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Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4624762" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 67</p><p></p><p></p><p>Beetle and the dark creeper tumbled about upon the hard floor of the upper temple, each seeking advantage in their deadly grapple. Knives flashed with each twist of bodies, and as they rolled they left bloody smears behind them on the stones. Beetle was fast, and possessed of a certain wiry strength, but the creeper was empowered by the dark powers of Shadow that had transformed it from a mundane goblin into something more powerful and malevolent. As they caromed off one of the nearby stone walls the creeper seized hold of the halfling and slammed him into the ground with enough force to stun him. Tearing its knife-hand free, it lifted the blade to finish him. </p><p></p><p>Had Beetle been alone, the shadow-thing would have had him then, but Jaron had been waiting for a clear shot, and as the dark creeper raised its knife he fired an arrow point-blank solidly into the center of its back. The creature let out a high-pitched shriek and reared up, clutching in vain at the shaft that penetrated its body. Beetle recovered quickly from his momentary vulnerability and took advantage, pulling another knife from his belt and sinking it to the hilt in the creature’s side. The creeper stiffened and fell forward. Beetle caught the body and kicked it free. He sprang to his feet, but staggered to the side and nearly fell, obviously a little woozy from the beating he’d taken. </p><p></p><p>Elevaren hurled a curse of fey magic upon the berserker as he stepped forward to finish off the battered Mara. The warlock’s <em>witchfire</em> erupted from the warrior’s eyes and ears, searing his flesh and blasting his senses, but again failing to draw so much as a groan from his lips. The berserker, half-blinded by the attack, lunged forward and swept his axe in a broad arc that likely would have cut the eladrin in twain, had it connected squarely. But even the glancing hit that tore across Elevaren’s shoulder was nasty; the warlock staggered back, blood seeping from a broad tear in his leather tunic. Elevaren could have transported himself away from the immediate danger, but he looked down at the prone woman lying next to both him and the berserker, and he held his ground. The berserker, still unable to see clearly, followed the sound of Elevaren’s cry of pain, stepping forward as he lifted the axe to try again to put an end to his foe. </p><p></p><p>Mara, lying on her back and critically injured, was not in a position to do much to intervene. But as the berserker stepped toward Elevaren she managed to summon the strength to lash out with one foot, the hard heel smashing into the berserker’s right knee. The knee buckled forward, and the warrior toppled over, landing with a clang of metal on stone as the blade of his axe scraped against the floor tiles. A plume of multicolored light washed over him as Elevaren hit him with an <em>eldritch blast</em>, but the warrior seemed barely fazed by the attack, moving with deliberation as he planted his hands against the floor and pushed himself up into a crouch before rising, taking up his axe again in both hands, an implacable foe that would not be denied. </p><p></p><p>Devrem roared and hurled himself up into the enemy cleric, smashing into the big man’s body with his shoulder while his hands grabbed the wrists holding that deadly mace. Drathek was in better shape, but as the sheer weight and momentum of Devrem drove him back, his booted feet slipped on the treacherous slicks of blood that trailed across the floor of the chamber. The pair struggled there for a moment, neither able to gain the immediate advantage. The head of the mace gyrated between them as they spun in a circle, then Devrem tore a hand free and tried to grab his foe’s face, the silvery flashes of his <em>sacred flame</em> flickering from his fingers as he sought to repeat the tactic he’d used on the ghoul earlier. The underpriest screamed as the flaring energies seared his skin, but Devrem hadn’t been able to get a solid grip, and Drathek was able to bat his hand away with a sharp strike from an armored elbow. With a surge of raw strength the priest brought a bracered forearm down hard across Devrem’s face, breaking his nose and driving the pair apart. Devrem tried to come at him again before he could bring the mace into play, but this time Drathek intercepted his charge and caught him in a hold that used his own momentum against him, spinning him around and then unbalancing him with a trip that sent him careening to the floor. Only blind luck kept Devrem from falling into