Travels through the Wild West: Book IV

[CoopersPale]

Hi,

I'm amazed that you can continue to make a daily post lazybones!!

That is some awesome level of motivation you have there - especially when you're producing quality like this!

Anyone else think that there's something going on between Jerral and Benzan?

Throw in a bit of Delem and Dana, and we've got some love triangle/love quadrilateral action happening....

Love your work

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks Bludgeon! You can thank a boring, boring job for my high volume of production lately... the short writing breaks and visits to ENWorld that I sneak in during the day are the only thing keeping me awake through the more mundane tasks, I think...

The funny thing is, the last time I was unemployed (briefly), I had all this time to write but I could never motivate myself to do so. Ah, well.

Anyway, here's the next post...

* * * * *


Book IV, Part 30

Time crept slowly onward as the companions and their allies fled down the trail, each of them all too aware that each minute brought their ogre pursuers closer. That thought added speed to their steps, but as they pressed on the inevitable hand of weariness and stress began to take its toll. The former prisoners, in particular, rapidly exhausted the energy boost born of desperation and fear, and soon their pace had slowed to a crawl despite the repeated urgings of Cal and Dana.

At one point a startled cry erupted back down the trail behind them, its source out of sight but not sounding very far distant. Dana and Cal shared a look, and the mystic wanderer had even taken a reflexive step backward before Cal forestalled her.

“He knows how to take care of himself,” he assured her. “We have to keep moving.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, helping a pair of dwarves who were leaning heavily on each other, moving forward through will alone.

* * * * *

The formation that the dwarves called Knuckle Ridge rose up like a long dagger across their path, its uneven length broken by knobs of massive, weather-smoothed stone. It did sort of look like the back of a clenched fist, Cal thought, as he regarded the area ahead.

He immediately saw what Gaera had meant when she’d said that this place was their best bet for a defense against the ogres. From where he was standing, on a low crest a bowshot away from the ridge, the trail ran down to a narrow natural bridge that fell away to each side to a drop of at least a hundred feet. That treacherous path reached the ridge and ran up into a steeply sloping culvert perhaps ten paces wide at its base; this route offered the only convenient access to the summit of the ridge perhaps thirty feet above the level of the trail below. Other than that crevice, the only way up to the ridge was to scale the crumbling, thirty-foot cliffs to either side; not an easy task even when the way was not defended.

Lok had already started leading their ragtag company across the narrow path toward the ridge. As Cal turned, however, he saw that Dana had paused behind him, and he immediately divined her intent in lingering.

“Dana…”

“I’m going back for Benzan and Jerral,” she said. “Don’t try to stop me.”

Cal opened his mouth to reply, but as if on cue, Benzan appeared around a bend of the trail about a hundred feet back of their current position, Jerral running just a few steps behind. Dana hailed him with a wave, but as soon as he spotted them, Benzan shouted a warning.

“Go! They’re right behind us!”

Cal grabbed Dana’s arm, but the woman was already moving, turning and leaping down to the path that ran across the narrow spit of stone between them and the ridgeline. Cal followed, his short legs causing him to rapidly fall behind the woman as she started across the gap. Anticipation of battle took the edge of his earlier exhaustion, and he saw that Lok had already reached the cleft, and that he and Nanoc were already helping the tired dwarves ascend to the crest.

The gnome heard footsteps behind him, and then Benzan was there, helping him along. “We’ve got to teach you that spell Dana has, that helps you move faster,” he said chidingly, but Cal saw that he kept glancing back along the length of the trail behind them.

“I thought you were going to slow them down,” Cal replied, huffing a little as he ran.

“Yeah, well, we tried. Got one with a deadfall trap, but I don’t think that the others are going to slow down for anything short of death.”

“I thought as much,” Cal said. Their conversation ended there, as he had to dedicate all of his energy to running toward the narrow gap in the cliffs ahead. He schooled himself not to look to the side of the pathway. The way was sound enough, as the bridge was a good six paces across even at its narrowest point, but beyond that edge it was a long way down.

He saw that Lok was waiting for them, standing at the base of the ramp with his shield and axe slung and his longbow in his hands. Most of the dwarves had reached the top of the cleft, and Cal could see Gaera directing them to defensive positions in preparation for the inevitable assault.

Cal had just reached the base of the ramp, Jerral and Benzan right on his heels, when he heard the shouts from above and the bellowing cry from behind.

He turned to see the first of the ogres emerging from amidst the boulders flanking the trail on the far side of the bridge. Then his eyes narrowed as he marked Soroth amidst the first rank of warriors, holding aloft his longspear and roaring a command to his forces. The half-fiend pointed the spear toward them, and even across the distance Cal could sense the marshalling of magical power.

