Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth

[Lazybones]

I've been asked to guest-DM a 3.0/3.5 game in January; should be interesting, as it's been quite a while since I've run a tabletop session. I'll take notes in case it ends up as story fodder. Since I'm inserting an adventure into an existing campaign, I was thinking of running "Chadranther's Bane" from Dungeon magazine #18.

I now have 8 posts drafted for KotS (although a few are still a bit rough). I hoping that I can get the rest of the story done during the holiday week lull. Assuming all goes as planned, I'll post M-W-F until it's done.

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Chapter 58


Devrem’s assumption proved to be true, as they encountered no organized resistance moving further into the complex. They found several rooms that had obviously been quarters for hobgoblins; these showed signs of having been hastily vacated and looted, a confirmation that the surviving hobgoblin guards had decided to cut their losses and depart. At one point they were attacked by a giant spider that leapt at them from a darkened corridor, but the adventurers had been expecting an attack, and the creature was cut down before it could do more than punch a few holes in Mara’s cloak with its fangs. After cleaning their weapons, they moved on, leaving the bloody carcass lying in the passageway behind them.

They finally came to a set of double doors decorated with grim designs that looked to have been marked with charcoal upon the faded wood. Devrem stared at them for a moment, but said nothing. Finally Mara stepped forward and tried the handle on the nearer door; it gave with only slight resistance, revealing a large chamber beyond.

The room was dominated by its central feature, a massive stone plinth that supported a kneeling stone figure of a warrior, clad in breastplate and helm in an archaic style. The depicted fighter bore a sword that he held in a ready position, as if frozen in the instant before a strike. The statue occupied the center of the room, under a domed ceiling that rose up to an apex a good twenty feet above the floor.

There were other, smaller statues in the far corners to the left of the doors, gargoyles or dragons or somesuch, resting on smaller pedestals. Beyond the central statue they could just make out a deep alcove or annex, which looked to be occupied by several additional carvings that were not quite distinguishable at this distance.

For a moment the companions just took it all in, then Mara shifted her swords at her hips and started forward. But Beetle, who had slipped into the forefront of the group, held up a hand to forestall her.

“What’s this, now?” the fighter asked.

Beetle didn’t respond or even turn; he took a step forward, but kept his hand up as if it were a barrier to keep them back.

“Let him go ahead,” Jaron said in explanation. “This is his thing.”

Mara shook her head, not quite understanding, but she remained with the others as Beetle walked alone into the room. As the halfling drew apart from them the room he seemed to grow smaller, or maybe it was the room and its statues that seemed larger and more menacing by comparison. Beetle walked straight toward the large statue of the warrior, until he suddenly stopped a good ten paces from the base of the plinth. He stood there for almost a minute, staring up at it in silent appraisal.

“What is he seeing that we’re not?” Elevaren asked.

Mara, still looking dubious, opened her mouth to retort, but before she could respond Beetle suddenly took a step forward. The reaction was immediate. The statue twisted and pivoted, its sword lashing out in a deadly low arc that would have cut the halfling in two. But even as it surged into motion Beetle retracted his step, moving back to where he’d been a moment before. The tip of the stone blade passed close enough to lift his cloak in the gust of his passage, but it did not connect. Beetle simply stood there and watched the stone giant as it recovered from its swing, and fell back into the same ready position it had been in when they had first entered.

“It seems we have reason to be grateful for your cousin’s instincts,” Devrem said.

“What’s he doing now?” Mara asked. And indeed Beetle had turned away from the statue—after dragging the toe of his boot across the spot on the floor where the range of the warrior’s sword extended, noting the edge of the “safe” zone with a scuff mark—and started toward the dragon statues on the far side of the room.

“There are potent magical forces at work here,” Elevaren noted, but that much was obvious to all of them.

Beetle slowed slightly as he approached the nearer of the two dragon-statues. The thing was tiny compared to the stone warrior, but still it loomed over Beetle, its lifeless eyes seeming to monitor his approach.

“Be careful,” Jaron whispered, almost to himself.

None of them were surprised when the dragon statue turned out to be a trap. But all of them were caught off-guard when the head of the statue shifted slightly, and it breathed out a gout of brilliant scarlet energy, a deadly stream that washed over Beetle, obscuring him from the view of the others.

“Beetle!” Jaron yelled, but he was too late and too far away to intervene as Beetle vanished within the pyrotechnic surge.

