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The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 3058167" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>I guess it depends on the build and the situation. In my <em>Shackled City</em> story, my arcane casters were kind of gimped, in that Zenna died before the mystic theurge class really hit its sweet spot, and Cal had 4 bard levels that didn't really help him once he got into the teens. Plus Cal was more of a "utility caster" than a blaster-mage. Even so, especially at the higher levels there are places where an arcanist can accomplish some pretty awesome effects, including one-shotting tough bad guys, and neutralizing powers that would otherwise kill sword-swingers. </p><p></p><p>But I am still unsure about the warlock. I guess that's one reason I put one in this story, to see how it works out in "play". </p><p></p><p>Tonks and Canaan: good guesses, both of you. I wonder what will happen if I ask the same question at post 100. While I've been working on some long-term plot ideas this week, as always the characters will sort of end up taking their own path. </p><p></p><p>Another update:</p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 6</p><p></p><p>THE SEPULCHER</p><p></p><p></p><p>Once they had recovered from the ordeal of the battle, the Doomed Bastards turned their attention back to the mausoleum. The great iron doors were carved with desperate scenes of violence; great demonic things were represented in the cold metal. All of the companions, with the exception of Varo, shuddered at the sight. The expression on the cleric’s face was unreadable, but something powerful burned in his eyes as he scanned the graven portals. </p><p></p><p>The huge portals were secured with an obvious lock in a recess within the seam that joined the doors. Tiros went forward, wary, and knelt to examine the mechanism, careful not to touch anything that might be trapped. </p><p></p><p>“Dwarvish, I think,” he reported, after a few moments. “Pretty complex. In good condition, all things considered.”</p><p></p><p>“We should have the elf open it,” Dar said. “He’s supposed to be the thief, right?” They all turned to look at the elf, which shrank back under their scrutiny. He looked ready to bolt, magical collar or no. </p><p></p><p>“I don’t think that he will be of much use in this matter,” Varo said. “Generally even exceptional rogues need tools for this sort of thing.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, Ukas then,” Dar replied. The half-orc flicked a booger in the general direction of Navev, who jumped back. Then he hefted his chain, and smiled as he started toward the door. </p><p></p><p>“No, wait,” Tiros said. “Wait!” he repeated, stepping in front of Ukas to block the half-orc’s progress. The barbarian looked down at the man—a full foot shorter than he—with a growl at being deprived the opportunity to smash something. “I just want to check one thing first; it won’t take but a minute or two.”</p><p></p><p>“Given the likelihood of traps in this place, I think that caution might be the best course,” Varo said. “Especially since the first obstacle proved so... challenging.”</p><p></p><p>“Fine, let’s go,” Dar said, turning to follow Tiros as the marshal led them back up the steps to the graveyard. “But best be quick. I don’t want to be stuck in this place after nightfall, and I doubt the soldiers will be welcoming us to their bivouac.”</p><p></p><p>The old warrior’s destination wasn’t far off, and was in fact visible from the top of the steps, a dark shadow situated more or less in the center of the dell. It was a statue, a stone monument that resolved out of the fog and twilight into the shape of an armored dwarf. The figure was weathered, with the details of its carving worn away by the passage of years. But there was still something noble in the ancient figure’s bearing, and its stance, with a battle axe at the ready, suggested that it might leap off its pedestal into the fray at a moment’s notice. </p><p></p><p>“Well?” Dar asked. </p><p></p><p>“I saw this as we were coming in,” Tiros said. “A dwarvish monument, and a dwarvish seal on the entrance? I thought it might be significant.”</p><p></p><p>“For this you dragged us over here?” Dar began, but stopped as the mad elf crept forward. The others watched as the ragged creature reached the pedestal, and started moving around it in a slow circuit, running his fingers across the stone. </p><p></p><p>“What’s he—“ Dar said, only to be interrupted by a raised hand from Varo. </p><p></p><p>A moment later, they heard a clearly audible click, and a small stone panel popped open in the side of the pedestal at the dwarf statue’s feet. The elf reached inside, and drew something out. He started to stuff it into the folds of his rags, but Tiros was there quickly to take custody of the prize. </p><p></p><p>“What is it?” Dar asked. </p><p></p><p>Tiros held it up so that they could see it, a metal object that shone dully in the poor light. “A key.”</p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>The iron doors swung open with a loud creaking noise.