Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
The goblin sentry leaned against the wall, keeping watch. It wasn’t a particularly strenuous duty, as there was really only one way through which intruders could come, down the steps that led up to the ruined keep on the surface. Well, there was the odd chance that another of the big rats could wander up from the lower caverns, but the drakes posted to guard the dig site down that way kept such incursions to a minimum. But the goblin licked his lips at the thought anyway. A nice fat rat would be just the thing. He straightened to scratch himself, belched, and leaned back against the wall. Guard duty was boring, but the goblin knew better than to slack at the duty. Greebor had taken a header into the rat pit because Kalarel had found him sleeping on watch, and Splug was in the klink right now because he’d been caught cheating on the ale ration. That fat bastard Balgron didn’t exactly inspire terror in the ranks, but that human priest... he was one to keep a warrior on his toes.
Thus the sentry detected the slight shift of a shadow along the stairs, and he hefted a javelin. There was no sound save for the faintest scratching coming from the rat pit. He crept forward where the south passage opened up into the larger open space of the entrance chamber, wary of any threat. But he was absolutely unprepared for the halfling that stepped out from around the corner not two feet in front of him.
“Hello!” the halfling chirped, before slamming a knife into the surprised sentry’s chest.
The goblin staggered back, dropping his javelin, clutching his chest where bright red blood spread out across his dirty jerkin. An arrow whistled past his head, its steel head clinking as it glanced off the stone wall and shot off down the passage beyond.
The goblin opened his mouth to shout, but only managed a shrill, pained screech as the halfling stabbed him again, this time digging his knife deep into the meat of his thigh. The goblin fell forward against the wall, losing his balance as his blood slicked the stones under his feet. He couldn’t see the halfling behind him, but he knew he was there, coming forward to finish it. The warrior, summoning some reserve of determination, thrust off from the wall and rounded on his foe, hefting his spear, ready to put his tormentor at bay.
Except the halfling was gone; save for the sharp pains in his chest and leg, it was as if he’d never existed at all.
The goblin barely felt the thuds that impacted him hard in the chest and gut; somehow the sharp whistle of the arrows before they struck seemed more momentous. That sound was the last thing he heard, before he stumbled back a step and then toppled to the ground.
“Only one guard?” Elevaren asked, as he followed Jaron and Mara down to the end of the stairs. The pair had drawn out fresh arrows, and stood alert with them fitted to the string, alert to another threat.
“Don’t bet on it,” Mara said, sweeping the chamber with her eyes. Other than four slender pillars that formed a square in the middle of the chamber, the place seemed devoid of features. Three passages led off the room, situated in the center of each wall. A few bits of scattered trash lay discarded in the corners, but otherwise the room was empty. “Where’s Beetle?” she asked quietly.
“He’s over there,” Jaron said, gesturing toward the shadows along the far wall where the light of the two torches failed to reach.
“I thought you moved quietly, but damned if your cousin isn’t part shadow himself,” Mara said, stepping off the stairs more fully into the room.
“Look out!” Jaron warned, a scant instant before missiles shot out from the corridor on the far side of the room. Mara grunted as one of the shots hit her hard in the shoulder, failing to penetrate the metal scales of her armor. The missile fell to the ground at her feet, and Jaron saw that it was a crossbow bolt.
“Sharpshooters!” the halfling exclaimed, but any further reply was cut off as another bolt clipped his arm, drawing a hiss of pain from his lips. The bolt hadn’t hit him square, punching clear through his sleeve on its way past, but it had drawn blood.
He could see their attackers now, a pair of goblins that had taken up firing positions at the end of the corridor ahead, where it opened onto another larger chamber. They were using the corners there for cover, and dropped back out of sight, presumably to reload their weapons.
Mara didn’t intend to give them a chance to get off another shot; she dropped her bow and started to draw her swords as she rushed forward. Jaron moved forward as well, intending to use the pillars as cover, but as he came into the room his eyes were drawn to the floor in between them.
“Mara, stop!” he shouted.
The fighter turned her head toward him, but the ranger’s warning came too late, as the ground suddenly came apart under her feet, and she plummeted into a pit, where a violent and wild screeching greeted her arrival.