the open pit, though for a moment he balanced there precariously on the lip, blood pouring down his face from his shattered nose. </p><p></p><p>The berserker lunged at Elevaren again as he thrust himself back to his feet, but the warlock was wary now, and he darted back, narrowly avoiding the deadly blade of that huge axe. The warrior nearly lost his balance for a moment, but he used the impetus of the backswing to shift back toward Mara, who’d managed to roll over onto her stomach and was now trying unsuccessfully to get to her feet. Her smaller sword had fallen away when she’d been knocked down, but she still had the longsword, its hilt clutched tightly in her right hand. Seeing the berserker coming for her, she tried to bring the blade up into a defensive position, but the sword may as well have been an anvil for the strength that she was able to summon, and its tip barely came up to the level of the warrior’s knees.</p><p></p><p>“Bastard…” she said weakly, able only to watch as the warrior came at her, his axe coming up high above his head. She heard a solid thud as something hit the warrior from behind, and he faltered for a half-step, offering her a moment of hope. But again the berserker recovered, and with one final step forward he loomed over her, and the axe started to come down. </p><p></p><p>A blur of motion from behind the warrior culminated with a collision that struck him hard in the back of his right knee, at almost the same spot that Mara had kicked him just moments before. Again the knee gave way, and the warrior fell hard forward, his axe whistling through the air scant inches away from Mara’s exposed face. He fell onto her, his heavy body landing across Mara’s legs, and she could feel his weight pressing down upon her, a crushing burden that should have hurt, but she only felt a heavy numbness in her limbs as the loss of blood from her wounds began to steal away her consciousness. She was aware of the warrior struggling again, trying to get up, but then she heard a high-pitched, familiar laugh, followed by a spray of hot blood that splashed all over the side of her face, accompanied by the abrupt end of her foe’s movements. </p><p></p><p>A wave of power washed up out of the open pit, an invisible yet somehow tangible surge of magical energy that each of the companions felt as a weight pressing against their consciousness. Each of them felt a flickering within their minds, a rush of discordant images of things that were only partially perceived, but which would give them nightmares for long years to follow. The disorientation that followed lasted only a few seconds, and as it cleared they could see the underpriest of Orcus standing over the battered form of Devrem, a look of exultation on his face. The cleric of the Raven Queen was still conscious, but pain twisted his features, and it looked to be all he could manage to keep himself propped up on his arms, vainly trying to summon the strength to face the evil cleric on his feet. </p><p></p><p>“You are too late!” the underpriest laughed. “The day of reckoning has come! The Shadow rises triumphant!” </p><p></p><p>“Never!” Devrem hissed, slumping down onto his side as he thrust out his left hand, and channeled the last of his strength into a <em>lance of faith</em> that struck the priest solidly in the chest. Drathek grunted as the divine power hit him, but the attack only seemed to fuel the insane intensity that flared in his eyes. “Your blood shall be an offering to the true god!” he shrieked, lifting his mace as he rushed forward to finish off his enemy. Devrem could do nothing more to intervene, his limbs trembling weakly as he tried in vain to get up. </p><p></p><p>An arrow whistled over the fallen cleric, slamming hard into the underpriest’s thigh, penetrating the skirt of mail protecting the limb. Drathek stumbled, and was hit by a blinding spray of magic that flashed around his face. The <em>eldritch blast</em> disoriented him only for a moment, but it in turn was followed by a gleaming blade, barely a hand-spawn in length, that tore mercilessly into his head just above his left eye, the razor-sharp steel tearing a long gash that cut to the bone. Drathek screamed and clutched at the bloody wound. His momentum carried him forward, and he collided hard into Devrem, lying at the edge of the pit. Both clerics were tumbled forward into the gaping opening, Drathek still screaming as he went over head-first, his yell echoing from below before it ended abruptly in a sick thud. </p><p></p><p>Jaron ran up, not expecting to see anything but an empty darkness, but as he reached the edge of the pit, he saw Devrem dangling just a few feet below the lip, clutching to one of the trailing chains with some desperate reserve of strength. He looked up and saw Jaron. “Help… me…” he managed to say.