The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #219] I'm Batman

Ledare and Ruze moved Finian's stiffened form up the narrow tunnel with little difficulty while Draelond negotiated the paralyzed Den Lant up behind them. The light from the sword in Lant's hand skewed crazily, filling the tunnel with dizzying motion. Ixin stood in the upper chamber, her attention divided between the three egresses that opened onto the chamber. Outside it was still raining.

"Are they alright?" the sorceress asked, looking sickly at the two quarrels that still pierced Finian's body. Ruze looked briefly at the arrows and then nodded.

"They'll live," he said. "But I'll need to do some quick triage."

"Make sure it is quick," Ledare warned. "We should put some distance between us and these caves while we can."

"So you admit that we need to retreat?" Ixin asked, half-surprised that the Janissary finally agreed with her. Ledare snorted derisively at her and scowled.

"We seem ill equipped to continue," the half-elf admitted sardonically. "And we aren't finding out much of anything from these frustrating little trysts."

"I vote we go back and figure out what we are going to do with all these clues we've been accumulating," the Battleguard offered without looking up from Finian's thigh where he had very nearly removed the second arrow. "We have all these clues, but we don't have a battle plan with them." He harrumphed and added, "We don't even have a goal."

"What clues?" Ixin muttered but no one heard to answer and Draelond spoke up before she could ask again.

"I say we all regroup and be sure that everyone gets the medical attention they need," the warrior suggested. "Our mission is not to rid the world of wererats. And we have no idea how many of those things are down there."

"That's a good point, Draelond," Ixin nodded. "Given how wererats reproduce, there could be hundreds or more in these cave. We've got to leave. We can't win."

"On that point you are correct," a strange voice added.

They turned to see a man standing at the mouth of the fissure that led down. He was dressed well in a dark purple cloak that hung loosely about his shoulders. Beneath it he wore studded leather armor. A shortsword hung at his waist. His face was dark and angular and mean. Piercing black eyes smoldered beneath an exceptionally high forehead. He sported long mustaches and a small beard that came to a sharp point beneath his chin. On his chest rested an iron symbol of Aphyx.

The Companions moved hands toward their weapons and he sneered at them. "I would think before you act rashly," he said, his voice not betraying an ounce of fear as he pointed his chin at the cave mouth. Three winged rat men entered from the rain outside. They were unarmed but their bared fangs and clenched fists left little doubt as to their intent. Two more of the creatures appeared behind the man with crossbows levelled at the party. They were dressed in green robes with loose yellow belts from which hung shortswords and quivers.

"You have found our lair," the man said, his appraising gaze moving over the group like a king at a buffet. "We are not yet ready to be found so we cannot permit you to leave." He took a few leisurely steps widdershins about the group as he spoke to them, gesturing with his left hand. His right he kept beneath the folds of his cloak. "And more troubling yet: you have slain five of my children. Plaguebringer Corben will be most displeased when he returns to find our ranks depleted thus."

He stopped and smiled then, his lips pulling back from sharp, crooked teeth. His face took on the aspect of a hungry rat.

"But there are six of you so we can at least recoup our loses," he pointed out. "I'll let you decide who should be food for the others."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #220] Scaredy Bat

For a moment, no one spoke. The three unarmed werebats held their positions at the mouth of the cave. The two with crossbows stood to either side of the fissure leading down. The leader in his purple robe regarded the Companions with a smug expression on his face that clearly displayed the confidence he felt in his own ability to kill any of them without breaking a sweat. All that could be heard was ragged breathing and the patter of rain outside.

"Hmmm.... another situation Ledare," Ruze finally spoke, breaking the moment. "I do not think we can out run them even with Draelond's exceptional strength. I think this is where we stand and fight the evil that is before us."

The bearded man made a dismissive gesture with his left hand and half-turned in mock affront. "Such melodrama, priest," he said. "Evil is such a convenient label, isn't it? Nothing galvanizes the righteous like a good evil to smite."

"Perhaps we should listen to what the man is saying," Ledare suggested smoothly. Both Ruze and Draelond looked at her in surprise, but the leader of the bat men nodded as if he had been sure from the beginning that she would suggest just that.

"Your lady's words show a wisdom that you seem to lack, priest," the man said and smoothed down his mustache with his left hand. As he did so, Ledare caught just the briefest glimpse of the loaded crossbow the man held in his right hand, hidden beneath his cloak. "There is no sense in resisting what may not be avoided."

With a sudden swelling of pins-and-needles over his body, the paralysis finally wore off Finian. It was accompanied by a curious slippery sensation on his hand, as if the unidentified magical ring that he'd worn there for some time were about to fall off. It remained in place, however, and the sensation passed in an instant. The Archer looked disdainfully at the leader and then at the Janissary. "Ledare are you crazy?" he growled. "Cooperate with them? Maybe you did not understand that they want to turn us into skaven!"

The leader rolled his eyes and sighed. "This is quickly getting out of hand," he said. "Kill the priest. Take the others alive." And, as if that was exactly the word they'd been waiting for, the werebats attacked.

The two crossbow wielders each fired at Ruze. The first quarrel caught him in the left thigh, but he was able to twist away and avoid the second altogether. As Finian, Draelond and Den had discovered earlier, the bolts burned with poison, but the cleric's hallowed constitution was more than up to the task of resisting the effects.

One of the unarmed werebats at the cave mouth stepped forward and took a swing at Finian. The Archer's armor absorbed the blow with no trouble and Finian's left hand went for the dagger sheathed at his hip. Another werebat came at Ixin and took a swing with its hairy fist, but found only air.

"Followers of Aphyx, I spit on you and your cursed beliefs!" Ruze said, yanking the arrow out of his thigh and gesturing at the skaven leader with his other hand. "Shaharizod, cleanse this fool of the taint!" An instant later, six gallons of water splashed down onto the man, drenching him to the skin. He sputtered and staggered, trying to untangle his crossbow from the folds of his sodden cloak. Ledare seized the man's distraction and charged forward, silver-iron longsword flickering from its scabbard like a lightning bolt. She threw all the weight of her armored form behind the blow, but the man managed to avoid the thrust by a hair's breadth, and her sword drew sparks from the cave wall rather than blood from her foe.

The final unarmed werebat charged toward Draelond and swung at the big man with its right fist. Almost by instinct, Draelond avoided the clumsy blow and brought Ravager out to counterattack. But even with most of the creature's effort focused on attack, its inhuman reflexes allowed it to dodge the huge sword by the narrowest of margins.

"Now you'll all die!" the leader bawled, taking a dripping step back from Ledare to raise his crossbow. "Corben, be damned!" Before he could loose it at Ruze, however, a mighty roar shook the cave, drawing the man's attention to Ixin.

The mage stood nearby, but she seemed to have grown in an instant to titanic proportions. Her skin was covered with red scales as hard as adamantine. Her teeth and claws were like ivory daggers. The almighty fires of a dragon's heart burned in her golden eyes and when she spoke it was with a voice of ages. "Tremble before me, mortal worm!" she bellowed and the leader of the werebats found he could do little else. Ledare and Finian both recalled the frightful presence that Cynder had possessed whenever his ire was up; it had been enough to cause friend and foe alike to drop their weapons and cower in their armor. It seemed the same now with Ixin, but it was the werebat leader alone who bore the affect.

His crossbow clattered to the ground and he ran, gibbering for the fissure leading down. He shouldered the two robed werebats out of the way and disappeared into the darkness below.

Finian seized the opportunity provided by the man's startling disappearance to plunge his dagger between the ribs of the werebat that had attacked him. It sank up to the hilt in the lycanthrope's hairy side and the Archer grinned as he heard the creature's hissing intake of breath for he knew that he had struck one of the thing's lungs with his blade. It staggered backward, but didn't fall.

