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The Ardick Campaign - Chapter One: Repentance
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<blockquote data-quote="Angel of Adventure" data-source="post: 2491631" data-attributes="member: 19165"><p>Harris finally sat down at his small, nearly broken table and desperately fought to keeps his emotions together. He’d paced relentlessly throughout the day until he saw the sun rise to its zenith in the sky. He reminded himself then that this could be the last time he had to fake his allergy to Hell’s Weed and that nothing, absolutely nothing, could tip Zacknef’s men to the insidious plot that was now underway to bring about his demise.</p><p></p><p>He composed himself and took his daily dose, barely managing to hold the Hell’s Weed down until after Zacknef’s men left. His daughters did well by doing the same. They quickly wandered off before their captors could take their pleasures. </p><p></p><p>They returned to their ‘house’ (he didn’t know why that word came to him, as no one around them really had one) and paced some more, trying not give into the hope that the Travelers would succeed. Even if they did return victorious, Harris did not know where his people would go. Their newly gained freedom would evaporate soon after it was granted, exhausted by the harsh lands around them.</p><p></p><p>Feelings of panic surged through him and he forced himself to sit back down. It would all end today, one way or another. Looked at his daughters playing quietly in the corner and prayed to Saint Simon that they would not seek Zacknef before they died.</p><p></p><p>His door flew open and three figures appeared, their features blacked out by the sun behind them. Harris threw himself over his daughters and bade them to close their eyes.</p><p></p><p>“Hush, you two,” Harris pleaded over their cries. “It is time that we leave this place; we will be free very soon.”</p><p></p><p>“It is done,” said a familiar voice. “He is no more.”</p><p></p><p>A shocked Harris turned around and saw the three of them in his room. Mhoram looked completely drained, his tanned completion a noticeable shade lighter and he breathed heavily. Gherrick stood his right, holding the crushed body of Saint Simon and covered in his angelic blood. Electrical sparks shot out from H.A.L.’s various extremities, and his normally upright posture was a bit hunched over. All were covered in brownish dust.</p><p></p><p>“Do you speak truthfully?” pleaded Harris as he advanced towards them, his eyes starting to water. “Are we free of him for good?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” replied Mhoram. </p><p></p><p>Harris flung himself onto his knees and a pair of emaciated arms wrapped around Mhoram’s legs. A wailing sob, full of thankfulness and relief, resounded throughout the house.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, thank you, thank you . . .,” whispered Harris, over and over. He stayed on his knees, holding Mhoram and crying until his eyes ran dry.</p><p></p><p>**********************************************************</p><p></p><p>The remaining two Travelers slept until sunrise, surrounded by every remaining ward Mhoram possessed. Both awoke and made their way towards their fallen warriors.</p><p></p><p>Mhoram looked over their dead while Gherrick silently observed. The Initiate of the Bow looked over Darsint, cleaved into two chunks and lined with uncountable chips and cracks. Saint Simon was a mauled effigy of himself, squished into a diminished stature that reeked of heavenly blood.</p><p></p><p>Fortunately, killing Zacknef hadn’t caused their demise. The ceiling threatened to collapse upon them, but H.A.L. reacted first. He protected them inside a large hemisphere of pure Force, invisible yet unmovable, leaving them enough time to collect their dead and acquire Zacknef’s riches.</p><p></p><p>Mhoram pulled out a slender grey libram from his angel-skeleton robe and thought of Darsint. Alas, he mused, the living construct that was Darsint would have enjoyed this tome. Creating a Stone Golem, especially one as outlined here, was certainly a challenge worthy of the Adept’s skills. </p><p></p><p>I must choose, thought Mhoram, between a link to the past and one to the present. Simon is our only true key to temporary immortality. His prayers will bring us back to this place no matter how we are destroyed. Moreover, he knows at least something of this time and place, though a 100,000 years or so removed from the present day. But Darsint, he does not deserve this. He is too proud and powerful to make his end in such a manner. I would hate to loose him; he feels like a good friend that I’ve never met.</p><p></p><p>“Which one should I choose, Gherrick?” inquired Mhoram. “I can only bring back one of them, for certain. I can’t be positive, but I feel that Simon’s prayers won’t be strong enough to return Darsint to us. I may be wrong, but it is unlikely. Darsint is no longer a man now that his ascendance is complete, and Angels only hold sway over those with defined mortalities. Speak now, Gherrick, and tell me: which one?”</p><p></p><p>“Darsint, I think,” he whispered in a low voice, “but don’t ask me. Simon is a great asset for us, though Darsint came here with us, and I think he would do the same for either of us, given a change in our positions.”</p><p></p><p>“It is settled then. I will bring Darsint back to us.”