Anka Seth - The Rise of the Hydra (New Update April 19, 2007)

[Fiasco]

Grimly the others readied their weapons save for Moxadder, who had lingered in the preceding room. The green things moved slowly and the adventurers were the first to strike. Perhaps because of their revulsion, however, only Morgan scored a hit. In return a slimy pseudo pod seared the Fastendian’s leg with its caustic secretions. Another attacked Argonne was even more successfully, smoothly flowing up his legs and engulfing his lower torso. The woodsman’s axe clattered to the floor in a botched attempt to scrape himself free of its embrace.

Gerard had joined Moxadder in the other room, trying to recover from his disgust at being touched by the filthy slime. He was just thinking of returning to the battle when three bizarre creatures ran into the room. The size of war hounds and covered in a tough knobbly hide, their strange heads were mounted by two feathery antennae. Chirruping hungrily, they charged at the companions who barely had time to ready their weapons.

Shaken and outnumbered, things looked dire for the pair. One of the creatures ran in and whipped an antenna at Gerard’s sword, who just managed to snatch it out of the way. He lunged at the creature but the point of his sword was defeated by its armoured skin. Moxadder tumbled behind it and sank a dagger to the hilt into its back. The creature quivered in pain, then swung around to get at the source of its pain. The Irudeshian proved too quick, snatching his weapon out of harms way.

The pair battled on grimly, too caught up in their struggle to survive to ponder the strangeness of the creatures attacks. Gerard just managed to get his weapon clear of a second attacker before scoring a hit on his first opponent. With a dagger in each hand, Moxadder also put a deep cut in its hide. Panicked, the beast tried to flee but was brought down by another vicious strike from Moxadder. This left him vulnerable and the third creature charged in and touched his hand. The dagger in his fist crumbled to rust. Reared back in surprise he shook the dust from his hands, then shrugged and drew another of the numerous daggers he carried. Glancing down, Moxadder saw it was the one awarded him by the Baron. He slashed viciously at the one that had destroyed his weapon and cut its face open.

Gerard executed a copy book lunge and plunged nearly half the length of his weapon in the other creature. Grievously wounded, it bent itself nearly double backing off the blade and fled. Seeing the other creature occupied with his companion, Gerard ran his sword through its flank as well for good measure. Moxadder used this distraction to land a pair of vicious blows in turn to drop the beast dead at their feat. Panting from their exertions, the two faced each other across the bizarre corpse for a few seconds before the continuing sounds of battle turned their attention to the fountain room.

The battle against the slimes had reached a climax. Argonne had managed to shake off his attacker and retrieve his axe. A vicious cut made the creature slow its assault. Morgan raged helplessly on the ground, seconds away from death as one of the vile creatures flowed across his chest and towards the fearsome mask of his face. Shouting a mighty plea to his Goddess, Mortec lunged forward and touched the slime. A sure of crackling black energy raced into the creature and withered it to dust. Thinking that this was becoming a habit, the gnome reached down and began pouring healing energies into the badly injured warrior.

Stravarius spoke a twisted word of power and a bolt of green struck the slime menacing Argonne. Already damaged, it slowly collapsed into liquescence. A dagger sailed over Mortec’s head to strike sparks off the ground near the final slime, signalling the return of Moxadder and Gerard. The nobleman began to lunge forward in attack when his disgust for the creatures returned. Shuddering in horror he pulled weakly back, desperately trying to avoid vomiting on himself or his comrades. His help was not needed in any case as Morgan regained his feet and skewered the slime with a deep thrust while Mortec finished it with a precise blow of his mace.

Ascertaining that the remaining fountains contained no more of the slimes, the companions took a few minutes to recuperate from the battle. Once they felt strong enough they continued down the corridor. As with the others, several rooms lead off from it and they explored these as they continued Northwards. They found another chamber in which the word ‘Mine’ had been endlessly scrawled in blood. It was otherwise empty, suggesting that something had taken possession of whatever the deranged writer had coveted.

The next room was filled with twelve large mirrors mounted on the walls. The companions could only speculate as to their purpose for the spirit of Valentin refused to divulge their use when queried by Morgan.

Further on, another room lead off from the corridor. This one was cluttered with furniture almost to the height of the ceiling. Parts of the walls and floor showed signs of a fire and claw marks scarred the plastered walls. Noticing that the furniture appeared to have been piled into a crude ladder, Mortec began to climb them towards the ceiling. Moxadder examined the claw marks and commented that they had likely been made by a squatter troll. Knowing of their habit of hiding treasures, he joined the gnome in ascending the precariously balanced furniture. Reaching up with his long arms, he managed to reach the ceiling and began tapping it with a dagger. In short time he found an area where the masonry was only paper thin and punched a hole through it. By this time Mortec was next to him and he boosted the gnome into the opening.

