Session 1
What follows is the written up accounts of the first two sections. Session 3 is set for this friday. we only get to play 4-5 hours a session, so some roleplay, and two combat encounters is par for the course. Also, a disclaimer. this was not intended as a true story hour, but more as an interesting recap for the players. I was so impressed, I wanted to share.
Blountstonian Chronicles
By Mark Fletcherson's Player
DMRob – Game Master
(Disclamer: Though the Character names remain the same any resemblance to the Characters or to what actually happened during the Gaming session is purely accidental)
Session 1
Chapter I
Desperate Times Breeds Desperate Measures
Duke Jasin Grayhain sat on a wooden stool staring at the seven individuals he had ordered imprisoned. He resisted the urge to scratch under the eye patch covering his left eye. Even after all of these years, the empty orbital socket still irritated him when he was in extreme distress, an all too common emotion for him these last few years. This evening, as he sat on the threshold of his latest undertaking, the Duke felt afraid. Not for himself. Nearly seven decades old, veteran of fifty military campaigns and survivor of fourteen assassination attempts, he had lived longer than he had any right to, certainly longer than most of his peers. Instead, the old Duke was afraid that in this final and most important task, he would fail.
Regaining his resolve, the Duke began speaking to his prisoners, to the men and women whose actions would decide the future of his kingdom, of his family. Instinctively, as he spoke, he sized up his audience and tailored his presentation as necessary to convince each of these very different folk to accept his proposal. With his one remaining eye he read their body language and their faces, as easily as a scribe would read a scroll. At times, Grayhain threatened his audience, at times he promised them fame, and of course, because two of his prisoners were dwarves, he offered them gold.
Cocooned inside of this blending of intimidation, inspiration, and incentive, was a very common request by a ruler of a defeated kingdom: save my offspring so that one day they can return to reclaim the throne. The only twist to the Duke’s request, was that the offspring were not his own, but those of his nephew, King Harold the reigning monarch of Lachdan.
The children’s foolish father was too busy planning a final desperate attack against the invaders from the neighboring land of Innesfal to concern himself with his own children. Truth be told, Harold had never been interested in his children. The King lived only for continuing a disastrous war that he had inherited from his father’s, father’s, father. As a result, the Duke had been more of a parent to the children, than the king had ever been. So while the King was planning for his glorious end, the Duke was looking to secure a future for his great niece and nephew.
The seven individuals that he had managed to spirit away from the King’s press gangs, must be persuaded to guard these children during the course of a long dangerous journey. A journey designed to place the children far beyond the reach of their hereditary enemies from Innesfal.
Duke Jasin Grayhain did not stop dangling the proverbial carrots and brandishing the figurative sticks until he felt comfortable that he had convinced six of the seven to accept his offer. The seventh prisoner, a warforged named Rune, stood as still and as unreadable as a metal statue. The old Duke simply did not know how to read or how to influence this mass of iron and steel.
As disquieting as the Duke found the warforged’s implacable demeanor, he was even more disturbed by the mutterings of the dwarf barbarian, Kovrim Zarduk. He had heard from his men that the barbarian had been especially difficult to captures. The Duke was now concerned that the stout wooded cudgels his men had liberally applied when the dwarf had shrugged off the spike ale, had somehow addled the barbarian’s brain. The dwarf seemed to be distracted by an argument he was having with himself, an argument that, at times, seemed ready to escalate to physical violence, with himself.[1]
FOOTNOTE-
Excerpt from the “Internal Dialogs of a Barbarian Hero” by K. Zarduk. . . . Want to hear a joke? What? of course its short. . . . Why are you laughing I have not even told you the joke yet? Anyway these two dwarves walk out of a tavern . . . . Get it? . . . two DWARVES WALK OUT of a tavern . . .Of course it is funny. No DWARF ever WALKS OUT of a tavern. Staggers maybe but . . . Wait, that does not count, the miserable place ran out of ale. Of course I left . . .What? No that does not count either. I did not walk out, I was thrown out. . . . Look, my joke was funny. You’re just jealous because the female Tiefling clearly wants me. . . . Take that back!!! . . . Shut up, you miserable flea ridden . . . ok there is nothing wrong with fleas. Still you’ll treat me with . . . They are not smarter than me!!! That is it, this time you are dead! . . . .
