Strange Company
Hello, and thanks to all of you for reading thus far. I planned to do this sooner but I bit off a bit more than I could chew, so to speak. We are about 2/3rds of the way thru our first game after this update.
Herreman, thanks for you compliment. Sorry the last updates have been dialouge light, but the introduction of a new NPC here will definatley give them a lot to talk about. So, . . .
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Mhoram inhaled completely, holding his breath for a moment, and released it in a cleansing sigh. He rolled over onto his side and nestled himself more comfortably within the bedroll. He closed his eyes, trying to find a calm mind within a sea of whirling thoughts. His body felt exhausted, as though it had traveled many more miles than his boots would show, but his mind stayed fresh and the persistent chatter would not stop.
The nightmares would not bother him, or Gherrick, tonight. He had to believe that, otherwise his mind would be as burnt as the cracked landscape that surrounded them. Some of the most powerfully protective wards in his spellbook were on himself and Gherrick right now; no outside influences or attempts to gather information would penetrate their mental shields.
Sadly, Mhoram possessed no magicks that could will him into slumber. In the back of his mind too many unanswered questions remained about why they were here. Closer to the surface, the perplexing questions about their two new companions occupied his analysis.
There they were with their backs turned to him, one on each side of Darsint, staring ahead in silence. H.A.L., living Warforged Construct and self-professed Eldritch Knight, and Saint Simon the Angel, rescued by Mhoram and his companions after thousands of years of torture by horrific undead abominations. Simon called them, “Aags.”
Of the two, H.A.L. was much easier to understand despite an underlying subtlety of nature that none of them, save Darsint, could easily accept. HAL approached them in that lab beneath a long-ago abandoned keep and surprised them all by not immediately attacking. Instead, he addressed Mhoram in that low, tinny voice that issued out of squared, meshed box that is his mouth, and asked what his orders were.
They stood there, just looking in wonder at the intimidating mithrial construct before them. H.A.L. loomed over them, nearly as tall as Darsint, with wide arms, chest, and legs connected to a much more petite waist. It moved much more gracefully than any golem they could recall seeing.
“Orders?,” inquired Mhoram. “What orders are you referring to? What are your capabilities?”
“I am referring to my arcane and combat routines,” H.A.L. responded his flat, tinny, and somehow masculine voice. “Both are currently online and are available at your disposal, Master Programmer.”
“What is he talking about?,” whispered Gherrick. “I’m not eager to see these combat routines, especially if it means testing them on us!”
“Tell us about these arcane routines,” commanded Darsint. “Do you mean spells that you can cast? I’ve never encountered a construct, Mhoram, well, . . ., besides myself, with significant arcane abilities.”
H.A.L. did not respond. Momentarily, Mhoram prompted with the same question and H.A.L. immediately began listing his arcane ‘sub-routines.’
“0 Circle Arcane Sub-Routines: Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Copy, Dancing Lights, Disrupt Undead . . . Touch of Fatigue. 1st Circle Arcane Sub-Routines: Animate Rope, Enlarge, Expeditious Retreat, Feather Fall, Force Spike, Hold Portal, . . .”
(30 minutes later)
“6th Circle Arcane Sub-Routines: Black Mantle, Brain Kill, Chain Lightning, Circle of Death, Contingency, Disintegrate. . . .”
“Stop,” ordered Mhoram. H.A.L. did so. “Now, tell us your highest valences, ending with the last two in alphabetical order.”
“Reconstruction, . . ., and Reverse Gravity.”
“Impressive, H.A.L.,” remarked Darsint. “Now, we want you to follow us out of here and protect us at all times.”
H.A.L.’s red eyes met Darsint’s briefly and then turned back to Mhoram.
“Why don’t you follow his commands, H.A.L.?,” asked Mhoram.
“I follow only the commands of the Master Programmer,” answered H.A.L.. “That would be you, Master Programmer Mhoram.”
Not unusual, ruminated Mhoram. Constructs typically only follow the commands of their creator. Still, the tome they found explicitly stated these Warforged creations possessed the ability to learn and think for themselves.
“H.A.L., insert a new sub-routine into your mind as follows: I am to obey not only the commands of Master Programmer Mhoram, but also those he designates as . . . sub-programmers. I now designate Darsint and Gherrick, both of who are here before you, as sub-programmers. Do you comprehend this new command I’ve given you?”
H.A.L.’s eyes dimmed and a faint clicking sounded issued from his head. Then, he stopped and H.A.L. snapped back to attention.
“Yes, Master Programmer Mhoram. I will obey the commands of the sub-programmers you have designated, to the extent that they do not conflict with the commands given to me by you.”
Mhoram looked at Darsint and said, “Well, give it a try.”