Mortec found himself in a cavity which concealed a number of curious objects. One by one he handed them down to Moxadder, who either secured them on his person or passed them down to the others below. They turned out to be items sacred to one or other of faiths. Once they had safely gathered at the bottom of the room they examined their haul. Mortec cast a simple orison and confirmed that each of the items was divinely enchanted. They had found a wooden box bearing the symbol of Thuus god of the Fastness; a censor with bearing the mark of Urumei, goddess of healing; a net sacred to Srcan, goddess of new beginnings; a pair of glass globes that bore the rune of Todesmagie; and a small portable shrine rendered in gold leaf and sacred to Gerech.

Feeling secure for the moment, they began to experiment with some of the items. After an intense examination, Mortec announced that the globes were a meditation aid and helped with unlocking or recalling information when researching obscure subjects. Meanwhile, Moxadder had felt drawn to examine the wooden box. Sliding the cover aside he found two thin platinum cusps within, each bearing the mark of Thuus. Deducing that they were to be placed over the eyes, he deftly fitted them in place. He felt them merge seamlessly with his pupils. At first he experienced only a cool sensation, but then felt a powerful irritation begin to burn his eyes. Thinking quickly, he invoked the name of Thuus, something he had not done since his misbegotten childhood in Irudesh City. The discomfort immediately left him and he felt the divine presence of Thuus slowly seep through his mind. With it came an awareness of the cusps’ powers; he now saw more clearly and further in the flickering torch light. Gazing about him in wonder, he sensed that other powers remained for him to discover.

As he looked at the others they gasped in surprise, for his eyes had changed to the colour of platinum, save for a small black symbol of Thuus in the centre of each pupil. As he savoured the power of the relic, Moxadder felt extremely disturbed. His mind returned to his childhood and his running battles with the priests of the faith. They had been a source of food and shelter, but as he grew older the danger of the Soup Road became more and more real. Eventually he had left them behind when he fell under the shadow of the Dirty Knives. The things he had done since then had been in continual violation of the ways of Thuus. Heart hammering in his chest, he removed the cusps, replaced them in their box and handed them to Morgan. He gave a shuddering sigh, as if a great peril had been narrowly avoided.

“Forgive me Thuus”, Moxadder murmured, “the light of your teachings cannot reach me where I walk in the shadows.”

While the Irudeshian had been examining the cusps, Mortec had made another breakthrough, discovering that the censor of Urumei could greatly aid the healing arts. Unable to make progress with the other items, the Hydra returned to their explorations. A little beyond the room of the hidden treasures they found a stairway to the East which led down into the darkness. Feeling unready for the challenge that might wait below they continued on down the corridor which terminated in a final room.

It was a place of misery, pain and desecration. Even the least sensitive of them felt the psychic impression of extreme agony that had immersed itself in the very stones of the room. Here was a place where something terrible had happened. Terrible and unnatural, for by the glow of his sword, Stravarius determined that powerful magic had been used to work a vile transformation. The Black Elf shuddered in sympathy. As always, the hellfire of his own torment burned near to the surface.

The chamber itself contained nothing except for the perverted symbols of Geduld and remains of the shackles that had restrained the tormented. They were glad to leave the oppressive atmosphere behind and retrace their steps. They decided to return to the entrance on Gerard’s insistence that he must retrieve a change of clothing from his horse. It would also give the rest of them the chance to stow some of the gear they had accumulated. As they marched back down one long corridor, and then another, they noticed a set of doors to the East that they had neglected to explore. Large and imposing they were, forged of thick bronze and etched with scenes of Gerechian worship.

Stravarius and Argonne heaved one of the doors open and gathering his courage, Mortec stepped into the room. He saw an immense chamber, one large enough to have been bounded by all the corridors they had traversed. It was filled with the life sized stone statues of an army of Gerechians in full battle panoply, carved in incredibly fine detail. The air was unnaturally still, even the dust lay completely undisturbed. Looking down, Mortec saw an old cloak at his feet. He stooped and picked it up, feeling the velvet softness of cloth and fine dust caress his fingers. Something moved in the still chamber, a cloak on one of the statues began to unaccountably flap as if in a breeze. Terror gripped his soul and he fled the chamber, screaming at the others to close the door. With a boom the door slammed shut, sealing in the mystery of the stone army. On hearing what the gnome had seen, none of the others showed any inclination of reopening the door, electing instead to return to the entrance chamber.

The choir sang on but paid them no heed as they checked on their mounts and secured the less portable of their treasures. Gerard scrubbed himself clean as best he could with some water and cloth before donning a set of fine clothing. They took some refreshment and rechecked their weapons and gear. Without any more excuse for delay, they returned to the stairs leading down. Standing at the top, their torches pierced only a small way through the darkness. Stravarius informed them that they continued straight down beyond even the range of his unnatural vision.

