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Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4533936" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Thanks to my readers for their patience, here's another update.</p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 47</p><p></p><p></p><p>Jaron was trapped, caught in a web of darkness. He writhed in terror as insubstantial claws bit into his flesh, driving icy cold daggers of fear deep into him, but he could neither see nor feel their source. He could sense a presence, however, a thing darker than far than the blackness that enfolded him. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, knowing that to draw the attention of that shadowy form was Death. </p><p></p><p>He started, and awoke to find himself in their camp. Bright rays of sunlight drifted into the dell, sparkling on bits of dust that floated in the air like fireflies. His back hurt, and he looked down to see a root jutting from the ground where he’d been sleeping. A slight coppery taste lingered in his mouth, but he knew that if he checked, he’d find nothing there. </p><p></p><p>“Bad dreams?” Devrem said, looking up from where he tended the small fire. The familiar scent of coffee began to drift over the camp. Mara and Elevaren were still sleeping, he saw, draped out under their blankets like corpses. The halfling shuddered and took up his gear, belting his sword around his waist with deliberation. His hands did not shake, but the cleric could see though his attempt to dissemble his feelings. The priest nodded to himself. “It’s beginning,” he said. “I hope that we are not already too late.”</p><p></p><p>“What will happen if Kalarel completes the ritual?” Jaron asked. He took up his bow, and moved over to where the priest sat. Beetle’s bedroll was empty, but he knew his cousin’s habits too well to be unduly alarmed by that. The goblin was another matter; Splug sat against the bole of a nearby tree, a rope wound once around his body, his wrists still bound and a gag stuck in his jaw. Jaron looked at Devrem. </p><p></p><p>“I grew tired of his chatter,” the priest said. Taking up one of his gloves to protect his hand, he lifted the pot from the fire and poured coffee into a beaten iron mug that looked as though it had seen a few campaigns. Jaron nodded gratefully and sipped at the hot beverage. Splug made noises, but it was impossible to determine what he was trying to say through the gag. </p><p></p><p>“Be silent,” Devrem said. The goblin obeyed, subsiding with a sullen look at the cleric. </p><p></p><p>“You do not believe his story?” Jaron asked. </p><p></p><p>“It does not matter whether I believe. He is a goblin, and he has some knowledge of the operation of Kalarel’s organization. He is useful to us for the nonce, and so he lives.”</p><p></p><p>“Where is Beetle?”</p><p></p><p>“He crept off a few minutes ago.”</p><p></p><p>“And you just let him go?”</p><p></p><p>“I did not notice his absence until he had left. In any case, he is his own man, or halfling, in this case. And to answer your original question: the terrors of which I spoke before are very real. Kalarel would open a portal to the Shadowfell, a realm of death and decay. Beings of the unlife dwell there in large numbers, waiting for a chance to enter our world and prey upon the living. This realm would fall into shadow, ruled by corrupted things such as Kalarel. Although ultimately, for all his power, he is but a man. Things darker yet by far dwell within the Shadowfell. Darker, more cunning, and more powerful.”</p><p></p><p>“And nothing could stop this?”</p><p></p><p>Devrem shrugged. “It was done before. Perhaps, if the surrounding kingdoms rallied their armies, their magic, and their will. But the lands of man are more divided and fragmented today than they were in the time of the old empire. And even if the portal could be sealed again, there would be great suffering ere that day came. No, my friend, it is up to us, to stop this thing before the portal is reopened. Once the door is opened, then it is already too late.”</p><p></p><p>Jaron shivered, and took another draught from the cup. It was a strong brew, and bitter. He looked up as something shifted slightly in the brush. He turned, wary, aware of Devrem reaching for his staff behind him. But it was only Beetle, grinning as he held up a dead rabbit by its hind legs. “Bacon,” the halfling said.