"What have you done with the girl?" the ranger demanded, waving the bloody dagger in front of him even as he reached for his longsword still clasped in Den Lant's paralyzed hand.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #220a] Holy Massacre, Bat Man!

The two crossbow-weilding werebats at the top of the natural staircase fired another volley of bolts at Ruze. Only one of them connected, however, cutting a bloody groove in his left forearm. The damage was minimal, but this time, the poison on the quarrel proved too much for the Battleguard to resist. He froze in mid-stride, paralyzed with his hand on his holy symbol and an unvoiced prayer on his lips.

The hirsute assailant that Finian had wounded stepped back and began to shrink. In the twinkling of an eye, its body dwindled, its arms atrophying and eventually disappearing enirely even as its wings spread voluminously and beat against the air. The man bat had become wholly bat and it sought to take wing and escape from the Archer's flashing blades. Such was not to be, however. Finian took the opportunity presented by the bat's retreat to slice into it with his newly retrieved longsword. The blade parted the thing's membranous wing and sent it spiralling backward toward the cave mouth. It recovered, but had obviously been severely wounded.

The winged skaven that had been harrying Ixin took another swing at the woman. With little effort, she was able to avoid the blow, her concentration unbroken. Magic swelled within her.

Ledare glanced at the two robed rate men who were reloading their crossbows on either side of the fissure. Ruze and Den Lant were easy targets to the creatures if they were able to get off another volley unhindered. She charged again, closing the distance between she and them in four quick strides and slashing the nearest werebat across the right forearm. It squealed in pain and released its grip on the crossbow. Both it and its partner reached for their shortswords.

"Sopio!" Ixin shouted, gesturing not directly at the creature attacking her, but rather at a point behind him, nearer to both the fleeing bat and the hairy brute that was trading swings with Draelond. The bat man that threatened her fell abruptly into the mud very near to the carrion crawler she had put down earlier. The fleeing bat careened into the cave wall and bounced out into the rain where it lay blissfully snoring.

Draelond drew Ravager up across the hairy torso of the skaven that faced him and the sword's teeth chewed hungrily through its flesh, spilling the thing's blood in a hot torrent. The creature fell backward without uttering a sound, its flesh running and changing even as it went. A naked man with dark hair and dusky skin fell dead to the floor with a horrible rent marring the network of dark tattooes that spread across his chest.

Finian stepped forward and drove the point of his longsword into the throat of the unconscious bat. It died without a sound and instantly swelled to the form of a naked woman who might have been the sister to the man that Draelond had dispatched. She had similar tattoos on both shoulders and upper arms. Her head had been very nearly severed by the ranger's sword.

Seeing the elimination of the rest of their brood, the two robed bat men chose flight over battle. They turned to flee down the stairs and Ledare stabbed in the side the one she had already wounded. It cried out and fell to the ground, but its companion wasted no time with mourning. It lept over the body and hurtled down into the darkness below.

Ledare spared a glance down after the fleeing creature before she turned back to the group. "We should go," she said. "Now."

Den Lant, however, at that moment was released from the supernatural paralysis that had afflicted him. He groaned as he jerked his stiffened limbs into motion. "No," he grunted. "I'm not leavin' without Nilia. We're too close now to run!" He unstrapped his quarterstaff from his pack and looked hopefully from one Companion to the next. There were tears visible in his eyes as he added, "My little girl's innocent in all this. She don't deserve to suffer alone here. And I'll not rest 'til she's safe with me again."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #221] The Bat Cave

"I can imagine the desperation you must feel to find your daughter," Ledare countered. "But logically, it is foolish for us to continue. We would serve Nilia better with a smarter course of action." Lant's face darkened at her words, and he quickly wiped his tears away with one rough fist, but before he could say anything Ixin spoke.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," the mage mused, laying a reassuring hand on Den Lant's shoulder, "but I think we should pursue immediately and try to catch them unprepared."

Finian stepped forward at that, making a flourish with his two blades. "I will continue with Den Lant. He is right about his daughter," the Archer said. "Ixin is right too, we have the upper hand and need to press it."

Ledare sighed and wiped her blade clean on the robed skaven's cloak. "What do you propose?" she asked.

"I volunteer to scout ahead, borrowing your ring if you will let me," Finian offered. "This way I can see if they are lying in wait. Someone needs to watch Ruze. Perhaps Ixin, Draelond, Den Lant and I can press on. They can count to twenty then follow the path and I will warn of anything coming. What do you say?"

"I say my dragon fear won't last forever," Ixin urged. "We should go if we're going to."

Draelond stepped forward, holding his bastard sword in a reverse grip so that the blade loomed up over his shoulder and the egg-shaped pommel pointed at the ground. "Is this plan okay with you, Ledare?" he asked. "I feel we have already done what is in our power to attempt to find Nilia. And I fear the worst for her. But if it is decided that we press on, then I am willing."

Ledare sheathed her sword and fished in her belt pouch before answering. "Go," she said, holding out the Ring of Invisibility to Finian. "I will stay behind with Ruze."



The ranger Spider Climbed down the wall of the 'staircase' and out into the large chamber that had twice almost become the site of his death. As he passed the spot where he had been paralyzed, the light filtering down from the cave above began to fail even his half-elven eyes. He fished out the sunrod that Den Lant had given him and struck it against the wall. It began to glow brightly, lending an incongruous yellow warmth to the foul-smelling cavern. With the added illumination, he could clearly see the remains of the two skaven that Draelond had killed earlier lying at the mouth to one of two narrow tunnels on the opposite side of the chamber. Listening he could hear nothing telling beyond a faint and distant sound of movement.

Paying careful attention to the holes in the floor, the Archer raced across the ceiling toward the far wall.



"Okay," Ixin announced. "That's twenty."

Draelond nodded and Den Lant struck his other sunrod against the cave wall before stepping over the body of the fallen werebat and rushing down into the narrow fissure. Ledare watched them go and then looked over at the immobilized Battleguard.

"I owe you my thanks for your queen's healing many times over," she told him with a wan smile. "There's not much I can do for you now, but I'll make you as comfortable as I can while we wait for this to wear off."



The network of caves was larger than Finian had suspected it was, and he kept expecting to encounter opposition at every turn. He didn't, however, so he pressed on, mindful of the sound of the others' advance along the trail he had blazed for them. He ignored another set of natural stairs that curved back and down, perhaps leading to the area beneath the large chamber with holes in the floor, in favor of a set that went more or less straight back into the hillside. He could just make out very recent tracks where two humanoids had run through.



Ledare stared out into the rain and muttered a quick prayer to Shaharizod on Ruze's behalf. "He always puts the greater good first, often to his own detriment," Ledare spoke into the void. "If you hear this, watch over him and grant him speedy recovery." There was no swell of divine presence to indicate that the goddess had heard, and no change in the cleric's condition. The Janissary sighed, unsurprised that her own prayers didn't hold the same weight as a Battleguard's.

Glancing down, she couldn't help but notice the corpse of the woman Finian had stabbed through the throat. She lay on her back, staring blindly up at the clouds. The rain had washed her body clean and now the diluted blood puddled in the mud around her.

With a shudder, the Janissary thought about the carrion crawlers the constable had said were native to this region. Hastily, Ledare reached out, grabbed the corpse by the ankle and dragged her inside where she wouldn't present so tempting a target.



Ixin hesitated and closed her eyes. She could clearly sense the hectic energy of the power nexus coming up from below. She glanced down the dark natural staircase that curved back in the direction they had already come. The ley line nexus was beneath them, probably in the lair of the tentacled monster that had assaulted them on their first foray in-

"Come on," Draelond urged, grabbing her firmly by the elbow. "Finian went this way." He nodded toward the other, narrow set of stairs that led off the tunnel in which they stood at a right angle. She could see Den Lant already moving along the stairs as quickly as he could given the close quarters and the quarterstaff he carried. Casting one more curious glance down the other passage, she followed after the man with Draelond close behind her.