</p><p></p><p>The loud, thumping gait of H.A.L, Warforged Eldritch Knight, issued from behind them. H.A.L. approached and addressed Mhoram. “Master Program, I request permission to examine the remains of Sub-Programmer Darsint.”</p><p></p><p>“Proceed.”</p><p></p><p>H.A.L. dropped to his knee and spent several minutes assessing the situation.</p><p></p><p>“With your permission, Master Programmer, I will return Darsint to a limited level of functionality. From there I may attempt to fully restore his systems.”</p><p></p><p>“Say true? Can you do the same for Saint Simon?”</p><p></p><p>“Negative. Darsint and I share certain commonalities. My restorative processes will only aid him.”</p><p></p><p>“Do so then, at your earliest possibility.”</p><p></p><p>“I will need to refresh my arcane subroutines. Earliest execution of said programs will occur tomorrow morning.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, I guess that makes your choice easy,” muttered Gherrick.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, you must surely restore Saint Simon,” offered Aegle. “He is a kind and just creature. Our newfound flock will need his spiritual guidance in such a harrowing place as this.”</p><p></p><p>Guidance indeed, thought Mhoram. Surely, the positive must far outweigh the negatives for bringing Simon back to us. Perhaps these newly freed prisoners could use his preaching. I cannot see a denial of our responsibility here, but all the better if they rely on him more than us. Our path may be too treacherous to bring them along</p><p></p><p>“I WISH SAINT SIMON RESTORED TO LIFE AS HE WAS BEFORE OUR ENCOUNTER WITH ZACKNEF!” commanded Mhoram.</p><p></p><p>A column of heavenly light issued forth from above at the conclusion of Mhoram’s words. There was a bright flash, and then Saint Simon stood before them, restored to his full vigor. His formerly gaunt frame boasted thick muscle and he appeared straighter and taller. The dozens of Aag-inflicted wounds were replaced by smooth and supple green skin. He was a wonder to behold in his new state of being, coursing with holy energy and smiling contently.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Mhoram. I owe you much for this grand favor. I cannot restore the losses you received from casting such a taxing valence, but I will work everyday to repay you, knowing that the sum of my works will never truly equal what you have done for me. Now, tell me, is Zacknef no more?”</p><p></p><p>Mhoram returned his smile and the joy of their accomplishment radiated throughout his posture. “Yes, it is done Simon. The tyrant is dead, and his prisoners are now free. What we will do with them is something we must consult on once Darsint is restored.”</p><p></p><p>Saint Simon rushed towards them and they were soon caught in the long arms of his loving embrace.</p><p></p><p>“Merciful Lord, he was the last one who should have met this fate. You followed me into Zacknef’s quarters, both of you, because the goodness in your hearts persuaded you. I fear Darsint followed out of mere loyalty to you, despite his inner objections. I wish I could have died twice, once for both of us.”</p><p></p><p>“Don’t worry about him,” advised Gherrick. “H.A.L. will restore him in the morning. Now, what about these people? Harris is off cooking up a possible cure from the Marilith’s corpse we brought back. If he succeeds, what shall we do?” Agitation permeated his normally cool exterior.</p><p></p><p>“The answer lies with your heart, good Archer. We must help them, whatever the cost. As to how, it is something I must meditate on. Please, let me tend to your wounds and we will discuss the matter in the morning. We should all be here for that conversation.”</p><p></p><p>“Agreed,” said Mhoram. “Rest well, Saint Simon. We will talk in the morning.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>*************************************************************</p><p></p><p>They all gathered around to watch H.A.L. begin his work an hour after daybreak. He carefully pieced each severed bit of Darsint back together in an efficient and knowledgeable manner. When completed, H.A.L. stepped back a few pace and cast his spell. A white ray sped forth from this right finger and a violent spasm rippled through his patient. Darsint convulsed, contorted, and opened his eyes. </p><p></p><p>Darsint was speechless at first. He couldn’t stop looking at the hundreds of cracks that coursed through his mighty frame. Something told him that he had never been hurt this badly in the past. When his senses coalesced, he turned to them and asked: “Did we do it? Did we kill that foul bastard?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, it is done,” replied Mhoram. “Now lay still whilst H.A.L. repairs you. Then we shall all talk.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, do as Mhoram asks,” included Saint Simon. “For now, can I offer you a bite of food from my backpack?”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t need food,” retorted Darsint. “And, moreover, where did you get such a useful item at such an opportune time?”</p><p></p><p>“The Lord,” he answered succinctly.</p><p></p><p>*******************************************************************</p><p></p><p>Their meeting took place during the early afternoon. Harris had not returned to them and his missing presence remained in the back of their minds. Soon, the sun would climb to its zenith and nearly a thousand poor souls would be missing out on their daily dose of Hell’s Weed. </p><p></p><p>Darsint appeared fully restored, from every crack in his body to the tight scowl that pursed his lips. H.A.L. did an extraordinary job repairing Darsint, and Mhoram let the Warforged know it.