Jaron glanced back to see Devrem surging forward toward the pit, to help Mara. The pit was only ten feet deep, but it was full of rats, which were swarming over the dazed fighter, snapping and biting at every exposed bit of skin that they could get to. Mara snarled a curse as she tore a rat off her neck, and staggered to her feet.
But those up above had their own problems, as the two snipers reappeared, their weapons loaded and ready to fire. Jaron had his shot ready and fired first, but his arrow hit the wall and caromed wild, narrowly missing the goblin sharpshooter. The goblin returned fire, but Jaron shifted into the cover of the pillar, and the shot missed him by a wide margin. The other goblin shot Devrem, hitting him in the leg, but the cleric merely yanked out the bolt and dove down at the pit’s edge, thrusting a hand down to help Mara out. As soon as the goblins had fired again they slipped back behind cover again to reload. Even as they vanished from view Beetle stuck his head around the corner, and seeing the pair gone he darted down the hallway toward their positions. Jaron opened his mouth to shout a warning, but held his tongue; that would only result in warning the goblins, and he had to trust that his cousin could handle himself against two foes.
Something flashed by Jaron, and he turned to see Devrem stagger as a javelin stabbed into his side. Grimacing against the pain, the cleric let out a growl and pulled Mara up to where she could grab hold of the lip of the pit. The cleric fell back once she was clear, and pulled the missile out of his side.
Jaron spun to see that the source of the attack was another goblin warrior, who’d emerged out of another passage that exited on the left side of the room. The halfling reached for another arrow even as the goblin seized another javelin, but Elevaren beat both of them to the punch. The warlock’s eldritch blast hit the goblin square in the face with a sizzling hiss of fey magic. The goblin screamed and staggered back, and then turned to flee, vanishing down the passage before Jaron could get a clear shot at him.
“I’m going to help Beetle!” he shouted at his companions, emerging from cover to rush after his cousin.
The goblin sharpshooters emerged from behind the passage corners to take their next shot to find an enemy much closer than they’d expected. The first screamed as Beetle sliced his dagger across his hands, and he nearly dropped his crossbow as the bolt was discharged harmlessly into the floor. His companion lined up a shot at Beetle’s back, but the halfling twisted nimbly aside, and the goblin’s shot nearly hit his ally before it bounced harmlessly off the wall. The goblin bit off a curse and drew his sword, but before he could move to flank the halfling he had to dart back as another arrow from Jaron narrowly missed him.
Beetle’s foe recovered quickly, drawing his own sword. His first stroke caught the halfling rogue’s arm near the shoulder, but again Beetle slipped away, turning what would have been a nasty cut into a mere scratch. Beetle spun and lunged in again, and the goblin only barely avoided the thrust of his dagger. The two began an elaborate dance, the halfling’s superior speed partially countered by the longer blade of the goblin warrior.
The sharpshooter’s companion did not get a chance to come to his aid, as Jaron engaged him in close combat. Jaron was a decent fighter, but the goblin was clearly a veteran, meeting his first few swings with expert counters. Their small blades clashed several times without resolution, but while the goblin had a slight edge, Jaron had friends in a position to help.
The goblins realized this too late, and tried to break away even as Mara and Devrem rushed down the passageway toward the melee. Jaron got a good hit in as his foe retreated, and then the goblin was struck by an eldritch blast from Elevaren as it ran toward a door in the east wall. Beetle’s foe never even got that far; as he started to run the halfling leapt onto him, driving the goblin to the ground even as he slammed his dagger into his body once, twice, and finally a last time that left it limp and bleeding. Mara intercepted the other goblin even as he grabbed the handle of the door, blocking the portal with her body as she drove the goblin back. The goblin tried to run past her back down the passageway, but he was blocked by Devrem, who put him down with a solid smack from his staff.
“You should have tried to capture him,” Mara said, as they quickly checked the bodies. “We might have been able to interrogate him.”
“There is no time for that now,” the cleric replied. “One of them got away, and will likely be back any moment with reinforcements.”