Ledare looked down at the two dark bodies. Side-by-side, their similarities were even more striking, and the Janissary found it difficult to believe that they were not brother and sister. They both possessed dusky skin such as was common in the southernmost of the Near Realms - Awad and Byr - with strong, hooked noses and heavy brows. Her hair was a lustrous black and Ledare supposed that his must have been as well, although his head was clean shaven. Each had a single long scar running down the inside of their left forearm as though someone had cut them with a knife and then left the wound to fester rather than heal it. But the most eye-catching bit of body modification on each was the tattooing.

The man's torso and thighs were covered with heavy, intricate tattoos that twined about one another in a confusing web of jagged black spikes and flowing lines. Here and there - on his right breast, on his shoulder, each bicep - the network parted like a clearing amidst brambles and a different type of tattoo dominated. Each was a small colorful bit of art with a strong nautical theme - the sort of thing that was popular in coastal cities.

The woman's arms and shoulders were decorated much like the man's with webs of black lines. A similar design but in a radial pattern encircled her belly button. Ledare rolled her over with her foot and gasped involuntarily. On the woman's right shoulder cavorted a colorful redcap fairy captured in bright ink amidst a nest of tangled black lines. The fairy looked at Ledare and winked.



Finian removed the Invisibility ring and waited for the others to catch up. He held his hand up to his lips as they approached and they moved close to him in the corridor as quietly as they could (which wasn't very in Draelond's case). The archer glanced toward the dark opening of a chamber ahead before whispering, "They're just ahead. I heard them moving around a few moments ago and two voices."

"Two?" Draelond hissed. "Only two? Where are the others."

The ranger shrugged. "Maybe there aren't any others," he offered and Den Lant shook his quarterstaff at that.

"Then what are we waiting for?" he growled and charged into the chamber beyond bellowing, "What have you done to my daughter!? She did you no wrong! Give her back NOW!!!"

"Well, a plan would have been nice," Finian grimaced, slipped on Ledare's ring and disappeared.



For a moment, Ledare doubted her own eyes. The fairy just leered up at her, a smirk frozen on its inked face. Then as she watched it turned its head playfully to the side and winked before settling back into its static grin. After a few beats, it repeated the motion and after a few beats more repeated it again, over and over in a continuous loop. Ledare had seen an animated tattoo only once before and not so long ago. During her last visit to Byr in the Moonsdance of Coldeven, there had been a festival honoring Neodig and there amidst the chilled bodies and hot drink had been a travelling wizard who offered up just such decoration to those who could afford it. His name was Tormar Helmfre and he'd lasciviously offered to tattoo a rearing unicorn on Ledare's right buttock. At least he had until her father put a stop to such talk.

The Janissary could only imagine that this woman had gotten her redcap faerie from the same artist. She had never heard of another wizard offering such a thing.

"Kitten," Ruze said as the paralyzation finally wore off. He stretched his back and pointed across the cave with the scimitar in his right hand. "You do realize that that skaven over by the carrion crawler is still breathing, don't you?"

 

[Jon Potter]

Ixin Makes a Break

DM's Note: This bit is presented out of order and has no real bearing on the current events of the game. It's just some flavor text I wrote about Ixin's departure from Highgate and her life with The Dragon's Claw.

---------------------------

Alimday, the 23rd of Amarolus of the Year of the 16th House

This section of Undercity was well maintained. It wasn't particularly close to the Mining District or the tunnels normally used for the transport of goods up from Sordadon, so Ixin could see little incentive for The Five to keep it so well. It still stank of stale grease and sweating bodies, of course, but it was lit by everburning torches and relatively free of the human dross that skulked elsewhere in these cliffside catacombs. She knew she had little to fear from such living flotsam, though; no one in his right mind would dare attack her for fear of angering Skrazargul. That she was under his organization's protection was well known throughout Highgate and there were very few in the city that would be willing to draw The Claw's attention, much less raise its ire.

Ixin hoped that Dwardolin the Hibernian wouldn't realize the risk that helping her presented.

Dwardolin was a dracomancer of no small skill, an Outcast Specialist combining the instinctive casting of sorcery with the learned approach of dedicated wizardry. He hailed from a city to which Ixin had never been called Tiambdamyr in Hibernia far to the north. She had heard tales that it was a pirate city much like Freeport... only worse, so it was little wonder that Dwardolin had chosen to leave the place behind. He had told her once that in such a port someone of his skills and appearance could only escape being impressed into the most foul of criminal practices for so long. The irony of the mage's current position as thrall to Ur-Skrazargul wasn't lost on Ixin.

Like many of the Atlantean-descended Albions, Dwardolin had the blood of dragons flowing in his veins. His connection to his draconic ancestry was quite obviously distant - his powerful blood thinned by many generations - but the color of the fine scales on the backs of his hands indicated that he and Ixin shared the lineage of red dragons. That much had been plain to her on the occasions that the two had met. Whenever he came to perform some service or other for Skrazargul the Green, Ixin and the mage made a point of talking briefly. He had always treated her with an extra measure of affection because of their draconic bond, but it wasn't his dragon blood that seemed to most influence him. Reputedly the blood of faeries ran through him as well and he was clearly altered in ways that being dragon-blooded could not cause. Twinkling lights, the color of which could be used to predict his mood if you knew what to look for, often surrounded him and his red hair fluttered as if blown by a wind that only it could feel. Why a man related to the nature spirits kept his shop here in these noisome tunnels, she couldn't fathom, but she was glad he did.

This area of Undercity was of little strategic value to smuggling or the drug trade and so was not often frequented by any of the Claw's many Hands. The Hibernian was Skrazargul's servant, and as such usually warranted a low-level guard or two at his home. Today, however, Ixin knew most of those low-ranking gang members were off putting down a group of upstart rivals calling themselves the Golden Sabres who were trying to get a foothold down in Sordadon.

She found the unguarded door to Dwardolin's shop exactly where she'd been told it would be, carved into the side of a twisting tunnel between a merchant's warehouse and a tavern called the 'Hole in the Wall' that was covered with row after row of carved dvergar runes. One of those bearded folk regarded her from the doorway of the inn with suspicion as she approached and then quickly disappeared within as soon as she used the ornate knocker on Dwardolin's door. When there was still no answer after the third knock, she tried the knob and was surprised to discover the door unlocked. Without hesitation, she thumbed the latch and stepped inside, eager to be away from the smell of 'rat-on-a-stick' wafting up the tunnel from some distant restaurant.

She didn't have a true grasp of the fact that it would be the last time she would walk the tunnels beneath Highgate.

Dwardolin's shop was long and exceedingly narrow. Thick, smoke-blackened timbers crossed the ceiling at regular intervals, each one hanging with drying herbs, metal tools and bits of fragile glasswork. There were three massive worktables overflowing with scrolls, ledgers, and rack upon rack of vials and flasks. The air was hazy with aromatic, yellow smoke that billowed up from an enormous and ornate water pipe towering beyond the farthest workbench. One sniff told her that is was serpent weed smoke cut with the bitter and slightly metallic odor of something more potent.

"HOLD!" Dwardolin's scratchy voice cried out from the back of the room. Ixin could tell by the way the air around her momentarily charged with raw manna that the mage was speaking in High Draconic, the language of magic itself. Hanging at her hip, Arivexoth automatically translated the word into her native language, but Dwardolin's intent was obvious. As was the fact that his weed-numbed tongue had mispronounced the power word. Ixin heard the old man cry out in pain as the strain of channeling the raw magic rebounded on him without the buffer of properly pronounced High Draconic.