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Master Programmer Mhoram. Your approval makes me . . . happy.”</p><p></p><p>Mhoram recounted their narrow escaped to his revived companions. They listed intently as he described how H.A.L. stabilize the falling ceiling long enough to gather them up and give the room a quick search. Zacknef hid a small chest, filled to the brim with valuable coins and an important gem: diamonds. Mhoram handed the Golem tome to Darsint, and imparted several other treasures on Saint Simon. None claimed the fiery-red and bejeweled headband that could shoot searing balls of flame at one’s enemies. Such a refusal clearly demonstrated their current equipment was far more favorable. </p><p></p><p>“Now, what will we do with these refugees?” broached Saint Simon. “We must take them with us. Surely they will die if let out here, whether from addiction or the inherent hostility of the land.”</p><p></p><p>“We are going to Redshores, a town none save you have ever visited,” countered Darsint. “Will they greet a thousand poor and needy with open arms, or stow away their wares and turn a cold shoulder to them, and to us? We do not know what laws or customs we might violate by bringing them along.”</p><p></p><p>“There are laws and then there is what is right and what is wrong,” Simon responded. “Those in Redshores are surely still good folk Karlissina bade you to find them.”</p><p></p><p>“We do not know if Harris will complete their cure, or come back empty-handed,” Mhoram interjected. “If he is unsuccessful, we must have a plan as well. I agree with both of you, to some extent. Simon, there is what is right and what is wrong. Whether they are cured or not, we must arrange for basic provisions for them and allow them to make a meaningful start. Darsint, you are wise to understand the reaction of the residents of Redshores to these people, and towards us, could be hostile. If these refugees of Zacknef’s Wilted Lands can sustain themselves out here, we will give them everything they need then travel on.”</p><p></p><p>“Mhoram, you cannot be entertaining such thoughts!” cried Simon. “Look deep inside; what would you want them to do for you, if your positions were reversed? That answer is the duty that you will owe them, what it is you decide for yourself and them.”</p><p></p><p>“Ha, Simon, you are so merciful when you would seek to drag others down with you!” shot Darsint. “You appeal to our good nature while you thrust us in front of the will of your God! We do not have any codes of conduct or written proclamations declaring that we need to be this kind. We have done enough for them, more than anyone else, including your God. Their responsibility is not mine, and I have never said so.”</p><p></p><p>“You accuse the Lord and I of bending your actions to suit our desires?” shouted Simon. “You want me with you just as much as these people want you to help them escape the curse of their mere existence. Deliver them, Darsint, from that which you have freed them.”</p><p></p><p>“I am disinclined to do so at the moment, and I will not talk further with you on this until Harris returns with word of his success. Mhoram, come with me. We need to talk in private.”</p><p></p><p>“Look into your heart, Darsint, lest you loose your moral footing inside the cold metal frame you possess,” answered Simon. “You must remember that we owe it to those less fortunate than us to use our powers . . .”</p><p></p><p>“Enough, Angel!” screamed Darsint. “You tell me to think with my heart? Think with your head! Your last bold foray for the sake of others left you crushed by Zacknef’s mere whim. Do not make the same mistake twice. I don’t think Mhoram will be so eager to return one who cannot manage to merely stay alive.”</p><p></p><p>“Zacknef was merely lucky when he squelched me,” returned Simon. “Every evil fiend may carry victory in the short run, but his very pride (by your account Mhoram) is what cost him his life. He stayed to berate you and taunt you with answers. He was killed for the privilege. I may have met an early end, but it was the Lord’s lesson that he was given on that date, and it was the final lesson of he ever had. I lived just long enough to deliver the message.”</p><p></p><p>“Good! Though, I wouldn’t say it was your Lord that decided your fate. It was you, wise Saint Simon, who threw caution to the wind and put yourself in front of a charging Demon. Next time, try to remember your wits long enough to recall that we need you. The outcome could have been different for both of us if you had lasted longer. Now, Mhoram, I must talk with you . . . alone.”</p><p></p><p>A slight commotion arose from the south and they were distracted from their verbal sparring. It was Harris, running towards them at great pace. He carried a large beaker of a foul looking concoction.</p><p></p><p>“We’ve done it!” shouted Harris in between gulps of air. He stopped in front on them, caught his breath, and continued.</p><p></p><p>“I think we have a cure to the Hell’s Weed. The beast’s heart was the key . . . I don’t have a lot, though, but it’s a start. Can you help us again . . . with your magicks? Can you help me make more of it?”