END OF FOOTNOTE
“How far must we travel, great duke?” asked the golden eyed Tiefling bard, Polyphony.
“Three-thousand leagues.” Grayhain responded.
“Truly an epic quest.” commented the young Elvin paladin enthusiastically.
“I have far too much important work to do here.” Droned the warforged.
“What work can be more important than safeguarding your liege’s progeny?” the Duke demanded.
“Not my liege” reminded the second dwarf, Krag Gunderson, while unconsciously flexing against the manacles binding his hands together.
“Nor mine” said the mechanical being.
“Progeny” interjected the barbarian.
The true danger posed by the warforged was now becoming clear to Grayhain. The fragile consent the Duke had achieved with his speech was falling apart thanks to Rune’s obsession with mundane repairs. The Duke contemplated how to deal with this setback while the Paladin, Varian, harangue Rune for being a soulless constructed.
Nothing good could come out of such early conflict thought the Duke as he held up his hand for silence. “It has been my experience that nearly every place is in need of some repair, though some repairs are more intriguing that others.”
The bard’s melodious voice added “And it has been my experience, Great Duke, that the Machine Spirit manifests itself differently in the different kingdoms.”
“Different how?” asked Rune.
“Oh I don’t know if I can accurately tell you. I must admit that I do not really pay much attention to such details.”
“Most organics do not. They take the Machine Spirit for granted” stated the warforged, with the first sign of emotion It had demonstrated.
“Of course” the Tiefling continued, “I am sure that an Artificer of your obvious skills, would find these difference and these details, to be endlessly fascinating. “
“Not if I am forced to spend my time caring for little organics.”
“Who with time and the proper education could come to regard the Machine Spirit, all of its details, and in all of its differences, with respect.”
“No organic could properly teach this respect. “lamented the warforged.
“I agree. It would take a warforged of exceptional quality and dedication to teach such an important understanding to small impressionable organics” said the Bard.
Rune did not respond but in its silence it seemed to withdraw its objection to the journey.
With a quick smile of thanks to Polyphony, the duke rounded on Gunderson. “Your clan and my people have had a long and beneficial history. My city’s gold flowed into Dwarven underhalls as payment for the fine construction and craftsmanship provided by your people during the construction of this city. “
“True” answered the bearded warrior as he, once again strained against the manacles binging his arms together.
“What I propose would simply be a continuation of that profitable relationship between our kin. Besides” the Duke shrugged, “the alternative is that you would remain in these dwarven built dungeons, and continue to wear those dwarven forged manacles.”
“By yourself” said the Elvin female, Yanni. “I, for one, look forward to watching the Artificer teach ‘small organics’ the ways of the Machine Spirit.”
“And I will not turn my back on such noble quest. An entire kingdom needs our help. We must respond.” said the Paladin.
“Respond ” added Kovrim as he pounded his skull with his fist.
“It will be extremely dangerous” said the human archer in a voice that sounded even more devoid of humanity than the warforged’s. “Assignments from Nobles are never without considerable risk.”
“Krag Gunderson is not afraid of any being or of any danger. I have been slaying those who oppose me long before you were whelped.”
“Then I pity you”, responded the young man as he withdrew inside of himself.
Gunderson looked at the Duke “The best do not come cheaply, Duke Grayhain.”
“You will find the compensation to be more than acceptable, master dwarf.
“Kovrim wants out now! grayhair.” The Barbarian grabbed his cell bars with both hands and began to shake the bars. “Kovrim go anywhere! with anyone!. Kovrim keep little manlings alive and kill all enemies.” The entire wall of bars was now resonating from the barbarian’s efforts. “Let Kovrim out now!”
Before the duke could respond, one of the jailers swung his club at the barbarian’s hands. With a glare, the dwarf retreated to the corner of his cell and resumed his mutterings.
“Fletcherson” called out the duke to the last holdout, the human who looked to be barely older than the children he would be escorting. “What say you?”
The young man looked up. “My family has always served king and country, Great Duke”. Then looking around at his surroundings he continued “what choice have we ever had?”