Scowling, Ixin picked her way through the crowded shop. She found Dwardolin sprawled on a couch amidst a drift of colorful silken pillows. He was a gaunt shell of his former self.

When they had first met, ten years prior, the Hibernian had been a robust mage in the prime of life, fired with the knowledge of his draconic blood and eager to unlock the secrets of ascendancy hidden within it. He had unraveled some of the intricacies of High Draconic, divined the pronunciation of a handful of power words, and was well on his way to becoming a true dragonchild. Then he met Skrazargul, became addicted to The Dragon's abyss dust and was made his thrall. In the last decade, the dracomancer's mind and body had been broken many times over and he was now wholly Skrazargul's. Ixin shuddered, full of the knowledge that The Dragon would do the same to her if not for the strength of her own blood relatives and their prominent positions on The Council of Wyrms.

"Oh, it's you," the Hibernian managed to wheeze between ragged coughs. Where he had once breathed gouts of fire now came only bloody spittle. Motes of brownish-green drifted in the air around him like flecks of ash. "I wasn't told that The Dragon had need of me today."

"I'm not here on Ur-Skrazargul's business," Ixin told him. With one clawed hand, she idly picked through a pile of scribed scrolls on the nearest worktable. "I've come seeking transport out of Highgate."

"Without alerting The Five, eh?" Dwardolin jumped to the obvious - but incorrect - conclusion, just as Ixin had hoped he would. He chuckled, his laughter rattling around in his clotted chest and the motes that drifted in the air around him moved from dull green to deepest mauve. He lovingly fingered his waterpipe's silver and bone mouthpiece and bemusedly added, "I can teleport you to Byzantium if you wish. I've a place or two there that I can remember passingly well."

She knew full well that such a trip was within his power. He had specialized in Transmutation to such a degree that even his sorcery followed that path of magic. It was a most unnatural occurrence and one that had earned him his Outcast status. But still, the farther he teleported her and the lower his familiarity with the target area, the greater the chance for a mishap and his once-powerful mind had become clouded by weed. "I don't think I'll want to go that distance. But I do need to go somewhere that I can't be tracked down," Ixin explained. "I've got to disappear rather completely."

Dwardolin paused for a moment, his face gone slack as his gaze turned inward, searching his memory. The purple motes darkened to black and then brightened to a blue the color of a winter sky. "I know of a Fey Crossroads in Lyonesse that leads to the city of Shadow in Between," the dracomancer offered as he took a pull on his pipe. It bubbled and churned like a witch's cauldron. "Once you have gone there, you can cross into the Twilight Lands or use another path to elsewhere. Exceedingly difficult for The Five to track you then."

Ixin considered. She didn't relish a trip to FaerieLand. The Sidhe were notoriously difficult to deal with - even those of the Seelie Court - and were often happier with the chance to trick and humiliate a traveler rather than aid them. Fey Crossroads were always guarded and trapped in such a way that journeying via them was often more troublesome than using other means. Any other means.

"I can teleport you to the Faerie Stage in Synenzia Woods halfway between Kirkwood and the Barony of Threehills," the Hibernian went on, his words and the motes of magic in the air around him charged with his excitement as the plan took shape. His magic was dizzyingly powerful for a mortal and it hurtled along steadily even under the influence of snake weed and whatever else he had laced his smoke with. "It's a flat rock beside a small lake of great beauty. There you'll most likely meet a nixie I was once friendly with named Kyrielee or a thorn faerie by the name of-"

Dwardolin faltered. His eyes took on a slightly panicked look and his mouth opened and closed like a fish's. The colorful motes that swirled around him dimmed and winked out. He looked confused as he turned his face to look at Ixin. "I... I can't seem to remember the thorn faerie's name," he stammered. "I can remember her face as plain as day, but her name..."

Ixin felt sorry for him. He had fallen from a great height to end up where he was. "Is her name important?" she asked in an off-handed way, as if the dracomancer's memory loss was nothing but a trifle. "You did say I'd most likely meet the nixie."

"Kyrielee," the Hibernian said to reaffirm that he did remember the nixie's name at least. He nodded and bit down reassuringly on the waterpipe's mouthpiece. "Yes, that's true. And you'll need to bring her a gift or she'll never show you how to navigate the fey path that leads to the mountains of Lyonesse and the portal to Shadow." He exhaled a plume of yellow smoke and before it had mingled fully with the fog that blanketed the room his momentary mental stumble was forgotten. He bade her take a double armload of minor scrolls and potions that he had crafted over the years. Some she would use to bribe Kyrielee and the rest Dwardolin insisted she would need to defend herself. They vanished into the various spaces within her Cloak of Many Pockets.

The Wand of Wonder she had taken from Irthos' personal horde was hidden there as well.

"That should do," the dracomancer grinned from his couch. He laid aside his mouthpiece and hauled himself more or less upright, clutching his blue wrap around his gaunt frame as he did so. "I'll miss our little chats about the Dragon Isles," he told Ixin. "And I'll look forward to your return when The Five have lost interest in your capture."

And before she could say anything, he began to cast. "Wait, Dwardolin!" Ixin protested even as he completed the intricate somatics involved in casting a teleportation spell. "I'm not ready to-"

And those words were the last that Ixin, daughter of Ventisjir the Red, granddaughter of Lady Dominor Corastrixarosvith of Clan Vermillion spoke in the city of Highgate.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #222] Question & Answer

Draelond paused for a moment to adjust his grip on Ravager and then plunged into the tunnel after the glowing ball of light that he knew was Finian's invisible sunrod. Ixin followed close behind him. The warrior noticed the tunnel was brightening as soon as he reached the dogleg and saw the warm glow of firelight once he stepped out into the chamber beyond. The Archer's sunrod clinked to the ground nearby and Draelond hear Finian's disembodied voice whisper down from above, "It is my job to stay out of the way. You do what you need to do and don't worry about hitting me."

A dozen torches lit the cavern, Draelond saw. It was large and high-ceilinged and it seemed to be raining within. Water dripped down steadily from the stalactites above and flowed in from some underground source, trickling over the stone formations on the floor in slow sheets. The large, flat rock formations were spread throughout the cavern, giving it the look of a giant stack of coins. Den Lant was charging across the center of the room - or trying to at least. The weird elevations of the stone floor seemed to be giving him trouble and he was more lurching across the floor than he was charging. His course was meandering, but his target was clear. The highest formation in the room was covered by rugs and pelts, and the well-dressed leader of the werebats sat there on a cushioned chair. He seemed to have recovered from Ixin's scare and he sat watching Lant negotiate the uneven floor with a bemused expression on his dark, pointed face. A werebat in a purple cloak stood behind him.

"Leave this place, old man, or end up as food for the crawlers!" the leader shouted to Lant.

"I'm not leaving without my daughter!" the man bellowed back, using his quarterstaff as a counter balance as he fought against the uncertain footing. "Where is she?"

The leader scowled and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand and his elbow on his knee. "You keep going on about your daughter," he said. "But I'm quite sure I don't have a clue what you're talking about."



"That's odd..," Ledare murmured as she eased over toward the unconscious werebat. "Draelond is most effective with his sword. It seems quite unusual that there would still be life in this body. In fact, there's not a mark on it that I can see."

"In the heat of battle, it was difficult to say with certainty, but I think that creature may have been engaged with Ixin. But, any way Kitten, what say you we immobilize that skaven before it wakes up?" the Battleguard asked as he moved to join Ledare. Catching sight of the carrion crawler lying beside the werebat he stopped short and pointed at it with his scimitar. "Is that carrion crawler unable to attack?"

Ledare turned and looked at the thing's crushed skull and the noxious soup of brains revealed within. She shook her head. "Not unless it turns undead," she told the cleric. "Dragongirl really did a number on it with her morningstar."

