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Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 70
For a moment, it looked like the end.
But the way to the Shadowfell was not completely open, not yet. The probing claws from beyond the portal slowed their reach, and came to a halt about five paces beyond the arch. The tendrils remained at full extension for a heartbeat, then retreated back into the black surface, which continued to roil and twist expectantly.
The sight of it seemed to shake Devrem into action, and he finally tore free of the wight’s dark spell. For a moment he stood there, indecisive, then Elevaren shouted at him, “Go! I’ll delay the wight!” The warlock drew his sword—itself an almost ridiculous gesture—and ran east, leaping over one of the narrow streams of blood that ran out from the central pool toward the nearest drain.
Devrem rushed to help Mara; the fighter needed the aid, as the skeletons were continuing to batter her. Weakened by Kalarel’s decaying ray, she was barely able to get her swords up to parry half of the blows the skeletons were raining upon her, and only the steel scales of her armor, and the protective power of the shield of faith that Devrem had placed around them before they’d leapt into the shaft, had kept her from being hacked to pieces. Her own attempts to attack were weak and ineffective.
Kalarel unleashed another decaying ray as Devrem came within range, but the priest withstood the attack upon his life energy, barely summoning the fortitude to withstand the effects of the eager red glow. He countered with a turning focused upon the skeleton warriors. The silver radiance that shone from his staff flared against an amorphous black energy that seethed from the animated bones; the necromantic energies that sustained them were potent. But the nearer of the two skeletons sagged back, as if punched by an invisible fist. The respite was temporary, but Mara put it to good use, summoning a desperate surge of energy from somewhere deep within and taking the attack to the remaining skeleton. Bone chips flew as she rang her longsword against its clavicle, but the skeleton refused to go down, countering with a blow across her stomach that drew a grunt of pain even through her armor.
Elevaren felt a cold thrill of fear in his chest as he approached the steps that led up to the platform where the wight waited for him. He wasn’t completely alone; he saw an arrow thud into the wight’s chest, but the creature completely ignored the shaft that jutted from its body, even though the steel head almost certainly would have penetrated its lung had it been living.
The warlock held his sword at the ready, but it was his magic that he used to attack. He lifted his hand and drew more deeply on the fey power than he ever had since arriving here from the Feywild, unleashing a pair of spiraling beams of power that sparkled and twisted around each other before slamming into the wight’s chest. Its feral snarl indicated that the attack had been successful, but as the glittering afterimage faded in the wake of the eldritch rain the wight burst forward, fixing the eladrin with a gaze that tore through him to the core. Elevaren lost all sense of reality for a moment, and only came to himself as he felt hard stone slam into his back. He looked up in surprise to see the statue or Orcus looming over him, a good fifteen feet from where he’d been standing a moment ago.
He looked down to see the wight’s hideous visage drawing rapidly closer as the creature bore down on him, its claws extended toward his face.
For a moment, it looked like the end.
But the way to the Shadowfell was not completely open, not yet. The probing claws from beyond the portal slowed their reach, and came to a halt about five paces beyond the arch. The tendrils remained at full extension for a heartbeat, then retreated back into the black surface, which continued to roil and twist expectantly.
The sight of it seemed to shake Devrem into action, and he finally tore free of the wight’s dark spell. For a moment he stood there, indecisive, then Elevaren shouted at him, “Go! I’ll delay the wight!” The warlock drew his sword—itself an almost ridiculous gesture—and ran east, leaping over one of the narrow streams of blood that ran out from the central pool toward the nearest drain.
Devrem rushed to help Mara; the fighter needed the aid, as the skeletons were continuing to batter her. Weakened by Kalarel’s decaying ray, she was barely able to get her swords up to parry half of the blows the skeletons were raining upon her, and only the steel scales of her armor, and the protective power of the shield of faith that Devrem had placed around them before they’d leapt into the shaft, had kept her from being hacked to pieces. Her own attempts to attack were weak and ineffective.
Kalarel unleashed another decaying ray as Devrem came within range, but the priest withstood the attack upon his life energy, barely summoning the fortitude to withstand the effects of the eager red glow. He countered with a turning focused upon the skeleton warriors. The silver radiance that shone from his staff flared against an amorphous black energy that seethed from the animated bones; the necromantic energies that sustained them were potent. But the nearer of the two skeletons sagged back, as if punched by an invisible fist. The respite was temporary, but Mara put it to good use, summoning a desperate surge of energy from somewhere deep within and taking the attack to the remaining skeleton. Bone chips flew as she rang her longsword against its clavicle, but the skeleton refused to go down, countering with a blow across her stomach that drew a grunt of pain even through her armor.
Elevaren felt a cold thrill of fear in his chest as he approached the steps that led up to the platform where the wight waited for him. He wasn’t completely alone; he saw an arrow thud into the wight’s chest, but the creature completely ignored the shaft that jutted from its body, even though the steel head almost certainly would have penetrated its lung had it been living.
The warlock held his sword at the ready, but it was his magic that he used to attack. He lifted his hand and drew more deeply on the fey power than he ever had since arriving here from the Feywild, unleashing a pair of spiraling beams of power that sparkled and twisted around each other before slamming into the wight’s chest. Its feral snarl indicated that the attack had been successful, but as the glittering afterimage faded in the wake of the eldritch rain the wight burst forward, fixing the eladrin with a gaze that tore through him to the core. Elevaren lost all sense of reality for a moment, and only came to himself as he felt hard stone slam into his back. He looked up in surprise to see the statue or Orcus looming over him, a good fifteen feet from where he’d been standing a moment ago.
He looked down to see the wight’s hideous visage drawing rapidly closer as the creature bore down on him, its claws extended toward his face.
Richard Rawen
First Post
Wow... from cliffhanger to ... ACK!
Great stuff!! Very much looking forward to the way this battle plays out, your skills are sharp as ever in detailing each aspect of the fight.
Great stuff!! Very much looking forward to the way this battle plays out, your skills are sharp as ever in detailing each aspect of the fight.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks, Richard!