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 4624762, member: 143"] Chapter 67 Beetle and the dark creeper tumbled about upon the hard floor of the upper temple, each seeking advantage in their deadly grapple. Knives flashed with each twist of bodies, and as they rolled they left bloody smears behind them on the stones. Beetle was fast, and possessed of a certain wiry strength, but the creeper was empowered by the dark powers of Shadow that had transformed it from a mundane goblin into something more powerful and malevolent. As they caromed off one of the nearby stone walls the creeper seized hold of the halfling and slammed him into the ground with enough force to stun him. Tearing its knife-hand free, it lifted the blade to finish him. Had Beetle been alone, the shadow-thing would have had him then, but Jaron had been waiting for a clear shot, and as the dark creeper raised its knife he fired an arrow point-blank solidly into the center of its back. The creature let out a high-pitched shriek and reared up, clutching in vain at the shaft that penetrated its body. Beetle recovered quickly from his momentary vulnerability and took advantage, pulling another knife from his belt and sinking it to the hilt in the creature’s side. The creeper stiffened and fell forward. Beetle caught the body and kicked it free. He sprang to his feet, but staggered to the side and nearly fell, obviously a little woozy from the beating he’d taken. Elevaren hurled a curse of fey magic upon the berserker as he stepped forward to finish off the battered Mara. The warlock’s [i]witchfire[/i] erupted from the warrior’s eyes and ears, searing his flesh and blasting his senses, but again failing to draw so much as a groan from his lips. The berserker, half-blinded by the attack, lunged forward and swept his axe in a broad arc that likely would have cut the eladrin in twain, had it connected squarely. But even the glancing hit that tore across Elevaren’s shoulder was nasty; the warlock staggered back, blood seeping from a broad tear in his leather tunic. Elevaren could have transported himself away from the immediate danger, but he looked down at the prone woman lying next to both him and the berserker, and he held his ground. The berserker, still unable to see clearly, followed the sound of Elevaren’s cry of pain, stepping forward as he lifted the axe to try again to put an end to his foe. Mara, lying on her back and critically injured, was not in a position to do much to intervene. But as the berserker stepped toward Elevaren she managed to summon the strength to lash out with one foot, the hard heel smashing into the berserker’s right knee. The knee buckled forward, and the warrior toppled over, landing with a clang of metal on stone as the blade of his axe scraped against the floor tiles. A plume of multicolored light washed over him as Elevaren hit him with an [i]eldritch blast[/i], but the warrior seemed barely fazed by the attack, moving with deliberation as he planted his hands against the floor and pushed himself up into a crouch before rising, taking up his axe again in both hands, an implacable foe that would not be denied. Devrem roared and hurled himself up into the enemy cleric, smashing into the big man’s body with his shoulder while his hands grabbed the wrists holding that deadly mace. Drathek was in better shape, but as the sheer weight and momentum of Devrem drove him back, his booted feet slipped on the treacherous slicks of blood that trailed across the floor of the chamber. The pair struggled there for a moment, neither able to gain the immediate advantage. The head of the mace gyrated between them as they spun in a circle, then Devrem tore a hand free and tried to grab his foe’s face, the silvery flashes of his [i]sacred flame[/i] flickering from his fingers as he sought to repeat the tactic he’d used on the ghoul earlier. The underpriest screamed as the flaring energies seared his skin, but Devrem hadn’t been able to get a solid grip, and Drathek was able to bat his hand away with a sharp strike from an armored elbow. With a surge of raw strength the priest brought a bracered forearm down hard across Devrem’s face, breaking his nose and driving the pair apart. Devrem tried to come at him again before he could bring the mace into play, but this time Drathek intercepted his charge and caught him in a hold that used his own momentum against him, spinning him around and then unbalancing him with a trip that sent him careening to the floor. Only blind luck kept Devrem from falling into the open pit, though for a moment he balanced there