Ruze gave the Janissary a stern look and touched his holy symbol. "Best not to make jokes about the undead," he said before crouching down beside the sleeping werebat. "Do we have any way to tie this creature so that it can't escape?"

Ledare reached behind her back and unclipped the standard-issue manacles that she carried at her waist*. Letting them dangled from one hand she grinned. "Will these do?"

Ruze craned his neck as if trying to get a look at Ledare's armored behind and asked, "What else do you have back there?"

Now it was Ledare's turn to give a stern look. She tossed the manacles to Ruze and frowned. "Let's keep our minds on the task at hand, shall we?"



"You winged devils took her from the caravanserai last night!" Den Lant cried. "I know you have her here!"

"Oh. Her," the leader said and leaned back on his throne. He made an off-handed gesture and shrugged. "She's dead. Has been since last night, I believe."

"What?!" Lant groaned, stopping short a half-dozen paces from the raised platform of stone on which the skaven leader sat.

"You can find what's left of her down below if you'd like," the werebat smiled a cruel smile. "I don't know why you'd want to though. She was an ugly thing, wasn't she?" The taunts were all the more Lant could stand. He charged, eyes dripping with bitter tears of rage and loss. The robed werebat spread its membranous wings and leaped over the leader's throne, drifting down to meet Lant's advance with its shortsword.

Den Lant had spent most of his life as a caravan guard, the last twenty years travelling with Mikal Tobrannon. Before that, he had trained for a time with the Tuk Academy in Restenford and gained there an intimate knowledge of fighting with the quarterstaff. There was little that Lant hadn't seen over the years and he lived his life not being roused by the goings on in the world around him. When it came to his daughter, however, he was possessed of a single-minded ruthlessness that seemed at odds with the man's generally impassive nature. The news of his daughter's death provoked his violent excesses and it cost him his life.

Lant swung his quarterstaff underhanded, intending to catch the advancing skaven on the chin. He struck the uneven floor, however, and left himself wide open to a savage slash across the throat. He gargled on his own blood, and staggered clamping his hand futilely over the vicious wound. Crimson rivulets pulsed through his fingers but somehow he didn't fall.

"You should have joined me when you had the chance!" the leader shouted. His laughter echoed and reechoed off the cave walls and ceiling, drowning out the stealthy sound of Finian's approach from behind.



"Wake up!" Ledare growled, slapping the unconscious werebat's snout. It took three more open-handed smacks to wake it, and when it came around, it was slowly. When the truth of its situation became apparent, it let out a mewling whimper.

The skaven was lying on its back with its arms awkwardly manacled behind it. Ledare and Ruze stood one on either side of it with the points of their swords hovering dangerously close to its hairy neck. It fixed them with a red eye and bared its teeth impotently.

"Who was the bat man leader?" Ruze asked, prodding the werebat with his scimitar for emphasis. In response the creature curled its lip and let out a squeaking that might have passed for laughter.

"This is getting us nowhere," Ledare hissed and drew back her sword to stab the helpless prisoner. "I don't trust any skaven, breathing or otherwise."

"His name is Valdymyr!" the werebat quickly blurted out. "He's my boss but he don't run the show 'round here. There's a guy name of Corben who really calls the shots. Now don't kill me. Please!"

Ruze exchanged a look with Ledare and gave her a surreptitious wink. "What say you, Janissary?" the cleric asked. "Should we listen to what he has to say? I am sure this is not a chaos cell we need to worry about. They are too rag-tag to amount to anything."

"I tend to agree," Ledare replied, picking up the bluff effortlessly. "Still I must think first about the safety of The Realms. Killing this thing would certainly make the world a better place."

"Now wait!" the man bat protested. "I can tell you things!"

"I don't know," Ruze went on, paying no attention to the werebat's words. "I am sure they are just a bunch of bored, misled farmers. They certainly do not take the King's notice."

"He's right, mi'lady!" The prisoner nodded as much as the swords hovering above its throat would allow. "I'm not much of a threat. But I know things that can help you!" Ledare squinted at the inhuman face that looked fearfully up at her.

"Start talking," she said with a scowl and the prisoner smiled.

"What do you want to know?" it asked.



Ixin saw the two shadows detach themselves from the cave wall and swoop down toward the throne. They were enormous, wicked-looking bats with wingspans easily 8-feet across. They looked as though they were moving to attack the man seated on the throne, but that seemed unlikely given his position as leader of the werebats. She was too far away to do much more than shout a warning.

"Look out!" she cried. "Two bats! BIG bats!"

Draelond paused momentarily in his advance across the cave to aid Den Lant if he could. He craned his head and spotted the two dark shapes, determined that they weren't a direct threat to him and continued onward. Lant and his opponent paid her no mind. On his throne, Valdymyr turned his head toward the creatures and grinned. Finian, crouched invisibly a half-dozen paces behind the throne looked up to see the two winged monsters dive right at him!

They attacked in tandem. The first sank its needle-sharp teeth into the Archer's side, splitting open leather armor and flesh with ease. As soon as the first withdrew, the second darted its head in and took a bite of meat from Finian's left thigh. He cried out in pain and slashed wildly with his two blades, but the winged rodents were simply too quick and he couldn't connect. The Archer staggered, his wound burning with pain even as the cold chill of blood loss began to settle into his limbs.

Den Lant spun his quarterstaff expertly in his right hand; his left was plastered redly to his throat. He readied the staff to brain the skaven that faced him, but he never got the chance. The werebat stabbed outward with its shortsword, opening the artery on the side of Lant's neck. His face went ashen as his lifeblood pulsed out across the cave floor. This time, he sagged and fell despite the fierce hatred glowing in his eyes.

Draelond stepped over Lant's bleeding form and struck outward with Ravager. The winged skaven raised its shortsword to parry the blow, but Draelond's great blade chewed through the creature's hand, snapping bones and shredding flesh. The werebat shrieked but maintained its feet.

"This isn't going well," Ixin groaned and raised her crossbow. She got off a lucky shot despite the distance and the fact that she was trying very hard not to hit Finian. One of the bats squealed as the mage's quarrel struck it in the flank. The wound was a minor one, but it did attract Valdymyr's attention. He whirled around and his eyes settled on Ixin.

"You!" he roared, his eyes blazing like hot coals as he rose from his throne. "I'll kill you myself!"



"What foul rituals are going on here?" Ruze pressed and the prisoner turned to look at him.
"No rituals. We're here to build up our ranks," the werebat confessed. "That's all."

"No it's not," Ledare corrected, sensing the creature's half-truth. She pressed the point of her sword solidly against its throat. "This blade is made in part from silver, you know."

"Believe me, mi'lady. I can tell," the skaven gulped. "And you're right. We're also here guarding a portal down below. It leads somehow to other parts of The Realms. Don't ask me how it works, 'cause I don't know. But that's how we're going to move our troops when the Goddess says it's time."

"What Goddess?" Ruze asked. "Who is your patron?" The werebat prisoner was visibly uncomfortable admitting its religious affiliation to a Battleguard of Shaharizod who was holding a scimitar to its throat, but one glance over at the Janissary's shrewd eyes was enough to convince it that the truth might be the better path.

"L-Lady Pestilence," it stammered. "I serve the Mistress of Decay. Aphyx."

"No big surprise there," Ledare deadpanned. "Now let's talk about a relatively new member of the ranks. A tall elf with silvery hair and purple eyes."

"Yeah. He's here," the prisoner admitted. "He's real important to the powers-that-be for some reason. Valdymyr's got him chained up down below until he can be trusted."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #222a] A Hero Falls

Valdymyr shrugged his cloak back off his shoulders and a pair of enormous bat wings unfurled at his sides. The great wings snapped downward with a sound like a sail flapping in a stiff breeze and he came off the ground. With two more beats, he was airborne and headed straight for Ixin. He drew his gleaming shortsword as he came.