“Then we’d better be ready for them,” Mara said, following the cleric along with the others as they made their way back to the entrance foyer. The light of the torches revealed that the passage forked to the right after a short distance; continuing straight where the goblin had fled, it culminated in a set of wooden doors about forty feet distant. “Here, or at the doors?” Mara asked. “The doors would give us a defensible chokepoint.”
“But if someone came through one of the other passages, we could be trapped,” Jaron pointed out.
“We can use the corners here for cover,” Devrem said, invoking a healing word that eased the pain of Mara’s wounds. Seeing the blood running down Jaron’s arm, he offered to do the same for him, but the halfling ranger shook his head, taking a rag and wrapping it around his arm to stop the bleeding.
He looked around for Beetle and saw him standing at the edge of the pit. “Come away from there, Beetle,” he said, as he took up his bow and readied an arrow.
The companions lurked by the corners fronting the entrance to the passage, with only Jaron peeking around the edge at the doors. Beetle, it seemed, had wandered off again; at least he was nowhere in sight.
Jaron hissed a soft warning as the doors crept open. A goblin poked its head out. Jaron slipped back until he could only just see the end of the passageway around the edge of the wall.
“Stay in cover,” Mara whispered, holding her longbow with an arrow fitted to the string.
After a quick look around, the goblin stepped fully through the door, and then made room for something else coming through behind it.
“Oh, crap,” Jaron said, slipping back into full cover.
“What is it?” Mara mouthed.
“Guard drakes,” the halfling replied. They could all hear them, now, the familiar whine-hiss that the creatures made when agitated. There was obviously more than one of them, from the noise.
Mara lifted her hand, and the companions readied themselves; then she stepped around the corner into full view, drawing the fletchings of her arrow back to her cheek.
There were two guard drakes, compact bundles of scales, muscles, and teeth that lifted their heads as soon as Mara appeared. Her arrow hit one a glancing blow, but the arrow failed to penetrate its hide, and the missile fell away without inflicting damage. She certainly got its attention, however.
There were four goblins, three sharpshooters armed with loaded crossbows, and the warrior that Elevaren had wounded earlier. The sharpshooters lifted their bows and fired as one. Two of the bolts struck Mara, hitting her on the right shoulder and square in the gut. The fighter grunted and staggered back into cover, seriously hurt by the impacts. The goblins started reloading.
Jaron slid into view and shot the leading drake, his arrow stabbing into the joint where its left leg met its body. The drake shrieked and stumbled, letting its companion charge past it before it recovered. The halfling shifted back into cover before the goblins could target him, reaching for another arrow from his quiver.
The drakes burst from the passage to find the companions waiting for them. The first lunged at Mara, only to take a hit solidly across its snout that opened a deep gash down to the bone. It didn’t stop the thing from snapping its jaws at her leg, getting a good hold that nearly dragged her down to the floor. Before it could exploit its advantage, however, Elevaren’s witchfire dazed it, and it tottered to the side, shaking its head violently while the white flames issuing from its eyes and ears formed blazing trails through the air as it moved.
The second drake shot around the corner, lunging at Mara before the fighter could recover. But Devrem was there, sweeping his staff at it, the head of the weapon trailing fiery silver sparks. The lance of faith did not seriously discomfit the drake, but it left an opening for Mara, who stabbed her sword deep into its side, driving it back.
Jaron peeked around the corner, and nearly had his head taken off by a bolt that whistled past his ear. The goblins were coming forward, cautiously but quickly, their weapons obviously at the ready. Another bolt shot past him as he drew back. He’d use the cover to his advantage, and let them come to him.
The tactical situation changed a moment later, however, as the goblins passed the side passage, and Beetle, shouting wildly, leapt into their ranks, cutting and stabbing with his knife. He caught them totally by surprise, and the first one was hurt even before he could turn to face the noise, jumping back with a deep gash pouring blood down the side of his cheek.
But the goblins reacted quickly, and together the four of them turned on Beetle, their weapons coming around to pen him in from all sides.