 

[Richard Rawen]

... Stay tuned.
* * * * *

Oh you're a funny one... you've got us addicted, what choice do we have?

I always enjoyed a good guest DM back in my player days, they shake up the normal pacing and keep you on your toes

 

[Voyeur]

Lazybones,
I discovered the Doomed Bastards and finished them about the time you finished writing them. Thank you. I thank you, particularly, for your thoughtful writing of the _experience_ of faithfullness on the part of your clerics - I've been lurking for a while and not seen that done well very often.
Anyway, thanks for the reliably good story - well written and real characters. I'm enjoying your Keep on the Shadowfell and looking forward to more.
Voyeur

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks for the supportive comments, Voyeur.

* * * * *

Chapter 59


The companions hastened forward, giving the stone warrior a wide berth. For a moment they couldn’t see anything clearly, as the dragon’s breath had flared in their vision, like a sudden ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds.

When they could finally see, there was no sign of Beetle where the stone dragon’s breath had struck.

“It obliterated him,” Elevaren began, but Jaron pointed and said, “No, look!”

They followed the halfling ranger’s finger and saw Beetle, clambering up atop the back of the statue, coming into clear view as he pulled himself up onto the crest where its neck met its head. The statue did not react, although a ruddy glow was still visible in the opening of its mouth, waiting for another opportunity. Beetle almost gave it that chance as he leaned precariously forward from its neck, his weight balancing on one hand clinging to the statue’s ear. His other hand shot forward, and then he flipped ahead, landing easily on his feet a few feet ahead of the statue.

Almost as soon as his shoes touched the floor, the statue’s head turned to track him. “Look out, Beetle!” Mara warned, starting forward to pull him out of the way of another energy discharge. But Beetle did not even look back as the red glow flared, and streaks of energy erupted around the hilt of the dagger that the halfling had wedged into the dragon’s mouth. For a moment the statue was surrounded by a blazing corona of streaking crimson, and then the head exploded in a shower of stone shards and dust. Mara lifted a hand to shelter her face from the debris, but Beetle merely stepped out of the chaos he had created, walking forward to rejoin the group.

“You really are crazy, aren’t you?” Mara asked, shaking her head to clear away some of the particles that had clung to her. Beetle merely grinned up at her.

There seemed little reason to test the second dragon statue, so they gave it a wide berth and made their way across the room to the far alcove they had noticed earlier. They could see a door now, on the far end of the alcove, which extended for a good twenty feet ahead of them. There were also more statues, which the companions regarded dubiously as they approached. There were four of them, carved into the semblance of cherubs, plump human-like infants with small wings and carrying large stone jugs in their stubby arms. They stood at the four corners of the annex, affixed to low platforms that merged into the walls, set at around chest-height for the taller of the adventurers, almost too high for the halflings to reach.

“All right, even I can tell that this is a trap,” Mara said. They all watched Beetle, who walked back and forth before the alcove a few times, studying the statues, the floor, and the far door in turn. Finally, with the same deliberation he’d used in dealing with the warrior statute, he took a step forward into the alcove.

In response, a shimmer flickered into being in the air just behind him. Beetle turned and tapped a dagger against it, revealing that the vague distortion was in fact a nearly-invisible barrier of force. Jaron and Elevaren moved quickly to test its edges, finding that it stretched between the two closest cherubs, extending across the entire face of the alcove. Beetle was trapped.

“We’ve got to find a way to get him out of there,” Elevaren said. Beetle looked unconcerned, and he started toward one of the statues. He managed only a few steps before all four of the statues shifted slightly, turning their stone jugs forward and down. They had barely finished the motion before a gout of water erupted from inside each container, splashing onto the floor of the annex in a powerful and apparently unending stream. Beetle, caught by the force of the deluge, was driven back, fumbling to keep his footing as the impact of the water drove him toward the center of the annex.

“The statues!” Jaron exclaimed, pointing to the one that had knocked down his cousin. The two nearest the entrance straddled the force barrier, leaving a part of them accessible to those outside. Mara drew her longsword and hurried toward it, but Devrem was faster, thrusting his staff against the stone carving and unleashing a torrent of divine magic. The silver flashes flickered brightly as they flared out around the stone, which withstood them without cracking. But the attempt drew a reaction.

“Look out!” Elevaren warned, as the intact dragon statue in the corner released a pulse of crimson energy toward the companions. Mara dove out of the way, but Devrem was not quick enough, and the blast struck him solidly in the chest, knocking him to the ground. The cleric blinked, dazed by the impact.