* * * * *
Chapter 71
While his skeletons battled Mara and Devrem, Kalarel stepped forward to the edge of the platform, and summoned the dark energies of his patron to bolster his allies.
The evil cleric didn’t see the figure that crept up stealthily along the southern wall, and which sprang up onto the platform while the combatants were exchanging their initial attacks. His first awareness of Beetle’s presence was when the halfling stepped up and calmly stabbed a small knife to the hilt into the meat of Kalarel’s right calf muscle, just above the boot.
The cleric let out a surprised yell, but he turned on Beetle with a fury. Taking up his rod, he thrust it at the halfling. The blow wasn’t especially strong, but dark necromantic energies flared as the horned skull struck Beetle’s chest, and the diminutive rogue fell back, clutching at the black tendrils that flared around the point of impact, twisting in and out of his flesh. Kalarel laughed, and with a slight grimace reached down to tear Beetle’s knife out of his leg.
Working together with unspoken coordination, Mara shifted away from the skeleton facing her even as Devrem stepped forward to take up its attention. The fighter rushed up the stairs before the one that Devrem had stunned earlier could recover enough to block her. Her lips pulled back into a snarl as she sprang at the cleric, who was just turning back from his attack on Beetle. It looked as though the fighter had him, but even as she begun her swing the cleric reached up and touched an amulet on a throng around his neck, and disappeared.
Witchfire flared around the face of the wight as it hurtled toward Elevaren, but the magical attack only seemed to enrage it further. It slammed hard into the warlock, driving him hard against the mass of the stone plinth at his back, but he was able to barely twist out of the path of its claws before they could shear away half of his face. The wight was fantastically strong; as Elevaren fought to get free it seized hold of his arm and twisted it painfully back, nearly tearing it from its socket. Another arrow caromed off its head, hard enough to carve half of its ear from its head, but the undead monster fought with a ferocity beyond that of any mortal foe, and its sole focus now seemed to be the destruction of the eladrin warlock.
Kalarel had materialized in the center of a runic design inlaid into the floor in front of the portal to the Shadowfell. The runes had begun to glow brightly, casting an azure gleam across half of the chamber that contrasted with the more natural glow coming out of the firepots. The dark priest hit Devrem with a second decaying ray, and this one overwhelmed the cleric of the Raven Queen, weakening him even as the skeleton warrior tore into him, its sword striking him in the side with enough force to spin him half around. He somehow blindly caught its follow on his staff, chips of wood flying as the steel edge deeply scored the gnarled wood.
Mara turned in time to meet the charge of the second skeleton, which came at her with a swing aimed at bisecting her skull. She deflected it high with her short blade, and delivered a crushing blow that smashed several ribs with the longer. Now it was the skeleton that gave way, and as it tottered on the edge of the platform a steel knife smashed hard off its left knee, sliding one skeletal foot off over empty space. Even so the undead construct might have recovered, had not Mara bulled solidly into it, knocking it flying to land in a heap of shattered bones below.
Mara glanced over at Beetle. “You want to go kill that cleric?” she growled.
Beetle laughed and sprang forward, leaping off the platform to land in full stride on the slippery ground below. Mara followed somewhat more slowly, rushing down the stairs to the level of the chamber floor. She hesitated for a moment there, but Devrem shouted, “Stop Kalarel!” even as he and the remaining skeleton exchanged another series of blows.
But the pair had to be wary, for the black tendrils were probing outward from the portal again, parting as they approached the cleric of Orcus. Beetle ran up to the edge of the glowing circle set into the floor and abruptly stopped. He flung a knife at Kalarel that glanced off of the cleric’s armored forearm. The priest lifted his rod and fired a ruby beam that washed over the halfling; Beetle wailed and fell back, trying vainly to shield himself from that radiance with his raised arms.
The exchange between the pair took only a few seconds, but it gave Mara time to reach the melee. She too hesitated at the edge of the rune circle, but Kalarel seemed content to remain protected within its center, so the fighter warily stepped forward, keeping a close eye on the black tentacles jutting from the portal. The dark things jutting forth from the Shadowfell still seemed slightly tentative, and failed to reach further than the furthermost edges of the rune circle, but the disturbances within the black surface seemed to be growing stronger with each passing moment, adding a sense of urgency.
Kalarel’s eyes matched Mara’s as she closed the gap between them. “You are not like those others,” the priest said, lifting his rod and holding it like a weapon. “There is a darkness within you, a shadow not unlike my own. You are no crusader. Join me. Strike down these fools, and you shall know power beyond your wildest dreams!”
Mara barked a laugh. “Save it for the brainwashed idiots that listen to that kind of blather,” she said. She lunged with her sword, just a probing attack that Kalarel easily dodged with a subtle shift. The enemy cleric obviously had some martial training, and he carried himself in the manner of a man familiar with weapons. The rod he bore made an effective heavy mace, even without factoring in the necromantic power that formed a faint black halo around the skull at its tip.
“Consider this your last chance,” Kalarel said, offering his own attack, a cautious swing that Mara parried with her shortsword.
“Men are all the same,” Mara said, coming in under the parry with a swing of her long blade that crunched hard into Kalarel’s armored hip. The blow was hard enough to draw a grimace from the cleric, but he recovered quickly, and suddenly shifting his grip on his rod, he drove it up like a spear into Mara’s face. The metal knob on the rod’s base crunched into her jaw hard enough to crack the bone, and the dark energies wielded by the priest surged into her. For the fighter, already somewhat battered from her exchanges with Kalarel’s skeletal guards, the critical hit was devastating. Mara staggered back a step and fell hard to the ground, dazed and barely clinging to consciousness.
“You shall be the first, then,” the cleric said, looming over her.
Jaron ran up to Elevaren, drawing his sword. He’d scored several hits with his bow, but the wight had ignored him completely, despite the multiple shafts protruding from its back and side. Pulses of fey magic flared between the eladrin and the undead monster, but the wight refused to loosen its grip upon the warlock. Long gashes covered Elevaren’s chest, arms, and neck, and the eladrin seemed to be flagging. The wight had him trapped against the base of the huge statue of Orcus, and he’d already used his power to escape by passing briefly into the Feywild.