Beetle dodged a spear thrust from the goblin warrior, but cried out as a bolt caught him hard in the shoulder from behind, punching through his leather armor and spinning him around from the force of the impact. A second bolt grazed his knee and nearly sent him to the ground, while the third punched through his right hand, inflicting a nasty, vicious wound. His dagger went flying away.
“Beetle!” Jaron yelled, darting around the corner. He drew his bow back almost to the point of snapping the string, releasing a shot that caught one of the snipers in the small of his back. The goblin staggered forward, seriously wounded. “Get out of there!”
Beetle rushed the injured goblin, running down the passage toward his cousin. The goblin, despite his wounds, tried to stop him, bringing its bow down toward his head like a club. But Beetle ducked under the swing, and as he shot past he drew another knife with his left hand, and plunged it into the goblin’s leg. The creature squealed and fell to the ground, Jaron’s arrow still quivering in his back.
The goblin warrior rushed after Beetle, trying to finish the crippled halfling before he could escape. Jaron yelled to draw the creature’s attention, taking aim with another arrow. The goblin, having already seen the deadliness of the halfling’s bow, flinched, and his thrust went awry, missing Beetle cleanly. The goblin screeched and darted to the side, taking shelter in the side alcove that led to the storeroom off the main chamber. Jaron let him go; the more immediate concern was the drakes, which were continuing to savage his companions. Stepping back into cover, thrusting Beetle behind him as his crippled cousin passed by, he fired his arrow into the back of the more seriously injured drake. The creature staggered and fell, but Mara was in little better shape than the lizard, stumbling back against the far wall. The ranger saw that her hand, when it brushed the wall, left a bright red mark.
The other drake was harrying Devrem, and as he watched it nearly ripped his staff from his hand, snarling as it tried to get past the cleric’s defenses. The raven priest was limping; apparently the drake had already gotten a good bite in. Elevaren was trying to help him, but the drake’s ferocious darting was confounding his fey magic, which thus far was having little effect.
Jaron fell back to the south, giving ground. He glanced back, but Beetle had, unsurprisingly, vanished again. He turned back just as the two surviving goblin snipers appeared in the mouth of the passage. As soon as they saw him, they lifted their crossbows to fire.
Without any more cover to protect him, Jaron could only pray that the goblins had poor aim. But from the course of the battle thus far, it seemed a thin hope indeed.
Jaron found himself outnumbered, facing a pair of goblin crossbows pointed unerringly at his chest. Thus far he’d avoided injury in this latest engagement, but it looked as though that was about to change.
Something glittered in the torchlight as it flashed through the air. It struck the first goblin, glancing off the sharpshooter’s arm as his finger pulled the trigger of his bow. His shot went wide, missing Jaron cleanly by several feet. His companion only shifted slightly in reaction, but even that distraction caused his bolt to hit Jaron not squarely in the chest, but high on the shoulder, stabbing through his armor at an angle that inflicted a painful but relatively minor wound.
Jaron drew back as he pulled out another arrow, shifting back toward the center of the room, and the cover offered by the stone pillars there. The goblins, to their credit, held their ground as they pulled hooks from their belts and cocked their bows. Jaron’s hasty shot missed, whistling past the ear of the goblin on the left.
Devrem almost fell as the drake leapt at him, its hind legs clawing at his thighs while it seized his left elbow in its powerful jaws. The cleric swung around, the heavy lizard pulling him off-balance with its weight. With his free hand he flung sacred flame into its face, but the drake refused to release its grip. Multicolored fey lights flared around both combatants as another eldritch blast went awry, harming neither.
“Help Jaron!” Devrem hissed between clenched teeth, as he struggled to keep his feet. Blood trailed down from his mangled arm, splattering on the floor.
Careful not to fall into the adjacent pit, Jaron stood behind one of the stone pillars, sending arrows at the goblin snipers as quickly as he could fire. His skill with the bow seemed to have deserted him, however, and his initial miss was followed by two more, both shots shooting wildly past the goblins into the corridor behind them. The goblins, in turn, kept firing in staggered volleys, trying to catch the halfling off-guard. The tactic paid off as another bolt clipped his hip, punching through his leather armor and the flesh beneath, scraping the bone of his pelvis. Jaron cried out and fell back behind the pillar, holding onto the stone to avoid stumbling into the pit. The rats, thrown into a frenzy by recent events, shrieked up at him.