</p><p></p><p>They lingered in the camp as the morning brightened. Mara and Elevaren woke, and joined the others for breakfast. Mara was still rather groggy from the events of the day before. The fighter’s cracked jaw still pained her, and she could barely speak until Devrem reset it, using his divine power to heal the cruel injury. Even after that the fighter said little, but her expression remained dark as she went over all her gear, checking and cleaning each weapon, every piece of armor. A few times she shot meaningful looks at Elevaren, a private conversation exchanged without a single word being spoken. The eladrin had regained some of the otherworldly air that he’d lost in the aftermath of yesterday’s battle; as he meditated in the shadow of a looming tree at the edge of their camp, he seemed more like some spirit of the wood than a normal man. </p><p></p><p>Splug was ungagged and given some leftovers to eat as the others prepared to break camp. The goblin muttered about the injustice of the situation, but was careful to keep his voice low. Beetle was assigned to keep watch over him. </p><p></p><p>It wasn’t until they had packed up all of their gear, and buried the evidence of their stay, that Mara finally confronted Devrem. </p><p></p><p>“We need to talk about this mission,” she said, taking up a position astride the narrow path that led back up out of the dell. </p><p></p><p>“I have told you all that I know of Kalarel and his allies,” Devrem replied. “You all know what is at stake here.”</p><p></p><p>“What I know,” Mara said, “is that there are five of us here. We’ll all decent in a fight, I’ll grant. We held our own against those goblins, when the odds were against us. But if even half of what that goblin said was true, we’re up against even worse odds back in that dungeon. Kalarel’s hobgoblin mercenaries aren’t going to be as easy as those goblins were… and they nearly killed us. Leaving aside the cleric’s own powers, about which you have been rather vague.”</p><p></p><p>“I have held nothing from you,” Devrem said. He met the woman fighter’s gaze with a hard look of his own, and for several quiet seconds a tension grew between them, one that neither seemed willing to break. </p><p></p><p>“We are not saying that the mission is not important,” Elevaren finally said, stepping between the two. “But it helps nothing if we are slain; no one would even know of what we have learned here. Perhaps if we returned to Winterford, convinced Lord Padraig…”</p><p></p><p>“He does not understand. None of them do. They dwell safe in the security of their stone walls and empty lives, refusing to believe in the shadows that they can only dimly sense. They sit by the fire and tell tales, and laugh away the darkness that waits to claim them.”</p><p></p><p>“Why do you fight to defend them, if you hold them in such contempt?” Mara asked.</p><p></p><p>“I might ask you the same, fighter.”</p><p></p><p>Mara flinched, and her expression darkened. She stepped forward, thrusting closer to priest, until Elevaren laid a hand on her shoulder.</p><p></p><p>“This is crazy!” </p><p></p><p>They all turned to look at Jaron, who’d stepped up onto a fallen log along the edge of the camp facing the trail. “Look, we’re all on the same side here, right? I’ve seen enough already to know that Kalarel is a threat to the region. I don’t know what’s going to happen if he completes this ritual, but I can’t risk the lives of my people on the hope that Devrem is wrong. There’s <em>something</em> building here, I felt it last night. Something… <em>wrong</em>, about this place. Dark powers at work…”</p><p></p><p>“Dreams are not a good reason to risk your life,” Mara said. </p><p></p><p>“I have made my case as best I could,” Devrem said. “I could use your blade, warrior, but if you have not the stomach for this fight, then you can at least bring word to Winterhaven. Perhaps it will not be too late, if I fail.”</p><p></p><p>“I will go with you,” Jaron said, sounding resigned. </p><p></p><p>“Me too!” Beetle said. </p><p></p><p>Mara looked at Elevaren. “What of you, old friend?”</p><p></p><p>The eladrin’s eyes fell to the tangled growth at his feet. “I little feel as though I am master of my own course, these days.” He looked up at Devrem. “I suspect I was brought here for a reason. I will accompany you.”</p><p></p><p>Devrem looked at Mara. “Damn it, fine then,” she said. “Without me, you won’t have even a slim chance. But I want your word, priest, that if we are overmatched, we fall back, and reassess the situation. I’m not signing on for a suicide mission.”