“Let him go!” Jaron yelled, thrusting his sword into the wight’s side. The steel blade pierced its skin, but it was like stabbing a side of beef. Jaron drew out his blade and took it in both hands, readying another strike, but before he could come in again the wight spun, its claws wrapped tight around Elevaren’s neck. It swung the eladrin like a club, knocking the halfling roughly back. Jaron slipped and fell onto one of the grates in the floor, the blood trail splashing around him as he struggled to get back to his feet.
Elevaren managed to lift a hand, and thrust a last surge of fey power up into the face of the wight. The eladrin’s struggles were going weaker, and his attempts to break the iron grip of the wight had been futile. The creature did not loosen its hold, and as it turned back it slammed its prisoner hard against the statue again. The warlock fell limp as his head cracked against the fat right leg of the demon statue, and as he sagged under the wight’s implacable strength he left a trail of bright red blood that ran down the leg of the stone Orcus, a garish streak that glistened in the light of the firepits.
* * * * *
Chapter 71
While his skeletons battled Mara and Devrem, Kalarel stepped forward to the edge of the platform, and summoned the dark energies of his patron to bolster his allies.
The evil cleric didn’t see the figure that crept up stealthily along the southern wall, and which sprang up onto the platform while the combatants were exchanging their initial attacks. His first awareness of Beetle’s presence was when the halfling stepped up and calmly stabbed a small knife to the hilt into the meat of Kalarel’s right calf muscle, just above the boot.
The cleric let out a surprised yell, but he turned on Beetle with a fury. Taking up his rod, he thrust it at the halfling. The blow wasn’t especially strong, but dark necromantic energies flared as the horned skull struck Beetle’s chest, and the diminutive rogue fell back, clutching at the black tendrils that flared around the point of impact, twisting in and out of his flesh. Kalarel laughed, and with a slight grimace reached down to tear Beetle’s knife out of his leg.
Working together with unspoken coordination, Mara shifted away from the skeleton facing her even as Devrem stepped forward to take up its attention. The fighter rushed up the stairs before the one that Devrem had stunned earlier could recover enough to block her. Her lips pulled back into a snarl as she sprang at the cleric, who was just turning back from his attack on Beetle. It looked as though the fighter had him, but even as she begun her swing the cleric reached up and touched an amulet on a throng around his neck, and disappeared.
Witchfire flared around the face of the wight as it hurtled toward Elevaren, but the magical attack only seemed to enrage it further. It slammed hard into the warlock, driving him hard against the mass of the stone plinth at his back, but he was able to barely twist out of the path of its claws before they could shear away half of his face. The wight was fantastically strong; as Elevaren fought to get free it seized hold of his arm and twisted it painfully back, nearly tearing it from its socket. Another arrow caromed off its head, hard enough to carve half of its ear from its head, but the undead monster fought with a ferocity beyond that of any mortal foe, and its sole focus now seemed to be the destruction of the eladrin warlock.
Kalarel had materialized in the center of a runic design inlaid into the floor in front of the portal to the Shadowfell. The runes had begun to glow brightly, casting an azure gleam across half of the chamber that contrasted with the more natural glow coming out of the firepots. The dark priest hit Devrem with a second decaying ray, and this one overwhelmed the cleric of the Raven Queen, weakening him even as the skeleton warrior tore into him, its sword striking him in the side with enough force to spin him half around. He somehow blindly caught its follow on his staff, chips of wood flying as the steel edge deeply scored the gnarled wood.
Mara turned in time to meet the charge of the second skeleton, which came at her with a swing aimed at bisecting her skull. She deflected it high with her short blade, and delivered a crushing blow that smashed several ribs with the longer. Now it was the skeleton that gave way, and as it tottered on the edge of the platform a steel knife smashed hard off its left knee, sliding one skeletal foot off over empty space. Even so the undead construct might have recovered, had not Mara bulled solidly into it, knocking it flying to land in a heap of shattered bones below.
Mara glanced over at Beetle. “You want to go kill that cleric?” she growled.
Beetle laughed and sprang forward, leaping off the platform to land in full stride on the slippery ground below. Mara followed somewhat more slowly, rushing down the stairs to the level of the chamber floor. She hesitated for a moment there, but Devrem shouted, “Stop Kalarel!” even as he and the remaining skeleton exchanged another series of blows.
But the pair had to be wary, for the black tendrils were probing outward from the portal again, parting as they approached the cleric of Orcus. Beetle ran up to the edge of the glowing circle set into the floor and abruptly stopped. He flung a knife at Kalarel that glanced off of the cleric’s armored forearm. The priest lifted his rod and fired a ruby beam that washed over the halfling; Beetle wailed and fell back, trying vainly to shield himself from that radiance with his raised arms.
The exchange between the pair took only a few seconds, but it gave Mara time to reach the melee. She too hesitated at the edge of the rune circle, but Kalarel seemed content to remain protected within its center, so the fighter warily stepped forward, keeping a close eye on the black tentacles jutting from the portal. The dark things jutting forth from the Shadowfell still seemed slightly tentative, and failed to reach further than the furthermost edges of the rune circle, but the disturbances within the black surface seemed to be growing stronger with each passing moment, adding a sense of urgency.
Kalarel’s eyes matched Mara’s as she closed the gap between them. “You are not like those others,” the priest said, lifting his rod and holding it like a weapon. “There is a darkness within you, a shadow not unlike my own. You are no crusader. Join me. Strike down these fools, and you shall know power beyond your wildest dreams!”
Mara barked a laugh. “Save it for the brainwashed idiots that listen to that kind of blather,” she said. She lunged with her sword, just a probing attack that Kalarel easily dodged with a subtle shift. The enemy cleric obviously had some martial training, and he carried himself in the manner of a man familiar with weapons. The rod he bore made an effective heavy mace, even without factoring in the necromantic power that formed a faint black halo around the skull at its tip.
“Consider this your last chance,” Kalarel said, offering his own attack, a cautious swing that Mara parried with her shortsword.