He didn’t see the goblin warrior that crept up from the passage to the south, hugging the wall as he lined up a perfect shot for his javelin.
Devrem was flagging; the drake’s weight had pulled him forward until it had gotten purchase with its clawed feet, and it yanked its head around like a dog worrying a leather throng. Devrem’s repeated applications of divine power seemed to barely faze it, the silver sparks failing to distract it from its prey. But Mara’s longsword was far more effective, severing its neck almost fully from its body. Even as it died its bite remained locked, and Devrem had to crack its jaws open with the end of his staff to free himself.
The goblins were likewise finding themselves pressed. Elevaren hit one squarely with a hex, confounding and confusing him as the eyebite invocation caused the warlock to vanish from the creature’s vision. His fellow, sensing the dangerous nature of this new foe, fired his bow at him, but the shot narrowly missed.
Grimacing as he yanked the bolt from his hip, Jaron drew another arrow from his quiver and slipped from cover to shoot again. This time he scored a direct hit, his arrow burying itself into the chest of the goblin that Elevaren had just cursed. The goblin sniper slumped to the ground, his bow falling from his fingers to land beside him.
The still-hidden warrior had a perfect shot; he lifted his javelin to take down the injured ranger. The goblin’s first warning of danger was when Beetle stepped forward and slapped his hand into his face. The point of the crossbow bolt that still pierced Beetle’s hand penetrated the warrior’s eye; he screamed once, flailed his limbs in a sudden spasm, and fell to the ground.
The last goblin elected to flee, but instead of retreating back down the corridor, the creature tried to cross the room, making either for the staircase to the surface, or to the far corridor. They would not learn which, for Devrem and Mara moved quickly to block him. Elevaren met its gaze, dismaying him with the fey power of an eyebite.
“Surrender, goblin!” Mara warned. But the creature either did not understand or did not care to comply, and he ran down the corridor to the south. “Don’t let him escape!” Mara cried. She and the cleric rushed after him, but their heavy armor and their serious wounds slowed them down. Elevaren hit him in the back with an eldritch blast, but that failed to stop him.
The goblin would have gotten away, save for the fact that his revised route of escape took him past Beetle. It was surprising how much blood could be spilled by such a tiny knife.
“The smart thing to do would be to fall back, regroup, recover our strength,” Mara said, grimacing slightly as she flexed the fingers of her right hand. Behind her, Beetle dragged another goblin to the edge of the pit; the halfling was having a wonderful time propping the dead creatures up into a semblance of a lifelike pose, then kicking them down to the rats.
“The rats are making a lot of noise,” Elevaren pointed out.
“No more than the battle did,” Devrem said. “If anything was going to come investigate, they would have by now.”
“Still, there could be anything down those tunnels,” Mara persisted. “We don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into.”
“We have a pretty good idea of what will happen if we don’t stop Kalarel,” Devrem replied. “We cannot hesitate.”
“And your healing, cleric? I will grant that your god did quite a number on the beatdown that those lizards gave me, but how much power do you have left?”
Devrem frowned. “My magic relies on the strength of the afflicted, as well as the intervention of the Raven Queen,” he acknowledged. “This short rest will restore us all somewhat, but what remains is limited.”
“All of the ways out are quiet,” Jaron reported, as he came forward out of the shadows to join them. “To the west the passage leads to a wide cul-de-sac with several doors. To the south, there’s that storeroom, and a larger set of double doors. East you know, beyond the door the goblins came from there’s stairs leading down to a long passage. I didn’t want to risk going beyond that, but I didn’t see any guards or other signs of the complex being alerted to our presence. Beetle, stop that. Leave the dead to their rest.”
“They are nothing but empty shells, now,” Devrem said. “Very well. I feel that there is a time for caution, and a time for risk. But I will defer to the judgment of the group.”
He shifted his gaze to each of them in turn, all save Beetle, who was looting a goblin’s pockets nearby. Finally he settled his stare on Mara.