“On second thought H.A.L,” Darsint stated unequivocally, “we will rest in this laboratory tonight. I want you to work with Mhoram to secure our resting place and use whatever magicks you have available to protect our location.”
“Agreed, sub-programmer Darsint,” H.A.L. responded in his flat voice. Their resting place soon became a sanctuary, warded by heavy magicks, and protected by two very large and intimidating constructs.
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Mhoram turned himself over one more time in his bedroll. This must stop, he growled at his mind. I must be rest or I will likely be killed by my dull senses as I was today!
He could not, despite every effort put for by his mental prowess, push the thoughts of their newest companion away. He pushed himself a bit more, then when he grew tired of the charade he gave in to the need to replay the day’s events in his mind . . .
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H.A.L. spoke very rarely during the next day’s hike, as did the rest of the Travelers. Their silence was awkward at first as they all felt that there was much to discuss. No one had answers, though, so perhaps there was nothing to discuss after all.
They all lumbered along, crushing the bones that made up their road even smaller fragments of what once was. Darsint led the way, flanked by H.A.L., with Mhoram and Gherrick standing back about 20 ft. Neither Gherrick, nor Mhoram, slept well in the keep. Their bodies and minds yearned for a complete rest that could not be found in such harsh surroundings.
The strange movements of the white shinning sun did not help them either. At one moment it was just creeping over the horizon, staying there impossibly long as mile after mile was put behind them. Without warning, it then rapidly ascended to the highest point on its path in the middle(?) of the day, only to lazily float downwards like a falling leaf. Mhoram felt physically weak, but mentally fresh, when they finally made camp. Gherrick was the precise opposite. H.A.L. and Darsint felt as rested as they ever needed to be.
The sun eventually set and the moon lit the wasted land around them. Somehow, despite the eerie, howling wind, their utter ignorance about their surroundings, and the pervasive nightmares that haunted some of them, the night did put some of their gloominess to rest. At least they could not fully see the agony that expanded around them.
H.A.L. heard it first, and quickly alerted the others. Dinner was finished and rest seemed near for some of them. A tortured voice in the distance let out a low moan and repeated over and over, “Never . . . . you will never break me.”
“Prepare yourselves for battle,” demand Darsint upon hearing the voice for himself. “Whatever is out there owes us some answers.”
“H.A.L, do you have any idea what is out there?” asked Gherrick.
“The probabilities of correctly discerning ‘what is out there’ are next to none,” H.A.L. replied in his flat, tinny voice. “I have no experience with this place having been brought online 26.23 hours ago.”
“Oh, we will break you!,” screamed an unknown voice. “And if not, we will just have ourselves a little fun with you and your guts!” The voice was high pitched, foul, and feminine.
Darsint charged ahead after preparing his own wards and receiving another from Mhoram. He gave no thought for his safety as he ran at an accelerated pace across the scorched land. Answers were the only thing that mattered. His quickened pace caused him to arrive several seconds ahead of the others, but he involuntarily paused as he gazed upon the horrific source of the voices.
They were perhaps the ugliest creatures Darsint had every laid eyes upon. The dead beings in front of him, about 100 feet ahead, seemed to be a putrefied version of the angel stuck between them. Their dead flesh, pale as the moonlight, was stretched uncomfortable over their 10 ft frames. They boasted long, talonned hands and feet, nearly skeletal wings, and an awful, sneering faces that bobbed slyly atop their long snakelike necks. One held a dagger that was twisting around inside the green angel’s stomach. They had him strapped onto vertical table and he wore only a few ripped pieces of cloth.
The aags, as they were later known, stared back at the large, green-metaled construct before them and immediately knew that they had new prey. They rushed towards him, their forms blurred and fluctuating.
Mhoram, flying above them, watched in fascination as Darsint drew his greatsword and charged. A battle was inevitable and Ardick would now witness their combined powers.
He landed and readied his mind to unleash a terrible fury upon their enemies.
Darsint and the aags collided in a storm of talons, teeth, and swordplay. He hacked, slashed, and chopped his way through his opponents, but with little result. They moved too quickly and their forms were almost insubstantial at times. The blows he did land found that their bones were nearly as hard as his body. The aags were similarly disappointed when Darsint barely noticed their attacks. His skills in battle were good, but his greenstar body easily defended him from their claws and the unholy energy that washed over him with each touch.
Mhoram and H.A.L. stood close together, focusing their might on a single aag to Darsint’s left. Several bolts on lightning shot from Mhoram’s right hand in quick succession while H.A.L. conjured five glowing balls of light that streaked toward their target, followed by a green ray from his right finger. The ray vaporized a large portion of the aag’s abdomen, but it seemed like more of an inconvenience to the thing than a real wound. It turned towards them and ran, ignoring Darsint’s parting blows.