“Men are all the same,” Mara said, coming in under the parry with a swing of her long blade that crunched hard into Kalarel’s armored hip. The blow was hard enough to draw a grimace from the cleric, but he recovered quickly, and suddenly shifting his grip on his rod, he drove it up like a spear into Mara’s face. The metal knob on the rod’s base crunched into her jaw hard enough to crack the bone, and the dark energies wielded by the priest surged into her. For the fighter, already somewhat battered from her exchanges with Kalarel’s skeletal guards, the critical hit was devastating. Mara staggered back a step and fell hard to the ground, dazed and barely clinging to consciousness.
“You shall be the first, then,” the cleric said, looming over her.
Jaron ran up to Elevaren, drawing his sword. He’d scored several hits with his bow, but the wight had ignored him completely, despite the multiple shafts protruding from its back and side. Pulses of fey magic flared between the eladrin and the undead monster, but the wight refused to loosen its grip upon the warlock. Long gashes covered Elevaren’s chest, arms, and neck, and the eladrin seemed to be flagging. The wight had him trapped against the base of the huge statue of Orcus, and he’d already used his power to escape by passing briefly into the Feywild.
“Let him go!” Jaron yelled, thrusting his sword into the wight’s side. The steel blade pierced its skin, but it was like stabbing a side of beef. Jaron drew out his blade and took it in both hands, readying another strike, but before he could come in again the wight spun, its claws wrapped tight around Elevaren’s neck. It swung the eladrin like a club, knocking the halfling roughly back. Jaron slipped and fell onto one of the grates in the floor, the blood trail splashing around him as he struggled to get back to his feet.
Elevaren managed to lift a hand, and thrust a last surge of fey power up into the face of the wight. The eladrin’s struggles were going weaker, and his attempts to break the iron grip of the wight had been futile. The creature did not loosen its hold, and as it turned back it slammed its prisoner hard against the statue again. The warlock fell limp as his head cracked against the fat right leg of the demon statue, and as he sagged under the wight’s implacable strength he left a trail of bright red blood that ran down the leg of the stone Orcus, a garish streak that glistened in the light of the firepits.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 72
Jaron looked on in horror as the wight delivered a crushing blow to Elevaren. The warlock’s body sagged under the full weight of the undead monstrosity, whose claws continued to tighten around the eladrin’s neck.
Jaron forced himself to his feet, and took up his small sword, knowing it was already too late but intent on doing his best to avenge his friend.
But even as he started forward back toward the desperate melee, he saw Elevaren’s eyes open. The glow in those eyes was more than a reflection of the adjacent firepots set at the corners of the plinth; Jaron could see a deep radiance therein, a trail of colors that swirled in a mysterious pattern that nearly sucked him in despite the desperate intensity of their circumstances. He could only watch as the eladrin lifted a hand, which began to glow with a soft, healthy light. The wight snarled, but before it could counter a bright flare of multicolored energy erupted that engulfed both the warlock and his enemy. Jaron staggered back, lifting an arm to protect himself from that radiance. It only lasted a second, but it took him a few more heartbeats before he could see clearly once more, and still longer before he understood what was before him.
Both Elevaren and the wight were gone, vanished without a trace.
“Hiyaaaa!” yelled Beetle, as he sprang up at Kalarel, a tiny knife flashing in his right fist as he tried to find a vulnerability in the cleric’s heavy armor. Droplets of blood flashed as the tip of the blade clipped the priest’s jaw, but the edge failed to cut deep enough to find an artery, and the wound was ultimately only superficial. Kalarel, reacting swiftly, caught the halfling with one arm and hurled him over his shoulder, in the direction of the portal. Beetle only flew a few feet, landing on the back edge of the rune circle, but it was enough to put him in reach of the probing tendrils of shadow-stuff coming out of the arch. “Aaaaaya!” Beetle yelled, ducking as one of the dark claws tore through the air just over his head, and then it was all he could do to leap away before the entity could grab him, all thoughts of attack abandoned as he fled back to the relative security of the center of the chamber.
Kalarel turned back toward Mara, but the fighter had not moved; she had succumbed to the negative energies of the priest’s weapon, and now she lay unconscious and helpless before him.
“So, it’s down to you and me,” he said, as Devrem stepped forward to confront him.
The priest was in dire shape. He’d defeated Kalarel’s skeleton warrior, but the attacks he’d absorbed—from the wight, the enemy cleric, and the undead guardian—had taken their toll. Devrem favored his right side, where the skeleton’s sword had struck repeatedly, hurting him even through his armor, and his face was pale, his expression haggard. But the fire burning in the cleric’s eyes remained undimmed.
“This ends here,” the servant of the Raven Queen said, presenting his staff before him like a judge’s rod.
Kalarel raised his arms; the dark power coming through the archway flanked him like a fell aura. “It is too late for you!” he yelled triumphantly. “The Shadow comes upon your world!”
Devrem lunged forward, but his enemy was expecting him; he parried the thrust of the staff almost effortlessly, the flaring divine magic coming from its tip streaking harmlessly over the evil priest’s shoulder. In turn, his own blow cracked solidly into Devrem’s ribs, driving the air from his body, and knocking him back a step. Devrem staggered and nearly fell, agony written upon his face. But he refused to fall, drawing upon some last desperate reserve of strength as he pulled himself back up to face his foe.
“The powers of darkness demand a sacrifice,” Kalarel said. “Your final conscious realization will be that your death helped open the barrier between your realm and that of Shadow.” The evil cleric lowered his rod and lifted his hand; black tendrils that were an echo of the power flowing from the portal flared around his fingers.
Devrem suddenly lurched forward, surprising Kalarel with the suddenness of his attack. The evil cleric threw out his hand and unleashed the surge of necromantic power he’d been holding, but Devrem came blasting through the dark wave to collide solidly into the enemy priest, his shoulder crashing into Kalarel’s chest. The two men, tangled up together, were driven backwards by the inertia of Devrem’s charge. Black fire flared around them, and tongues of shadow-stuff tore through Devrem’s body, the tendrils leaving gray streaks of dead flesh as they cut across the cleric’s scalp. Kalarel slammed his fist into Devrem’s back, but his other hand, holding his rod, was trapped between their bodies. Devrem started to falter, and it was clear from one look at his face that he was dying; the fire blazing in his eyes had been replaced by an empty look. With a snarl, Kalarel started to tear free, bringing up his rod to put a final end to it, but to his surprise Devrem suddenly half dove, half fell forward, locking his arms around the other man’s hips. His weight took Kalarel off-balance, and both men fell over backwards, tumbling into the the black portal.