Meanwhile, within the magical trap, the flood of water continued, and had already risen to the level of Beetle’s hips. Without anywhere to escape, and with the cherubs’ jugs continuing to pour out their deluge, the water began to swirl in the direction of the flood, forming a whirlpool that picked up the hapless halfling, carrying him in a spiral that left him little opportunity for escape.

 

[Lazybones]

Merry Christmas to all my readers, regular posters, long-time lurkers, and newcomers alike!

* * * * *

Chapter 60


“He’ll drown in there!” Jaron yelled, as Elevaren helped Devrem back to his feet.

“We have to find a way to destroy those statues,” the cleric growled. “Without getting hit by that damned stone dragon!”

Mara looked from the cleric to the trapped halfling, then at the dragon statue. “Let me worry about the dragon. You three get that field down!” Without waiting for a response, the fighter turned and started toward the stone dragon.

Devrem and Elevaren shared a quick look, then turned together back toward the cherub statue that the cleric had attacked moments ago. The two summoned their magic, hurling the silver flares of divine power and the twisting multicolored strands of fey magic at the statue together. Both currents flashed bright against the stone, but it was difficult to see what effect, if any, they were having.

“Hold on, Beetle!” Jaron yelled. He fired an arrow into the statue, the steel head chipping off one of the ears of the cherub.

Once again the dragon statue responded, flinging a bolt of energy at those attacking the cherub. This time Mara stood in its way, and she intercepted the blast with a parry from her long blade. The force-bolt passed around the steel as if it wasn’t there, and hit Mara on the arm just below her elbow. The impact spun her around and numbed the entire limb; Mara gritted her teeth against the sensation and grimly pressed forward. I can’t absorb too many of those, she thought to herself.

Within the trap, Beetle was being swirled around by the whirlpool, which was growing stronger as the water continued to rise. It was now deeper than he was tall, and he kept vanishing below the surface as the current spun him wildly about. He caromed hard off one of the pillars, but there was nothing for him to hold on to, no shelter from the increasingly dangerous waters.

Finally, as he came back around toward the front of the annex, he vanished underwater, kicking hard off the floor and coming up right under one of the cherubs. He lunged and hooked his hand onto the edge of its jar, barely keeping his grip against the still-powerful rush of water coming from it. His other arm hung limp at his side. Grunting with the effort, he pulled himself up under the flow of water, hooking his legs around the statue’s body. The flood continued to pull at him from behind as he hung there, and he nearly lost his tenuous position as he released his grip on the jar, relying on his legs to hold him in place. But he did hold on, and he drew a knife with his good hand, and started chipping away at the stone arms holding the jar in place.

More magic blasted into the other statue, as Devrem and Elevaren kept up their assault. Jaron rushed over to the other side of the alcove in an attempt to help Beetle. But while his cousin was less than a foot away, the shimmering barrier that separated them meant that he may as well have been on the other side of the world. Frustrated, Jaron fired an arrow point-blank into the side of the cherub that he could reach, but the missile only shattered on the hard gray stone.

Mara blocked another force-bolt with her body, and charged to attack the statue before it could strike again. But the stone dragon could defend itself, and it unleashed another blazing cone of energy as its cohort had against Beetle earlier. Mara was not nearly as nimble as the halfling, and she could not avoid the surge, which blasted her back several feet and launched her hard onto her back. Groaning, she tried to get up, but the room seemed to sway around her, making movement difficult.

The water level rose steadily, and soon it engulfed Beetle anew. But the halfling somehow held on, and his dagger still flashed within the surging floor, carving at the cracks that were now visible in the statue’s stone arm. The statue on the other side of the alcove was showing signs of wear, now, with spiderwebs of cracking where Devrem and Elevaren continued to lash at it. With Mara down an energy bolt from the stone dragon got through, hitting Elevaren hard on the shoulder and knocking him down to his knees. Devrem, roared in defiance and thrust his staff into the densest part of the damage marking the cherub, releasing a final surge of magic into it. Opposite him, Jaron fired another arrow that struck the neck of his target, at the same time that Beetle’s dagger finally bit through the statue’s damaged arm, and everything seemed to come apart at once.