Steeling herself, the mage leaned casually against the damp cave wall with her arms crossed. One of her hands moved toward a hidden pocket within her cloak wherein was secreted a number of the Hibernian's scrolls. She smiled winningly and called out, "Come now, friend! Surely you do not begrudge a lady taking advantage of an opportunity when she sees it?"

Valdymyr faltered in his advance, he jerked clumsily in the air, like a marionette manipulated by an inexpert puppeteer. He landed a few paces from Ixin and sneered at her. "We're not friends, witch!" he growled. "Your magicks may have debased me once, but I'll be damned if I let it happen again!"

"I understand your embarrassment, surely," Ixin purred. "But your actions can remain our little secret." She winked at Valdymyr and saw a smug smile play across the werebat's face. His eyes, however, did not lose their malicious glint.



Draelond jerked his head backward at the last moment and the point of the werebat's shortsword passed through the air directly in front of his eyes. Before the winged skaven could recover from the back swing, Ravager rose upward in a massive arc that found the creature's guts at the midpoint. It fell backward in a messy, broken heap.

Draelond flicked wet hair out of his eyes and turned toward the sound of battle in the far recesses of the cave. Finian was there, defending against the predation of the two enormous bats he had seen earlier. And he wasn't doing well at all.

Clutching his sword firmly, Draelond bounded across the cavern with as much speed as he could muster on the uneven ground.



A strategic withdrawal. That was the only thing that would save him, Finian suspected. He resolved himself to that course of action, but the bats were too fast and they harried him mercilessly. Their great, beating wings and dangerous, snapping teeth seemed to be everywhere. Before he had taken a single step, one of the creatures was sinking its fangs into his chest, filling his face with its stinking fur and a splatter of his own blood. He somehow managed to push the bat away and take a halting backward step before the second bat tore into his right thigh, opening a wound there that was the match for the one that was currently slicking his right leg with red.

Finian sagged, a surprised expression on his face. Darkness was creeping in around the edges of his vision, and it swallowed all sight even before he'd collapsed to the floor.



"There's no hiding my failure, witch," Valdymyr cursed. "You've slain my troops and compromised our secrecy."

"Listen, we did not come here looking for a battle," Ixin explained. "We simply came to gather up two missing people. If only you had informed me of the girl upstairs, we could have avoided that whole messy encounter."

The werebat's face scrunched into a disappointed scowl at the possibility that he might have come away from the encounter with a victory rather than an ignominious rout. He told the mage none of this, but turned to look when she pointed out across the cavern.

"This one appears to be going little better for either of our parties," Ixin told him, indicating the ongoing battle between Draelond on the two gigantic bats. The warrior swung at the nearest bat as he charged up, but the rodent narrowly dodged the flashing bastard sword. It snapped its fangs at him ineffectually. The attack served to distract the man enough for the second bat to sink its teeth into Draelond's right shoulder.

"All we want is to know if you have a certain sidhe," Ixin went on. "If you do, we'll just take him back and be on our way. We'll write it all off to a misunderstanding."

As Valdymyr watched, Draelond reversed his grip on Ravager and drove the blade through the torso of the bat that had just bitten him. It squealed and spasmed weakly before falling to the ground like a broken kite. The bat's mate darted in to half-heartedly attack the warrior, but its jaws found only air.

"Call off your half-orc and we'll talk," the skaven leader muttered, looking hatefully at Ixin.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #222b] After the Fall

"He's alive?" Ledare ejaculated and Ruze could see the glint of unalloyed hope in her eye.

"Remember, Janissary," the cleric reminded. "Finding what was once Kirnoth, does not mean it is still Kirnoth. Lycanthropy is lethal to elves." Ledare's hopeful vigor dwindled at that prospect and she turned angrily on their prisoner again.

"Is that true?" she asked and the werebat shrugged.

"I don't know the answer to that, mi'lady," he replied warily. "I've never seen any elves amongst the brood, so maybe..."

"Once bitten by one of your kind, is there any cure or antidote for the 'wereling disease'?" she pressed. "What can reverse the process?"

Again the prisoner shrugged. "I don't know these answers, mi'lady," he mewled. "None of my broodmates have ever sought to cast off the gift."

"Gift?!" Ledare shouted, pressing her swordpoint against the werebat's collarbone, dimpling its hairy flesh. "Curse you mean! Did Kirnoth ask for this 'gift'? Did he?"

"I- I-" the werebat protested, trying vainly to twist away from Ledare's sword. A dark trickle of blood formed beneath the blade and ran down its hirsute chest. Ruze wrapped his left hand around Ledare's right, urging the sword away from the creature's heart. Reluctantly, Ledare allowed him to do so. The werebat looked up at the cleric with a mixture of relief and gratitude in its eyes.

"I cannot kill a helpless creature regardless of the evil that is within," Ruze told the skaven and the creature opened its mouth to speak. The Battleguard held up a finger to silence it. "I cannot, but the Janissary has no such compulsion. In fact she has been compacted to put you and all your brood to the sword."

"I don't want to die..." the creature whimpered, looking plaintively from Ruze to Ledare and back again.

"Then answer my questions," Ledare growled and the werebat swallowed thickly.

"I'm trying to, mi'lady," it replied, its voice barely above a whisper. "Really, I am."

"Where is the elf kept?" the Battleguard asked and the prisoner nodded toward the passage they knew led down.

"The Voice of Aphyx told Valdymyr to chain him up down below," the werebat said. "In the Caves of Night."

"The Voice of Aphyx?" Ruze asked. "She speaks to your leader?"

"No... Yes... I don't know," the skaven struggled with the explanation. "The Voice of Aphyx brings us the will of Lady Pestilence. He... They... come to us as a swarm of her most sacred animals."

"Rats," Ledare said and the prisoner nodded. The half-elf thought immediately of the swarm of rats that they had encountered at Rherram's the night before. "And this Voice instructed your boss to lock Kirnoth up in the Caves of Night?"

"Just so," it replied. After a moment's consideration it added, "That's where the portal is too."

Ledare nodded at this new information. "How is Kirnoth being kept?" she asked. "You mentioned chains. Are there other precautions? Traps? Wards? Guardians?"

"I don't go down there, mi'lady, but I don't think there's anything keeping him there beside the chain and the Devourer," the werebat said.

"Devourer?" Ruze asked nervously and the werebat nodded.

"Thaledan said that you met him last night," it told them. "After you fought him off, Thaledan sent three of his men in to finish you off. But you killed them instead."

"The thing with the tentacles," Ruze surmised from the werebat's description.

"Just so," the prisoner said. "He usually just eats our night soil. But he's not against a bit of fresh meat every now an again. Who can blame him?"

Ledare grimaced. "What numbers of your kind can we expect to find in the cave?" she asked and the skaven pushed itself up onto its elbow and craned its neck to survey the bodies strewn about.

"Not many," it admitted after doing its brief inventory. "Me and Heriles and Thinia were the last of the regulars. Gaarick and Borris were Valdymyr's personal guard, but it looks like you got one of them too." It indicated the hairy feet sticking out of the fissure that led down. "The wizard, Ingardulf, was here, but he went through the portal last night with the Voice of Aphyx."

"Who else travels through this portal?" Ledare pressed, but the prisoner had little information about that.

"I don't know, mi'lady," it mewled. "It takes magic to make it work. A few teams from other locations have been sent through looking for the portal to the High King's prison."

"But they haven't found it?" she continued and the werebat shook its head. Ledare straightened and turned her attention to the Battleguard. "We should press onward as quickly as we can," she told him. "The others have been gone for too long as it is."

The cleric nodded and waved his scimitar at the prisoner. "What about him?" Ruze asked. "If we take him with us, it's another body to manage who could turn on us, but he could be helpful along the way. I will leave the decision up to you, kitten."