As he stood smoking Devil Weed at the top of the stairs, Moxadder felt something pressed into his hand. Looking down he saw the box containing the Eyes of Thuus. In shock he turned and stared at Morgan who had come up behind him. The warrior looked almost guilty through the metal of his war mask as he held his hands palm up to fend off any chance of the box being returned.

“I, I think you should have it” he said. He opened his mouth to say more but the metal lips of his mask snapped shut as if of their own accord. Shrugging helplessly, the warrior backed away.

With a sinking feeling, Moxadder felt the chains of fate tighten about his soul. At that moment he understood he was ultimately and inescapably of the Fastness, one of Thuus’ children. No matter how forlorn or degraded the path he trod, he could never escape the faith and doom of his people. With shaking hands he ground out the stick of weed, reverently removed the cusps from their box and placed them once more over his eyes. The darkness before him receded. He could see the way; all that remained was to walk the path. Looking neither right, nor left, he began to descend the stairs.

*****
​

 

[HalfOrc HalfBiscuit]

I've caught up again after quite a hiatus. And I must say that I'm very glad to see this excellent story move forward again. Keep up the good work.

 

[Fiasco]

Thanks for the encouragement, HalfOrcHalfBiscuit. I hope to have another update ready soon.

 

[Fiasco]

The stairs were white marble with discolouration reminiscent of a decayed tooth. The steps were slick with moisture making footing precarious. Stravarius joined Moxadder at the head of the party and together they descended the broad, shallow steps as they wound their way downward. Abruptly, the Black Elf motioned for the others to stop. In the quiet, they heard the faint muttering of voices from below.

“It sounds Gerechian”, said Stravarius.

Morgan’s mask rippled faintly as he cocked his head to catch the voices.

“It is”, he said after a pause. “Ancient Gerechian. Valentine says they are complaining that there hasn’t been a service in years.”

The Hydra looked at each other, then with a shrug continued downward. The floor at the bottom of the stairs was covered in an inch of water. The light from Gerard’s torch cast a faint illumination over a cluster of five Gerechians, though whether their milk filmed eyes registered the light was questionable. Readying sword and shield, Stravarius approached them.

Much like their brethren upstairs, they were garbed in the aged robes of the Gerechian faith though in this case they were damp and covered in mould. In a mucus filled voice one of them addressed the Black Elf in ancient Gerechian. Not understanding, Stravarius merely shrugged his shoulders, which frustrated the speaker. It spoke more urgently but when that also failed to get the desired reaction the group moved disappointedly away.

“They were asking if you had come to give a sermon”, Morgan translated.

“If they keep botherin us Ah’ll give them a service they’ll nowt forget”, said Argonne darkly as he hefted his axe.

By now all of them had stepped off the stairs except for Gerard, who stood on the lowest step and looked with dismay at the slimy water that covered the floor. Seeing the others continue on, he held a kerchief to his nose and then stepped into the slushy muck with an exaggerated grimace.

Keeping a watch in all directions, the Hydra advanced into an enormous hall supported by two ranks of towering pillars. A large rectangular pool dominated the centre of the room. It was filled with water so foul it was a viscous yellow green in colour. A powerful stench clawed the companion’s nostrils as they took in the sight and smell of the feature. Despite its noisome qualities, a dozen swimmers bathed in the pool, as if they were enjoying the purest of spring water. Gerard crammed a scented cloth to his face as he convulsed at the horror of what he saw. Unable to take his eyes off the swimmers, he did a double take when one of them was suddenly dragged beneath the surface. Gerard looked to his companions, but their attention had been drawn by a Gerechian in the robes of a priest who wore a phylactery strapped to his head. Shuddering, the effete nobleman backed away from the pool.

The rest of the adventurers listened as Morgan spoke ancient Gerechian with the priest. Whatever his words, they angered the Gerechian for without warning he raised his hands and shouted words of dark power. A flowing black web shot from the priest’s hands and engulfed the party. They felt the unnatural strands begin to leech the vitality from their bodies as they desperately tried to tear their way free. Gerard, who had been too far away to be affected cried out a warning as the bathing Gerechians abandoned their sport and swam straight for the party. By the time the Hydra had broken free of the webs, they were close to being surrounded by over a dozen swimmers who shuffled forwards dripping viscous fluids onto the marble floor. Though naked and unarmed, they bared sharp toothed grins that horrified the adventurers. Worse, their long sharp nails dripped a thick black substance that boded ill for those who were struck. Grimly, the Hydra prepared to defend themselves, already in a bad way from the effect of the priest’s spell.

Despite his web induced weakness, Morgan quickly lunged forward and skewered the priest with his rapier. Gerard swiped ineffectually at one of the Gerechians while shouting at it to keep away. Hefting his great axe, Argonne also tried to cut at the priest but it dodged nimbly out of the way.