“Go!” Benzan shouted, pushing Cal ahead up the ramp even as he drew one of Gaera’s magically enhanced arrows from his quiver and fitted it to his bowstring. Beside him, Lok and Jerral were doing the same.

But the half-ogre sorcerer was faster, and before they could fire he spoke a word of dread magic and a jagged bolt of lightning erupted from his hand, traveling up the length of the spear before it lanced out toward them. Benzan nudged Jerral and the two tumbled out of the way of the stroke, barely avoiding the force of the blast.

Lok, however, was not so fortunate. The electrical energy of the bolt slammed hard into his chest, driving him back against the wall of the cliff. A few feet back, Cal also felt the effects of the blast, although he was spared the full force that Lok had absorbed. Even so, he felt his skin tingle with sharp pain as the energy tore rapidly through him, and he could smell the acrid tinge of ozone mixed with burned flesh as the last flickering vestiges of electrical energy from the bolt drained away into the ground.

The defenders atop the ridge had already opened fire, and bolts and arrows started falling amidst the leading ranks of ogres. As before, most fell wide or stuck in the ogres’ hide armor, but several struck flesh and stuck, adding another tally to the list of wounds suffered by the ogre barbarians. Several targeted Soroth, but even though the missiles seemed true, at the last moment they glanced aside as if hitting an invisible barrier.

Soroth’s defenses were still in place, it seemed.

But Benzan and Jerral, having avoided the lightning bolt, were already on their feet again and drawing their bows. Benzan shot first, his magically enhanced arrow knifing through the air, its power enabling it to slice through Soroth’s shields like a hot knife through butter. The arrow lodged in the sorcerer’s leg, drawing a cry of pain and surprise. It felt more of both an instant later as Jerral’s arrow joined Benzan’s, sticking the ogre in the arm.

Fury blazing in its eyes, the half-fiend yelled another command, and a wave of ogres descended upon the trail, bellowing a cry of attack at the top of their lungs as they rushed the defensive redoubt of the companions in the beginnings of an all-out assault. Arrows from above lanced into them from above, but the ogres, consumed now by the rage of battle, seemed unstoppable. Several took multiple hits, but seemed unfazed by wounds that should have dropped an ordinary creature.

Benzan, Jerral, and Lok retreated up the ramp, firing their bows as they gave ground. Benzan fired again at Soroth, but the sorcerer had retreated back within the cover of the boulders and his shot missed. He knew that they hadn’t heard the last out of him, however, and he fervently hoped that the ogre didn’t have too many of those lightning bolts left to toss around.

For the moment, however, his attention was drawn to the nearly thirty ogres bearing down on them.

Boy, we could really use Delem right about now, the tiefling thought to himself. On the narrow bridge, the ogres would have no room to dodge their sorcerer’s fiery blasts. They would just have to make do with what they had, Benzan thought, angrily pushing the thought aside as he drew and fired again. The arrow slammed into the throat of an already-wounded ogre, staggering it. The ogre’s momentum carried it forward, but it lost its footing and plummeted over the edge into the open air beyond. In an instant it had vanished from sight.

Twenty-eight left to go.

The lead ogre had reached the mid-point of the bridge, and as it and its fellows drew nearer the defenders’ shots finally began to take some effect. A second ogre went down, its chest riddled with arrows, and as the one behind it stepped over the body it too fell, an arrow from Lok’s mighty bow stuck through its eye. The others came on without hesitation, however, leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades without concern.

Cal reached the top of the ramp, and he moved quickly to the side to where he could get a vantage over the approaches below. His own magic had been of no use in the battle with the demon, but now he had a few surprises left for the ogres who would soon be on their position.

Benzan and Jerral reached the top of the cleft as well, continuing their barrage upon the charging ogres. Lok, bringing up the rear, turned and stood blocking the last few steps to the top of the ramp, holding the gap even as he continued to fire arrows down at the attacking horde.

Then a trio of glowing blue bolts streaked across the gap and slammed into the genasi, each successive impact driving Lok just a little bit back. Lok grunted in pain, but took the hits, and he did not retreat from his position as he tossed his bow aside and unslung his axe and shield.

“There, in the rocks,” Jerral said.

“I see him,” Benzan muttered darkly. He’d already marked the position where the enemy sorcerer had hidden, given him a clear line of fire of the battlefield for his spells while leaving him well protected against the archery of the defenders.

Benzan took a deep breath and forced himself to ignore the charge of the ogres as they swept up toward the ramp. They would be on them in moments, now, but he had to trust his allies to keep the rush at bay, at least for a few moments. That sorcerer was Benzan’s target, and he knew that he had to neutralize the threat before his magic could pick them apart.