“Fine,” the fighter said, testing the release of her swords in their scabbards. “But I hope for all our sakes that you’re not wrong, priest.”
The companions regarded each other in quiet, save for the noise of the rats as they devoured the bodies of the goblin sentries.
* * * * *
The east corridor turned out to lead to nothing save for a dead end.
They made their way down the stairs beyond the door, and then down the long tunnel beyond. Long-burning torches of pine tar set into niches in the wall provided a fitful but adequate illumination, such that they did not have to augment the light with their own sources. Their first discovery was another staircase that led down to a crumbling, decrepit chamber infested with giant rats. The creatures attacked at once, but were driven back by the magic of Elevaren and Devrem, and by the blades and missiles from the others. The worst that the companions suffered was a painful but minor bite to Devrem’s shin; while the bodies of four rats were left to be devoured by their cousins. Deciding it was highly unlikely that the goblin lair was further in this direction, the five adventurers elected not to press the rats further, and they withdrew back up the stairs to resume their course down the passage.
The tunnel ended a short distance further in a large open chamber that was dominated by an excavation that left most of the place an open pit with a floor that was a good ten feet below the entry. Parts of the room had been left intact, leaving a series of platforms connected to the entrance by a series of precarious boards that formed bridges across the pit. Scattered tools suggested that the work here had been recent and ongoing, although there were no workers present at the moment.
“I wonder what they were looking for?” Jaron asked.
“Probably much the same thing that Agrid and he crew was looking for,” Devrem said. “Artifacts to help Kalarel open the rift to the Shadowfell.”
“Well, whether they found it or not, they’re not here now,” Mara said. “I don’t see any other exits, so unless you want to try the rats again, I’d suggest we try another exit from the entry chamber.”
None of them felt particularly eager to visit the rat warren, so they made their way back, Jaron scouting in the lead. Devrem seemed distracted, muttering something to himself under his breath. Beetle lingered behind for a few moments, poking through one of the piles of tailings from the dig, then hurried to catch up to the others.
The negotiated the passage back and the staircase that led up to the entry room without incident. But when Jaron pushed open the heavy iron-banded door at the top of the stairs, he heard the voices at once. He identified the language spoken as Goblin, but the voices were too quiet to distinguish what was being said. It was pretty clear that the speakers were agitated, however, and Jaron had a fairly good idea what had riled them up.
The others, standing a bit back from the door, couldn’t hear, but they stood alert at the halfling held up his hand in warning. “Goblins,” he finally said, his voice barely loud enough for them to hear.
“How many?” Mara mouthed, but Jaron shook his head. “I’ll check,” the halfling said. He motioned for the others to wait, and slipped through the door.
The single torch that guttered in a sconce along the far wall offered only a fitful light down the length of the passage that connected to the main chamber, but still Jaron felt completely exposed as he slid forward. The voices were louder now, and he could see movement in the chamber ahead. There were a number of squat, cloaked forms—goblins, almost certainly—gathered around the now-open pit in the center of the room. Their chatter was too jumbled together to make out, but he got the gist of it. It wasn’t as if they’d been able to hide all of the signs of their battle in the chamber, even if they’d dumped most of the evidence into the rat pit.
He heard one of the goblins shout out something, a call for a certain “Balgron” to come see something he had found. Jaron had only come up to where the passage split off toward the adjacent storeroom, but he didn’t need to come any closer. By the din and movement there had to be over a dozen goblins in there, and it wouldn’t take much to be seen, even with his skills.
As if summoned by the thought, a goblin suddenly stepped into view at the mouth of the passage. Jaron bent low and froze, but the goblin looked right at him, and the way its mouth fell open revealed that he’d seen the ranger.
Jaron lifted his bow, but before he could shoot something flew past him, glittering in the torchlight briefly before it sank into the goblin’s throat with a meaty thunk. The goblin toppled over backwards, but Jaron barely noticed it, as he was pulled into the side-passage by Beetle.
“Too many! Hide hide!” his cousin hissed, even as the two of them heard the shouts of alarm from the entry chamber.