</p><p></p><p>“Death is inevitable for all of us,” the priest said. “But I am not a madman. I am here to stop Kalarel, not to throw my life away.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Mara muttered under her breath, as the group set out again back toward the keep.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 4533936, member: 143"] Thanks to my readers for their patience, here's another update. * * * * * Chapter 47 Jaron was trapped, caught in a web of darkness. He writhed in terror as insubstantial claws bit into his flesh, driving icy cold daggers of fear deep into him, but he could neither see nor feel their source. He could sense a presence, however, a thing darker than far than the blackness that enfolded him. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, knowing that to draw the attention of that shadowy form was Death. He started, and awoke to find himself in their camp. Bright rays of sunlight drifted into the dell, sparkling on bits of dust that floated in the air like fireflies. His back hurt, and he looked down to see a root jutting from the ground where he’d been sleeping. A slight coppery taste lingered in his mouth, but he knew that if he checked, he’d find nothing there. “Bad dreams?” Devrem said, looking up from where he tended the small fire. The familiar scent of coffee began to drift over the camp. Mara and Elevaren were still sleeping, he saw, draped out under their blankets like corpses. The halfling shuddered and took up his gear, belting his sword around his waist with deliberation. His hands did not shake, but the cleric could see though his attempt to dissemble his feelings. The priest nodded to himself. “It’s beginning,” he said. “I hope that we are not already too late.” “What will happen if Kalarel completes the ritual?” Jaron asked. He took up his bow, and moved over to where the priest sat. Beetle’s bedroll was empty, but he knew his cousin’s habits too well to be unduly alarmed by that. The goblin was another matter; Splug sat against the bole of a nearby tree, a rope wound once around his body, his wrists still bound and a gag stuck in his jaw. Jaron looked at Devrem. “I grew tired of his chatter,” the priest said. Taking up one of his gloves to protect his hand, he lifted the pot from the fire and poured coffee into a beaten iron mug that looked as though it had seen a few campaigns. Jaron nodded gratefully and sipped at the hot beverage. Splug made noises, but it was impossible to determine what he was trying to say through the gag. “Be silent,” Devrem said. The goblin obeyed, subsiding with a sullen look at the cleric. “You do not believe his story?” Jaron asked. “It does not matter whether I believe. He is a goblin, and he has some knowledge of the operation of Kalarel’s organization. He is useful to us for the nonce, and so he lives.” “Where is Beetle?” “He crept off a few minutes ago.” “And you just let him go?” “I did not notice his absence until he had left. In any case, he is his own man, or halfling, in this case. And to answer your original question: the terrors of which I spoke before are very real. Kalarel would open a portal to the Shadowfell, a realm of death and decay. Beings of the unlife dwell there in large numbers, waiting for a chance to enter our world and prey upon the living. This realm would fall into shadow, ruled by corrupted things such as Kalarel. Although ultimately, for all his power, he is but a man. Things darker yet by far dwell within the Shadowfell. Darker, more cunning, and more powerful.” “And nothing could stop this?” Devrem shrugged. “It was done before. Perhaps, if the surrounding kingdoms rallied their armies, their magic, and their will. But the lands of man are more divided and fragmented today than they were in the time of the old empire. And even if the portal could be sealed again, there would be great suffering ere that day came. No, my friend, it is up to us, to stop this thing before the portal is reopened. Once the door is opened, then it is already too late.” Jaron shivered, and took another draught from the cup. It was a strong brew, and bitter. He looked up as something shifted slightly in the brush. He turned, wary, aware of Devrem reaching for his staff behind him. But it was only Beetle, grinning as he held up a dead rabbit by its hind legs. “Bacon,” the halfling said. They lingered in the camp as the morning brightened. Mara and Elevaren woke, and joined the others for breakfast. Mara