Chapter II
Sewers, Souls, and Scampering
“Bloody Nobles!” Mark Fletcherson silently raged as he kept pace with his small party of ‘volunteers’ and their guards in the abandoned sewers. “It is not enough that they kidnap and imprison you. They then force you to agree to a suicide mission to journey across the very face of the world. But the royals don’t stop at these simple ignominies. They then bind you with a magical ritual so that your eternal soul is in jeopardy if you fail.”
Mark’s thoughts were briefly interrupted as the Dwarven warrior snarled “Guard, this is the third switchback that you have taken. You are either lost or deliberately wasting our time.”
“Wasting time” agreed the dwarf’s barbarian kin while fingering the edge of his two handed axe.
The guard paled a bit at the dwarves’ gruff challenges. “I assure you Sir Gunderson, I am not lost nor am I wasting time. We back track in order to guarantee that we are not being followed.”
“There is no one following us, human” hissed the leather clad female elf as she suddenly appeared from the shadows near the guard. “While you have been walking in circles I have had ample opportunity to check our back trail.”
A second guard approached to gathering and the argument escalated. Mark noted that even the paladin, his features taunt and pale, seemed ready to shed blood over the delay. “It is the magical binding.” Mark thought. A sense of unease had settled over him and, from what he could observe, over his companions after the Arch Bishop completed the ritual. To be separated from the very beings whose safety is the key to one’s soul, was extremely stressful. Being forced to wander in the dark, with no understanding of the destination, and with nothing to do but fret over the fate of the unseen wards, was unbearable.
Ahead, the argument escalated. Violence was only moments away. “All of this so that we can protect the bloodline that started a twice be damned war. Why? So that when the brats grow up they can return and start up another pointless war, conscript children into their armies, and destroy field and village alike in pointless battles. Like their ancestors, these children will leave nothing to the future but ruins, overfilled cemeteries, plaques, and heroic statues of themselves and their cronies.”
Mark, now alone and unsupervised slowly began to move away. “No more. I will not be responsible for enslaving future generations to the vagaries of royal’s vanity fueled destruction.” Mark though. Yet, as he turned to flee, Mark’s heart pounded as if he had already run leagues. He felt flushed and sweat covered his entire body. His legs would not move and the pounding of his skull drowned out even the quarrelling voices of the guards and the volunteers. His vision narrowed. Then, a light touch on his should turned him around and away from flight.
“It is the spell” stated the melodic voice from somewhere in front of him. “It will not allow you to betray your Pledge” the voice continued. “Abandoned all thought of escape, of betrayal, and the spell will release its hold on your body.”
Mark took a step towards the cluster of men and women. Their argument forgotten as they now watched him with a singular focus. Somehow they had sensed his attempted treachery. Mark noticed that with the first step his vision expanded back to normal. Another step and the pounding in his head subsided. Another step caused the racing of his heart to slow. He looked and saw that the Tiefling was keeping in step with him, her golden eyes watching him with concern, rather than anger.
“The Archbishop, cast a powerful binding spell.” she said in her distinctively beautiful voice.
“He should” Mark responded as he walked past the rest of the now silent group, ignoring their hard stares. “I am sure that he has had plenty of practice. Bloody nobles!”
* * * * * *
When the small group finally emerged from the sewers and entered the cramped room where the Duke and the children waited, the volunteers were frantic with anxiety. They immediately crowded around their charges, as a starving man rushes a buffet. The Duke calmly extracted his kin from the circle of protectors. In a regal tone, completely at odds with the dingy surroundings, the Duke announce “Sirs and Dames” and rested his strong right hand on the shoulder of a handsome red haired boy of perhaps twelve dressed in plain tunic, leggings, and cloak. “I present to you Prince Jasin Greyhain, eldest son of King Harold and undisputed heir to the Throne, Scepter, and Crown.” The boy, tight lipped, stepped forward, gave a practice bow, and then as he straightened, let his eyes quickly move over the volunteers, assessing them.
“And this” continued the old Duke “is Princess Emalin Greyhain, Eldest daughter of King Harold, and undisputed second in line to the Throne, Scepter, and Crown.” The princess, pulled back the hood of her traveling cloak, releasing her tightly curled blond hair and stepped up next to her older, taller brother. She remained still silently gather the attention of all of the room’s occupants. Then, with a dignity that cannot be taught, curtsied low. She straightened, replace her hood and stepped back to grasp her great uncle’s left hand. He squeezed her hand lightly in response.