The entrance to the storeroom was warded only by a heavy curtain that had been anchored to the low ceiling by a series of rusty iron hooks. Beetle shot around it like a greased eel, and Jaron could hear a muffled cry of surprise, followed by a quiet thump. He rushed forward and pushed back the curtain enough to see Beetle dragging a dead goblin into concealment behind a stack of crates. There were no other goblins in the room that he could see, but there could have been a dozen hiding behind the various heaped stores scattered throughout the compact room.
He glanced back just as a small column of goblins charged past him toward the door to the stairs where his friends waited. One went down as bright fey-lights flashed in a violent storm around his head. From out of his view, back in the main corridor, someone shouted commands in a reedy voice, presumably this “Balgron” character referred to earlier. The command was a simple one; in the Goblin tongue, “kill everything,” was one of the more common expressions.
For a moment Jaron thought that the goblins would simply run past, but even as he started to shift back behind the curtain the last warrior at the end of the rush turned and looked right at him. The halfling ranger drew back and pulled the curtain back into place, but the damage had been done. The shouts from the corridor changed in tenor, even through the muting of the curtain, and quickly started drawing nearer.
“Beetle, we’ve got company!” Jaron said, rushing back to find a defensible position amongst the crates.
your action always reminds me of P&P LB. Fights always seemed more involved then, changing tactics, dice, all the stuff that made it all a bit slow but more memorable. Alot now lost in the digital realm where its all RT and so quick. Meh dems the breaks. Just got kidnapped by WAR online for a week and it don't half get crazy quick.
Thanks for the posts, guys. The SH forum's seemed very quiet of late, and I admit my enthusiasm for writing has waned somewhat of late (not related to ENWorld, but to other things). I'm down to only a few chapters stored up so I may have to drop my regular update schedule for a while, we'll see how this week goes. I'm heading out of town for a week starting Friday, but I should have Internet access where I'm traveling.
* * * * *
Chapter 41
Goblins burst around both sides of the heavy curtain at once, lunging forward into the storeroom with javelins at the ready.
Jaron rose up behind a line of stacked casks and shot an arrow into the side of the nearer of the two. The goblin warrior grunted in pain and fell back into the curtain, almost tearing it from its moorings as he fought to recover his footing. His companion surged at Jaron before he could reload, throwing his javelin at point-blank range, clipping the halfling’s shoulder painfully with an impact that drove him a full step back. The ranger grimaced as he yanked the head of the spear free, but then the goblin was almost on top of him, lunging with the thicker, heavier spear he carried in his other hand.
But the thrust never landed, as Beetle stepped out from the crates and sliced his dagger across the back of the goblin’s leg. The goblin screamed and fell forward into the crates, blood pouring from the deep wound down his leg to splatter in fat gobs on the floor. He recovered quickly, thrusting the haft of his spear back in a violent jab that would have cracked Beetle’s breastbone, had it connected. But the rogue simple slid to the side, and as the goblin’s thrust went past, he brought his knife up and sliced the already bloody edge across the goblin’s fingers. The warrior cried out again and dropped the spear. He tried to push away, but before he could get free Jaron rose up and stabbed half of the length of his small sword into the junction where the goblin’s neck met his body. Blood jetted from the terrible wound, spraying both halflings as the warrior fell to the ground, his limbs twitching.
But the other goblin warrior had regained his footing, and had been reinforced by a pair of cutters, clad in cheap, filthy leathers but armed with perfectly dangerous short blades. The halflings could hear the sounds of battle issuing from behind the curtain, vague cries of pain and rage, punctuated by a frisson of magical energies being hurled about. Faint flickers of silver and color could be seen, but not enough to indicate the way that the battle was going.
The goblins moved forward, cautious now, wary of these small but proven dangerous foes. Jaron and Beetle retreated slowly, navigating the maze of barrels and crates by touch and memory and instinct, not turning away from the goblins for a moment.
And then the curtain slid open again, and a goblin sharpshooter with a loaded crossbow stepped through.
“Take cover, Beetle!” Jaron yelled, leaping back behind a barrel at the same instant that the goblin lifted his bow and fired. The bolt missed him by a hair’s breath, striking the weathered staves of the barrel with enough force to crack the wood. Sour-smelling liquid poured from the breach, forming a slick that spread slowly across the floor.
