Hammerhead
Explorer
I liked Daelric. Perfect support.
JollyDoc's Rise of the Runelords...Updated 12/22
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JollyDoc
Explorer
THE PRICE OF SALVATION
Skull’s Watch, the large structure in the center of Skull’s Crossing, had a facade composed completely of carvings of different sized skulls. Two doors stood on the face that fronted the western walk of the dam, one on each side of an enormous skull, the eyes and nose of which were actually large windows some ten feet off the ground. The lakeside door looked to have been repeatedly smashed and hastily repaired, while the southern doors appeared secure. Though the northern doors seemed easily opened, Adso and Duerten found them stuck fast. Straining, the dwarf and the half-orc heaved at the massive portals, muscles straining, until they gave way with a groan. Piles of rubble dominated the large room revealed beyond, along with bits of flesh, broken weapons, splashes of blood, and a few dead ogres that had been torn limb from limb. Wind and rain howled through circular openings to the north that looked out over Storval Deep, and puddles of water had collected on the floor. Thick sheets of ropy green fungus grew along the walls, winding in through both the windows and through numerous cracks in the domed ceiling above. Behind the fungal vines, the walls were decorated with hundreds of skull-shaped carvings. As the monk and priest peered into the gloom, they saw eight hulking shapes detach themselves from the shadowy vines…trolls.
“Down!” Cruemann shouted, and his two companions quickly obliged. With blinding speed, the guardsman knocked two arrows simultaneously and loosed, then followed with two more in rapid succession. All four shafts struck true, taking the foremost troll in the chest within inches of each other. With a strangled growl, the giant collapsed in a heap. For a moment, the other trolls just stood in stunned silence, and the next, they exploded into motion. As they charged, Adso, Dexter and Duerten moved to meet them. The chamber erupted in violence. The trolls were formidable creatures, with their filthy, slashing talons and curved, tusk-like fangs, but Adso and Dexter were fast, like quicksilver, dodging and weaving among the trolls, striking like cobras before whirling away again. Duerten, for his part, was more akin to a boulder standing in the midst of a storm-tossed sea. Shield held before him like a totem, he brushed aside the savage swipes of the trolls, while at the same time striking out with vicious chops of his axe. Devastating as the offensive of the trio was, it was Cruemann’s arrows, each one striking with surgical precision, that ultimately took the toll. Troll after troll fell beneath the unending flight of shafts, leaving the mopping up to the others. Before he died, Rico had once spoken of trolls to Dexter, Reaper and Adso. He told them that conventional weapons and even magic could not permanently kill them. The horrible creatures regenerated, and as the last of the giants fell, it was obvious to all of the companions that their wounds were slowly closing and knitting back together. Fortunately, Rico had also mentioned their one weakness…fire. Draton stepped into the room and gripped his holy symbol in his fist.
“Sarenrae!” he prayed. “Bright lady! Hear the words of your most humble servant! Have mercy on the souls of these depraved heathens, but take them now into your embrace, and burn their sins from their hearts with Holy fire!”
The sun symbol in his hand flared to life, and flames poured out of it, engulfing the bodies of the trolls and burning them to ash. It was a much more eloquent way of solving the problem than the ogres had arrived at, though their way had been just as effective. The Kreegs had simply tossed the torporous trolls into the lake. It turned out that trolls didn’t breathe water so well…
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The remainder of Skull’s Watch was devoid of life, consisting only of empty, fungus-encrusted rooms that the trolls had apparently used as dens. However, in one chamber, which appeared to have once been some sort of observation deck, the companions discovered a pair of massive stone double-doors, their smooth surfaces smeared with graffiti written in dried blood. The letters were runic, similar to the alphabet used by the dwarves, but Duerten confirmed that the writing was not Dwarven, and that giants and their kin incorporated the same symbols into their language, though it was indecipherable to him.
