Have a great vacation, Horacio! TttWW will be here when you get back...
Maldur, for Lok's background, I'm assuming you've read the Prologue of Book 2 and Part 23 of Book 3, where Lok's story is revealed.
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Book V, Part 6
“Ouch,” Benzan said.
“Hold still,” Dana commanded, touching the claw marks on the tiefling’s face again as she called upon the power of Selûne for a minor healing spell. Benzan flinched at the touch, but as the blue glow of positive energy surrounded Dana’s hands the bloody scratches closed and faded, leaving only a few flecks of dried blood.
“There,” Dana said, examining her work critically. “Now go get cleaned up—you smell like a fish vendor.”
“Thank you, mother,” he said mockingly, smiling at the steely look she shot him.
They were gathered in the confined space that had once been part of an urdunnir residence, recovering from their battle against the undead mob that had roamed the halls of the abandoned dwarven town. Dana had already created food for them to eat, and conjured additional water into a cracked stone basin they’d found so that they could wash away some of the sweat and blood they’d picked up thus far. Now they were resting, Cal with his spellbook laid out across his lap, and Lok sitting alone a short distance away, his heavy brows furrowed with troubled thoughts.
“Do you think that there are any more of those… things… around?” Dana asked.
Cal looked up from his spellbook. “Hard to say, but by the way they attacked as a single mass, I’d guess that maybe we got them all.”
Benzan, only slightly cleaner after splashing a bit in the basin, toweled off his damp neck with his dirty shirt as he rose. “We’re going to have be very careful from here on out,” he said. “Without Delem’s firepower, we’ve lost a lot of our magical punch.” He glanced at Dana as he spoke, cautious lest his words injure her, but she only nodded, recognizing the truth in what he said.
“There are many dangers in the Underdark,” Lok rumbled. “Most of what I know about them comes from various dwarven tales, but they’re clear on the need for caution down here. I can lead us to where we have to go, but I cannot be clearer on what we might encounter on the way, or even when we arrive at our destination.”
The others nodded—they’d covered that before.
“Well, hopefully it won’t be more undead,” Benzan said. “That’s one category of enemy we’ve been fortunate enough to avoid in our travels, and I’m just as happy to keep it that way.” He shuddered slightly, perhaps thinking back to the icy touch of the ghouls and the paralysis that had kept him helpless while they tore at his flesh.
“Hmm…,” Cal said. “There was that ogre ghoul at our first meeting, the shadows guarding that cleric of Cyric… you know, I think that’s it, as far as I can recall. And now, a pack of ghouls and ghasts.”
“How is it that you know so much about everything?” Dana asked him. “I mean, during my clerical training I learned about undead, of course, but I didn’t recognize those creatures immediately.”
“I read a lot,” Cal said, “and listened, and talked to a lot of people. Remember, I grew up in Waterdeep, in the south quarter, which was the point of entry for all the merchant caravans and adventurers and vagabonds that came to the City of Splendors. I heard every kind of fantastic story you could imagine—that’s one of the main reasons I decided to leave, in the end—I realized that I had heard thousands of stories, but I hadn’t written any of my own. So I hit the road… and the rest is history.”
“And what stories will you tell about us?” Dana said, the pain evident in her voice as her gaze fell to the smooth stones of the floor.
“Stories of bravery, and sacrifice, and friendship,” he told her, his voice full with sympathy. “Of triumph over the darkest evils, and help given to those who could not help themselves.”
Dana lifted her head, and smiled at him.
“Maybe you could edit out the part where I was paralyzed and nearly torn apart by those ghouls,” Benzan interjected. “I didn’t particularly like that part.”
Cal laughed, and the sound seemed to brighten the room. “Oh, don’t worry, Benzan,” he said with another laugh. “All of your exploits will be fully elaborated in my tales, right down to the last smart-assed comment.”
“Um, great,” Benzan said, fixing the gnome with a dubious look.
“And what shall we call this saga?” Dana asked, allowing herself to get into the lighter mood, appreciating what her companions were doing to help ease the pain that still gripped her heart.
“I was thinking, perhaps, of ‘Travels through the Wild West,’” Cal said. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“Yeah, but we’re in the North, now,” Benzan said. “And I don’t think the Isle of Dread was ‘west’ of anything, really—at least not in our world.”
“Yes, Benzan, but the ‘West’, as we think of it in Faerûn, is more a state of mind than a geographical location. You grew up in one of the Old Empires of the East, so perhaps you don’t understand it as much, but the West has always been the frontier, the untamed lands beyond the core of civilization one finds in the Heartlands, or the lands around the Sea of Fallen Stars, or the older realms farther to the south. Even today, in our more ‘enlightened’ age, with great metropolises like Waterdeep and Baldur’s Gate as shining beacons of civilization, the West bears with it a certain rugged atmosphere, a natural—and dangerous—place that the eager hand of Man cannot fully tame.”
“Well, we’ve certainly hit our share of untamed wilds,” Benzan agreed. “Although when this is over, I think I’m going to spend a lot of time in ‘civilization,’ preferably in a place where a little gold goes a long way toward satisfying one’s comforts, and where strange monsters aren’t constantly trying to kill you.”
They laughed again, but Lok suddenly shot up, his eyes wide.
“What is it?” Cal asked, reaching for a wand as he too stood.
Lok shook his head, a look of confusion on his face. “Something… familiar…”
“By the gods…” Dana said, staring at the wall just behind the genasi.
They all saw it, a wispy white form that drifted through the wall and faced them. Its features were clearly outlined as those of an elderly dwarf, clad in an elaborate suit of plate armor that failed to hide the deep, bleeding gashes in its torso. Runnels of “blood” ran down its body, to fall away in drops that faded into insubstantiality as they parted from its ghostly form. A great sadness shone in the eyes of the dwarven spirit, but that emotion was edged by a deep, abiding anger as it looked upon them.
“Who are you, to intrude upon the halls of the urdunnir?” the spirit spoke, its weightless form shifting slightly as it drifted slowly closer.
Lok spun and looked upon the spirit in surprise. His axe came up reflexively, but Cal forestalled him as he stepped forward to face the thing.
“We do not mean to intrude,” Cal said. “We only come seeking the fate of your people, of which Lok here…”
“You lie!” the spirit shrieked, reaching for the large axe slung across its back. “You seek to destroy the urdunnir! The Shield Wall is broken, and enemies are within the halls! You will die for coming here!”
The spirit started toward them. Dana raised her holy symbol and invoked the power of Selûne, but the white glow of divine power failed to affect the ghost. It came forward, raising its axe as it neared Lok. The genasi reflexively swept his axe out in defense, but it passed harmlessly through the body of the spirit. The dwarven ghost did not strike at Lok in return, instead passing right into the body of the warrior. Lok’s body convulsed as the ghost disappeared entirely into his body, and then he sagged hard against the wall of the chamber as if struck.
Then he turned to face his companions, and a strange glow burned in his eyes.
The frost-rimmed axe came slowly up as the genasi took a step toward them.