The tiefling sank into his own magic, calling upon a simple spell. His talents were little more than those of an apprentice, but he’d learned how to integrate them into his own considerable skills. He felt the noise of the battlefield fall away, and saw his target—only his target—as he spoke the words of the spell.

And then, as it had before, he saw the ogre leap into clear focus, Soroth’s face framed in a crack between two boulders, seemingly close enough to reach out and touch.

But before he could fire, the ogre pointed again, and another bolt of liquid electricity arced toward them.

Lok hefted his shield and axe, waiting for the first ogre to make it up the ramp. The ogres were ignoring missile fire this time, going for an all-out charge. One ogre made it halfway up the slope before stumbling, a half-dozen arrows stuck in its hide shirt and limbs. It tried to get up again but never made it, as another pair of arrows shot down and stuck in its neck and shoulder. The ogre fell and rolled down the slope, knocking one of its comrades sprawling.

The others, however, came on.

 

[Lazybones]

Book IV, Part 31

Dana leapt down into the cleft, coming up behind Lok and touching him lightly on the shoulder. Healing energy flowed from the young woman into the genasi, easing some of the hurts he’d taken from the force of the sorcerer’s lightning bolt and magic missiles. The task done, Dana retreated to the top of the slope and loaded her crossbow. All of her useful spells were cast; all she could do now was add her force to the ongoing barrage.

On the other side of Lok, the Uthgardt barbarian, Nanoc, also leapt down onto the ramp, an orc shortbow in his hands. At point blank range he fired a shot that sank to the feathers in an ogre’s chest, deflating the massive brute. Even as it fell, though, the others rushed up the ramp, heedless of losses or injuries.

The barbarian unslung a mighty waraxe from across his back, looked at Lok, and smiled.

Benzan gritted his teeth as yet another lightning bolt blasted into the ridge. He saw a dwarf crouched a few feet away flung into the air, his face a blasted mess. Tendrils of energy erupted from the point of impact and sought him out, stabbing into his leg and arm, but he fought through the pain, ignored everything but his target.

He drew and released. For a moment the arrow hung in his vision, traveling in slow motion across the distance that separated him and the ogre sorcerer.

A few feet away, Jerral had narrowly missed being caught by the blast. She too had targeted the sorcerer, and like Benzan, she too had called upon a special power to make this shot, of all the arrows she’d fired today, count.

The rangers of the North called it “hunter’s mercy,” a state of concentration so intense that it allowed the archer to fight through all distractions and strike a killing blow. She’d felt it only once before, on a long all-day hunt where she and Seth—the memory brought a pang of pain that he had to crush mercilessly to continue—had tracked a rogue worg that had wandered down out of the mountains and was stalking the game trails of her forest. She’d finally caught a glimpse of the creature, through a maze of tree trunks, momentarily unaware of her presence. The creature had been instead fixed on Seth, who was approaching from the other direction, unaware of his danger. Before she could think she had drawn, aimed, and fired, all with a purity of intent and motion that had ended with her arrow lodged into the wolf’s throat, slain.

Seth had been so impressed with her, and that night they as they had lain together, he had told her so, among other things…

Jerral was suddenly aware that she was crying, and that her arrow had already flown, fired without conscious volition from her bow. She realized that she felt pain in her side, that another lightning bolt had struck nearby without her even realizing it.

Benzan’s arrow was the first to strike. While it missed the sorcerer’s eye that he’s been aiming for, the magically empowered arrow hit the half-fiend’s head just an inch higher, tearing a jagged slash in its forehead as the arrow glanced off of the thick bone underneath and spun away into the rocks. Soroth cried out and lurched backward, clutching at the wound as blood flowed down into his eyes. The motion lifted him out of the relative safety of his shelter amidst the rocks, and provided an opening for Jerral’s arrow just a few heartbeats later, which sank to the feathers into the sorcerer’s chest. Soroth wiped his eyes clear and looked down at the wound in surprise, barely feeling any pain at all even as his heart pumped a river of blood out through the hole that the arrow had torn in the organ.

Almost in disbelief, the ogre sorcerer took a few tentative steps forward, before lurching to the side and tumbling off of the cliff into oblivion.

Even as their leader fell, however, the other ogres had rushed blindly into the cleft toward the line of defenders, lost to the rage of battle. For a moment, the charge had faltered as several of the leading ogres fell to the arrows and bolts of the defenders, but then a massive brute, bearing a huge double-bladed waraxe, broke free of the pack and swept up the ramp with a cry of violence and fury. An arrow jutted from its neck, and another pair were stuck deeply in its fur jerkin, but none seemed to hinder the creature as it tore in at the pair of warriors holding the summit of the cleft. Lok held his ground until the last instant, dodging just in time to deflect the powerful overhand strike from the ogre with his shield. He and Nanoc met the ogre with a combined attack. As the barbarian lunged within its reach the ogre responded with an almost casual backswing that sliced deeply into the Uthgardt warrior’s shoulder. Seriously wounded, Nanoc refused to give ground, bringing his own axe around in a powerful arc that tore mightily into the ogre’s torso. The ogre grunted in pain but held its position, bringing its axe up to finish this human warrior for good.

