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Chapter 16
The adventurers teleported back to the Dungeon of the Ruins, to the hall outside the High Conflagration’s former lair. Pausing a moment to get his bearings, Grundar activated his ring of blinking and moved through the iron door on the other side of the staircase to scout out the room beyond. Heavy square grates of iron laid in even rows across the floor of the chamber he found himself in, apparently covering dark cells or pits. A rumpled square of canvas laid over one of the grates. Rusted bolts and heaps of chain were scattered at odd intervals on the floor beside the old brick walls, and the air was rank and damp.
The oppressive silence of the room was shattered by a horrible, piteous wailing from one of the cells in the floor. "Help me! Gods, help me! Get me out! I will do it! I will do it; I beg you, just let me out!" the voice cried just before dissolving into manic laughter.
Another voice joined in, burbling with lunacy. "Help me, heh! Heh! Get you in, get you in! There's one for all of you, heh! We all are in need of chastisement, heh!"
Not wanting to draw attention, Grundar blinked back out the door and reported to the others what he saw and heard. "I'm thinking one of those in there must be one of the mages the cult needed to complete the ritual. They seem to be in some crazed state. I suggest we not free them just yet."
Jelani shrugged. “I think we should free the prisoners now. They might not be entirely sane, but as long as they’re here, they can be used to free the Firebringer. Also, who knows when they ate last? I don’t know about all of you, but I happen to think starvation is a terrible way to die.”
"They seemed to be just fine when they were shouting in there,” replied Grundar. “The cult is destroyed, Durzhul is dead. I doubt anybody has the resources to free the Firebringer anytime soon. We should finish the search first, and then intern the skeleton. Then we can attend to them."
"Grundar!” said Rhys disdainfully. “I can't believe that you’re so cold. Those are human beings in there, humans who have most likely been tortured. We shouldn’t let them suffer a minute more; if I have to go in there alone, I will."
Rumar nodded and stared intently at Grundar, his displeasure obvious. "Crazed or not, likely to starve or not, valuable or not, I cannot in good conscience place searching this area for more baubles above setting those others free. You many continue your search of this area if you like, but we will attend to the others first. We can always rejoin you later."
“Yarrick Zan may be here already,” said Terenon. “It may be wiser to wait until we are sure we are not alone.”
“Just come with us for one quick check upstairs,” said Grundar. “Then we can come back down.”
Rumar frowned behind his helmet and nodded curtly. “One check.”
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The staircase led up to an illusory wall close to the barracks. The cultists had placed it there to protect the location of the High Conflagration’s lair. The party circled around the dungeon back to the Well of Stars, and Grundar approached the door to the south of it. As he blinked through it, a glowing yellow symbol appeared and discharged in a puff of fine sand. Being immune to sleep effects, the elf felt no averse effects from the spell.
The hall beyond was a majestic chamber almost thirty feet high, with two pillars of red-gold marble supporting the ceiling. The walls were ringed by a frieze ten feet above the floor, over which hung the tatters of proud banners and standards. Pedestals on the floor supported various art objects and trophies, including two suits of armor, a large vase of gold-green stone, a bronze urn, a terra cotta statue of an ancient dwarf warrior, and various other old treasures. A number of other places where items might once have rested were obvious.
Grundar passed back through the door, a big grin plastered on his features. “You have got to go in there,” he said, beaming. “It’s the treasury. Time to fill the portable hole.”
"I believe I agreed to wait while you checked that room," Rumar tossed out, folding his arms against his chest, "not to wait while you convulse with greed. Rhys and I will be down with the prisoners.” Both aasimar turned and walked off.
“Have fun!” called Grundar after them, then turned to the others. “Looting time.”
The doors were rusted stuck, so it took a few tries for the mages and the elf to open them. Eventually they gave way, and both Allanon and Jelani were quite surprised at the amount of treasure laid out before them. The party members spread out to begin gathering the goods, but as soon as Grundar touched the first piece of gold, one of the suits of armor in the room lurched forward as it stepped off its pedestal. It slowly drew a large greatsword that crackled with electricity as it began stalking toward the elf.
“I hate constructs,” the elf groaned as he drew his rapier.
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Meanwhile, Rhys and Rumar descended to the prison. Though the door was locked, Rumar began hacking at the lock with his sword and in the span of about a minute, the lock shattered.
Once they entered the room, the voices began shouting again. "I've been in here long enough!" the first voice started. "What did I do to deserve this? I will do it, I tell you! Just let me out of here!"