Gherrick peppered the income aag with arrows, his hands moving with a speed comparable to the flight of his weapons. He was a canon of holy power as Aegle’s aura of light lit their way to the target. Gherrick fired arrow after arrow, all sure to hit the mark until the abomination slipped away at the last second. Only a quarter of his shots were finding the mark, so his decision was simple: he fired more arrows.
He could not bring it down, though, and the aag tore into Mhoram will all its evil might. Its claws tore into him time and time again, removing flesh and spilling his blood onto the thirst ground. Each successful strike also washed away his most powerful incantations, quickly leaving him without his most optimal weapons. H.A.L. immediately drew his sword, its cool grey steel flashing in the moonlight, and brought it down in a series of rapid chops and slashes, hoping to force it away from Mhoram. It did not budge.
The pain was too much and threatened to interrupt Mhoram’s casting. He reached down to the very core of his concentration and muttered a final arcane syllable that transported him several hundred feet behind the aag that struck him. His wounds continued to bleed after he quaffed a healing potion.
I cannot be so slow to react, he thought. I should have been much quicker when it charged us. Perhaps I am rust.
Gherrick and Aegle continued their rapid assault and their target sported over a dozen arrows. Never did a single arrow threat to hit H.A.L., who was on top of it with a flurry of sword blows. His sword crackled with a yellowish energy and a loud, concussive boom issued from the blade whenever it found its quarry. Approximately 20 arrows and several large gashes throughout its body finally brought it down. Its corpse hadn’t even hit the ground before they turned their attention towards Darsint’s opponent.
The three of them fell the second aag after a single minute of their focused might. The combination of greatswords and arrows was too much for it, and she collapsed with a terrifying screech. The angel seemed gripped by a momentary delirium as was muttering to itself in an unfamiliar tongue.
Mhoram picked up the dead aag’s dagger and cut the green angel down, who then slid to the ground before sitting up. His body was horribly scarred and its form, while undeniably muscular, looked withered and emaciated. Mhoram’s eyes instantly recognized the situation by the plain metal dagger and the angel’s table. They were torturing him, stabbing him again and again, only to let its wounds heal and stab some more.
“What is your name, angel?,” demanded Darsint. “And what are these creatures that were torturing you.”
The angel looked up at them all, taking stock of the beings in front of him, and quietly composed himself. “I am Simon, . . . Saint Simon, they once called me. These foul creatures you’ve slain are aags. Thank you saving me . . . I’ve been in their unholy hands for far too long.”
“How long?,” inquired Mhoram.
“I don’t know as I lost count of the days sometime ago. All I can guess is thousands of years that they’ve had me, torturing me each night with such sadistic glee. Please, do not ask too much of me right now, as I haven’t had a reprieve in so long and I am very, very weak.”
“Guard him, H.A.L.!,” snapped Darsint. “We must discuss this matter in private.”
Now several feet away, they began to discuss their newfound angel. Darsint was clearly uneasy about trusting Simon, fearing a nefarious trap hidden behind such an important boon.
“He was being tortured by these foul undead,” reasoned Mhoram. “They kept him her for who knows how long, cutting him over and over, in an attempt to break him. I do not think he is anything other than he appears.”
“Hmm, my gem will decide this,” answered Darsint. He pulled it out of his bag and looked upon the angel, who was nothing but an angel. “Yes, he is an angel, but he is also quarry of these aags. Perhaps we should leave him to fend for himself. Surely they will want their pin cushion back.”
“We can’t survive out here without some way of mending ourselves,” retorted Mhoram. “I only have so many of these potions and none of us are skilled healers. Angels of this power are quite capable in the divine arts and this Simon will fill a valuable role.” He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but it was if he had always known this to be true.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an angel like that before,” mussed Gherrick. “What kind is it? Why is it green?”
Mhoram thought for a moment. “I believe they are called Planetars. Not the most powerful of their kind, but not to be trifled with in any case. Let us take him in for the night and we shall see what he can tell us tomorrow. He must be valuable if the aags did not kill him.”
Darsint reluctantly consented and they brought Simon back to their camp. He begged them to not question him until the morning and even Darsint finally relented. What Simon could tell them would have to wait until tomorrow.
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Mhoram teetered on the edge of sleep now that his thoughts had run their course. All the information about their predicament was analyzed, all the data stored in a safe place that he would find again in the morning. The haze unconsciousness began to set in when a final thought entered his head.
Is this all fate?, he thought to himself. Did someone conveniently place these new beings in our path or is it simple luck that we came upon them?
The answers seemed so far away, shrinking further and further out of his consciousness as sleep finally took him away.