A wall of water surged outward from the annex. Devrem and Jaron were knocked off their feet, and Elevaren was caught up and spun around, finally ending up tangled with the priest back toward the center of the room. Jaron, closer to the edge of the barrier, was not launched quite so far, and as the flood eased he quickly crawled toward his cousin, who was lying on his back a few paces distant, not moving.

“Beetle! Beetle!” he yelled, shaking the waterlogged halfling. When that yielded no response he knelt and breathed into his cousin’s mouth. Suddenly Beetle shook and coughed, spitting up a considerable quantity of water. He moaned as he shifted onto his injured arm. “Your shoulder is dislocated,” Jaron said. “Hold on… Devrem!”

But the cleric was not in an immediate position to help. As the cleric started to rise, reaching down to help the battered Elevaren, he heard a groaning noise above and behind him.

He turned to see the huge stone warrior swinging his massive blade down toward them.

As if that wasn’t enough, the doors at the far side of the alcove burst open, and a horde of zombies surged forward into the room.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 61


Devrem was frozen by the sight of the huge blade coming down toward his body, but Elevaren, lying prone at his feet, grunted and thrust forward against the back of the priest’s knees. Devrem fell forward, and while the tip of the sword still clipped his torso, it was a glancing blow rather than a killing strike. Elevaren crawled forward after the priest, following him out of the killing zone around the statue.

Jaron looked up to see a surging knot of undead bearing down on him and his companions. There was no time to think about what to do; his bow was lost, carried off by the flood, and Beetle was lying at his feet, still virtually helpless.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he grabbed Beetle’s arm and yanked hard, pulling it back into its socket. Beetle cried out in pain, but there was no time to tend to him, as Jaron stood and stepped forward to keep the oncoming zombies at bay.

There were over a dozen of the undead monsters, foul, rotting things that left bits of decaying matter behind them on the damp and slippery floor as they moved forward. But their numbers gave them strength, and even as Jaron lunged at the first, several others were reaching for him with their mangled claws. His stroke bit into the meat of one of the zombies’ thighs, but while the blade carved through the rotting flesh, it did no real harm to the creature. One of the others drew its claws across his face, and he staggered back, blood trailing from gashes above his left eye. Another seized him by the collar of his cloak, and yanked him off his feet into its violent embrace.

Mara’s battle cry echoed through the room as she leapt into the fray, bringing her longsword down in a deadly arc that reduced the skull of the zombie holding Jaron to fragments of bone and gibbets of meat. The zombies pressed on her from all sides, but she held her ground, giving Jaron a chance to regain his feet.

“Fall back!” she shouted at the halflings, as zombies clawed at her armored body. Several zombies that were more intact than the swarming rotters had appeared in the midst of the group, and were pressing forward toward her.

“We won’t leave you!” Jaron yelled, but even as he spoke, a zombie came up behind Mara and smashed her hard across the shoulder blades. The fighter staggered forward and nearly fell, stumbling away from the two halflings. Several zombies surged into the gap, and rushed toward Jaron. The halfling was nearly overwhelmed again, but a knife flew over his head and buried itself to the hilt in the eye socket of the lead zombie, and it fell, delaying the advance of its companions.

“Run, Jayse!” Beetle yelled, pulling at his cousin’s sleeve. With a reluctant look at the zombies swarming all around his companions, Jaron followed his cousin back in retreat, four zombies shuffling along behind them.

Mara was nearly overwhelmed. The fighter had taken a beating from the dragon statue, and the zombies were strong for all their decrepit condition. She tried to cut one down, but her sword got fouled in the zombie’s arms, the creature paying no heed to the gashes the weapon cut in its flesh. Three zombies came at her before she could recover, grasping at her with their probing claws, seizing hold of her cloak and the sleeves of her tunic, their nails tearing the fabric as they tried to find the vulnerable flesh beneath. Thus far her armor had kept her intact, but with the zombies pressing hard it was only a matter of time before they were able to tear her apart.

Devrem stepped boldly into the midst of the press, the tip of his staff shining with silver fire. The cleric was seriously wounded, the tear in his shoulder where the stone warrior’s sword had struck oozing blood that soaked into his tunic. But the power of his goddess was with him, and the zombies fell back from that blazon, their bodies crumbling against that radiance. Fully five zombies, including those three holding Mara, came apart before his turning. But the two stronger ones surged ahead, defying the will of the Raven Queen, and in the doorway a still darker shadow materialized, creeping forward with a stink of decay coming in its wake.