</p><p></p><p>“Your prayers will certainly be answered,” Saint Simon assured him. The Planetar shot Darsint a contemptuous look. “I will aid you for now, but perhaps others will feel inclined to do so later. Yes, Darsint, go and discuss their fate. Trust whatever organ in your steely body that will let you judge the truth of this matter.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>*****************************************************************</p><p></p><p>“What is it you wish to discuss?”</p><p></p><p>Darsint’s gaze went downward and he considered his words. Mhoram was definitely of a similar moral bent to Saint Simon. But, realities were realities, not the pleasant situations that all hoped for. Darsint knew he would need to be very appealing to have Mhoram’s support.</p><p></p><p>“I feel uneasy about these refugees,” began Darsint, shifting his posture to be more upright and powerful, while adopting a stance of openness and sincerity. “We are thrust into this by fate and nothing else. Regardless, I think this is more than a subtle poke. We are being shoved into this relationship and I would not be surprised if this was all part of a greater design. If it is a design by those who sent us here, I’m inclined to let these people fend for themselves.”</p><p></p><p>“What will happen to these folk if we walk away?” Mhoram asked rhetorically. “Will they settle down somewhere near, perhaps lead quiet agrarian lives of peace and prosperity?”</p><p></p><p>“Why do you bother to ask? It shouldn’t be our concern. We need to reach Redshores with as little delay as possible. Our immediate actions must yield us more information about ourselves and this world, or we will die ignorant and alone!”</p><p></p><p>“Simmer down, Darsint. I hate this lack of knowledge as much as you. We will find the answers, and I think these people may lead us to more. We can transport ourselves instantaneously to Redshores with but one word from my lips. This ‘guide’ of ours, this Karlissina, asked us to walk the land and see what has become of it. She also spoke of repentance. Why haven’t you considered this? We should not let this opportunity to pass us by, for she also said that we would be here until this repentance was accomplished.”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t like being cornered like this!” growled Darsint. “Even if Harris can save them, who is to say that we can? This is a harsh land and we cannot protect all of them at once. They will slow us down when we may need speed. Further, we do not owe them anything. Nothing, I say! We have done enough for them and it is time they did for themselves.”</p><p></p><p>“They will take their chances with us, for they have no choice,” replied Mhoram in a calm and soothing voice. “We cannot abandon them and doing so would loose us Saint Simon. You may not need him, but Gherrick and I do. Simon will not be persuaded to let these people be and his fate will be the same as theirs, or worse. How do you think Simon will do out here, Darsint? Will he be a shining beacon to those who . . .”</p><p></p><p>“Enough! I can see that your kind nature is truly the force behind this. Knowledge, I can understand that. But you chain yourself to a sinking man in the midst of a tumultuous sea. Idiotic in every sense! They will weigh us down, not to mention the dangers of bringing such rabble into a civilized place like Redshores. You want my help, but your offer is not sincere. You know I must stay with you and my arguments are immediately dismissed. You do what you want and expect me to follow. How did that fare for me in Zacknef’s Lair, Mhoram? Not so well, remember? The path I see for us this time is very different . . .”</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Darsint. You will not regret this. These folk will sing many songs about you once we lead them to safety. Come. Let us see if Harris created an antidote.”</p><p></p><p>“I care very little for them or their cure,” he muttered. “The ones who survive may stay with us, but they are not my charge.”</p><p></p><p>They walked back into the town and easily spotted Simon doling out spoonfuls of the dirty grime inside Harris’ beaker to the many, many addicts around them. There were now three more beakers next to him and he’d dispatched Harris to tend those who’d already receive their dose.</p><p> </p><p>The cure was far worse than the disease, causing fits of nausea that lasted tens of minutes at a time. Several minutes after receiving a dose the patient buckled over with violent burst of blackened vomit. It was as though every cell in their body was cleansing itself from the taint of the Weed. Apparently the taint ran very, very deep. The heaves would last for tens of minutes, subside briefly, and then resume with renewed vigor. The Travelers could not work fast enough, nor employ enough magicks, to keep the area clean for long. </p><p></p><p>Within a few hours everyone had received their medicine and the entire town, nearly 946 people to Mhoram’s count, heaved and hurled in agonized unison.</p><p></p><p>****************************************************************</p><p></p><p>The next day was spent helping them regain some of their newfound strength. Saint Simon moved about them constantly and tended to their injuries and appetites as best as he could. They slept again that night, this time without Mhoram’s wards against mental influence. </p><p></p><p>Mhoram and Gherrick shared a similar dream of the beautiful, scintillating orb that pulsed with life and energy. An elven female, made out of water and shifting forms violently screamed in pain. She cried out to them, at once begging them to help her, and them commanding them to leave. </p><p></p><p>They awoke bathed in sweat and immediately shared their experiences with the others. Darsint was reached as well during his extended meditation. He would wait until later in their journey to tell of his revelations.