But then Lok was there, his own axe coming in from the opposite side. Unable to reach as high as the tall barbarian, he went low, his frost-rimmed blade savaging the ogre’s knee joint with the full force of the genasi’s strength behind it. The ogre stepped reflexively back, and when it put its weight on the crippled limb it buckled, shouting out in defiance as it fell with a loud crash on its side, skittering several yards on the loose rocks of the slope in a chaotic jumble.

A tight knot of ogres had taken advantage of the attack to push forward, however, and as they swarmed around and over it seemed as though the stalwart pair of defenders would be overwhelmed by their surging rush. Cal had not been idle during the exchange, however. Even as the first ogre fell to Nanoc and Lok’s attacks, the gnome looked down over the edge of the cleft and cast a spell. At his summons sticky strands of magical webbing burst into being, filling the space between the narrow walls and engulfing the tight mass of ogre attackers crowded within. The ogres were incredibly strong, their already considerable prowess enhanced by their rage, but in the confined space there was nowhere to go to escape the clinging webs.

Still, they tried. The foremost pair, only a few giant-sized paces from the summit, reached down and tore free from the webbing that clung to their legs and ankles. When they looked up, however, they saw death waiting for them above. When the webs had appeared, Nanoc had been poised to charge into them, to bring the fight to the trapped ogres. Lok, however, realizing that such a move would only ensnare them as well, grabbed the barbarian on the arm, holding him back.

“Let them come to us, lad,” he suggested, reaching down to recover his bow. The barbarian, already hovering on the edge of battle rage himself, looked at the genasi for a moment with anger in his eyes, then realization set in and he nodded, bending to recover his own bow.

So when the lead pair of ogres tore free, it was only to feel the sting of arrows fired point-blank into their thick hides. Lok fired, hit, reloaded, and fired again. While he lacked Benzan’s talent with the bow, the heavy pull of his weapon allowed him to impart incredible power to his shots, and with his second hit the first ogre crumpled in a bloody heap. Beside him, Nanoc fired several shots as well, and while they lacked the power of Lok’s arrows the second ogre was soon bleeding from new hurts as well. Several of the dwarves had crept to the edge of the cleft and were now adding their own missiles to the barrage against the hapless defenders. Some had run out of arrows but used heavy rocks instead, hurling their crude but deadly stone missiles onto the heads of the ogres fighting free of the dense webbing.

For several moments longer the ogres pressed on into the grinder, ignoring their wounds and their terrible losses at the hands of the defenders. Three more actually reached the summit, pushing through the webs via brute force and launching attacks at Lok and Nanoc. The pair recovered their melee weapons and held their line even as more arrows and bolts tore into them from the flanks. Nanoc took a solid blow that knocked him sprawling, and even Lok was staggered by a bruising smack from a two-handed war club. Even as the ogres sought to press their momentary advantage, however, Benzan and Jerral leapt into the melee, tearing into the ogres from behind. Benzan thrust his sword to the hilt into one ogre’s side, dropping it, while on the opposite flank Jerral slashed her axes through another ogre’s hamstrings, crippling it. Lok finished the last one with a pair of devastating blows from his axe, toppling the ogre onto the still-thrashing bodies of its companions.

And with that, it was over. With that final violent surge the remaining ogres realized the looming outcome of the fray, the grim specter of impending death finally penetrating the haze of their battle rage. Those in the rear of the rush were the first to break, realizing that their fellows were being slaughtered, and that their leader had been slain behind them. The dozen that had not made it into the area of effect of the web fell back, most already sporting several arrow wounds, and as their fellows died their withdrawal became an out and out retreat.

As they moved back across the bridge several more fell, struck down by the continued harassing fire from atop the ridge. Benzan and Jerral recovered their bows, and with their deadly accuracy added once again the retreat became a rout. Six ogres made it across the ridge and back into the relative shelter of the boulders, as last arrow from Benzan’s bow chasing them as they vanished around a bend in the trail out of sight.

The companions looked around them in amazement. The cleft was crowded with the stinking bodies of nearly a score of ogres, and that was in addition to those who had fallen on the bridge or tumbled away over the cliffs. Several of the bloody forms still entrapped in the webs moved weakly as their lifeblood seeped from their many wounds, and these the defenders put down without mercy or hesitation. The dwarves and other captives had suffered too much at their hands for such considerations as fair play to take hold in these circumstances.