The second burbling voice joined in. "What did I do, heh! What did any of us do? Heh! Much longer have I been here, much more have I seen, heh! Death will come for us all, this I know all too well, heh!"
Listening closely, Rumar could tell that the first voice seems to be coming from a nearby cell, while the second voice came from further back, from the cell that had been covered in canvas. The paladin turned to Rhys. “I hope you have some way of magically immobilizing these men,” he said softly. “If these mages are truly mad, we may have to restrain them until we can get them in the care of a priest.”
“Unfortunately, I do not,” replied Rhys. “We’ll just have to be careful.”
Rumar nodded and then moved over to investigate the owner of the first voice. An iron grate covered the cell, and beneath that sat a middle aged man. His hair and clothes were dirty and unkempt, and he looked up with pleading eyes. His eyes widened as he took in the aasimar’s glowing eyes and feathery wings. "You..you are not an Acolyte! You are an angel, come to rescue me! Oh, I'm saved!" The man began weeping with joy.
From the other cell, the owner of the second voice contributed, "An angel, heh! Only an angel of death come for you, heh! No rescue, no escape from this existence! You are a fool to delude yourself, heh! A mighty fool, heh!"
Rhys came up beside Rumar and looked down at the man. “We are not angels, though we are here to free you. I'm Rhys Thurn, a priest of Torm and the gentleman with me is Rumar, a noble paladin. Our group has destroyed most of the Acolytes. Once we open these cells, I'll tend to you as best I can until we're able to get you out of here. What is your name, sir?"
"My name is...is...Philosten. Yes, that's it. I haven't used it in quite some time. The Acolytes, they...they kidnapped me, wanted me to participate in a ritual that would free their lord. I..I was willing to do it, if they'd only let me out of this gods-forsaken cell. Will you let me out?"
“Philosten, I’ll have you out shortly.” Rhys reached down to the grate on the cell and, calling upon Torm to grant him a feat of strength, heaved with all his might. The grate pulled free of the floor and clattered as Rhys dropped it to the ground.. Reaching a hand down, he pulled the shaky mage out, who collapsed to the floor. The cleric checked him over: he seemed to be suffering from starvation and dehydration, but otherwise he was unhurt.
The second voice started up again. "Now free me, o angel of death, heh! It won't matter, no it won't, heh! Freedom is just an illusion! Life is just an illusion, heh! Nothing waits for us beyond the end; best to flay yourself alive and save nature the trouble, heh!"
As Rumar looked over Philosten and gave him some water, Rhys moved over to cell from which the rantings were coming. "Good sir, what waits for one beyond the end depends on how one lived in the now. If nothing matters and freedom and life are just illusions, I might as well just leave you here. However, that wouldn't make my now feel right. So why don't you indulge me and let us release you? Once I've tended to your wounds, you can go pursue life as you feel best. But for me not to release you would be an injustice equal to the ones committed by those who imprisoned you here.”
The voice laughed maniacally for a few seconds. "Leave me here, heh! Leave you here, heh! You're concerned about your now, but what about your soon, heh? Heh! Release me if you want, but my wounds are far past tending, heh! Will I pursue life, or will life pursue me? You will see, heh! You will see, heh!"
Rhys sighed and turned to Rumar. “Rumar, please remove the canvas and the grate so I can tend to this man’s wounds. I may cure the body, but I fear his mind is beyond tending. The winds of fate will decide which way to blow him.”
The paladin nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. I can’t imagine it will be that hard.” Rumar clanked over to the cell and threw off the canvas that covered it, revealing a horrible monstrosity. It looked like a gray-fleshed, hairless humanoid with an elongated skull-like head and noseless face. It stares up at Rumar with white, empty eyes, and the aasimar felt icy hands clawing at his very soul as his life-force wavered.
"Now you see, heh!" the creature shrieked with glee. "Now you see!"
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Allanon wasn't surprised when the construct attacked. Something always seemed to happen whenever they weren't being careful. The wild mage concentrated for a moment, bringing to mind the words of a spell he had been practicing over the past couple days. He double-checked the pronunciations in his head once more, then started casting his spell.
The spidery words of magic flowed through the air, though they sounded even stranger than usual. In fact, to those who understood the language of magic, the spell seemed to make little sense. On the final word, Allanon thrust his hand at the golem. A cone shaped burst of colors sprang forth. The colors danced back and forth, creating a dazzling array of light that washed over the construct. When the colors faded, though, the construct was unaffected.