</p><p></p><p>The Travelers awoke their flock early and whipped them into marching order. The folk reacted with surprising speed and formed several columns ten abreast and twenty deep. </p><p></p><p>With Saint Simon flying above, shouting out commands and scripture, the Travelers continued the walk northward along the ominous Road of Bone. . . .</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Angel of Adventure, post: 2491631, member: 19165"] Harris finally sat down at his small, nearly broken table and desperately fought to keeps his emotions together. He’d paced relentlessly throughout the day until he saw the sun rise to its zenith in the sky. He reminded himself then that this could be the last time he had to fake his allergy to Hell’s Weed and that nothing, absolutely nothing, could tip Zacknef’s men to the insidious plot that was now underway to bring about his demise. He composed himself and took his daily dose, barely managing to hold the Hell’s Weed down until after Zacknef’s men left. His daughters did well by doing the same. They quickly wandered off before their captors could take their pleasures. They returned to their ‘house’ (he didn’t know why that word came to him, as no one around them really had one) and paced some more, trying not give into the hope that the Travelers would succeed. Even if they did return victorious, Harris did not know where his people would go. Their newly gained freedom would evaporate soon after it was granted, exhausted by the harsh lands around them. Feelings of panic surged through him and he forced himself to sit back down. It would all end today, one way or another. Looked at his daughters playing quietly in the corner and prayed to Saint Simon that they would not seek Zacknef before they died. His door flew open and three figures appeared, their features blacked out by the sun behind them. Harris threw himself over his daughters and bade them to close their eyes. “Hush, you two,” Harris pleaded over their cries. “It is time that we leave this place; we will be free very soon.” “It is done,” said a familiar voice. “He is no more.” A shocked Harris turned around and saw the three of them in his room. Mhoram looked completely drained, his tanned completion a noticeable shade lighter and he breathed heavily. Gherrick stood his right, holding the crushed body of Saint Simon and covered in his angelic blood. Electrical sparks shot out from H.A.L.’s various extremities, and his normally upright posture was a bit hunched over. All were covered in brownish dust. “Do you speak truthfully?” pleaded Harris as he advanced towards them, his eyes starting to water. “Are we free of him for good?” “Yes,” replied Mhoram. Harris flung himself onto his knees and a pair of emaciated arms wrapped around Mhoram’s legs. A wailing sob, full of thankfulness and relief, resounded throughout the house. “Thank you, thank you, thank you . . .,” whispered Harris, over and over. He stayed on his knees, holding Mhoram and crying until his eyes ran dry. ********************************************************** The remaining two Travelers slept until sunrise, surrounded by every remaining ward Mhoram possessed. Both awoke and made their way towards their fallen warriors. Mhoram looked over their dead while Gherrick silently observed. The Initiate of the Bow looked over Darsint, cleaved into two chunks and lined with uncountable chips and cracks. Saint Simon was a mauled effigy of himself, squished into a diminished stature that reeked of heavenly blood. Fortunately, killing Zacknef hadn’t caused their demise. The ceiling threatened to collapse upon them, but H.A.L. reacted first. He protected them inside a large hemisphere of pure Force, invisible yet unmovable, leaving them enough time to collect their dead and acquire Zacknef’s riches. Mhoram pulled out a slender grey libram from his angel-skeleton robe and thought of Darsint. Alas, he mused, the living construct that was Darsint would have enjoyed this tome. Creating a Stone Golem, especially one as outlined here, was certainly a challenge worthy of the Adept’s skills. I must choose, thought Mhoram, between a link to the past and one to the present. Simon is our only true key to temporary immortality. His prayers will bring us back to this place no matter how we are destroyed. Moreover, he knows at least something of this time and place, though a 100,000 years or so removed from the present day. But Darsint, he does not deserve this. He is too proud and powerful to make his end in such a manner. I would hate to loose him; he feels like a good friend that I’ve never met. “Which one should I choose, Gherrick?” inquired Mhoram. “I can only bring back one of them, for certain. I can’t be positive, but I feel that Simon’s prayers won’t be strong enough to return Darsint to us. I may be wrong, but it is unlikely. Darsint is no longer a man now that his ascendance is complete, and Angels only hold sway over those with defined mortalities. Speak now, Gherrick, and tell me: which