Mortec was closest to the pool and found himself under intense attack before he could collect his wits. Acting on instinct, he drew a dagger and slashed at a Gerechian. On the other side of the battle, Moxadder drew his daggers with a lightning quick move and then dodged, dived and tumbled into a position behind the priest. With a vicious swing, he hooked a dagger deep into its shoulder blade. Seeing the dire position his companions were in, Stravarius bravely held his ground. Drawing on his hatred he summoned a bolt of arcane energy and lanced it into the priest.

Disregarding the damage being done to it, the priest raised its frost rimed black mace, and struck Argonne in the head. The woodsman reeled from the powerful blow but managed to keep his footing. Silently the Gerechians completed their encirclement of the companions, eyeing them hungrily with their filmy eyes.

“Look out!” Cried Morgan. “These are Gerechians no longer, they have become ghouls, eaters of flesh!” The warning came to late to do the Hydra much good.

Mortec was clawed in the shoulder and felt the chill paralysis sweep over him. Gritting his teeth, he managed to fight off the unnatural weakness. Others attacked Gerard and Morgan but they managed to evade the blows. Moxadder was not so fortunate, his position behind the priest left him open to several ghouls and he was nearly buried in a flurry of claws. The Irudeshian dodged nimbly but one of the claws ripped into his back. For a second the undead paralysis raced through his drug weakened system but then the Eyes of Thuus glowed an intense white and the weakness passed.

Perceiving the peril enclosing them, Mortec cast a spell of consecration to bolster his powers and weaken that of the enemy. Crying out to his companions to hold the undead off for just a little longer, he began to open a conduit to his deity. Trying to buy the gnome time, Morgan lunged at the high priest while Gerard slashed wildly at a ghoul. Neither found their mark. Still hurt from the blow he had taken, Argonne raised his axe high and brought it crashing down at the priest. Unfortunately, the blow missed completely and thundered into the floor, where the axe head was smashed to pieces. Staring dumbly at the haft of his axe, he failed fend off the claws of two of the Gerechians. Battered to the point of death and paralysed to boot, he collapsed to the ground.

Sneering in triumph, the high priest raised its mace high in anticipation of striking the killing blow when another crackling bolt of power drilled through its head. The mace clattered to the ground and the body swiftly followed. Stravarius’ eyes blazed red and in that moment his companions found him just as frightening as the undead surrounding them.

Making the most of the priest fall, Moxadder tumbled away from his numerous opponents a second ahead of their slashing claws. The final part of his manoeuvre ended up as a lunge which plunged his dagger into the side of one of the unsuspecting creatures. It clawed at the tattooed man in retaliation but his leather armour kept out the blows. Others attacked the rest of the companions, missing most but hitting Morgan. Accustomed from early boyhood to battling the undead, the young warrior refused to succumb to the paralysis and neatly stabbed his assailant in the throat.

Despite the priest’s fall the Hydra’s position was dire. They were heavily outnumbered; Argonne was down and most of the rest of them were injured. Though they had so far avoided the worst of the ghouls attacks they were completely surrounded. The battle promised only one, grim conclusion. Fortunately for the Hydra, they had managed to hold out long enough for gnome to act.

Bolstered by his spell of consecration, Mortec called on the power of his dark Goddess. A tremendous wave of energy radiated from the tiny figure and swept through the surrounding ghouls. Casting their arms up in terror, fully seven of them broke off their attack and stood rooted to the spot in awe. The small gnome commanded their attention utterly, standing proudly and fully revealed as a priest of Nachtigal, for it was she he had called upon. His deception of masquerading as a priest of Todesmagie had come to an end.

Inspired by the gnome, the rest of the companions roared in triumph before attacking the remaining ghouls with renewed vigour. Standing over Argonne’s body, Stravarius and Morgan strove to drive back the ravening ghouls with the sharp points of their rapiers. Once of them slipped Morgan’s guard and jagged a claw into his thigh. The warrior turned pale and then slumped paralysed to the ground. Feeling the momentum begin to shift back to the Gerechians, Moxadder stepped up his offence and cut down a ghoul with a wild flurry of blows. Another advanced and clawed the dagger-man but his eyes glowed bright in defiance of the unnatural chill. Before the remaining ghouls could attack, Mortec called again on the might of Nachtigal. The dark energy that radiating from him momentarily blackened the sight of his companions as the remaining undead were forced to cower at his feet.

The Hydra looked on Mortec in awe.

“Quickly”, he commanded. “Hack them down before they shake free.”

Even Gerard leapt to obey, cowed by the authority radiating from his small companion. It was grisly work, but none questioned its necessity. They had not been in such peril since the pirate’s lair. It was a wearisome business, and by the time they had finished Mortec had been forced to expend more of his energies to renew his power over the ghouls..