Jaron started to turn as the zombies began to close the distance behind him and Beetle. But his cousin grabbed him and thrust him ahead. Beetle followed almost languidly, letting the zombies close the distance behind him as he veered off to the left.

“Beetle, what are you doing?” Jaron yelled. He started to come to his cousin’s aid, but Beetle’s slight smile forestalled him. The halfling rogue came to a sudden stop; the four zombies surged forward to take him.

Even as their claws extended out to grab him, Beetle stepped slightly over to his left.

The stone warrior shifted; his blade swept around in its broad arc. Beetle slid subtly to the side; the tip of the sword sliced the air inches from his face. It continued through the zombies, cleaving the first three like a scythe cutting overripe wheat. The three zombies fell to the ground in pieces. The last one, by chance a step out of range of the trap, tried to grab Beetle, but the halfling leapt nimbly out of its reach. It was almost trivial for Jaron to lunge in and cut it down with a single stroke of his sword.

In the center of the room, the battle still raged. The weaker zombie rotters had been carved away, leaving a pair of the stronger creatures, and the last arrival to the battle, and the strongest. This new foe was a ghoul, which surged forward and leapt upon Devrem, tearing with its claws and biting with powerful jaws full of jutting yellow teeth. Devrem tried to counter, but his staff proved a hindrance in such close quarters, and the silver flashes of radiant energy flickered past the creature without harming it. Its own dire power was imparted through its attacks, and the priest began to stiffen as a magical paralysis began to creep up on him.

Mara was in no position to help. The last two zombies were much stronger than the first ones, and the fighter was grievously injured. Elevaren helped her with blasts of fey magic, but the power that animated these zombies was durable, and the shimmering colors splashed over their bodies with little effect.

Mara fought on, delivering a heavy chop that severed one of the zombies’ arms at the elbow. That affected it, but the other one lunged forward before she could recover, dragging one arm around her neck. The other one yanked at her arm with its remaining hand, pulling her off balance. She tried to twist away, but the zombie holding her only tightened its grip, dragging her into a neck lock that she could not escape. Her struggles grew weaker as it cut off her supply of air.

Even as the fighter succumbed, Devrem found himself in increasing trouble against the ghoul. It knocked his staff aside, absorbing a surge of radiant energy that only drove it to a greater fury. Grabbing onto the priest, who was already moving stiffly because of the creeping paralysis from the ghoul’s touch, the undead monster dragged him close, seizing his neck in his jaws and biting down hard. The ghoul’s bite tore flesh even through the cleric’s coif, the thin metal links parting before the monster’s ferocious strength. Devrem issued a strangled cry of pain, one that faded as the ghoul pulled him to the ground in a thrashing pile of limbs and blood.

 

[carborundum]

Good grief! Fantastic stuff, sir! Pure, nail-biting awesomeness!

 

[Lazybones]

Good grief! Fantastic stuff, sir! Pure, nail-biting awesomeness!

Thanks! I aim to please.

Friday we'll get a look at what the bad guys have been up to. Happy New Year, everyone!

* * * * *

Chapter 62


With Devrem and Mara both incapacitated, and the others injured to some degree, the situation looked grim for the adventurers.

Jaron yelled as he charged the zombie holding Mara. The one-armed zombie turned to intercept him, sweeping with its remaining arm, but the halfling ducked under the limb, and stabbed his sword deep into the zombie’s side. The undead monster did not loosen its grip on the fighter, but the distraction gave Elevaren the opportunity to step in close and flare a searing discharge of witchfire into the zombie’s face. The zombie was not capable of feeling pain, but the burning white flames tore into the necromantic energies animating the creature, and it collapsed, falling with Mara’s limp form still clutched in its arms. Elevaren immediately bent to help her, yanking away the zombie’s rotting arms and pulling her free of it.

Devrem was now barely conscious, but he somehow managed to summon the strength to lift his hand and place it on the ghoul’s forehead. A white pulse of sacred flame erupted from his fingers, searing the ghoul’s clammy flesh. A blacklash of positive energy radiated from the attack, which Devrem channeled into Mara a second before the ghoul, driven to a violent rage, pummeled him into unconsciousness.