There was a sudden cacophonous pulse, a roar that was like the blast of a hurricane, only contained in a frozen moment of time that vanished abruptly with a faint tearing sensation. Then everything seemed to shatter, and everything in the chamber collapsed into blackness.
Jaron looked on in horror as the wight delivered a crushing blow to Elevaren. The warlock’s body sagged under the full weight of the undead monstrosity, whose claws continued to tighten around the eladrin’s neck.
Jaron forced himself to his feet, and took up his small sword, knowing it was already too late but intent on doing his best to avenge his friend.
But even as he started forward back toward the desperate melee, he saw Elevaren’s eyes open. The glow in those eyes was more than a reflection of the adjacent firepots set at the corners of the plinth; Jaron could see a deep radiance therein, a trail of colors that swirled in a mysterious pattern that nearly sucked him in despite the desperate intensity of their circumstances. He could only watch as the eladrin lifted a hand, which began to glow with a soft, healthy light. The wight snarled, but before it could counter a bright flare of multicolored energy erupted that engulfed both the warlock and his enemy. Jaron staggered back, lifting an arm to protect himself from that radiance. It only lasted a second, but it took him a few more heartbeats before he could see clearly once more, and still longer before he understood what was before him.
Both Elevaren and the wight were gone, vanished without a trace.
“Hiyaaaa!” yelled Beetle, as he sprang up at Kalarel, a tiny knife flashing in his right fist as he tried to find a vulnerability in the cleric’s heavy armor. Droplets of blood flashed as the tip of the blade clipped the priest’s jaw, but the edge failed to cut deep enough to find an artery, and the wound was ultimately only superficial. Kalarel, reacting swiftly, caught the halfling with one arm and hurled him over his shoulder, in the direction of the portal. Beetle only flew a few feet, landing on the back edge of the rune circle, but it was enough to put him in reach of the probing tendrils of shadow-stuff coming out of the arch. “Aaaaaya!” Beetle yelled, ducking as one of the dark claws tore through the air just over his head, and then it was all he could do to leap away before the entity could grab him, all thoughts of attack abandoned as he fled back to the relative security of the center of the chamber.
Kalarel turned back toward Mara, but the fighter had not moved; she had succumbed to the negative energies of the priest’s weapon, and now she lay unconscious and helpless before him.
“So, it’s down to you and me,” he said, as Devrem stepped forward to confront him.
The priest was in dire shape. He’d defeated Kalarel’s skeleton warrior, but the attacks he’d absorbed—from the wight, the enemy cleric, and the undead guardian—had taken their toll. Devrem favored his right side, where the skeleton’s sword had struck repeatedly, hurting him even through his armor, and his face was pale, his expression haggard. But the fire burning in the cleric’s eyes remained undimmed.
“This ends here,” the servant of the Raven Queen said, presenting his staff before him like a judge’s rod.
Kalarel raised his arms; the dark power coming through the archway flanked him like a fell aura. “It is too late for you!” he yelled triumphantly. “The Shadow comes upon your world!”
Devrem lunged forward, but his enemy was expecting him; he parried the thrust of the staff almost effortlessly, the flaring divine magic coming from its tip streaking harmlessly over the evil priest’s shoulder. In turn, his own blow cracked solidly into Devrem’s ribs, driving the air from his body, and knocking him back a step. Devrem staggered and nearly fell, agony written upon his face. But he refused to fall, drawing upon some last desperate reserve of strength as he pulled himself back up to face his foe.
“The powers of darkness demand a sacrifice,” Kalarel said. “Your final conscious realization will be that your death helped open the barrier between your realm and that of Shadow.” The evil cleric lowered his rod and lifted his hand; black tendrils that were an echo of the power flowing from the portal flared around his fingers.
Devrem suddenly lurched forward, surprising Kalarel with the suddenness of his attack. The evil cleric threw out his hand and unleashed the surge of necromantic power he’d been holding, but Devrem came blasting through the dark wave to collide solidly into the enemy priest, his shoulder crashing into Kalarel’s chest. The two men, tangled up together, were driven backwards by the inertia of Devrem’s charge. Black fire flared around them, and tongues of shadow-stuff tore through Devrem’s body, the tendrils leaving gray streaks of dead flesh as they cut across the cleric’s scalp. Kalarel slammed his fist into Devrem’s back, but his other hand, holding his rod, was trapped between their bodies. Devrem started to falter, and it was clear from one look at his face that he was dying; the fire blazing in his eyes had been replaced by an empty look. With a snarl, Kalarel started to tear free, bringing up his rod to put a final end to it, but to his surprise Devrem suddenly half dove, half fell forward, locking his arms around the other man’s hips. His weight took Kalarel off-balance, and both men fell over backwards, tumbling into the the black portal.
There was a sudden cacophonous pulse, a roar that was like the blast of a hurricane, only contained in a frozen moment of time that vanished abruptly with a faint tearing sensation. Then everything seemed to shatter, and everything in the chamber collapsed into blackness.
carborundum
Adventurer
Oh good grief - I'd forgotten it was Friday!
Richard Rawen
First Post
What's that sound!? 
...
Wow... that's my heart beating! 
Good Lord LB, you have a nailbiter going here...
...
Wow... that's my heart beating!
Good Lord LB, you have a nailbiter going here...
Lazybones
Adventurer
Glad you guys are enjoying the story. KotS will wrap up this week.
* * * * *
Chapter 73
“Mara. Wake up. Please, Mara, you need to wake up. Beetle, hand me that water flask.”
A trickle of liquid. The fighter stirred, and coughed. Pain returned, an unwelcome surge that seemed to come from everywhere in her body at once. Moving seemed unattainable for now, so she focused on opening her eyes, letting awareness seep back into her battered frame.