With the stench of slaughter upon them they set about binding their wounds, hoping that no virulence had infected them through the claws of the dead. Mortec was forced to burn more divine essence to restore some health to Argonne, who had been sorely battered.

Having recovered his strength, Stravarius began to explore the rooms leading off from the massive hall. The first was occupied by four figures. Two lay naked on low stone tables while two others in loin cloths rubbed rancid oil onto their backs. The Black Elf, hung back, wondering if they were alive, dead or something in between. One of the masseurs reached for a bone knife and began to scrape off the oil. Unnoticed by either party, skin was being shaved off along with the oil. With a grimace of distaste, Stravarius moved onto the next room. It was filled with steam and not even his supernatural sight could pierce its confines. The silent form of Moxadder came up to join him. His platinum eyes glowed once more, piercing the fog to lay bare the contents of the room. Abruptly he retreated, pulling Stravarius with him.

“What is it?” Snapped the Black Elf, annoyed a the contact.

“Something shadowy in the far corner, I didn’t like the look of it. Stravarius nodded. He had no wish to face any strange peril either.

Back by the pool, Mortec had finished examining the priest’s belonging when the paralysis left Morgan’s limbs. Screaming in fury, the Fastendian leapt to his feet and began hacking ineffectually at the dismembered corpses with his rapier. With an irritated sigh, the gnome called once more upon his powers and healed the Fastendian of the worst of his wounds. With a great shudder, Morgan regained control of himself and embarrassed, began to see to his weapons.

Meanwhile Gerard stood with his back to the pool, feverishly working to clean his rapier of the gore of the battle. Unnoticed by him, a slimy tentacle emerged with slick smoothness from the scummy waters and began to slide towards him...

 

[Fiasco]

The tentacle arched up in anticipation of seizing Gerard when a bolt buried itself deep in its slimy flesh. A warning cry from Morgan accompanied his attack, galvanizing the others to action. A forest of tentacles burst from the water, followed by a hideous sagging body reminiscent of a lanced boil leaking pus. Gerard gave a cry of horror even as he desperately scrambled backwards and fumbled for his crossbow. Argonne too tried to retreat, dragging his wounded body as fast as he could away from the monster. Morgan called on the Hydra to bring missile weapons to bear, within moments he was joined by Moxadder and Mortec. A ragged volley of bolts were sent against the horror as each adventurer tried to load his weapon as fast a panicked hands would allow.

Stravarius alone was a centre of calm amidst the frenzied behaviour of his companions. Firmly repressing his disgust at the creature he called on his dark nature to summon a surge of necromantic energy into his fist. Feeling the strength sapping magic build to painful levels he hurled it the creature with a snap of his arm and a dark word in the language of the Dominion. The eldritch assault struck true and the putrid beast wilted visibly under the assault. Encouraged, the others loosed a better directed volley against it.

Enraged, the creature exerted itself mightily and snapping its tentacles forwards, used the momentum to heave itself bodily from the pool. With the corrupted waters cascading from its hideous body it gathered itself for a deadly charge at the Hydra’s position. Eye’s bulging in terror, the companions struggled to reload their weapons; Moxadder cursed bitterly as his crossbow string snapped under the strain. Gerard’s bolt sank into the creature’s flesh with a revolting slurp but it was not enough to forestall its assault. Eye’s blazing furiously, Stravarius stepped forward and sent another necromantic bolt into their horrid foe. This time the black pulse of energy wracked the entire creature’s frame and abruptly its entire strength fell from its limbs, dropping it against he marble floor with a disgusting slap of diseased flesh.

Shouting for the others to finish it Morgan advanced and loosed arrows into the creature from point blank range. Twitching its tentacles feebly the creature tried to pull back into the safety of the pool but the next volley of bolts ripped through its body and spilled its life to the floor. Even as the body collapsed in upon itself the Hydra sent another two terror inspired volleys into its corpse before they ceased.

Trembling, they took stock of themselves, amazed that they had come through unharmed. Having spent their final reserves of energy they decided to retreat to the level above to recover from their wounds. As they gathered their possessions together Stravarius noticed a glint of metal from the other side of the pool and circled around to investigate. He discovered a small pile of treasure which included an ivory mask, a scattering of gold and platinum coins of ancient Gerechian design, a beautiful ebon staff shod with silver and a metal book case. Pleased with the haul, the Black Elf gathered them together and rejoined his companions who were already retreating towards the stairs.

Once they had regained the relative safety of the upper level, the companions decided to return to the main entrance. Watching the wandering Gerechians with renewed wariness they reached their mounts without incident. There the guard shifts were quickly determined and all those not on duty collapsed into an exhausted sleep. Body still tingling from the energies he had expended, Stravarius watched over his companions, his blazing eyes piercing the darkened recesses of the chamber. The dolorous hymns of the Gerechian choir nestled mournfully in the subconscious of the sleepers.