With his free right hand the Duke gestured towards two packs resting against the nearby wall “I took the liberty of having some basic supplies prepared and packed should anyone require them.” The barbarian and the warforged silently stepped forward and took the packs. “Very well, we should begin.” The Duke faced the guards. “I will escort my family out of the sewers. Return to the castle and await my return.” The men saluted and obviously relieved to be free from the ritual crazed band, quickly left the room.
“Don’t get lost on your way back to your beds” shouted the barbarian to their backs. The duke, though puzzled, chose to ignore the comment. “No doubt” he thought “just another example of the barbarian’s many eccentricities.”
The small band left the room with the Duke leading the way, closely followed by the two dwarves. The paladin, smiled, bowed to the royal heirs, and took a position immediately in front of them in the procession. The tiefling calmly took up a position behind the children. Mark and Rune crossed the now dry sewage drainage channel and kept even with children. Yanni, alternately ranged ahead of and then behind the party. The Elf moved silently, and under cover of the shadows cast by the two glow sticks the party carried to light their way.
For more than an hour the band moved at a quick pace, with only the occasional muttered comments by the dwarves as to the quality of the sewer’s construction breaking the silence. Several times Rune stopped as if to examine or perhaps to repair some feature of the sewers, but each time, it seemed compelled to abandon its efforts.
The Duke came up short as the dim light cast by the glow sticks revealed that the tunnel ahead was completely filled and made impassible by debris. “This is new” he said.
“A trap” observed Varian, drawing his sword.
“Good” stated Gunderson as he moved in front of the Duke, his distinctive double axe held loosely in his right hand.
“Perhaps an ambush” the Duke nodded and he ushered the children with him to the back of the party. “There should be a door just at the edge of the barricade. Scout ahead. We shall await you here.”
As the party was arraigning themselves, Gunderson stepped forward and kicked down the door. Nothing happened. The dwarf moved into the tunnel. “Draw them out” called Mark as he nocked an arrow in his great bow. The barbarian followed Gunderson into the corridor, pausing only to stick his tongue out at the human archer. Another crash from inside of the corridor evidenced that Gunderson had found another closed door. This time, however, there was a high pitched series of squeaks.
“Wererats”, the Dwarf bellowed as he charged forward.
“Kill them all! Kill them all” the barbarian screamed as he followed. The Elvin paladin shrugged to the archer and then moved forward into the corridor as well. There was a brief clash of metal and then two distinct high pitched shrieks. The sound of another door opening and this time Varian issued a challenged to an unseen foe. Another death bestial cry followed.
“Mine, mine, mine,” bellowed Kovrim as he rushed back into the corridor and then disappeared past the paladin. Another crash of metal striking metal followed by two audible wet thunks sounded from the direction the barbarian had taken.
By this time Yanni, from her position beside the corridor’s entrance peered inside and declared. “Rat free.” She moved in followed by the rest of the party. Kovrim, covered in blood inspected his equally blood encrusted executioner style great axe. Beside him, Gunderson’s own double axe was no less bloody, but somehow his armor was free of any blood. Kneeling nearby, the Paladin, equally pristine in appearance, finished up the death prayer for his fallen opponent. The barbarian, satisfied with his weapon’s condition, shook himself like a dog emerging from a lake, and drops of blood covered everyone in the hallway.
“What?” Kovrim asked as his companions stared in disbelief at him. “Don’t worry, it is not mine.”
Mark, glanced into the first room off of the tunnel and saw two almost human sized furry forms slumped unmoving against the far wall. Their rusted and nicked swords resting on the floor. Rune was beginning to repair the corridor door that Gunderson had shatter with his first kick as Mark continued forward to look into the second room off of the corridor where the Paladin had said the blessing. To Mark’s dismay the humanoid form laying in the threshold changed before his eyes, from a furry man-sized rat like creature, to a smooth skinned half naked man. When he looked at the room’s second dead occupant, he saw that this being also appeared to be fully human.
“the legends appear to be true.” Commented Polyphony as she examined the dead humans. “Wererats are not a species onto themselves, only diseased humans. Upon death they are freed of their curse and thus revert back to their original forms.”