one?” “Darsint, I think,” he whispered in a low voice, “but don’t ask me. Simon is a great asset for us, though Darsint came here with us, and I think he would do the same for either of us, given a change in our positions.” “It is settled then. I will bring Darsint back to us.” The loud, thumping gait of H.A.L, Warforged Eldritch Knight, issued from behind them. H.A.L. approached and addressed Mhoram. “Master Program, I request permission to examine the remains of Sub-Programmer Darsint.” “Proceed.” H.A.L. dropped to his knee and spent several minutes assessing the situation. “With your permission, Master Programmer, I will return Darsint to a limited level of functionality. From there I may attempt to fully restore his systems.” “Say true? Can you do the same for Saint Simon?” “Negative. Darsint and I share certain commonalities. My restorative processes will only aid him.” “Do so then, at your earliest possibility.” “I will need to refresh my arcane subroutines. Earliest execution of said programs will occur tomorrow morning.” “Well, I guess that makes your choice easy,” muttered Gherrick. “Yes, you must surely restore Saint Simon,” offered Aegle. “He is a kind and just creature. Our newfound flock will need his spiritual guidance in such a harrowing place as this.” Guidance indeed, thought Mhoram. Surely, the positive must far outweigh the negatives for bringing Simon back to us. Perhaps these newly freed prisoners could use his preaching. I cannot see a denial of our responsibility here, but all the better if they rely on him more than us. Our path may be too treacherous to bring them along “I WISH SAINT SIMON RESTORED TO LIFE AS HE WAS BEFORE OUR ENCOUNTER WITH ZACKNEF!” commanded Mhoram. A column of heavenly light issued forth from above at the conclusion of Mhoram’s words. There was a bright flash, and then Saint Simon stood before them, restored to his full vigor. His formerly gaunt frame boasted thick muscle and he appeared straighter and taller. The dozens of Aag-inflicted wounds were replaced by smooth and supple green skin. He was a wonder to behold in his new state of being, coursing with holy energy and smiling contently. “Thank you, Mhoram. I owe you much for this grand favor. I cannot restore the losses you received from casting such a taxing valence, but I will work everyday to repay you, knowing that the sum of my works will never truly equal what you have done for me. Now, tell me, is Zacknef no more?” Mhoram returned his smile and the joy of their accomplishment radiated throughout his posture. “Yes, it is done Simon. The tyrant is dead, and his prisoners are now free. What we will do with them is something we must consult on once Darsint is restored.” Saint Simon rushed towards them and they were soon caught in the long arms of his loving embrace. “Merciful Lord, he was the last one who should have met this fate. You followed me into Zacknef’s quarters, both of you, because the goodness in your hearts persuaded you. I fear Darsint followed out of mere loyalty to you, despite his inner objections. I wish I could have died twice, once for both of us.” “Don’t worry about him,” advised Gherrick. “H.A.L. will restore him in the morning. Now, what about these people? Harris is off cooking up a possible cure from the Marilith’s corpse we brought back. If he succeeds, what shall we do?” Agitation permeated his normally cool exterior. “The answer lies with your heart, good Archer. We must help them, whatever the cost. As to how, it is something I must meditate on. Please, let me tend to your wounds and we will discuss the matter in the morning. We should all be here for that conversation.” “Agreed,” said Mhoram. “Rest well, Saint Simon. We will talk in the morning.” ************************************************************* They all gathered around to watch H.A.L. begin his work an hour after daybreak. He carefully pieced each severed bit of Darsint back together in an efficient and knowledgeable manner. When completed, H.A.L. stepped back a few pace and cast his spell. A white ray sped forth from this right finger and a violent spasm rippled through his patient. Darsint convulsed, contorted, and opened his eyes. Darsint was speechless at first. He couldn’t stop looking at the hundreds of cracks that coursed through his mighty frame. Something told him that he had never been hurt this badly in the past. When his senses coalesced, he turned to them and asked: “Did we do it? Did we kill that foul bastard?” “Yes, it is done,” replied Mhoram. “Now lay still whilst H.A.L. repairs you. Then we shall all talk.” “Yes, do as Mhoram asks,” included Saint Simon. “For now, can I offer you a bite of food from my backpack?” “I don’t need food,” retorted Darsint. “And, moreover, where did you get such a useful item at such an opportune time?” “The Lord,” he answered succinctly. ******************************************************************* Their meeting took place during the early afternoon. Harris had not returned to them and his missing presence remained in the back of their minds. Soon, the sun would climb to its zenith and nearly a thousand poor souls would be missing out on their daily dose of Hell’s Weed. Darsint appeared fully restored, from every crack in his body to the tight scowl that pursed his lips. H.A.L. did an extraordinary job repairing Darsint, and Mhoram let the Warforged know it. “Thank you, Master Programmer Mhoram. Your approval makes me . . . happy.” Mhoram