The mill stone of his justice will grind them into truth…

Despite their uncomfortable surroundings it was a much refreshed party that descended the stairs a day later. The scene in the pool room appeared unchanged save for the fact that the tentacled horror had decayed into the viscous slime that stained the marble a particularly virulent green. Leaving the side chambers be they moved to the far end of the room. Raising their torches high they saw a set of slime encrusted double doors in the North wall. More curiously they also saw two rough tunnels dug into the stone of the Eastern wall. As the Hydra warily approached they heard a whimpering sound from the nearer one.

Gazing intently forward, Stravarius looked in vain for the source of the noise for it lay beyond even his exceptional vision. Concentrating for a second, he called upon one of the minor gifts imparted on him by the Dominion’s corrupting influence and limned the tunnel with sickly green flames. By their unearthly light two short but stocky figures were revealed as they ran towards the companions.

“Rat Trolls!” Moxadder shouted as the companions noted the familiar knobbly hide and wicked teeth and claws of the creatures. Stravarius summoned a bolt of viridian energy with a word and sent it unerringly into one of the trolls while the other was struck by a bolt from Gerard and a dagger from Moxadder. Their nimble movements foiled the remaining attacks of the Hydra allowing them to close without further harm. A claw shrieked off Morgan’s war mask while Stravarius barely evaded a disembowelling slash from the other attacker.

The companions slashed and stabbed ineffectually at the creatures as Moxadder abandoned his position in the front line to circle behind the trolls into a flanking position. Though outnumbered the trolls were carrying the fight to the companions, their swift movements and high pitched snarls unnerved the Hydra. Stravarius took a nasty slash to the chest and was forced to fall back. His retreat was covered by Gerard who managed a good thrust into the troll with his rapier. Beside him Mortec called on dark Nachtigal and summoning dire power into his hand, brought it to bear on the other troll. A charge of ravening energy tore through its muscles, causing it to shrill in rage. In retaliation the creature hacked both sets of claws into the gnome, hurling him bodily backwards. Despite the gruesome damage, the dread gnome gamely struggled to get back to his feet.

A crackling bolt of necromantic force struck the troll, leeching a little strength from it as Stravarius contributed to the battle. Positioned behind the trolls, Moxadder fervently hoped that no reinforcements were coming. Timing his attack to coincide with that of Morgan he slashed a deep cut across a rat troll’s back. Both creatures were injured now, but fought on undeterred. From experience the Irudeshian knew all too well how much vitality the tough little creatures possessed. Almost as if to demonstrate their capabilities both trolls scored vicious hits, injuring Morgan and Gerard.

Thinking to conserve his arcane energies, Stravarius drew the wand sold him by Grelda in the Port of the Warlock. Sighting carefully along its length he aimed at a troll and spoke the world ‘Schwach’. To his surprise, nothing happened. His brow furrowed for a second, then he brought his sword up beside the wand. No tell tale colourations appeared on the blade, telling him the item was not enchanted. Cursing at having been cheated, he hurled the useless bit of wood away, resigned himself to calling on his own powers once more.

Despite taking wounds the companions battled on valiantly. Morgan and Gerard both scored hits on the same troll, allowing Moxadder to bring it down with a dagger deep in its spine. The other fought on, forcing Argonne to defend desperately with his staff. A bolt of magic from Stravarius weakened the troll considerably and Morgan wounded it severely with a perfectly weighted stab. A brief moment of sanity came over the ravening rat troll and it tried to flee the combat only to be brought down by a powerful thrust by Gerard.

With the noisy chaos of battle over the companions heard more whimpering sounds come from the depths of the tunnel. They looked at each other, fearing another assault but Moxadder shook his head.

“That aint rat trolls”, he gasped in exhaustion. The Irudeshian was drenched in sweat and his lungs rattled unpleasantly as he struggled to regain his breath. With trembling hands he conjured a stick of devil weed from his pouch and struggled to get it lit. Shaking his head in disgust, Morgan finished binding his wounds and advanced resolutely down the tunnel. The others followed, clutching weapons tightly in trepidation. After a hundred feet they came upon a crude nest made up of refuse, coins and scattered pieces of equipment. Huddled in the centre of the pile was a whimpering, pot bellied human.

His pale flesh was glazed with sweat and the few rags he wore stuck unpleasantly to his skin. The sour reek that emanated from him rivalled the stench of the troll nest. He looked up at the party with terrified, pale blue eyes while trying to snuffle back a trickle of snot from his nose.

“Oh please don’t hurt me”, he implored wringing his fingers. In the name of mighty Gerech, please take me from his place.”

At the mention of the god the companions looked disgustedly at each other.