Of the defenders, only a handful had been killed—one dwarf slain by a lightning bolt, and a second who’d stepped to close to the edge of the cleft and was run through by an ogre spear from below. Nanoc and some of the others had been seriously injured, but all recovered quickly at the touch of Cal’s wand of healing.

“I can’t believe it,” Benzan was saying. “We defeated so many, and it wasn’t even close…”

“We were lucky,” Cal admitted. “We drew them into a confrontation on ground of our choosing, and they were too stupid to realize that they were charging into their doom. Fortunate, too, that you and Jerral were able to take out that wizard of theirs.”

Benzan glanced over at the woman ranger, who was already moving amidst the bodies, checking to make sure that all were dead. The look she wore gave him a shiver—it was a cold look, a look that seemed almost as dead as the creatures they had just slain. Benzan looked down at his tunic, which was soaked red in the blood of the ogre he had run through, and he wondered how he looked to the others around them. For a moment he considered getting a clean shirt from Lok’s bag of holding, but then he decided to just leave it.

There would likely be more blood to come, he thought grimly.

Gaera sought them out then, her own face creased by the heavy weight of responsibility. “We must move on,” she said, although her expression betrayed her own exhaustion. “It will be dark soon, and the enchantment upon the arrows…”

She didn’t finish—didn’t have to, for each of them knew that despite this victory, one final confrontation awaited them.

* * * * *

Editorial note: Hunter's Mercy is a ranger spell from Magic of Faerun. It basically lets you score an automatic critical threat with your next shot.

 

[Rugger]

Damn cool. As usual, LB

It's interesting to see how the combat's are becoming less and less "glamorous", and the party is beginning to see the death and destruction that come with the violence. And the many near-death experiences, too!

Keep up the great work!

-Rugger
"I Lurk!"

 

[MasterOfHeaven]

Nanoc needs some Barbarian lessons. He lets a pitiful Genasi outfight him?! Oh well, guess we can't expect the level of power and skill you see from the great Barbarians, like the original, Conan. Heh.

I'm telling you, Lazybones, if you're going to throw that little wink in there, you better show some respect and make Nanoc a damned powerful warrior! Actually, it would be great if the party took a new NPC in. I really like Barbarians.

 

[Horacio]

I think you must know that Lazybones' NPCs live less than a Star Trek's red shirt, so maybe you really don't want Nanoc as a PC .D

 

[Lazybones]

I think you must know that Lazybones' NPCs live less than a Star Trek's red shirt, so maybe you really don't want Nanoc as a PC .D

Oh, come on, Horacio. Just because Corus & Jolan, Telwarden, Horath, Varrus, Maric, Ruath, and virtually the entire crew of the Raindancer died, doesn't mean that Nanoc, Jerral, and Gaera will follow!

Hmm... on the other hand, with the climactic confrontation with the demon coming up, maybe you'd better not get too attached to all of them...

MoH: heh, I'm glad someone caught the Nanoc-Conan reference (not too subtle, eh?). Yep, I love those old REH characters (every five years ago I dust off my old Conan series, the one that came out in 12 books, and just dive right back in).

Rugger: thanks! With the higher levels of the characters, their ability to create carnage increases as well. I think it's unrealistic for "good" PCs to just shrug off such destruction lightly, even if it's in a worthy cause.

I was going to leave you this Friday afternoon with one more update, but since I've got a busy weekend ahead and I wanted to leave you with a proper cliffhanger, I've decided to go ahead and post TWO chapters, with the finale of book IV to come on Monday. Parts 32 and 33 aren't that long, but they set the stage for what's to come, enjoy!

* * * * *

Book IV, Part 32

The companions and their allies hurriedly gathered up their gear and prepared to depart the scene of their most recent clash with the demon’s ogre forces. There was a slight delay as Benzan crossed the bridge to the site where the half-fiend sorcerer had plummeted to his death. Using the power of his sword, the tiefling levitated down to where Soroth’s broken body lay wedged amidst the rocks below. A quick search turned up some jeweled trinkets and some coins, all of which found their way into his purse, and what he’d really been looking for: the sorcerer’s longspear. He’d noticed something unusual about the weapon in the way that it gleamed even in the poor light, and when he finally found the weapon, intact despite the long fall, his suspicions were confirmed. The weapon was clearly of exceptional quality, and when he grasped it, he felt a tingle pass through his arm as electrical sparks danced along the length of the long steel blade at its tip.