recounted their narrow escaped to his revived companions. They listed intently as he described how H.A.L. stabilize the falling ceiling long enough to gather them up and give the room a quick search. Zacknef hid a small chest, filled to the brim with valuable coins and an important gem: diamonds. Mhoram handed the Golem tome to Darsint, and imparted several other treasures on Saint Simon. None claimed the fiery-red and bejeweled headband that could shoot searing balls of flame at one’s enemies. Such a refusal clearly demonstrated their current equipment was far more favorable. “Now, what will we do with these refugees?” broached Saint Simon. “We must take them with us. Surely they will die if let out here, whether from addiction or the inherent hostility of the land.” “We are going to Redshores, a town none save you have ever visited,” countered Darsint. “Will they greet a thousand poor and needy with open arms, or stow away their wares and turn a cold shoulder to them, and to us? We do not know what laws or customs we might violate by bringing them along.” “There are laws and then there is what is right and what is wrong,” Simon responded. “Those in Redshores are surely still good folk Karlissina bade you to find them.” “We do not know if Harris will complete their cure, or come back empty-handed,” Mhoram interjected. “If he is unsuccessful, we must have a plan as well. I agree with both of you, to some extent. Simon, there is what is right and what is wrong. Whether they are cured or not, we must arrange for basic provisions for them and allow them to make a meaningful start. Darsint, you are wise to understand the reaction of the residents of Redshores to these people, and towards us, could be hostile. If these refugees of Zacknef’s Wilted Lands can sustain themselves out here, we will give them everything they need then travel on.” “Mhoram, you cannot be entertaining such thoughts!” cried Simon. “Look deep inside; what would you want them to do for you, if your positions were reversed? That answer is the duty that you will owe them, what it is you decide for yourself and them.” “Ha, Simon, you are so merciful when you would seek to drag others down with you!” shot Darsint. “You appeal to our good nature while you thrust us in front of the will of your God! We do not have any codes of conduct or written proclamations declaring that we need to be this kind. We have done enough for them, more than anyone else, including your God. Their responsibility is not mine, and I have never said so.” “You accuse the Lord and I of bending your actions to suit our desires?” shouted Simon. “You want me with you just as much as these people want you to help them escape the curse of their mere existence. Deliver them, Darsint, from that which you have freed them.” “I am disinclined to do so at the moment, and I will not talk further with you on this until Harris returns with word of his success. Mhoram, come with me. We need to talk in private.” “Look into your heart, Darsint, lest you loose your moral footing inside the cold metal frame you possess,” answered Simon. “You must remember that we owe it to those less fortunate than us to use our powers . . .” “Enough, Angel!” screamed Darsint. “You tell me to think with my heart? Think with your head! Your last bold foray for the sake of others left you crushed by Zacknef’s mere whim. Do not make the same mistake twice. I don’t think Mhoram will be so eager to return one who cannot manage to merely stay alive.” “Zacknef was merely lucky when he squelched me,” returned Simon. “Every evil fiend may carry victory in the short run, but his very pride (by your account Mhoram) is what cost him his life. He stayed to berate you and taunt you with answers. He was killed for the privilege. I may have met an early end, but it was the Lord’s lesson that he was given on that date, and it was the final lesson of he ever had. I lived just long enough to deliver the message.” “Good! Though, I wouldn’t say it was your Lord that decided your fate. It was you, wise Saint Simon, who threw caution to the wind and put yourself in front of a charging Demon. Next time, try to remember your wits long enough to recall that we need you. The outcome could have been different for both of us if you had lasted longer. Now, Mhoram, I must talk with you . . . alone.” A slight commotion arose from the south and they were distracted from their verbal sparring. It was Harris, running towards them at great pace. He carried a large beaker of a foul looking concoction. “We’ve done it!” shouted Harris in between gulps of air. He stopped in front on them, caught his breath, and continued. “I think we have a cure to the Hell’s Weed. The beast’s heart was the key . . . I don’t have a lot, though, but it’s a start. Can you help us again . . . with your magicks? Can you help me make more of it?” “Your prayers will certainly be answered,” Saint Simon assured him. The Planetar shot Darsint a contemptuous look. “I will aid you for now, but perhaps others will feel inclined to do so later. Yes, Darsint, go and discuss their fate. Trust whatever organ in your steely body that will let you judge the truth of this matter.” ***************************************************************** “What is it you wish to discuss?” Darsint’s gaze went downward and he considered his words. Mhoram was definitely of a similar moral bent to Saint Simon. But, realities were realities, not the pleasant