“Ahnother bloody Gerechian”, muttered Argonne darkly. “That’s just what we bloody well need, and me without an axe!”

 

[Fiasco]

While Gerard and Mortec questioned the wretch, Moxadder and Argonne sifted through the filthy nest. To their surprise they found items of value amongst the mess. Coins of various mintage glinted amongst the ordure and what at first appeared to be a pile of scrap turned out to three suits of dirty but high quality dwarven armour accompanied by assorted weaponry.

Disgusted with this naked display of avarice, Morgan pointedly turned his back on the fossickers and kept watch down the corridor. Tense and uneasy, Stravarius did the same in the other direction.

Questioning the human proved tedious and irritating. A miserable, self pitying creature, it took patient navigation through his numerous outbursts of tears, self recriminations and hand wringing misery to learn he was named Sneeful the Pious, an acolyte of Gerech. His tale was unreal and garbled, for he claimed to have come from a temple of Gerech many hundreds of miles distant, North of Riverglenn. Bored with the ordinary monastic routine he had wandered down to the lower levels of the temple where he wandered into a ‘chamber of stars’. He had little recollection of what happened next, except for making the horrid realisation that he was now in a very different temple. He had wandered randomly until falling afoul of the rat trolls who had captured him for their amusement and eventual feasting.

A scoffing Gerard would have dismissed the story out of hand had he not recalled the fragment of an ancient legend he had read in Leith’s Abbey. Though obscure, in the light of what Sneeful claimed Gerard now understood the text may have alluded to the ability of senior priests of Gerech to swiftly over travel great distances during the time of the Convocation. Calling Morgan over, he asked him to confer with the spirit of Valentin to confirm the substance of the story.

The Fastendian wrestled internally for a few long moments before curtly confirming the broad veracity of the claims. When pressed for further details his metal lips compressed stubbornly. Shaking his fearsome mask Morgan refused to divulge further information, stating regretfully that they were speaking of the most sacred mysteries of Gerech, not to be shared with heretical unbelievers. Valentin’s words, not his he amended apologetically.

Frustrated, Mortec glared first at Morgan and then Sneeful. To be on the verge of learning such a great and ancient secret only to be denied came close to causing him physical pain. Grinding his teeth he considered Sneeful’s demeanour. While the cringing and cowardice were certainly genuine, there was a hint of calculation behind the performance. The little snot knew more than he was letting one and the gnome itched to wring the truth out of him.

Mortec’s musings were interrupted by the decision of the others to continue exploring the tunnels. Staring Sneeful in the eye he told him to stay close and keep quiet. A futile command as it turned out for the whining complaints of the woe begotten acolyte continued unabated.

Their exploration bore unexpected fruit for in the furthest recess of the final tunnel they found a cluster of dwarves; bruised, battered and heavily bound. Sneeful seized upon the halt to collapse to the ground, rubbing his legs and groaning loudly. Kuruul ponderously lay down close to the acolyte, keeping a half slitted yellow eye on him.

Gerard hastened forward to cut the captives free of their bonds while Mortec conversed haltingly in Dwarven before shifting to Guernean when he learnt they were familiar with the language. The dwarves shared a similar tale to Sneeful; in as much they had stumbled into an abandoned temple of Gerech when seeking shelter from a storm. Their explorations had taken them deep inside the ancient building. They were a little uncertain of what had happened next and were surprised to hear that they were now a long way distant from the Kazakash mountains on the distant border of Guerney.

Finding the composure and obvious competence of the dwarves a welcome contrast to the irritating presence of Sneeful, the companions quickly proposed an alliance with them. While initially suspicious, the dwarves quickly warmed to their rescuers when reunited with their equipment from the rat troll’s nest. Further items were piled nearby and they were fully outfitted in short order. The dwarves introduced themselves as Rarut Key Mace, Rokana Silver Seeker, Hakay Vein Carver and Torgal the Witch Slayer.

Though not in the best of health, they were very keen to find a way out of the temple as quickly as possible. It was only when Mortec expounded on the dangers they faced that they reluctantly agreed to taking rest in order to regain their strength.

Once more the party returned to the entrance chamber to the temple, this time augmented by allies both wanted and not. A half day’s rest proved sufficient time for Torgal to call on Muhbelung to heal those who had toiled hard and also to restore his powers. In the same time, Rokana, noticing Argonne’s broken axe, offered to repair it with her portable forge. The woodsman gratefully accepted the offer and was mightily pleased to be armed with his favourite weapon once more.

Despite the relative safety of their surroundings the dwarves appeared uncomfortable resting, as if time were against them. Mortec and Gerard were able to glean that Rokana was a high ranking noble of her people and that she had been on her way to an important betrothal ceremony when they had fallen afoul of the temple. Spurred on by these worries they pressed the others to continue the exploration. The companions agreed.