</p><p></p><p>The interior of the mausoleum appeared to be a single large chamber. As the doors spread open they could see that the walls of the place were easily five feet thick, reinforcing the impression of solidity that the structure conveyed. The floor was made of ancient gray marble, covered in cracks that formed patterns of striation across its surface. There were various objects scattered about, mostly bits of crushed stone, fragments of bone, and other detritus of no value. </p><p></p><p>The only feature of note was a stone sarcophagus set upon a raised dais on the far side of the chamber. The room was unlit, and the far corners were lost in deep shadows that could have concealed anything. </p><p></p><p>“We’ll need some light,” Dar said. “Varo?”</p><p></p><p>“Once again, without my focus I cannot be of assistance in that regard,” the cleric responded. </p><p></p><p>“Looks like we do it the old fashioned way then,” Tiros said, shrugging off his pack. He drew out a number of torches, tucking a few into his belt before he focused on the last with flint and steel. It only took a few moments before he had a bright flame burning on the brand, driving back the shadows and fully revealing the empty outlines of the chamber. </p><p></p><p>Dar had started toward the stone coffin. “I would not recommend disturbing the dead, not in this place,” Varo said.</p><p></p><p>“Bah,” the fighter countered. “There might be something of value in there. Or maybe that’s where the entrance is.”</p><p></p><p>“That may very well be, but I would still leave it until there is no other option. Remember who this place is consecrated to.”</p><p></p><p>“Orcus, you said. So what?”</p><p></p><p>“Among other things, the demon lord is known as Prince of the Undead.”</p><p></p><p>Dar gave the sarcophagus a second look. He muttered something not quite discernable, but he kept his distance as the companions spread out and searched the room. </p><p></p><p>Once again it was the elf who uncovered the way. A loud scraping noise drew the attention of the others to where the poor wretch was drawing his dagger across several seams in the floor. At first glance, the marble slab appeared identical to the others surrounding it, but on closer examination they could see that the gaps around the stone were wider, and not filled with dust and old mortar like the others. </p><p></p><p>“He’ll never get that open,” Dar observed. “Ukas?”</p><p></p><p>The half-orc grunted and came forward, his chain clattering loudly. The elf hissed and drew back as the barbarian lifted his weapon and brought it down in a powerful arc that ended with the heavy iron manacles clattering hard against the stone. One of the metal bracers broke from its chain, and went skittering across the chamber. But the blow had cracked the stone, and as the dust from the impact settled they could see a fist-sized hole in what was now revealed as a secret trapdoor. </p><p></p><p>Tiros brought the torch close to the hole, and was rewarded with a flicker of the flame. “Looks like this is the way,” he said. </p><p></p><p>“Stay alert,” Dar said. He took up a position near the slab, his sword poised, and nodded to Ukas to lift the trapdoor. The half-orc pushed his fist through the opening and heaved, sliding the heavy stone slab away and dropping it to the ground with a loud crash. They could now see that the space below was a shaft that descended out of the range of the torch’s light, with rusty iron rungs set into the stone at even intervals. </p><p></p><p>“Well, who wants to go first?” Dar asked. He looked around at the others, but no volunteers were forthcoming. </p><p></p><p>“Right,” the fighter said, sheathing his sword. “Give me another torch,” he said to Tiros. Once he’d lit the brand, he leaned over the opening, scanning the shaft. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw, for he dropped the torch into the hole. The flickering brand fell about thirty feet before it landed on the ground, sputtering fitfully as it lay upon bare stone. They could see that the floor of the shaft appeared to open onto a larger passage, but could not discern anything else from their vantage. </p><p></p><p>“No time like the present,” Dar said. He started down the shaft, testing each rung before putting his full weight onto it. The others followed, with Varo right after Dar, followed by Ukas, Navev, and the mad elf. The elf went down the shaft head-first, barely touching the rungs as he slid down close on the heels of the warlock. </p><p></p><p>Tiros was the last to essay the shaft. He waited until the others had cleared it, then lowered the torch into the opening. “Torch coming down!” he warned, then dropped the light. As the brand fell, the darkness seemed to surge around the marshal like a malevolent presence. The iron doors stood partially opened—was that a flicker of movement in the entry? He held himself still, and thought he heard a faint scrape of leather against stone. Or it could have been anything, even a figment of his imagination, stimulated by the arcane horrors of this place. </p><p></p><p>“You coming, marshal?” came Dar’s voice from below. “Your little friend is getting real antsy down here.”