The goblins rushed forward to take advantage, but one of the cutters screamed and fell, clutching at the steel hilt that protruded from its left eye. The other, driven forward more by the presence of its fellows than by a desire to close with these enemies, rushed around the barrel to get at Jaron, while the warrior came around the far side.
The cutter lunged with his blade ahead of him, but the sword met only empty air, clanging hard off the stone floor. The goblin, off balance, looked perplexed, but the warrior was already moving toward the back of the room near the door, where another cluster of crates had been left scattered by the lazy goblins. Realizing he’d been spotted, Jaron rose up, using the crate for cover, his sword lifted to parry the goblin’s spear.
“Look out, Jayse!” Beetle yelled, and Jaron glanced over his shoulder to see that his situation had taken a decided turn for the worse. The door to the storeroom had opened quietly behind him, and a second goblin sharpshooter had slid into the room. It lifted its bow, and there was nothing the halfling ranger could do but stare at the sharp steel head that seemed to swell in his vision as the goblin yanked on the trigger of his bow.
Jaron’s luck ran out, and the bolt slammed into his chest, knocking him back against the crate that had been protecting him a moment ago. The steel head penetrated his armor and stabbed deep into him, shearing hard off a rib and missing his lung by the scantest of margins. That was little solace for the immediate moment, and the sword at his side suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, as the goblin warrior rushed forward to gain vengeance for the arrow Jaron had shot him with just seconds before.
But once again Beetle came to his cousin’s aid, rushing forward out of cover with a scream to fall upon the warrior from behind. The goblin, intent on his target, reacted too late, and his heel slipped on the spilled ale as he shifted to respond to the new threat. Beetle drove the entire length of his knife into the goblin’s neck, and he collapsed with a bloody froth spurting from his lips.
The cutter, caught between two foes, took one look at Beetle’s face before darting back behind a row of nearby barrels. The sharpshooter standing by the curtain was a seasoned veteran, however, and he calmly slid another bolt into place behind the cocked string of his bow, and took careful aim at Beetle.
But as the goblin pulled the trigger, the curtain behind him shook with a heavy impact, jostling him slightly. His bolt flew wide, missing Beetle’s head by inches before burying itself in the corner of a crate. The goblin turned to see a goblin warrior slip through the gap on the edge of the curtain, slumping to the ground in a mess of blood. Several deep gashes had pierced his armor, and as the sniper watched he fell still and expired. Behind the curtain, a deep-throated cry sounded, an invocation of death that seemed an echo of the fate of the goblin’s companion.
The sniper had no interest in learning the source of that sound, or why the noise of melee behind the curtain had so suddenly faded. He headed for the door, reloading his bow again as he went. The halfling he’d shot at before had disappeared again, vanishing behind the crates in the middle of the room, but the other one was still on his feet.
Jaron, despite the critical wound oozing blood from his chest, charged forward to engage the other sharpshooter before he could reload his deadly bow. The goblin drew a sword and met him in the doorway, their blades ringing loudly as they clashed. But while Jaron was good with a sword, the goblin was both fresher and unwounded, and his companion was coming up quickly behind the halfling, who seemed to grow weaker with each passing second.
The second bowman finished reloading and lifted his bow toward Jaron. “Time to die, halfling!” he yelled, but his eyes weren’t on Jaron, but instead scanned the clutter of stores to his left. His wariness proved prudent a moment later as Beetle reappeared from behind a small barrel, rushing to his cousin’s aid once more. The sharpshooter shifted his aim smoothly and fired. Beetle jerked to the side, but the bolt clipped him hard on the side of his head, digging a bloody channel from just over his left eye all the way back to his ear. The halfling screamed in pain and fell forward to his knees right in front of the goblin, his palms slapping hard against the floor, blood pouring down his face in a red sheet.
The archer drew his sword and stepped forward to finish the job.
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...
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.
__________________ "On a long enough time line, everyone eventually rolls a 1."
-- Merkuri
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
Linear Mode
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