Sharing tales of their experiences they returned to the room containing the noxious pool and came to stand before the slime encrusted double doors in the North wall. The companions looked grimly at each other and all conversation ceased. Argonne and Stravarius approached the foreboding entrance. Taking a deep breath they laid hands on the doors and began to push (causing Gerard to choke back bile at their seeming disregard of the filth they were touching).

With a damp groan the doors swung inward to reveal a large dining hall. Long tables slick with mould lined the chamber and a large number of figures sat before tarnished silver plates piled high with slime. As one the diners glanced up to stare hungrily at the new arrivals with their soulless white eyes. The companions’ horror was compounded when they saw a small pack of rat trolls busily feeding on the body of one of the acolytes. They looked up lazily from their grisly meal to take note of the adventurers as if to mark them down for dessert.

Argonne and Stravarius stood dumfounded for a long second as they took in the scene before acting in complete accord to drag the doors shut. The others fumbled desperately for their weapons while the grim expressions of the dwarves hardened to stone. Moxadder cocked his head and listened keenly for any sound that might be coming from the dining hall. Apart from the nervous movements of his companions he heard nothing. A slow minute passed with each second accompanied by a painful hammering in their chests. Spitting contemptuously, Argonne broke the tension.

“Bloody Gerechians, thah so daft thah couldn’t find t’arses using both hands. Tha’ve probably gone back to shovlin slime or the gods knaw what else robbish in t’gobs.”

“We should take advantage of that and fight them on our own terms”, said Morgan. “We open the doors and lure some of the rat trolls, shutting the rest out and keeping the odds in our favour.”

“You’re all mad”, whined Sneeful. “Who would be fool enough to be the lure…” his voice trailed off as a fit of paranoid fear seized him.

“I might be able to help with that” rasped an unexpected but familiar voice. Kuruul had decided to grace the conversation with his full attention and hence stood transformed into his humanoid aspect. His appearance caused a sensation, with Sneeful swooning into merciful (at least for the others) senselessness and the dwarves preparing to do battle with the strange goblin like entity. Several minutes were taken up in reassuring them and explaining the Barghest’s unique nature.

Eventually order was restored and Kuruul went on to explain that his magic would serve to lure some of the rat trolls to them. It would fall to the rest of the adventurers to secure the door and destroy the creatures. Moxadder suggested having a large fire lit in order to ensure the immolation of the trolls’ bodies.

While a small party was sent upstairs to fetch dry wood the others planned the specifics of the assault. The concept of making plans was a novel one for the Hydra and they all pitched in with enthusiasm. Moxadder and Rarut would stand beside one of the doors, positioned to bring down a troll from behind. Argonne would be by the other, ready to throw the magical net of Srcan they had found on the top level. Beside him would be Mortec, who would take care of any ghouls which might wander through. Stravarius, Gerard, Morgan and the rest of the dwarves would stand further back from the doors, to attract the attention of the trolls and to allow them to bring them down with ranged weapons. No-one asked or cared what Sneeful would do, an arrangement which suited him very well. On recovering his wits he crawled out of harm’s way to cower against a distant wall.

As Morgan stood with the rank of warriors facing the doors he surveyed the area of battle. Everyone was in their place and a healthy fire was burning ten feet back and to the right of the entrance. Kuruul moved up to stand before the doors, motioning for them to be opened. Something nagged at the Fastendian. Their plan seemed sound, but at this critical juncture it seemed that something had eluded them in their planning. He was about to say as much to Gerard when the doors were pushed open, revealing the nightmarish dining hall.

The scene was as before, with the Gerechians dining at the table while the rat trolls lurked to the back of the chamber. Kuruul strode into the doorway and then vanished, reappearing directly in front of the surprised trolls. Before they could react he began to sprint back to the doors. With shrill yips and hoots they followed, eager to bring down this tasty morsel. The Barghest was only narrowly in the lead when they passed through the doorway.

The carefully devised plan sprang into action. Moxadder reached out with a long arm and plunged a dagger deep into a passing rat trolls neck. Though it screamed in agony, it continued its charge at the cluster of people standing 40 feet beyond the doors. Rarut clipped another troll with his axe but is also continued its advance. On the other side of the door Argonne hurled his net. Unused to its cumbersome weight his timing was off and the trolls had already passed by when it hit the ground. Beside him Mortec gazed into the room at the nearby Gerechians who had stopped their ghastly feast to watch the battle. Calling on his dark Goddess he channelled her wrath into the room, cowing four of the diners. The rest reacted in fury, however, and tumbling back their chairs they charged en masse to join battle.

As Morgan braced for the attack of the five bounding rat trolls only scant yards away and took in the sight of the horde of undead about to enter, he suddenly came to the gut wrenching realisation of the flaw in their plan; no-one had been assigned to shut the doors!