Jaron paid for helping Mara as the last zombie standing pummeled him hard across the shoulders with its remaining arm. But Beetle was coming to his cousin’s aid, and before the zombie could manage another strike the halfling leapt onto its back, pulling himself up onto its shoulders in a maneuver that belied the pounding he’d taken in the water trap just a few moments ago. He’d barely gained his high perch, the zombie just starting to shift to dislodge him, when he jabbed a dagger into its ear, the blade crunching nastily as its edges wedged into the gap in its skull. The zombie jerked and staggered into a blow from Jaron’s sword, which severed its spine and sent it crashing to the ground. Beetle sprang free easily, landing softly on his feet a few feet away.

The ghoul roared as it rose up over the battered form of Devrem, blood trailing from its claws and teeth. The companions met it with a barrage of steel and magic. Elevaren, still cradling Mara in his arms, flung an eldritch blast at it that burned a glowing swath across its chest, the fey magic reacting violently with the dark necromantic energies that animated it. The ghoul sprang at him, but both Jaron and Beetle were there to meet it. Jaron took a claw hard across his face that tore ugly red gashes across the side of his jaw, but he thrust hard with his little sword, burying it in the creature’s side. Its other claw swept at Beetle, but the halfling rogue ducked under the swing and sprang into the air, flipping forward before he landed on the ghoul’s back. The sudden weight caught the ghoul off guard, and it fell forward, landing in an awkward heap on the floor. It tried to flip over and dislodge Beetle, but the halfling held on, driving another dagger into its back to give him a handhold. As the ghoul spun Beetle kicked off and flipped it again, putting it back on its stomach and keeping him out of reach of its deadly claws. The ghoul was stronger and larger, and likely would have won free in another instant, but Jaron was there, and with a thrust that pierced its neck at the base of its skull, the ghoul fell limp.

Jaron wrenched his sword free—the tip had buried itself into the stone of the floor—and staggered back. He stared around him, trying to take in all that had happened to them in the last minute. Beetle sprang up off the ghoul’s back; he kicked the creature’s head once for good measure, then went over to check on Devrem. Elevaren was tending to Mara’s wounds.

“Is she…” Jaron asked.

“She lives. Devrem did something to her, healed her some, before the ghoul…”

Jaron looked over at Beetle, who was holding his fingers up to the priest’s mouth. He flashed Jaron a thumbs-up; the priest was alive, although it was obvious that he was grievously wounded. Mara seemed to be stable now, and was starting to come around, so Jaron went over to help his cousin with Devrem, sparing one glance toward the double doors on the far side of the alcove, where the zombie horde had appeared just moments ago. The portals gaped open, the space beyond shading toward blackness just a few feet beyond the doors.

Somewhere in there, Jaron knew, Kalarel was waiting for them, preparing the ritual that would, if successfully completed, spell doom for the Nentir Vale.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 63


Dark powers caressed the priest of Orcus, impinging upon his consciousness like the soft touch of a lover. Kalarel lost all awareness of his body as he floated within that wave of pure sensation, a darkness that pulsed in rhythm with the core of his corrupt soul.

A voice drew him back, tore him from that black embrace into the harsh confines of his flesh. Around him the surges of the ritual continued, undiluted, slowly building in intensity.

He let the annoyance he felt touch his face as he turned toward the intruder. Drathek was still a young man, powerfully built, but touched by that certain hungriness, that slightly gaunt look that came to haunt all followers of the demon god. Sinister fetishes and unholy icons decorated his mail, decorations that Kalarel no longer felt necessary. One look into the eyes of the senior priest was sufficient to identify his commitment to his cause, he needed no physical augments to reinforce that.

Now those eyes fixed upon Drathek, and the younger priest could not suppress a shudder. Kalarel’s lips twisted into a slight smile.

“Forgive me, great one,” Drathek said. “But the intruders have won through to the second level. They defeated the traps and the zombie guardians, although the clay scout reports that they have retreated for now, back into the complex vacated by the hobgoblins.” Drathek’s mouth twinged at that last; he had been responsible for the hiring of the goblinoid mercenaries, and he felt both anger at their desertion and some fear that he might be held accountable for their failure.

Kalarel waved a hand. “It is of no matter. Soon it will be too late, both for these champions of the light, and for Nentir Vale. And then, the lands beyond will feel the touch of the Shadow upon the world.”

“They will stop you,” a faint voice said from nearby.

Kalarel and Drathek both turned to view the speaker. He was affixed to the wall nearby, bound with wires that had bitten deep into the flesh of his wrists, ankles, and neck. His clothes hung in a wreckage from his torso, and failed to hide the marks of torture upon him. There was something slightly odd about his features, which gave him a slight air of mystery until one noticed the faint hints that indicated a mixed human-elven ancestry. A black mark of a skull with broad horns had been burned into his forehead, but a hint of fire still burned in his eyes.