“The legends are not entirely, accurate” complained Yanni. “This lot does not appear to hoard shinny shinny things, such as gold and precious gems.” The Paladin gave his kinswomen a disapproving stare and then moved further into the corridor stopping next to another door. The two dwarves moved up next to the elf knight.
The elf rested his ear against the door and then whispered “I hear movement coming from inside. Perhaps we should prepare . . .”
“to charge” interrupted Gunderson, as he kicked open the door.
“Organics, stop creating disrepair” called out Rune from his position beside the second shattered door. Heedless of the Warforged’s admonishment, the three warriors poured into the new room. Their battle cries were met with growls and deep hissing.
“Ho, big rats. goody” Kovrim’s voice resounded over the cacophony of noise. The remainder of party rushed into the room. The battle inside was fierce but its outcome was never in doubt. Within seconds two hound sized rats and their wererat handlers were dead. The two remaining larger and better equipped wererat warriors were quickly surrounded and dispatch by a combination of axes, swords, and arrows.
Yanni, wiped her blade on the fur of one of the dead giant rats and efficiently searched the quasi rodents’ bodies. Clucking in disappointment she sheathed her blade and rejoined her companions.
The Duke and the children entered the room. Despite their youth, neither child appeared to be bothered by the carnage. Mark took their dispassionate detachment to death as further support for his hatred of all things Royal. This angry thought directed at his charges, cause pain in his chest to flare up.
Gundreson, his armor now splattered with both his own blood and that of his vanquished foes, gestured towards door on the side of the room. “This should lead back to the main tunnel.” His prediction proved correct and the band resumed its march down the ancient sewers.
Chapter III
Committee of Concerned Citizens
After several more hours of travel, the party left the abandoned sewers and descended to the more recently constructed and still very much in use sewers. Only the warforged was unfazed by the choking stench. “I do not breathe, therefore, I do not smell.” It noted with obvious pride as it marched past its organic companions as they hastily tied cloths over their faces in a futile attempt to block out some the smell.
The majority of the new sewer tunnel’s floor consisted of a deep and swiftly flowing channel of brown liquid. On either side of this channel were narrow walk ways. The party divided themselves on to either side of the channel. In this formation they advanced as rapidly as the children’s small tired legs would allow. There was no attempt to rest. Each eager to leave this foul tunnel, except of course for Rune, who regularly questioned the dwarves and the Duke regarding various designed feature that Rune detected in the sewer’s construction. Its questions went, for the most part, unanswered as talking required more breathing.
A few miles more of travel brought the party to a wide section of the tunnel. “There is a set of metal grates just ahead. They lead out of here” gasped the Duke through his makeshift mask.
Before anyone could react to these instructions, a flicker of light appeared in the center of the tunnel seemingly to float above the channel. A dark shape could barely be seen in dim light.
“Give us the children and you will be allowed to leave here alive.” The Figure stated. The Duke moved forward cautiously.
“Why do you want the children?” he asked the dim form.
“That is none of your concern” the figure responded.
“Who told you that the children would be here?” the duke pressed.
“Give us the children and you may leave with your lives.” The figure repeated.
“Who are you?” the duke demanded.
“A committee of concerned citizens” the figure mocked.
“Very well, citizen, you may not have the children. Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he said to Gunderson “Deal with this.”
“Finally,” the Dwarf answered while moving forward towards the figure. “Manlings talk too much; it’s a wonder that you ever find time to kill anything.”
Suddenly, a flash of bright light blinded every member of the party. When their vision returned the figure was gone. In his place standing on a stone platform raised above the channel, and connected to each walkway by a 5 foot wide ramp stood four men and two large reptilian creatures. Each man bore a sword. Scattered behind the men, a score of glow rods fully lit the platform, the connecting ramps and the surrounding tunnel. Behind the first rank of foes, was the original figure, bracketed by two larger cloaked humanoids.
The two reptiles advanced to the forward edge of the platform, red boney crest raised and surrounding their fearsome faces. “Dragons” exclaimed the Barbarian as he tried to push past the warborn without falling into channel.