Returning to his companions, they elected to give the magical spear to Nanoc for the moment. The barbarian had acquitted himself bravely against the ogres, and they knew that they would need every bit of strength they could muster to have a chance against the demon.

Their wounds were fully healed by Cal’s wand, although the device was depleted of magical strength by the time that the last injured member of their company was treated. Dana still had some charges left in her wand, but they knew that they could not afford more delays that would wear them down and tax their resources. And none of them believed that the demon would wait idly and allow them to rest and recover their strength.

No, it was time to finish it, one way or the other.

They followed the mountain trail beyond Knuckle Ridge, fully aware that the light of the day was deepening further into twilight with each bend and twist of the path. The dwarves had no trouble navigating in the bad light, but those without darkvision had to be increasingly led as they stumbled into protruding rocks and wavered toward crumbling edges that dropped out over dark precipices. All of them were beyond exhaustion by now, continuing only through numb will, placing one foot ahead of the other in a seemingly unending sequence. Despite the risk of more patrols Cal began a marching song, a low-pitched tune with a steady beat that soon had them moving in cadence with the lyrics that he made up as they went.

A scant half-hour that had seemed far longer passed before they came to a fork in the trail. To the left the path led down into a wide gorge whose bottom was shrouded in shadow. To the right, the path led up the shoulder of a looming mountain, its faces covered in white snow. There the group paused, and a parting of ways presented itself.

“The mountain is Tor Drothgal, the Throne of the Gods,” Gaera told them. “There are hidden paths and dark places beneath its bulk, places where few can hide from many. I will take my people there, and the others, and there we will await word of your fate.”

The companions nodded in response. While numbers had aided them thus far, bringing the weakened and malnourished former prisoners into Caer Dulthain to confront the demon would only be akin to murder. Those unfortunates had already fought for their freedom against Soroth and his ogre horde; now the battle against the Beast lay in the hands of others.

“Good luck to you,” Cal said, clasping the dwarf cleric’s hand. She nodded and regarded him with an intent look.

“And to you,” she said.

Nanoc stepped forward, clutching his new spear. “I will go with you,” he said, his eyes blazing with a single-minded determination.

Lok clapped the man solidly on the shoulder—and he had to reach to do that. “Your strength is welcome,” he told the barbarian. “Together we’ll give that demon something to worry about.”

Gaera nodded. “There is one other I can send with you,” she said, gesturing behind her. A short, stocky dwarf stepped forward at her bidding, his face all but lost in a veritable forest of thick, disheveled beard. Dark, beady eyes regarded them from under furry brows. He wore a dirty cuirass of boiled leather that still bore bloodstains from its original orc owner, and a pair of hand axes jutted from his belt within easy reach.

“This is Gornik,” Gaera said by way of introduction. “He’s a delver, and he has volunteered to guide you into Caer Dulthain.”

“A delver?” Dana asked.

The dwarf spat noisily. “That’s a fancy name—most calls us tunnel rats,” he said. “We’re the ones that know how to walk the dark ways, and know all the hidden corners.”

“You know the danger, that we’re going in to challenge the demon?” Cal asked.

“Yeah,” the dwarf said. “I’ll get yer in there, and yer’ll worry about slayin’ the thing.”

The gnome nodded, and the dwarven delver moved to join their side of the group while they made their final farewells to Gaera.

“Remember, strike quickly!” she urged them at the last. “The demon’s magic is powerful, even more deadly than its physical might. Don’t give it the time to pick apart your defenses, for it will find your weaknesses—and exploit them.”

“We know,” Benzan said. “Don’t worry, we’ll finish it.” With the last statement his glance shifted briefly to Dana, but the cleric-monk looked troubled, and her attention was fixed out into the darkness beyond them.

With that the two groups parted, and while Gaera led the former prisoners up along the trail to Tor Drothgal, the company of seven started down the winding path into the gorge that led to Caer Dulthain.



(part 33 to immediately follow)

 

[Lazybones]

Book IV, Part 33

Within a hundred paces the narrow, twisting path had descended so fully into shadow that those with darkvision had to physically guide the others. Unwilling to risk a light, they huddled closely together and continued down the steep slope.

As they made their way deeper into the gorge a thick, cloying mist rose up from below to meet them, and they could hear the sound of falling water from somewhere below.

“I’m surprised that everything isn’t frozen over,” Cal commented softly as they continued their descent.

“There is heat trapped in the ground, here, beneath the rocks,” Lok explained. “It’s one of the main reasons that the dwarves located their town here, back in the days of Delzoun.”

“It’s an impressive land,” Benzan said. “Too bad we’ve been doing nothing but fight since we’ve gotten here.”

“The North is a place of stark, pristine beauty,” Jerral said, her tone slightly wistful. “It can also be harsh, though,” she added in an undertone. Benzan glanced over at her, able to clearly read the sadness in her expression even in the darkness, but he did not press her.