The dark chamber. So, it had not been a dream after all. But looking around, she saw that the darkness surrounding them, pressing in around the worried halfling faces looking down at her, was natural, lacking the malevolence that had filled the room before. A pair of firepots lay on the floor nearby, casting a circle of radiance that failed to penetrate to the farther edges of the chamber. She was leaning against a pillar, and while her clothes were tattered, her armor in little better shape, someone had taken the time to clean away the worst of the blood and grime. She blinked as she looked past Beetle at the portal; now there was only an empty archway, the plain stone of the chamber wall visible beyond it.
Jaron offered her the flask again, and with his help she was able to manage a few swallows. The water felt like a healing balm, clearing away some of the fog that clung to her senses.
“What… what happened?” she managed, when the halfling withdrew the flask.
Jaron’s expression was sad as he glanced back at the archway. “Devrem sacrificed himself, he tackled the cleric and drove him back through the arch. Both of them were swallowed up… There was some sort of blast, I sort of lost consciousness for a while. When I woke up, it was like that.”
She turned her head, looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see; the light died before reaching the platforms or the statue she could almost feel watching them from the south. “Elevaren?”
Jaron shook his head. “He disappeared. Him, and the wight. I… I don’t know what happened to them. There was a flash of magic, the kind he used… There was nothing left, no trace.”
“Can you help me up?”
“You probably shouldn’t be moving just yet. Without a cleric…”
“I’m not going to go far. I just… I just want to see.”
Jaron nodded, and gestured for Beetle to help him. Working together, the two halflings were able to help the human woman to her feet, using the pillar as a support. It took a moment or two before she was able to take a few steps, and Jaron remained nearby, in case her strength deserted her. She walked toward the statue, where she’d last seen Elevaren, battling the wight. The darkness began to swallow her up, but Beetle helpfully took up one of the firepots, and trotted over to shine its light on her destination.
There was nothing there; she didn’t know what she’d expected to see, but there was nothing, no sign that her friend have ever existed at all, save for some bloodstains. She came to a halt before the thick stone plinth, leaning against it. She looked up at the statue of Orcus, which had lost some of its malice with the death of the demon god’s priest.
“He didn’t know why he was here,” she said.
“He was the only eladrin I’d ever met,” Jaron said quietly. “He was a good man.”
Mara nodded. She’d heard those words before; for a moment she stood there, lost in a memory. Finally she turned back toward the center of the room, and glanced up at the shaft that led back up the chamber above. The flow of blood had stopped, but the dangling chains still glistened with sticky residue. “We’ll have to climb up,” she said, her steps more sure as she retraced her steps back toward where they’d left their gear.
* * * * *
Chapter 73
“Mara. Wake up. Please, Mara, you need to wake up. Beetle, hand me that water flask.”
A trickle of liquid. The fighter stirred, and coughed. Pain returned, an unwelcome surge that seemed to come from everywhere in her body at once. Moving seemed unattainable for now, so she focused on opening her eyes, letting awareness seep back into her battered frame.
The dark chamber. So, it had not been a dream after all. But looking around, she saw that the darkness surrounding them, pressing in around the worried halfling faces looking down at her, was natural, lacking the malevolence that had filled the room before. A pair of firepots lay on the floor nearby, casting a circle of radiance that failed to penetrate to the farther edges of the chamber. She was leaning against a pillar, and while her clothes were tattered, her armor in little better shape, someone had taken the time to clean away the worst of the blood and grime. She blinked as she looked past Beetle at the portal; now there was only an empty archway, the plain stone of the chamber wall visible beyond it.
Jaron offered her the flask again, and with his help she was able to manage a few swallows. The water felt like a healing balm, clearing away some of the fog that clung to her senses.
“What… what happened?” she managed, when the halfling withdrew the flask.
Jaron’s expression was sad as he glanced back at the archway. “Devrem sacrificed himself, he tackled the cleric and drove him back through the arch. Both of them were swallowed up… There was some sort of blast, I sort of lost consciousness for a while. When I woke up, it was like that.”
She turned her head, looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see; the light died before reaching the platforms or the statue she could almost feel watching them from the south. “Elevaren?”
Jaron shook his head. “He disappeared. Him, and the wight. I… I don’t know what happened to them. There was a flash of magic, the kind he used… There was nothing left, no trace.”
“Can you help me up?”
“You probably shouldn’t be moving just yet. Without a cleric…”
“I’m not going to go far. I just… I just want to see.”
Jaron nodded, and gestured for Beetle to help him. Working together, the two halflings were able to help the human woman to her feet, using the pillar as a support. It took a moment or two before she was able to take a few steps, and Jaron remained nearby, in case her strength deserted her. She walked toward the statue, where she’d last seen Elevaren, battling the wight. The darkness began to swallow her up, but Beetle helpfully took up one of the firepots, and trotted over to shine its light on her destination.
There was nothing there; she didn’t know what she’d expected to see, but there was nothing, no sign that her friend have ever existed at all, save for some bloodstains. She came to a halt before the thick stone plinth, leaning against it. She looked up at the statue of Orcus, which had lost some of its malice with the death of the demon god’s priest.
“He didn’t know why he was here,” she said.
“He was the only eladrin I’d ever met,” Jaron said quietly. “He was a good man.”
Mara nodded. She’d heard those words before; for a moment she stood there, lost in a memory. Finally she turned back toward the center of the room, and glanced up at the shaft that led back up the chamber above. The flow of blood had stopped, but the dangling chains still glistened with sticky residue. “We’ll have to climb up,” she said, her steps more sure as she retraced her steps back toward where they’d left their gear.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 74
She knew as soon as she heard the sounds of the wagon axle, protesting against a path never designed to accommodate wheeled vehicles.
Mara had been chopping wood. She reached back and grabbed the hilt of the sword that was never far from her reach, now. She kept the axe in her other hand, and walked over to the spot facing the path. It was almost the exact same spot where Torvan had stood to face the four riders, six months before.