“Spitting Drakes” corrected Mark from near the back of the party. As if that was their cue, both drakes suddenly rose up and opened their mouths. One drake focused on Gunderson, and the other on Rune. A cloth yard shaft from Mark’s greatbow suddenly appeared in the open maw of the drake facing Gundeson, the creature shook its head in pain and frustration, its attack temporarily foiled. The other drake belched forth a stream of acid that fully covered Rune. His metal skin smoked from the corrosive liquid.[2]
FOOTNOTE
An excerpt from “A World in Need of Repair” by Rune, Warforged Artificer, Repairman, and Servant of the Machine Spirit. . . . In my travels I have often noted that organics, when given a choice, tend to prefer to protect each other and to ignore metal based life forms. My first encounter with organic monsters called ‘Spitting Drakes’ was a typical example of this organic-centrist view. My organic companion, the Archer Mark Fletcherson could have shot the drake attacking me, sparing me from its acid spray. Instead, he chose to shoot the Drake endangering his fellow organic companion, Krag Gunderson. This organic based biased, while hard to tolerate at times, is both inherent and widespread among organics of every species.
END OF FOOTNOTE
A shadow detached itself from the wall and advance toward the back of the Barbarian dwarf. Kovrim was too preoccupied trying to find a way around the now sizzling Rune to realize the danger, until a glass shard encrusted garrote dropped over his head.
Meanwhile, Gunderson, produced a matchlock handgun from his belt and fired at the wounded drake. The iron ball struck the beast in the skull. With a cry it fell dead.
On the other side of the channel, Rune, oblivious to its own melting skin or the choking sounds of the barbarian struggling behind it, stared at this previously unseen mechanical device in gunderson’s hand. “I must examine that” Rune stated to no one in particular.
Just behind the distracted Warforge, Kovrim tucked his chin in to protect his vulnerable throat from the garrote and then stomped backwards on his attacker’s left ankle. The blow caused the attack to stagger back. Freed, the barbarian turned toward his attacker, raising his mighty axe. Before he could strike though, Polyphony shrieked a string of profanity at the garrote wielding assailant.
The words struck the being with an almost physical force causing him to real backwards. Rune, no longer mesmerized by Gunderson’s fascinating new weapon, hurled a burst of sound energy at the strangler, striking him squarely in the back. With a cry of surprise, the strangler was propelled by the thunderous energy directly towards the tiefling and off of the narrow stone ledge. He splashed into the swiftly flowing brown liquid below. The overpowering current carried the doomed strangler away from the battle. [3]
FOOTNOTE
From the epic manuscript “The Future in My Humble Hands” by Polyphony. . . . As the assassin wrapped his deadly noose around my stocky companion’s neck, the villain caught sight of me. In my most commanding voice I ordered him to cease his vile attack. The assassin, apparently smitten, like so many before him, with my virtue ceased his shameful actions and, as if mesmerized by my form, moved towards me, too besotted to realized that in this direction of travel solid ground did not exist. He fell headfirst into the polluted river. As he was carried away in the current, no doubt to some horrid fate, he raised his head so that his eyes would be allowed to see me for as long as possible. My worthy companion, whose life I had saved, blew me a kiss. Ah, I lamented, another would be suitor, doomed to fail in his efforts to woo me. Once again the twin curses of perfect form and flawless virtue rested heavily on my shoulders.
END OF FOOTNOTE
Meanwhile, through a combination of arrows and a well placed iron ball, the second drake collapsed. The barbarian, finally managed to squeeze past the warforged and with a frenzied battle cry, charged the ramp leading to the platform and its four human occupants. Before the barbarian could reach the ramp, the humans nimbly leapt on the walkway and surrounded him.
The warforged summoned the energy from the Machine Spirit to reinforce the barbarian’s armor. The thunderous sound resulting from this merging of the Machine Spirit’s energy with the barbarian’s armor actually caused one of the human attackers to stagger backwards. The Artificer began another incantation, when a glass covered garrote, nearly identical to the one that had previously endangered the barbarian, dropped over Rune’s throat. The garrote wielder began vigorously sawing on the warforged’s throat.