Their guide paused at a broad landing where the trail turned back in upon itself and then sank further down into the gorge. Instead of heading for that route, however, the dwarf crept silently to the back of the ledge, where a thick stone overhang sheltered a shallow alcove in the cliff face. The dwarf slipped into the alcove, which to all appearances looked like a dead end.

Gornik slipped along the blank rock face at the rear of the alcove, pressing his fingers briefly at several locations into tiny crevices in the stone. As he finished, those with darkvision could see a thin crack appear in the stone, a crack that widened until a narrow doorway stood gaping into pure blackness ahead of them.

Gornik peered into the darkness, then turned and gestured for the others to follow. Benzan and Lok helped the others, and soon the entire company had disappeared into the darkness beyond the portal. They could hear the sound of the secret door grating shut behind them, and then they were enveloped in silent darkness.

“We’re going to need some light,” Cal said. He drew his shortsword, its pale light casting a blue glow on the faces of his companions. That illumination wasn’t enough for the humans to see by, however, so he cast a quick cantrip that conjured a magical source of light. He put the light onto a coin and handed it to Dana, and thus equipped they moved into the dwarven town of Caer Dulthain.

The area immediately beyond the secret door was a guardpost, with narrow horizontal slits in the walls to either side to allow defenders in the spaces beyond to target intruders that forced their way through the portal. A corridor ran deeper into the mountain, its walls smoothed by the expert hands of dwarven tunnelers. Everything around them was quiet, the silence an almost tangible feeling in the air around them. Even the sounds of their footfalls on the stone seemed preternaturally loud as they started down the corridor, Gornik warily leading them at the very edge of their light.

The corridor slanted slighty downward but provided no difficulties for them after the arduous climbs along the mountains trails earlier. They passed by several side chambers that had the look of storerooms, most of which were now empty save for some old, rotted barrels and some careless litter.

After traveling perhaps a hundred paces down the straight length of the corridor, Cal’s light indicated an intersection ahead of them. The passage split, one fork leading to their left and the other to their right. Gornik crept up and looked down both passages, then turned to face them.

“Left leads up to the main cavern, where the dwelling places of the town are located,” the dwarf said, his voice deliberately low so that they had to strain to hear him. “The right fork leads down to the deep halls, not much down there save some old mines and natural caverns.”

“Well, which way should we check first?” Jerral asked.

“Maybe I can help,” Dana said. She stepped forward until she was standing at the intersection of the two corridors, then closed her eyes. She spoke the words of a spell, calling upon the power of Selûne. Then she turned, slowly, until she was facing toward the right passage.

“That way,” she said, pointing down the darkened length of the corridor.

“Did you sense Delem?” Cal asked, as Gornik led them down the right passage.

“The spell can’t find people, but I fixed it on his ring,” she said.

“How far does it work?” Cal asked.

“Roughly six hundred feet.”

“We’re close, then,” Benzan said, checking his weapons.

The corridor continued for a short distance before it turned slightly to the right, the slope in the floor deepening as the passage became a long, curving ramp. Following the contour of the passage, they traveled in a full circle down the length of the slope, until the ramp gave way once again to a more or less level passage that ran straight on ahead.

Dana had moved forward, her steps growingly slightly faster with each minute until she was nearly walking on Gornik’s heels.

“Careful, Dana,” Cal cautioned.

“The spell only lasts a few minutes,” she explained. “If we delay, we won’t be able to find him again.”

“If we rush into a trap, we won’t be of any good to him either,” Cal insisted. Dana’s look showed her frustration, but she allowed Gornik to take the lead again, the veteran tunneler checking the walls, ceiling, and floor of the passage with each step he took.

A minute later they came to another intersection, this one presenting them with three choices. Each appeared identical, although as they stood there the faintest hint of an odor, a dank, musty smell, could be detected from the passage to their right.

“Which way, Dana?” Cal asked.

The mystic wanderer screwed her face up in a moment of intense concentration, but the look of disappointment that followed betrayed the outcome of her search. “I’ve lost it,” Dana replied, “but before it faded, the spell was pointing generally in that direction.” She indicated the right-most passage.

“The old cistern,” Gornik said. “Hardly used ever since they ran a main up to the town proper.”

They started down that passage. “This is too easy,” Jerral said. “I don’t like it—why haven’t there been any guards?”

“Maybe the demon doesn’t know about the secret exit,” Benzan said. “Maybe they’re up in the town above, or guarding the main entrance. Maybe the demon’s waiting to spring them on us all at once. Maybe we’ve killed them all. Whatever, it doesn’t matter, we’re committed.”