precariously on the lip, blood pouring down his face from his shattered nose. The berserker lunged at Elevaren again as he thrust himself back to his feet, but the warlock was wary now, and he darted back, narrowly avoiding the deadly blade of that huge axe. The warrior nearly lost his balance for a moment, but he used the impetus of the backswing to shift back toward Mara, who’d managed to roll over onto her stomach and was now trying unsuccessfully to get to her feet. Her smaller sword had fallen away when she’d been knocked down, but she still had the longsword, its hilt clutched tightly in her right hand. Seeing the berserker coming for her, she tried to bring the blade up into a defensive position, but the sword may as well have been an anvil for the strength that she was able to summon, and its tip barely came up to the level of the warrior’s knees. “Bastard…” she said weakly, able only to watch as the warrior came at her, his axe coming up high above his head. She heard a solid thud as something hit the warrior from behind, and he faltered for a half-step, offering her a moment of hope. But again the berserker recovered, and with one final step forward he loomed over her, and the axe started to come down. A blur of motion from behind the warrior culminated with a collision that struck him hard in the back of his right knee, at almost the same spot that Mara had kicked him just moments before. Again the knee gave way, and the warrior fell hard forward, his axe whistling through the air scant inches away from Mara’s exposed face. He fell onto her, his heavy body landing across Mara’s legs, and she could feel his weight pressing down upon her, a crushing burden that should have hurt, but she only felt a heavy numbness in her limbs as the loss of blood from her wounds began to steal away her consciousness. She was aware of the warrior struggling again, trying to get up, but then she heard a high-pitched, familiar laugh, followed by a spray of hot blood that splashed all over the side of her face, accompanied by the abrupt end of her foe’s movements. A wave of power washed up out of the open pit, an invisible yet somehow tangible surge of magical energy that each of the companions felt as a weight pressing against their consciousness. Each of them felt a flickering within their minds, a rush of discordant images of things that were only partially perceived, but which would give them nightmares for long years to follow. The disorientation that followed lasted only a few seconds, and as it cleared they could see the underpriest of Orcus standing over the battered form of Devrem, a look of exultation on his face. The cleric of the Raven Queen was still conscious, but pain twisted his features, and it looked to be all he could manage to keep himself propped up on his arms, vainly trying to summon the strength to face the evil cleric on his feet. “You are too late!” the underpriest laughed. “The day of reckoning has come! The Shadow rises triumphant!” “Never!” Devrem hissed, slumping down onto his side as he thrust out his left hand, and channeled the last of his strength into a [i]lance of faith[/i] that struck the priest solidly in the chest. Drathek grunted as the divine power hit him, but the attack only seemed to fuel the insane intensity that flared in his eyes. “Your blood shall be an offering to the true god!” he shrieked, lifting his mace as he rushed forward to finish off his enemy. Devrem could do nothing more to intervene, his limbs trembling weakly as he tried in vain to get up. An arrow whistled over the fallen cleric, slamming hard into the underpriest’s thigh, penetrating the skirt of mail protecting the limb. Drathek stumbled, and was hit by a blinding spray of magic that flashed around his face. The [i]eldritch blast[/i] disoriented him only for a moment, but it in turn was followed by a gleaming blade, barely a hand-spawn in length, that tore mercilessly into his head just above his left eye, the razor-sharp steel tearing a long gash that cut to the bone. Drathek screamed and clutched at the bloody wound. His momentum carried him forward, and he collided hard into Devrem, lying at the edge of the pit. Both clerics were tumbled forward into the gaping opening, Drathek still screaming as he went over head-first, his yell echoing from below before it ended abruptly in a sick thud. Jaron ran up, not expecting to see anything but an empty darkness, but as he reached the edge of the pit, he saw Devrem dangling just a few feet below the lip, clutching to one of the trailing chains with some desperate reserve of strength. He looked up and saw Jaron. “Help… me…” he managed to say. [/QUOTE]
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