But there were no riders this time. Only a narrow-beam cart, pulled by a big draft horse. The riding board of the cart was barely big enough to accommodate the single man who handled the animal’s reins. The look on his face turned sympathetic as he spotted Mara, but she didn’t have to look in the back of the cart, or see the long wooden box there, to know why he was here.
“How did he die?” she asked him.
“In battle,” the man said. He did not have the look of a warrior, himself, but his bright eyes sparkled with intelligence. “Protecting others from harm. He was a good man.”
Mara nodded, as if that response were a given. “There’s tea and food in the cabin,” she said.
The stranger nodded gratefully. “Let me just tend to my horse, first; he had a hard time getting up here.”
Mara nodded again, watching him. She made no move to help, but she did put the axe away, wiping the blade free of wood sap before wrapping it in its leather sheath. She kept the sword, hooking the scabbard onto her belt. The stranger, looking up as he filled a feedbag full of oats from a sack in the cart, saw her but said nothing. After a few minutes, Mara brought out her bucket, full of water, and offered it to him; he accepted it gratefully and watered the horse.
“It’s quiet up here,” he finally said.
“Not always,” she replied.
“I’m sorry, my name is Douven Staul.”
“Mara. Mara Lendoran.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do now, Mara? I mean, this house is yours now, I suppose, but it’s very isolated up here.”
“I hadn’t thought much about it.”
“Well. I was a friend to your uncle, and I’d like to be the same to you. Perhaps we can talk.”
Mara felt the memories wash over her and let them go as she returned to the present. She turned to look at the walls of Winterhaven, a dark line on the horizon behind her. To the east lay another long road, to… where? She knew the names of the towns, the rivers, the mountain ranges. The halflings had invited her to come with them to whatever flyspeck village had spawned them, but an urgency had tugged at her, and she had politely refused. That pull had gotten stronger the closer they’d gotten to Winterhaven, and she’d spent barely a day in the town, and had avoided the local notable—she’d forgotten his name. Elevaren would have remembered… Most of the locals had no idea what had transpired under that ruined keep, and the halflings had shared her desire to avoid talking about it.
She shifted, adjusting the straps of her backpack. It was heavy; Beetle had found a cache of gold in the deep chamber of the portal, and her share left her with a good deal of wealth, more hard currency than she’d ever had in her hands before. The road ahead of her was full of options.
Yet somehow, she felt as though none of it mattered.
She glanced back once more. Her gaze shifted to the south road, where she almost imagined that she could see the halflings, walking home. That was unlikely, of course; they’d left almost an hour before her, and were likely miles away by now.
Then she turned back to the road ahead, and started walking.
She knew as soon as she heard the sounds of the wagon axle, protesting against a path never designed to accommodate wheeled vehicles.
Mara had been chopping wood. She reached back and grabbed the hilt of the sword that was never far from her reach, now. She kept the axe in her other hand, and walked over to the spot facing the path. It was almost the exact same spot where Torvan had stood to face the four riders, six months before.
But there were no riders this time. Only a narrow-beam cart, pulled by a big draft horse. The riding board of the cart was barely big enough to accommodate the single man who handled the animal’s reins. The look on his face turned sympathetic as he spotted Mara, but she didn’t have to look in the back of the cart, or see the long wooden box there, to know why he was here.
“How did he die?” she asked him.
“In battle,” the man said. He did not have the look of a warrior, himself, but his bright eyes sparkled with intelligence. “Protecting others from harm. He was a good man.”
Mara nodded, as if that response were a given. “There’s tea and food in the cabin,” she said.
The stranger nodded gratefully. “Let me just tend to my horse, first; he had a hard time getting up here.”
Mara nodded again, watching him. She made no move to help, but she did put the axe away, wiping the blade free of wood sap before wrapping it in its leather sheath. She kept the sword, hooking the scabbard onto her belt. The stranger, looking up as he filled a feedbag full of oats from a sack in the cart, saw her but said nothing. After a few minutes, Mara brought out her bucket, full of water, and offered it to him; he accepted it gratefully and watered the horse.
“It’s quiet up here,” he finally said.
“Not always,” she replied.
“I’m sorry, my name is Douven Staul.”
“Mara. Mara Lendoran.”
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do now, Mara? I mean, this house is yours now, I suppose, but it’s very isolated up here.”
“I hadn’t thought much about it.”
“Well. I was a friend to your uncle, and I’d like to be the same to you. Perhaps we can talk.”
Mara felt the memories wash over her and let them go as she returned to the present. She turned to look at the walls of Winterhaven, a dark line on the horizon behind her. To the east lay another long road, to… where? She knew the names of the towns, the rivers, the mountain ranges. The halflings had invited her to come with them to whatever flyspeck village had spawned them, but an urgency had tugged at her, and she had politely refused. That pull had gotten stronger the closer they’d gotten to Winterhaven, and she’d spent barely a day in the town, and had avoided the local notable—she’d forgotten his name. Elevaren would have remembered… Most of the locals had no idea what had transpired under that ruined keep, and the halflings had shared her desire to avoid talking about it.
She shifted, adjusting the straps of her backpack. It was heavy; Beetle had found a cache of gold in the deep chamber of the portal, and her share left her with a good deal of wealth, more hard currency than she’d ever had in her hands before. The road ahead of her was full of options.
Yet somehow, she felt as though none of it mattered.
She glanced back once more. Her gaze shifted to the south road, where she almost imagined that she could see the halflings, walking home. That was unlikely, of course; they’d left almost an hour before her, and were likely miles away by now.
Then she turned back to the road ahead, and started walking.
Lazybones
Adventurer
And here we are!
* * * * *
Chapter 75
“Almost home!” Beetle said, springing up into the air, twisting into a blackflip that turned into a somersault. Jaron, who shared his sentiment but was feeling the leagues in his legs, limited himself to a smile. “Hoo hoo!” Beetle yelled, and ran ahead, to where the road began to curve around a low hill. A fence was just visible at the bend, which Jaron knew marked the boundary of the Willowbark farm, on the far outskirts of Fairhollow.