situations that all hoped for. Darsint knew he would need to be very appealing to have Mhoram’s support. “I feel uneasy about these refugees,” began Darsint, shifting his posture to be more upright and powerful, while adopting a stance of openness and sincerity. “We are thrust into this by fate and nothing else. Regardless, I think this is more than a subtle poke. We are being shoved into this relationship and I would not be surprised if this was all part of a greater design. If it is a design by those who sent us here, I’m inclined to let these people fend for themselves.” “What will happen to these folk if we walk away?” Mhoram asked rhetorically. “Will they settle down somewhere near, perhaps lead quiet agrarian lives of peace and prosperity?” “Why do you bother to ask? It shouldn’t be our concern. We need to reach Redshores with as little delay as possible. Our immediate actions must yield us more information about ourselves and this world, or we will die ignorant and alone!” “Simmer down, Darsint. I hate this lack of knowledge as much as you. We will find the answers, and I think these people may lead us to more. We can transport ourselves instantaneously to Redshores with but one word from my lips. This ‘guide’ of ours, this Karlissina, asked us to walk the land and see what has become of it. She also spoke of repentance. Why haven’t you considered this? We should not let this opportunity to pass us by, for she also said that we would be here until this repentance was accomplished.” “I don’t like being cornered like this!” growled Darsint. “Even if Harris can save them, who is to say that we can? This is a harsh land and we cannot protect all of them at once. They will slow us down when we may need speed. Further, we do not owe them anything. Nothing, I say! We have done enough for them and it is time they did for themselves.” “They will take their chances with us, for they have no choice,” replied Mhoram in a calm and soothing voice. “We cannot abandon them and doing so would loose us Saint Simon. You may not need him, but Gherrick and I do. Simon will not be persuaded to let these people be and his fate will be the same as theirs, or worse. How do you think Simon will do out here, Darsint? Will he be a shining beacon to those who . . .” “Enough! I can see that your kind nature is truly the force behind this. Knowledge, I can understand that. But you chain yourself to a sinking man in the midst of a tumultuous sea. Idiotic in every sense! They will weigh us down, not to mention the dangers of bringing such rabble into a civilized place like Redshores. You want my help, but your offer is not sincere. You know I must stay with you and my arguments are immediately dismissed. You do what you want and expect me to follow. How did that fare for me in Zacknef’s Lair, Mhoram? Not so well, remember? The path I see for us this time is very different . . .” “Thank you, Darsint. You will not regret this. These folk will sing many songs about you once we lead them to safety. Come. Let us see if Harris created an antidote.” “I care very little for them or their cure,” he muttered. “The ones who survive may stay with us, but they are not my charge.” They walked back into the town and easily spotted Simon doling out spoonfuls of the dirty grime inside Harris’ beaker to the many, many addicts around them. There were now three more beakers next to him and he’d dispatched Harris to tend those who’d already receive their dose. The cure was far worse than the disease, causing fits of nausea that lasted tens of minutes at a time. Several minutes after receiving a dose the patient buckled over with violent burst of blackened vomit. It was as though every cell in their body was cleansing itself from the taint of the Weed. Apparently the taint ran very, very deep. The heaves would last for tens of minutes, subside briefly, and then resume with renewed vigor. The Travelers could not work fast enough, nor employ enough magicks, to keep the area clean for long. Within a few hours everyone had received their medicine and the entire town, nearly 946 people to Mhoram’s count, heaved and hurled in agonized unison. **************************************************************** The next day was spent helping them regain some of their newfound strength. Saint Simon moved about them constantly and tended to their injuries and appetites as best as he could. They slept again that night, this time without Mhoram’s wards against mental influence. Mhoram and Gherrick shared a similar dream of the beautiful, scintillating orb that pulsed with life and energy. An elven female, made out of water and shifting forms violently screamed in pain. She cried out to them, at once begging them to help her, and them commanding them to leave. They awoke bathed in sweat and immediately shared their experiences with the others. Darsint was reached as well during his extended meditation. He would wait until later in their journey to tell of his revelations. The Travelers awoke their flock early and whipped them into marching order. The folk reacted with surprising speed and formed several columns ten abreast and twenty deep. With Saint Simon flying above, shouting out commands and scripture, the Travelers continued the walk northward along the ominous Road of Bone. . . . [/QUOTE]
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The Ardick Campaign - Chapter One: Repentance
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