There were five other captives sprawled out on the floor in front of the half-elf, unconscious and bound with simple ropes that pinned their arms and legs. They had not suffered the same degree of abuse as the half-elf, but their tattered clothes, the remains of simple peasant garb, were dirty and soiled with blood. None so much as stirred as the two priests of Orcus approached the half-elf bound to the wall.

“You may as well kill me,” the half-elf said, the words clearly taking an effort to get out. He seemed to be on the verge of falling into the unconsciousness that gripped the other captives. “I will never betray my god. The Lord of Light will claim my soul, once it is free of this corrupt place.”

Drathek’s expression darkened, and he started to take a step forward, but Kalarel merely shook his head. “No,” the elder cleric said. “No, I think not, Kevan. Now it is time for the Light to succumb to the Shadow.”

Kevan’s head lowered, and for a moment it looked as though he’d passed out; after a moment, though, the clerics could hear him muttering to himself under his breath, no doubt a prayer to his faraway god.

“He is strong in his faith,” Drathek said.

Kalarel smiled. “It is that which will make him useful to me.”

Drathek turned to face his superior. “Let me take the berserkers up and finish off the intruders. They are weakened, now, and will be vulnerable.”

“No,” Kalarel said.

“But…” Drathek began, only to trail off as Kalarel raised an eyebrow. “Say what you wish to say,” the older priest finally said.

“I know that the ritual is paramount, great one. But our forces are depleted. I will defend the upper shrine to my death, of course, but I only have the two warriors at my command. If they should get past me…”

Kalarel smirked. “Still you doubt my power?”

“No, great one!”

Kalarel had turned back to the great portal, at the shimmering field of dark within the ancient stone arch. He walked over to the design etched upon the floor before it, and stepped within. Frissons of magical power flared around the ancient markings, until they seemed almost alive. “Bring the prisoners to me,” he commanded. “Lay them here before the Shadow.”

Drathek obeyed. The cleric was strong, and he had no difficulty with the peasants; a few of them groaned when touched, but none of them regained full consciousness. The cleric of Pelor, Kevan, struggled when Drathek unfastened him from the wall, but he was too weak to do more than annoy the priest of Orcus. Drathek finally smashed him across the face with a gauntleted fist, and the half-elf subsided into a dazed stupor. Drathek deposited him upon the rune-carving with the other prisoners, who formed a ring around Kalarel.

The senior priest paid no heed; he was lost in some sort of a trance, his arms slowly coming up and spreading as he stared into the dark portal to the Shadowfell. Uncomfortable sounds came from his lips, forming a jarring chant that caused ripples to swell within the portal. Even as Drathek dropped the half-elf and stepped back, Kalarel shrieked a command, and the portal obeyed. Dark tendrils of shadow-stuff tore free and probed out into the room, twining out toward the evil cleric. Drathek darted back hastily, giving those filaments a very wide berth, but Kalarel was unconcerned, resuming his chant, a look of exultation spreading across his face as his power waxed. The tentacles continued to swell, and as they passed over the rune-circle they seemed to take on a more solid substance, their surface glistening like a slick of oil. For a moment it looked as though they would envelop Kalarel, but the cleric held them in thrall, and after a momentary hesitation they dipped down toward the bound prisoners. As the tips of the black tendrils passed into the body of each of the captives their bodies tensed, and their skin grew flush for a moment, before fading to a pale, waxy gray.

The last to succumb was Kevan, the priest of Pelor, who had watched the entire scene with a growing horror. Bright red blood trailed from his wrists and ankles as he tried unsuccessfully to part the wires that bound him. As another black tendril extended toward him he tried to squirm out of the rune circle, but he was too weak to do anything more than roll over onto his back. A prayer froze on his lips, and as the dark probing member of shadow-stuff drew closer, filling his vision, all he could do was scream, a hollow sound that filled the cavernous interior of the temple, echoing off the walls until it faded into a silence full of terror.

 

[Tamlyn]

You know, LB, I lurk way too much and don't encourage you nearly enough. I love your stuff. If you're not my favorite fantasy author, you are awfully close. Solidly in the company of Martin, Salvatore, Lovecraft, and Glen Cook.