was still rather groggy from the events of the day before. The fighter’s cracked jaw still pained her, and she could barely speak until Devrem reset it, using his divine power to heal the cruel injury. Even after that the fighter said little, but her expression remained dark as she went over all her gear, checking and cleaning each weapon, every piece of armor. A few times she shot meaningful looks at Elevaren, a private conversation exchanged without a single word being spoken. The eladrin had regained some of the otherworldly air that he’d lost in the aftermath of yesterday’s battle; as he meditated in the shadow of a looming tree at the edge of their camp, he seemed more like some spirit of the wood than a normal man. Splug was ungagged and given some leftovers to eat as the others prepared to break camp. The goblin muttered about the injustice of the situation, but was careful to keep his voice low. Beetle was assigned to keep watch over him. It wasn’t until they had packed up all of their gear, and buried the evidence of their stay, that Mara finally confronted Devrem. “We need to talk about this mission,” she said, taking up a position astride the narrow path that led back up out of the dell. “I have told you all that I know of Kalarel and his allies,” Devrem replied. “You all know what is at stake here.” “What I know,” Mara said, “is that there are five of us here. We’ll all decent in a fight, I’ll grant. We held our own against those goblins, when the odds were against us. But if even half of what that goblin said was true, we’re up against even worse odds back in that dungeon. Kalarel’s hobgoblin mercenaries aren’t going to be as easy as those goblins were… and they nearly killed us. Leaving aside the cleric’s own powers, about which you have been rather vague.” “I have held nothing from you,” Devrem said. He met the woman fighter’s gaze with a hard look of his own, and for several quiet seconds a tension grew between them, one that neither seemed willing to break. “We are not saying that the mission is not important,” Elevaren finally said, stepping between the two. “But it helps nothing if we are slain; no one would even know of what we have learned here. Perhaps if we returned to Winterford, convinced Lord Padraig…” “He does not understand. None of them do. They dwell safe in the security of their stone walls and empty lives, refusing to believe in the shadows that they can only dimly sense. They sit by the fire and tell tales, and laugh away the darkness that waits to claim them.” “Why do you fight to defend them, if you hold them in such contempt?” Mara asked. “I might ask you the same, fighter.” Mara flinched, and her expression darkened. She stepped forward, thrusting closer to priest, until Elevaren laid a hand on her shoulder. “This is crazy!” They all turned to look at Jaron, who’d stepped up onto a fallen log along the edge of the camp facing the trail. “Look, we’re all on the same side here, right? I’ve seen enough already to know that Kalarel is a threat to the region. I don’t know what’s going to happen if he completes this ritual, but I can’t risk the lives of my people on the hope that Devrem is wrong. There’s [i]something[/i] building here, I felt it last night. Something… [i]wrong[/i], about this place. Dark powers at work…” “Dreams are not a good reason to risk your life,” Mara said. “I have made my case as best I could,” Devrem said. “I could use your blade, warrior, but if you have not the stomach for this fight, then you can at least bring word to Winterhaven. Perhaps it will not be too late, if I fail.” “I will go with you,” Jaron said, sounding resigned. “Me too!” Beetle said. Mara looked at Elevaren. “What of you, old friend?” The eladrin’s eyes fell to the tangled growth at his feet. “I little feel as though I am master of my own course, these days.” He looked up at Devrem. “I suspect I was brought here for a reason. I will accompany you.” Devrem looked at Mara. “Damn it, fine then,” she said. “Without me, you won’t have even a slim chance. But I want your word, priest, that if we are overmatched, we fall back, and reassess the situation. I’m not signing on for a suicide mission.” “Death is inevitable for all of us,” the priest said. “But I am not a madman. I am here to stop Kalarel, not to throw my life away.” “That’s not exactly reassuring,” Mara muttered under her breath, as the group set out again back toward the keep. [/QUOTE]
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