"I have no qualms killing him since that was the king's assignment initially anyway," Ledare said and the werebat made a whining noise and scrunched its eyes tightly shut. "But you may be right. He may be of use to us further on."

"So?" Ruze asked, cocking an eyebrow at the half elf.

Ledare nudged the skaven in the ribs with her boot and it opened its eyes in shock, certain it had been stabbed. "Is there anything else you can do for us, or has your measly little life's worth been spent in answering a few questions?" Ledare demanded.

"I- I-" the creature stammered. "What do you ask of me?"

Ledare growled in annoyance, but Ruze crouched down and grinned conversationally at the man bat. "I could maybe persuade the Janissary (who has been commissioned to kill all skaven and baven, remember) to spare a particular baven if said baven remained helpful along the way," he told the creature. "Maybe even offering information when not asked. And of course should a certain bat man try to escape and evil is loosed upon the world, a cleric is duty bound to slay such evil."

"I- I cannot," the werebat answered. "They will kill me if they discover that I have been helping you. Better that I wait for you chained here."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #223] Put to the Sword

Ixin momentarily flicked her eyes away from the werebat leader and saw Draelond yank his jagged blade messily free of the giant bat carcass. She fixed a smile on her face when she turned back toward the baven. "He is not a 'half orc' and he is not mine to 'call off,'" she told him.

"He's killing my pets," Valdymyr snarled. Ixin saw him casually adjust his grip on the shortsword in his right hand. She calmly pulled Dwardolin's scroll of Magic Missile from an inner pocket of her cloak.

"So he is," she said in a tone of voice that told the werebat that she didn't give a Chaldileen drachm for his pet's life. She raised her voice then and shouted to her companion, but her eyes never left the werebat's. "Draelond, how do you and Finian fair?"

Draelond readied his sword as the enormous bat darted back in, but spared a glance at the fallen Archer. What he saw didn't look good. Finian's face was ashen, and his wide eyes stared glassily from their sockets like blue marbles. His lower body was painted in his own blood. The bat came in then, but the warrior had been distracted and not only missed his opportunity to drop the creature, but almost lost his hold on Ravager. If the bat itself hadn't been trying so desperately to avoid the blade, it might have taken a bite from Draelond's unprotected side. Instead, it snapped at the air however and circled around for another pass.

"Finian is down!" Draelond bellowed as he spun to keep his bastard sword between himself and the winged creature.

"Then I suggest you finish that baven quickly and then let us attend to Finian!" Ixin called back to him. She saw Valdymyr's jaw clench and his shoulders tense at her words; she let the scroll nonchalantly unfurl in her hand. "No point going around life with half-finished acts," she said with a shrug. "Now then, where is the Sidhe and what is your purpose here?"

"You lying whore!" the werebat cursed. "The only help I'll give you is finding your way to hell!" And he came at her with his sword at the ready.



Ledare snorted derisively at her prisoner's suggestion and levelled her sword at its throat. "Your choice is to come with us and risk death at the hand of your own kind, or die here now," she told the creature. "I will not leave you alone to 'bite us in the end' so-to-speak."

"On my honor, mi'lady!" the werebat protested, but the Janissary cut in before it could say anything more.

"Honor?" she laughed sardonically. "The word is a mockery on your foul lips, vermin."

"He still might have some use as a guide," Ruze reminded, but Ledare shook her head.

"If your Goddess can grant us some light, we do not need this skaven anymore. And it would not be prudent to leave him here alive, even if he is shackled," She said and drew back her sword once more and prepared to skewer the werebat.

"Okay! Okay!" the baven shouted, its eyes wide with fear. "I'll accompany you! Just don't kill me!"



"Magicus telum!" Ixin shouted the activation words for scroll.

Or rather she tried to. What came out was something more like, "Magicus tela-a-a-agh!!" as Valdymyr's shortsword sliced deeply into the meat on her left shoulder. Her arm immediately went numb except for the actual wound which burned with a pain she had not known before. The Hibernian's scroll crumbled to dust in her other hand, its magic spent despite the fact that the spell had gone untriggered.

The werebat grinned and told her, "I pray that Myrkul leads you quickly to your final torment, witch!"



Draelond heard Ixin's cry, but kept his focus on the incoming bat. He swung his huge sword at the creature and felt the jagged blade tear open a wound on the bat's leg as it passed him. The impact caused the winged beast's own attack to go wrong and it snapped its bloody jaws above the warrior's head. Draelond could smell the stench of death on its breath.



"Acid terum!" Ixin intoned and gestured at Valdymyr. A droplet of green acid flicked from her fingertips and struck the werebat in the left leg. There was a hissing sound as the splash burned through his trousers and he grunted in pain. He bared his fangs and looked menacingly at the mage; it was clear that he was a long way from falling.

"It that the best you can do, witch?" he growled. "Where are your commands to tremble now?! Who's the worm now?!" He stabbed outward with his shortsword and Ixin gasped as it sank easily into her chest above her right breast. She felt the sharp blade scrape against her ribs and then it withdrew, taking her senses with it.



Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ixin go down and Draelond felt a momentary swell of panic and rage within him. Roaring his frustration, he swung his sword at the bat as it came it, throwing every bit of the strength contained within his mighty thews. The blade tossed up a massive spark as it rang out against the stone floor but the bat had twisted out of the way of the swing and came in before the warrior could recover. Its fangs opened a bloody gash on his scalp, and Draelond felt it pull away a mouthful of his black hair.

Before it could wing up and away for another pass at him, the man reeled around, cleaving upward with the bastard sword. The blade ripped through the bat's fragile wing bones sending the rodent tumbling crazily through the air before it crashed lifeless to the ground some distance away.

Breathing heavily, Draelond bent over and braced his hands on his knees. His wounds were very near to being the death of him, but he had to make sure that his newest comrade at arms hadn't walked the same path as the half-elf lying nearby. He thought dimly of belladonna, but he knew that he had none and he couldn't waste potentially valuable time looking for it. Something hot and stinging ran into his right eye and he swiped it away before hauling himself upright and moving with all haste to check on Ixin.



"There's another guard post up ahead," the werebat told Ruze. "But I don't hear anybody there."

It had given up talking to Ledare entirely. The Janissary never believed anything it was saying, not even on those occasions when it was speaking the absolute truth. She wanted to kill it, the man bat knew, and now that the priest had put some magic on her helmet so that it glowed with moonlight, the Janissary looked far too much like the wrathful angels it'd heard preached about it the temples of its youth. So the baven had given up trying to communicate with her. In fact, it'd given up even looking at her stern face as much as possible.

"You first," Ledare whispered, urging the werebat forward while keeping her shield hand on the chain that bound its wrists. "If you're lying let them shoot you and not me."

As it turned out, the prisoner hadn't been lying and they encountered no one on their way through the caves although both Ruze and Ledare remained vigilant in fear of an ambush. The werebat showed them the passage that curved down to the Caves of Night where Kirnoth was being kept, but Ledare forced it onward.

"Let's just find out what's keeping our friends shall we?" she said with a mean smile that spoke volumes. Its implication was clear to the werebat and for the first time in a long, long time, it hoped in its fearful little heart that nothing bad had happened.

Eventually they saw torchlight up ahead and Ledare hastened their pace so that the baven was stumbling along off balance as she pushed it from behind. They passed a dogleg in the tunnel and suddenly it opened up into a vast cavern. Nearby, Draelond leaned against the wall of the cave. He was ragged and bleeding and his eyes had a distant, haunted look. His face was a mask of blood. Ravager was laying across his legs with its handle very hear the man's right hand. At his feet lay Ixin. Her wounds had been dressed in an amateurish but still competent fashion. She was breathing shallowly.

