a vile cone of steaming, acidic stomach contents. Shay managed to leap backwards to safety at the last moment, but Grim and Hawk could not. As the horrid liquid touched their skin, it didn’t burn. Instead, a cold like the hand of death seeped into their pores, and they felt numbing weakness overcome them. Auric too was caught in the brunt of the blast, trapped as he was in the creature’s mouth. Instantly, his struggles ceased, and he went limp. Even more appalling than the stew which the ulgurstasta regurgitated, what appeared to be nine corpses also spilled to the ground around Hawk and Grim. However, no sooner had they hit the dirt, than they lurched to their feet. Seven of them were skeletal, with one of those draped in ragged, decaying noble garb, but the other two corpses were unquestionably Kyuss spawn, green worms spilling from their eye sockets and mouths.
Almost as an afterthought, the ulgurstasta dropped Auric at the feet of the spawn. Almost gently, each of them reached down to touch the gladiator’s exposed flesh, and where their hands met his skin, a black imprint was left behind.
Pyro hurled another fireball at the ulgurstasta, at the same time that Khellek unleashed another pair of scorching rays. Both spells simply dissipated upon contact with the brute.
Slowly peering over the wall behind which he hid, Shay’s eyes grew wider at the horror he was witnessing. Steeling his resolve, he knocked another pair of arrows and let fly.
Hawk was surrounded. Skeletal corpses ringed him, separating him from both Grim and Auric. Meanwhile, the ripping tendrils protruding from the ulgurstasta continued to lash at his skin. He needed to clear some room, and fast. Closing his eyes, he concentrated, sending out a mental summons into the ether. ‘Alice,’ he cried, ‘my need is great! Heed my call!’ Suddenly, a thunderous trumpeting filled the air, and materializing just beyond the ring of skeletons was an elephant of truly monstrous proportions…Big Alice. Knowing her master’s will instinctively, she lowered her head, leveling her massive tusks, and charged, trampling a pair of the skeletons under her tree-trunk feet, and batting one of the spawn aside like a rag-doll. With a gesture, holding forth his shield emblazoned with Torm’s symbol, Hawk cried out, “In Torm’s name, I destroy and rebuke thee!” The remaining skeletons crumbled to dust at his feet, while the second spawn quailed from him, turning and fleeing towards the opposite end of the arena.
The crowd surging around Havok and Storm was getting out of control. In moments they would be overwhelmed. Quickly, the warlock stepped between dimensions to a relatively clear spot, while the sorceress took to the air once more, conjuring an orb of concentrated acid in her hand and hurling it at the ulgurstasta, only to see it bounce harmlessly off the creature’s grotesque hide.
The golems continued to pound on the ulgurstasta, the damage they were inflicting obviously taking its toll. Ponderously, the behemoth turned on them, seizing one of them in its jaws and swallowing it whole. As soon as its attention was turned from him, Hawk charged forward, but the creature moved with the speed of a striking cobra. Whipping around, it lunged at the civilar, sinking its fangs into his chest and back, and lifting him bodily from the ground. As he screamed in agony, Alice looked up from where she has just finished impaling the spawn which had fled, unusual intelligence, and fear showing in her eyes.
“Hawk! No!” Havok cried, and summoning all his power to him, he loosed an awesome amount of energy at the ulgurstasta, blowing its bloated form into a hundred pieces.