Instead of making for the farm, Beetle ran up the hill, which was covered with a generous coat of winter grass. It was still a good month or so before the coming of the cold seasonal rains out of the mountains, and the Nentir Vale was still covered in the bright colors of autumn. Jaron began thinking of all the work that waited at his farm, and wondered if he could get Beetle to help him get the place ready for the coming season. One look at the halfling running up the hill was enough to dash those thoughts, and Jaron smiled wryly to himself.
He picked up his pace despite his tired feet, and came to the base of the hill. He could now smell woodsmoke on the air, but there was something else, something not quite tangible that sent a tremor of unease through him. He glanced up the hill again, and saw Beetle standing exposed on the crest, facing down toward the village below.
“Beetle?” he shouted up, but his cousin didn’t respond.
Now worried, Jaron ran up the hill. Even with the thick grass, it only took about two minutes before he came up to where Beetle was standing. As he reached the crest, he felt a sick feeling clench in his gut.
Fairhollow was a scene of destruction, with at least three of the dozen or so farms that he could see transformed into burned-out wreckage. Willowbark, Jamberson, Wanderwarren… all three of the main buildings were blackened hulks, with the Jambersons’ primary barn and shearing shacks also burned to the ground. He couldn’t see his own property from this vantage, but several of the structures in the village core, a good half-mile from the hilltop, had sustained obvious damage, including what looked like severe burning of both the mill and the granary.
“There a battle?” Beetle asked, subdued.
“I don’t know,” Jaron could only say.
Ten minutes later, the pair found a number of villagers poking through the remnants of the Wanderwarren farm. Dale Wanderwarren himself was sitting on a stump, his face marred with streaks of ash, his stare vacant even when it fell over Jaron and Beetle. Jaron saw Talbert Tallfellow, the innkeeper, working with several young halflings as they carefully lifted heavy timbers from the stairs leading down to the cellar. There wouldn’t be much to salvage from the upper level, Jaron could see at once; the destruction had been quite thorough. He also saw that all of the halflings gathered carried weapons openly, or had them otherwise close at hand. Talbert saw him coming, and ordered the workers to stop, coming out of the wreckage to greet him.
“What happened?” Jaron asked.
“They came in the middle of the night,” Talbert said. “Hobgoblins, a big part of them. Attacked several of the outlying farms, and made a probe at the village proper, though we got organized by then, and fought them off. We killed a few of them, but most got away, and they took prisoners, too.”
“Where’s Yarine?” The priestess would be at the core of it, Jaron thought, likely helping the wounded, though he wouldn’t have put it past her to join the party tracking the raiders, especially if captives had been taken.
Talbert’s hesitation made the cold fear in Jaron’s gut transform into an icy wedge. “I’m sorry, Jaron. She was at the Jamberson farm when the raiders attacked. They took her, too.”
THE END OF KEEP ON THE SHADOWFELL
* * * * *
Chapter 75
“Almost home!” Beetle said, springing up into the air, twisting into a blackflip that turned into a somersault. Jaron, who shared his sentiment but was feeling the leagues in his legs, limited himself to a smile. “Hoo hoo!” Beetle yelled, and ran ahead, to where the road began to curve around a low hill. A fence was just visible at the bend, which Jaron knew marked the boundary of the Willowbark farm, on the far outskirts of Fairhollow.
Instead of making for the farm, Beetle ran up the hill, which was covered with a generous coat of winter grass. It was still a good month or so before the coming of the cold seasonal rains out of the mountains, and the Nentir Vale was still covered in the bright colors of autumn. Jaron began thinking of all the work that waited at his farm, and wondered if he could get Beetle to help him get the place ready for the coming season. One look at the halfling running up the hill was enough to dash those thoughts, and Jaron smiled wryly to himself.
He picked up his pace despite his tired feet, and came to the base of the hill. He could now smell woodsmoke on the air, but there was something else, something not quite tangible that sent a tremor of unease through him. He glanced up the hill again, and saw Beetle standing exposed on the crest, facing down toward the village below.
“Beetle?” he shouted up, but his cousin didn’t respond.
Now worried, Jaron ran up the hill. Even with the thick grass, it only took about two minutes before he came up to where Beetle was standing. As he reached the crest, he felt a sick feeling clench in his gut.
Fairhollow was a scene of destruction, with at least three of the dozen or so farms that he could see transformed into burned-out wreckage. Willowbark, Jamberson, Wanderwarren… all three of the main buildings were blackened hulks, with the Jambersons’ primary barn and shearing shacks also burned to the ground. He couldn’t see his own property from this vantage, but several of the structures in the village core, a good half-mile from the hilltop, had sustained obvious damage, including what looked like severe burning of both the mill and the granary.
“There a battle?” Beetle asked, subdued.
“I don’t know,” Jaron could only say.
Ten minutes later, the pair found a number of villagers poking through the remnants of the Wanderwarren farm. Dale Wanderwarren himself was sitting on a stump, his face marred with streaks of ash, his stare vacant even when it fell over Jaron and Beetle. Jaron saw Talbert Tallfellow, the innkeeper, working with several young halflings as they carefully lifted heavy timbers from the stairs leading down to the cellar. There wouldn’t be much to salvage from the upper level, Jaron could see at once; the destruction had been quite thorough. He also saw that all of the halflings gathered carried weapons openly, or had them otherwise close at hand. Talbert saw him coming, and ordered the workers to stop, coming out of the wreckage to greet him.
“What happened?” Jaron asked.
“They came in the middle of the night,” Talbert said. “Hobgoblins, a big part of them. Attacked several of the outlying farms, and made a probe at the village proper, though we got organized by then, and fought them off. We killed a few of them, but most got away, and they took prisoners, too.”
“Where’s Yarine?” The priestess would be at the core of it, Jaron thought, likely helping the wounded, though he wouldn’t have put it past her to join the party tracking the raiders, especially if captives had been taken.
Talbert’s hesitation made the cold fear in Jaron’s gut transform into an icy wedge. “I’m sorry, Jaron. She was at the Jamberson farm when the raiders attacked. They took her, too.”
THE END OF KEEP ON THE SHADOWFELL