</p><p></p><p>Tiros had tensed his hand, ready to summon <em>Valor</em>. But even if he wasn’t imaging it, what could he really accomplish, if a threat was lurking outside? The hairs on his arms prickled; it was as if the darkness was smothering him, holding him pinned against threats just beyond his perception. </p><p></p><p>Lowering himself carefully into the shaft, Velan Tiros entered the dungeons of Rappan Athuk.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 3058167, member: 143"] I guess it depends on the build and the situation. In my [i]Shackled City[/i] story, my arcane casters were kind of gimped, in that Zenna died before the mystic theurge class really hit its sweet spot, and Cal had 4 bard levels that didn't really help him once he got into the teens. Plus Cal was more of a "utility caster" than a blaster-mage. Even so, especially at the higher levels there are places where an arcanist can accomplish some pretty awesome effects, including one-shotting tough bad guys, and neutralizing powers that would otherwise kill sword-swingers. But I am still unsure about the warlock. I guess that's one reason I put one in this story, to see how it works out in "play". Tonks and Canaan: good guesses, both of you. I wonder what will happen if I ask the same question at post 100. While I've been working on some long-term plot ideas this week, as always the characters will sort of end up taking their own path. Another update: * * * * * Chapter 6 THE SEPULCHER Once they had recovered from the ordeal of the battle, the Doomed Bastards turned their attention back to the mausoleum. The great iron doors were carved with desperate scenes of violence; great demonic things were represented in the cold metal. All of the companions, with the exception of Varo, shuddered at the sight. The expression on the cleric’s face was unreadable, but something powerful burned in his eyes as he scanned the graven portals. The huge portals were secured with an obvious lock in a recess within the seam that joined the doors. Tiros went forward, wary, and knelt to examine the mechanism, careful not to touch anything that might be trapped. “Dwarvish, I think,” he reported, after a few moments. “Pretty complex. In good condition, all things considered.” “We should have the elf open it,” Dar said. “He’s supposed to be the thief, right?” They all turned to look at the elf, which shrank back under their scrutiny. He looked ready to bolt, magical collar or no. “I don’t think that he will be of much use in this matter,” Varo said. “Generally even exceptional rogues need tools for this sort of thing.” “Well, Ukas then,” Dar replied. The half-orc flicked a booger in the general direction of Navev, who jumped back. Then he hefted his chain, and smiled as he started toward the door. “No, wait,” Tiros said. “Wait!” he repeated, stepping in front of Ukas to block the half-orc’s progress. The barbarian looked down at the man—a full foot shorter than he—with a growl at being deprived the opportunity to smash something. “I just want to check one thing first; it won’t take but a minute or two.” “Given the likelihood of traps in this place, I think that caution might be the best course,” Varo said. “Especially since the first obstacle proved so... challenging.” “Fine, let’s go,” Dar said, turning to follow Tiros as the marshal led them back up the steps to the graveyard. “But best be quick. I don’t want to be stuck in this place after nightfall, and I doubt the soldiers will be welcoming us to their bivouac.” The old warrior’s destination wasn’t far off, and was in fact visible from the top of the steps, a dark shadow situated more or less in the center of the dell. It was a statue, a stone monument that resolved out of the fog and twilight into the shape of an armored dwarf. The figure was weathered, with the details of its carving worn away by the passage of years. But there was still something noble in the ancient figure’s bearing, and its stance, with a battle axe at the ready, suggested that it might leap off its pedestal into the fray at a moment’s notice. “Well?” Dar asked. “I saw this as we were coming in,” Tiros said. “A dwarvish monument, and a dwarvish seal on the entrance? I thought it might be significant.” “For this you dragged us over here?” Dar began, but stopped as the mad elf crept forward. The others watched as the ragged creature reached the pedestal, and started moving around it in a slow circuit, running his fingers across the stone. “What’s he—“ Dar said, only to be interrupted by a raised hand from Varo. A moment later, they heard a clearly audible click, and a small stone panel popped open in the side of the pedestal at the dwarf statue’s feet. The elf reached inside, and drew something out. He started to stuff it into the folds of his rags, but Tiros was there quickly to take custody of the prize. “What is it?” Dar asked. Tiros held it up so that they could see it, a metal object that shone dully in the poor light. “A key.” * * * * * The iron doors swung open with a loud creaking noise. The interior of the mausoleum appeared to be a single large chamber. As the doors spread open they could see that the walls of the place were easily five feet thick, reinforcing