“I wasn’t disputing that,” Jerral said testily, her tension bringing an edge to her tone.

“Quiet, all,” Cal said softly, defusing the growing tension with the calm quiet of his voice. “There’s a room up ahead.”

The light soon illuminated what Cal’s sharp eyes had discerned, a small square room with a domed ceiling. The floor, set with cracked stone tiles, was clearly old, and a pair of long stone tables against the wall to their left were dusty and cluttered with broken wooden pails and layered cobwebs. Another passage continued in the center of the opposite wall.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here recently,” Jerral said, examining the tables.

“Remember, the demon can teleport itself,” Cal reminded her.

As there was nothing of interest apparent here, they crossed to the far passage and continued on. The passage rapidly gave way to a broad stone staircase that descended steeply yet further into the earth. The companions started down, and as they progressed they could hear their footfalls echo slightly from ahead, as though the sounds of their movements was filling a larger space up ahead. Each of them tried to be quiet, with varying degrees of success, but it was as if the entire world around them was silent and empty, with themselves the only living things to shatter the quietude.

They emerged at the end of the stairs in a circular room, roughly ten paces across. The floors and the lower half of the walls were tiled with the same crumbling stone they’d seen above, and the ceiling was again a vaulted dome reinforced by a ring of thick buttresses. To their left an old, rusty apparatus jutted from the wall, apparently a pump of some sort. A great stone basin stood beneath it, its interior filled with cobwebs. The center of the room contained a narrow shaft in the floor, perhaps three feet across, with an old bucket still attached to a length of frayed rope beside it. An open doorway in the far wall revealed another staircase that descended sharply to the left.

The musty smell was stronger here, and as they entered the room they could smell another odor wafting up from the shaft, an unpleasant air of decay that twisted their nostrils and caused their stomachs to roil in protest. The place was quiet, though, and after a brief search they crossed to the stairs and started down yet again.

“I wonder how far underground we are,” Benzan whispered.

“Far,” Lok said, his armor making a slight clanking sound with every step the genasi took.

The stair wound down in another tight spiral, and after several twists they could see another opening ahead, a wide stone arch. As they neared the landing at the bottom of the stairs, they could see watermarks on the stone walls, discolorations that indicated that this entire area had once been submerged.

Beyond the arch the opened a large empty space, a chamber that seemed filled with darkness. The sounds they made echoed back to them from deep within the place, indicating that its size extended well beyond the limits of their light sources. The place had once been, as Gornik had indicated, a huge cistern, the main water storage for Caer Dulthain.

The smell was stronger now, an almost overpowering odor of corruption that hung in the air like a taint. And as their light pushed back the shadows at the edges of the chamber, they could see that the stone floor was littered with a jumbled collection of muck, foul waste, and broken white objects that each of them soon realized were shattered bones.

The bones of dozens, if not hundreds, of creatures.

“I really don’t like this…” Jerral whispered, as they slowly edged into the room.

“Delem!” Dana hissed, the others turning toward her in surprise as even that sound loudly echoed through the large space.

Behind them, Gornik hung back near the entrance, unwilling to enter this place that was so obviously tainted with an evil presence. The companions barely heeded him, so intent they were upon the malevolent darkness.

“I don’t see anything,” Benzan began…

Then a massive CLUMPH sounded behind them, accompanied by an impact so heavy that the floor of the cistern shook with its force. The companions spun as one, and their faces took on a uniform stare of fear and horror as they regarded their foe.

The demon stood there, its power and presence amplified here in its chosen sanctuary. It still bore the marks of their earlier encounter, although its wounds had closed to form ugly scars in its thick hide. They could now see the ledge above the arch where it had hid, waiting for them, and they could just make out the smashed lump under one of its cloven hooves that had up until a moment ago been their guide, Gornik.

A terrible sound filled their minds, the voice of pure evil.

Welcome, it said.

 

[Talindra]

oooo....three posts in one day.....I feel spoiled....and at the same time tortured. I don't want to wait until Monday!

 

[Ziggy]

Hi Lazybones, I'm stille here.

Looking forward to the last big fight, a Ghour is a big fight for a party at medium levels.

And another NPC bites the dust, but should have guessed that from the description:

Gaera nodded. “There is one other I can send with you,” she said, gesturing behind her. A short, stocky dwarf stepped forward at her bidding, his face all but lost in a veritable forest of thick, disheveled beard. Dark, beady eyes regarded them from under furry brows. He wore a dirty cuirass of boiled leather that still bore bloodstains from its original orc owner, and a pair of hand axes jutted from his belt within easy reach.

...should have removed those bloodstains, a red shirt (or cuirass in this case) is sure death is this campaign

.Ziggy