Allanon was surprised that his spell had no effect, and he was even more surprised when the animate armor charged at him and swung its sparking greatsword in a mighty blow. Fortunately, its joints were rusty from years of inactivity, and Allanon dodged away from the descending blade.
Terenon backed up and cast a spell, surrounding himself with mirror images. Jelani tried to dispel the magic that animated the construct, hoping to end the fight quickly, but his spell was ineffectual.
“My blade is next to useless against constructs!” cried Grundar as he moved to attack. Unfortunately, he phased into the Ethereal Plane just as his rapier would have connected with the thing’s metallic body.
“I’ll get Rhys and Rumar!” cried Allanon. He defensively cast a spell, and then he disappeared in a flash of light and a puff of smoke.
Deprived of its target, the construct turned to Grundar and sliced at him with its greatsword. The mighty blade connected twice, tearing large wounds open across the elf’s chest and sending electrical shocks throughout his body.
Jelani put a hand on his holy symbol and began to chant. The air in the room stirred and swirled with his words. “Akadi, come to our aid,” he called out, and a gust of wind swept into the room as if in answer.
Terenon called forth a sword of pure force to attack the construct. The glowing blade sliced a large furrow in the thing’s armor. Grundar reeled from the damage the thing had dealt him, but he responded in kind. He punched two small holes in the construct’s breastplate, but the thing didn’t even slow down. The construct slashed the elf again, but he managed to avoid its follow-up strikes.
Jelani completed his summoning spell, and the winds in the room coalesced into the form of an air elemental. “Please destroy that thing,” Jelani asked in Auran, and the elemental moved to pound the construct with its fists. Jelani then cast a familiar spell, and five glowing balls of magical force streaked at the construct, only to dissipate harmlessly upon striking it.
As his magic sword carved another furrow in the construct’s armor, Terenon launched a thin green ray at the thing. The ray was meant to disintegrate the construct, but Terenon cursed aloud as the ray dissipated like the magical missiles had. If Allanon doesn’t come back soon, we’re done for, Terenon thought.
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Rumar concentrated all his will on resisting the creature’s deadly gaze, and suddenly the icy hands around his heart retracted, leaving him gasping for breath. “Abomination!” he cried as he hurled the heavy canvas back over the cell in which the creature sat. The creature laughed maniacally and burbled happily to itself as the paladin stalked away.
Before anything else could happen, Allanon appeared in the prison with a flash of light and a puff of smoke. “Guys, we’ve got a serious problem,” he said. “The others are in trouble and we need to move quickly.” The mage cast a spell, and he and the aasimars began to speed up.
Rumar was about to ask whether the problem had been encountered while they were digging through the treasure when Rhys spoke up. “We’re here to help. What is it? Undead? More slaadi?”
“A construct,” said Allanon. “Let’s go.”
Rhys looked down at Philosten, then helped him to his feet. “We take him with us. We can’t leave him here.”
“Fine,” said Allanon. He laid his hands on Rhys and Rumar and chanted a brief spell. In a flash of light and a puff of smoke, they were gone.
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Badly wounded, Grundar tumbled away and drank a healing potion. The worst of his wounds disappeared, but he was still bleeding heavily. Refusing to give him any respite, the construct charged at him again, but the elf nimbly avoided the crackling sword.
Terenon cast a spell and his form was suddenly displaced several feet away. He stepped in between Grundar and the construct, his mirror images dancing and weaving about. “Keep away from it, Grundar! I’ll distract it!”
Grundar paused long enough to stab the construct once more with his rapier before springing away. The construct sliced at Terenon, tearing through some of the illusions but leaving the real mage unharmed.
Then, in a flash of light and a puff of smoke, Allanon returned along with Rhys, Rumar, and Philosten. Wasting no time, Rhys sent a searing ray of light at the creature, burning a large hole in its armor. Rumar charged in and tore into the construct with his longsword.
Wanting to contribute, Terenon drew a small dagger from his robe and thrust it into a chink in the armor. The mage was quite surprised as the construct suddenly stopped moving and dropped its sword to the ground. As he watched, the whole creature began melt until nothing was left of it but a pile of slag on the floor.
The mage raised both of his hands in victory and then looked at his dagger with awe. Apparently, he was better in hand to hand combat then he had previously realized. "All evil constructs beware of Terenon's dagger of destruction," he said, tongue firmly in cheek.