the impression of solidity that the structure conveyed. The floor was made of ancient gray marble, covered in cracks that formed patterns of striation across its surface. There were various objects scattered about, mostly bits of crushed stone, fragments of bone, and other detritus of no value. The only feature of note was a stone sarcophagus set upon a raised dais on the far side of the chamber. The room was unlit, and the far corners were lost in deep shadows that could have concealed anything. “We’ll need some light,” Dar said. “Varo?” “Once again, without my focus I cannot be of assistance in that regard,” the cleric responded. “Looks like we do it the old fashioned way then,” Tiros said, shrugging off his pack. He drew out a number of torches, tucking a few into his belt before he focused on the last with flint and steel. It only took a few moments before he had a bright flame burning on the brand, driving back the shadows and fully revealing the empty outlines of the chamber. Dar had started toward the stone coffin. “I would not recommend disturbing the dead, not in this place,” Varo said. “Bah,” the fighter countered. “There might be something of value in there. Or maybe that’s where the entrance is.” “That may very well be, but I would still leave it until there is no other option. Remember who this place is consecrated to.” “Orcus, you said. So what?” “Among other things, the demon lord is known as Prince of the Undead.” Dar gave the sarcophagus a second look. He muttered something not quite discernable, but he kept his distance as the companions spread out and searched the room. Once again it was the elf who uncovered the way. A loud scraping noise drew the attention of the others to where the poor wretch was drawing his dagger across several seams in the floor. At first glance, the marble slab appeared identical to the others surrounding it, but on closer examination they could see that the gaps around the stone were wider, and not filled with dust and old mortar like the others. “He’ll never get that open,” Dar observed. “Ukas?” The half-orc grunted and came forward, his chain clattering loudly. The elf hissed and drew back as the barbarian lifted his weapon and brought it down in a powerful arc that ended with the heavy iron manacles clattering hard against the stone. One of the metal bracers broke from its chain, and went skittering across the chamber. But the blow had cracked the stone, and as the dust from the impact settled they could see a fist-sized hole in what was now revealed as a secret trapdoor. Tiros brought the torch close to the hole, and was rewarded with a flicker of the flame. “Looks like this is the way,” he said. “Stay alert,” Dar said. He took up a position near the slab, his sword poised, and nodded to Ukas to lift the trapdoor. The half-orc pushed his fist through the opening and heaved, sliding the heavy stone slab away and dropping it to the ground with a loud crash. They could now see that the space below was a shaft that descended out of the range of the torch’s light, with rusty iron rungs set into the stone at even intervals. “Well, who wants to go first?” Dar asked. He looked around at the others, but no volunteers were forthcoming. “Right,” the fighter said, sheathing his sword. “Give me another torch,” he said to Tiros. Once he’d lit the brand, he leaned over the opening, scanning the shaft. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw, for he dropped the torch into the hole. The flickering brand fell about thirty feet before it landed on the ground, sputtering fitfully as it lay upon bare stone. They could see that the floor of the shaft appeared to open onto a larger passage, but could not discern anything else from their vantage. “No time like the present,” Dar said. He started down the shaft, testing each rung before putting his full weight onto it. The others followed, with Varo right after Dar, followed by Ukas, Navev, and the mad elf. The elf went down the shaft head-first, barely touching the rungs as he slid down close on the heels of the warlock. Tiros was the last to essay the shaft. He waited until the others had cleared it, then lowered the torch into the opening. “Torch coming down!” he warned, then dropped the light. As the brand fell, the darkness seemed to surge around the marshal like a malevolent presence. The iron doors stood partially opened—was that a flicker of movement in the entry? He held himself still, and thought he heard a faint scrape of leather against stone. Or it could have been anything, even a figment of his imagination, stimulated by the arcane horrors of this place. “You coming, marshal?” came Dar’s voice from below. “Your little friend is getting real antsy down here.” Tiros had tensed his hand, ready to summon [i]Valor[/i]. But even if he wasn’t imaging it, what could he really accomplish, if a threat was lurking outside? The hairs on his arms prickled; it was as if the darkness was smothering him, holding him pinned against threats just beyond his perception. Lowering himself carefully into the shaft, Velan Tiros entered the dungeons of Rappan Athuk. [/QUOTE]
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