"By Shaharizod's grace!" Ruze cried with a start and Draelond held a finger to his lips.

"Finian's dead," he whispered, his eyes watchful. "And the leader's still in here somewhere." He gestured then to the shadowy cavern and Ledare's prisoner let out a frightened whimper.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #224] Retreat!

"What?!" Ledare cried out a trifle too loud. Her voice echoed off the far wall and came back to her with all of its guilt and loss intact. She winced as the emotions came back at her, then turned her eyes to survey the cavern. "Are you sure?" she asked, already having spotted the fallen Archer. She moved toward him without waiting for an answer.

She let go of her captive's chains and the werebat looked opportunistically from its manacles to the Grey Companions to the tunnel leading out and back again. On its second cycle through, Ruze caught its eye and said one word: "Sit." It complied without question, whimpering in fear all the while.

The Battleguard quickly looked over Ixin's bandaged wounds, found them adequate and nodded at Draelond. "Good work, my large friend," the cleric said. "You likely saved the mage's life."

Draelond grunted in reply, his eyes never leaving the darkness where the skaven leader might still be hiding. "I'm no healer," he told Ruze. "I did what they taught me at the Academy."

"They taught you well," the Battleguard responded and clutched his holy symbol. He lay the other hand on Ixin's punctured chest. "My Queen, guide this one away from your sister's dark path." Moonlight swelled briefly beneath his hand and Ixin convulsed once, spit blood and her eyes flicked open, seeming almost to glow with intensity.

"Dead," she wheezed and Ruze shook his head, getting quickly to his feet.

"Not yet," he told her and then started after Ledare adding, "Get ready to move. We're in no shape to be questing after portals now."

He had already moved out of earshot when Ixin croaked, "What Portals?"



Ledare dug feverishly through Finian's satchel of herbs looking for belladonna... moss... garlic... Whatever it was that the ranger always used to bring them back among the living. None of the pouches within the medicine bag were labelled, and she knew nothing about herbs. Her training at the Janissary Academy had included basic triage, not herbalism, and even those classes had been entirely optional. As she madly pressed the contents of several herb pouches against the Archer's many terrible injuries, she wished now that she had paid more attention to Imlia's classes on herblore.

Ruze reached the scene and quietly knelt beside Finian's head. He pressed two fingers against the Archer's throat, seeking a lifebeat. There was none, however and he quickly whispered a few words of benediction, his hands set in the symbol of the double crescents. The Janissary continued to press herbs against Finian's corpse and Ruze laid a hand over Ledare's, stilling her.

"He's gone, kitten," the cleric told her. "His soul has moved on to the end of its mortal path."

"If we can just find the right herb..," she began but Ruze gripped her by the shoulder guards and forced her to look into his eyes.

"He's beyond my ability to heal, Ledare," he said, his voice full of compassion. "What can you hope to do with a few spices." Ledare hung her head at that a moment before quietly reaching out and closing Finian's eyes.

"We have to go," she said as if the idea had only just occurred to her. Her voice was barely audible, but it gained in volume as she went on. "I'll lead and you should carry Finian's body."

"As you wish, kitten," the Battleguard said and hoisted the ranger across his shoulders with a grunt.



Ledare was barking orders by the time she and Ruze had crossed the uneven floor to rejoin the others. "Ixin," she said, "We're going to retreat as quickly as possible. You bring up the rear and remain watchful for the leader. You know the one."

Ixin nodded, but Draelond protested as he rose to his full, towering height. "I should take the rear. If the skaven does attack-"

"You'd be in no condition to do a damned thing about it," the Janissary concluded for him. "I don't know if you've looked at yourself recently, but you're in pretty rough shape. You should conserve your strength and be vigilant." Draelond lowered his eyes and nodded his acceptance. Ledare turned, grabbed the chain binding her prisoner's wrists and hauled it to its feet.

"You're in the front with me," she told the werebat, pressing her sword against its throat even as she drew it in close with the chain. "You'd best tell us if you sense something, if you know what's good for you. I've very little patience right now."

"Yes, mi'lady," it managed to squeak out before she shoved it forward up the dark tunnel.



They encountered no opposition on the way out of the caves, and the trek through the forest, while it was slower without Finian to guide them, was never the less uneventful. The fact that it had stopped raining was a relief to everyone. When they reached the site of their previous battle with the exploding undead, they made ready to circumvent the area. The three zombies that had remained in the area, however, had been destroyed. There were signs of a great deal of combat in the clearing, and both of the creatures had ultimately exploded much as the others had when they first met Ixin. Arrows were lodged everywhere in the area, and there was fresh blood spilled on the ground as well as the noisome contents of the bloated undead. Withotu Finian's skill at tracking, more than that, they couldn't tell.

They had left the forest behind, and were crossing the grassy field below Rherram's home when Martivir reported to Ixin that he had spotted a child moving through the grass to the northeast. It seemed likely that the child was heading for Rherram's as well and the Companions met up with him at the footpath leading up the bluff to Rherram's.

He was young, probably no more than five or six with a wild mop of blonde hair that fell down over his dark eyes. His cheeks were ruddy as if from sunburn and two points of color marked his cheeks. He wore simple traveller's clothes and carried a pack on his back. He was calmly eating an apple when he stepped out of the tall grass and spotted the others. He cringed backward at the sight of them and fearfully stammered, "H-hello?"

"Hello, child," Ledare said. "We're on our way to see the healer."

"Uh-huh," the child responded, staring nervously up at the shackled werebat, Ixin and Draelond.

"This creature is our prisoner," the Janissary said in an effort to soothe the child's worry.
"Uh-huh," he gulped, still staring.

"What about you, kid?" Ruze asked startling the child out of its awestruck reverie.

"Oh!" he shouted and smiled broadly, revealing a mouthful of bright white teeth. "Me too! He asked me to pick up a few things for him and I'm just now bringing them back." He indicated the large backpack and took another bite of his apple.

"Well, lead on then," Ledare suggested and the child moved quickly up the path, sure-footed as a goat. At the top, they found him standing near the stable, surveying the ruined interior.

"Wheew," he whistled. "What happened to Rherram's barn?"

"It's a long story," Ruze grunted and lowered Finian's lifeless body onto a patch of grass near the front door.

"Is that guy dead?" the child asked, taking another bite of apple. His copper-colored eyes were wide with concern.

"Yes," Ixin told him and before she could elaborate, he trotted closer and pointed to the ranger's feet.

"Cool shoes!" he beamed. "Kinda girlie though. Where'd he get 'em?"

"That too is a long story, I'm sure," Ixin said with a sad smile that revealed her pointed teeth. The apple fell from the child's mouth and he screamed. It was a loud, full-throated scream most unlike a six-year-old child's.

"M-m-monster!" he yelled and ran for the front door of Rherram's home. The door opened an instant before he reached it and the old healer stepped out.

"What's going-?" he started to ask and then the "boy" slammed into him, rebounded and landed on his back in the muddy yard. His blonde wig fell off and landed a few feet behind him, revealing his pointed ears and light brown hair. It was clear now that he was wearing make-up to give his pale skin a sunny complexion.

He waved up at Rherram. "Hiya," the halfling said merrily. "I got those things you wanted."

The healer was doubled over, clutching his groin, his face a shade of red that bordered on purple. "Vade!?" he asked, wide-eyed, his jaw clenched against the pain. "Whay are you wearing a wig? And more importantly, where did you get that disguise in the first place?"

Vade grabbed his wig and bounced to his feet. "Well, there was this group of travelling actors. And it was my birthday. And..," the halfling stopped talking. The expression on Rherram's face told him that he didn't believe a word of Vade's story. The diminutive creature produced another piece of fruit from his belt pouch and held it up to the healer. "Want an apple?" he asked, sheepishly.