Gunderson, who had been advancing to help his surrounded kinsman, changed direction and made a double attack at the cloaked figure sawing on the Warforged neck. Unfortunately, the strangler shifted the warforged at the last moment so that Gunderson’s mighty blows actually struck Rune, rather than his assailant. Almost immediately afterwards, Yanni lunged at the strangler as well. Once again the strangler adroitly shifted Rune so that the elf’s sword struck the warforged. “Organics, stop helping me!” Rune cried. “You are causing much disrepair.”
Kovrim was equally frustrated by his situation. The weedy humans refused to stand and fight. Every time the dwarf would lunge at one, the human would give ground, and his cowardly companions would attack the barbarian’s exposed flanks. Several of these flank attacks had result in some minor wounds to the dwarf. More distressingly, there was some form of poison on the humans’ blades that made the dwarf sluggish and deadened his limbs. In less than a minute, Kovrim, though still standing and barely injured, was immobile with the head of his powerful axe resting on the stone pathway.
The warforged’s situation was now desperate. Its attacker continued to saw furiously on its neck with the garrote while Gunderson and Yanni watch helplessly. Rune was nearly deactivated from the extensive damage it had suffered from friend and foe alike. Polyphony, from the on the other side of the channel once again unleashed a stream of vile profanity at the new strangler. But though Bard’s efforts clearly had an impact, this strangler he was able to maintain his hold on the warforged.[4]
FOOTNOTE
From the epic manuscript “The Future in My Humble Hands” by Polyphony. . . . The steadfast Rune was ensnared by a second assassin. Only this villain was blind, incapable of perceiving and therefore being moved by my physical perfection. Others would have to save the peerless Artificer. Things were looking grim.
END OF FOOTNOTE
Yanni feinted high with her rapier and when the strangler shifted Rune to intercept the fake attack, the elf dropped gracefully into a crouch and kicked the strangler’s left knee with her right foot. Unbalanced, the strangler released his victim. Yanni followed up with a powerful kick to the strangler’s chest. The force of the blow propelled him off of the narrow walkway and into the channel’s swift brown current. The second strangler’s futilely flailing form was carried off to share a septic grave with his predecessor.
In Kovrim’s poisoned brain something alien stirred and the nearly comatose dwarf suddenly opened his eyes “Yes, I missed you too” he said to no one in particular. The human who had cautiously advanced to dispatch the helpless dwarf, paused in surprise, and died for his hesitation. The barbarian’s axe struck the human just below the left hip and continued unimpeded into his abdomen. Mortally wounded, he slumped to the ground. The first human’s death seemed to rouse the dwarven barbarian out of his lethargy and he hurled himself into the stunned ranks of the surviving humans delivery crippling wounds to each of them.
From further back in the tunnel, the original figure who had identified himself as a “concerned citizen” decided that it was past time for he and his companions to intervene. But they found their most direct path into the fray blocked by an acid cloud conjured by the Artificer. By the time reinforcement reached the platform, still coughing from their brush with the artificer’s acidic barrier, they found the three remaining humans slain and a resolute Elvin knight eagerly awaiting them at the center of the platform. The “concerned citizen’s” two body guards shed their concealing cloaks to and charged the knight. The elf found himself hard pressed by his attackers, two nearly seven foot tall dragonborn warriors. Outnumbered and outmuscled, the skilled knight still gave as good as his got.
From the shadows, Yanni appeared behind one of the dragonborn, but then cried out in pain and dropped to the floor. Behind her, the “concerned citizen” who also had the skill of appearing from nowhere, withdrew his sword from her unmoving form. With a might swing, Varian, forced his opponents to step back from him. The knight immediately called out “Sehanine, heal and protect mine ally” A soft glow of pure white light emanated from the paladin’s form and engulfed Yanni’s prone form. The vicious sword wound in her back began to close.
Snarling, the dragonborn attempted to reengage the paladin, but one stumbled when an arrow struck his leg and the other reeled back with a gash from Gunderson’s double axe and collapsed to the floor. The Elvin paladin efficiently dispatched the remaining dragonborn warrior.
Now alone, the “concerned citizen” turned to flee only to collapse with an arrow in his back.
Still suffering from the effects of his deceased attackers’ poisoned blades, Kovrim dropped to his knees. “So” he called out to the Duke on the far side of the tunnel “when does this quest start to get difficult?” Lying prone at the center of the platform, yanni groan and rolled onto her side.