The ancient doors were exceptionally heavy, their hinges old and gritty. Adso and Duerten hauled them open, revealing a wide, stone stair that descended into darkness. They ended at a second set of doors, beyond which was a cold, damp chamber that featured a large pool in the floor, the edges of which were caked with pale yellow slime and fungus. The surface of the pool bore a similar film. Additional carvings of skulls decorated the walls, and on the far side of the room, an impressive mound of skulls…mostly from humanoids…lay heaped against the wall, where they partially blocked another pair of stone, double-doors.
“There’s magic in the pool,” Draton said, his medallion glowing as he concentrated on the water.
“It can’t be very deep,” Adso replied as he moved closer to the edge and placed his bo staff in, feeling for the bottom. Suddenly, the staff was ripped from his hands and disappeared beneath the surface. A moment later, a huge shape erupted from the pool, towering above the monk. The creature looked like a troll, but its skin was more like that of a fish than leather, and a large fin ran down its spine. In one massive hand it carried a gleaming military fork. It was from the weapon that Draton detected the magical emanation. Once again, it was Cruemann who was prepared. He drew and fired as easily as he breathed, and three arrows sprouted from the troll’s glistening hide. Dexter darted in, with Duerten right behind him, but as they drew near, the giant troll blurred into motion, the fork slashing across Dexter’s chest. Rather than a clean cut, the razor-sharp tines opened ragged, vicious wounds in the rogue’s flesh. Simultaneously, a jagged laceration appeared on the troll’s chest as well. Incredibly, the brute appeared to take pleasure from the wound, laughing loudly as its blood flowed briskly then slowed as the skin began to heal itself. Dexter hissed in pain, but still he struck, his silver dagger burning into the troll’s hide. Duerten’s axe struck true as well, the combined efforts of the warriors leaving more wounds than the giant could rapidly heal.
As the rogue and the deacon occupied the troll, Adso did what he did best…took a foolish risk. Leaping straight up, he seized the giant brute around the waist, pinning one of its arms to its side as he grappled with it. Suddenly, a flash of green light from Reaper’s outstretched hand struck the troll, sapping its massive strength with its fell energy.
“Now!” Adso shouted, anticipating what Draton would do, and struggling to hold the troll in place so that the priest could. Draton hurled a bolt of liquid fire, catching the monster full in the face. As it reeled, another volley of arrows from Cruemann’s massive bow simultaneously ripped the military fork from its hand as they pierced its forearm, and sent the troll crashing to the floor beside the pool as it lost consciousness. Draton hurried quickly over and prepared to immolate the creature before it could regenerate, but as he stood over it, he realized that its wounds weren’t closing.
“It’s th’water, Father,” Duerten said. “He ain’t innit no more. Can’t heal without it. We heard tell o’this kind’o beastie back home. Called’em scrags. Never met one till now. Hope its th’last.”
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Two other doors, aside from the one hidden behind the skull pile, led from the troll chief’s chamber. One gave onto a long, bare room with another pool, that one blessedly empty. The second revealed a similar room, but opposite the pool in that chamber, there was an alcove in which rose a fantastically detailed scale model of Skull’s Crossing. The five skulls along its face seemed to be actual human skulls, the bone polished to a gleaming sheen. Though Draton determined that the device radiated a strong magical aura, manipulating the model produced no noticeable effects. The jaws of the skulls were hinged, and could be pulled down like levers, which revealed tubes that led into the wall. If the replica were somehow responsible for operating the flood gates, it no longer seemed to function in that capacity.
That left only the blocked door. Duerten, Adso and Cruemann made quick work of the pile of skulls barring the way, and then hauled open the portals. The narrow room on the other side ended at curved alcoves on the east and west sides. Each alcove was enclosed by a dull, iron portcullis. A nearby winch next to each seemed to provide a way to raise and lower the gates. Beyond each portcullis a circle of runes glowed with a faint orange light on the floor. Inside the western circle was a pile of crimson ash, while inside the eastern one was curled what appeared to be a long-dead demonic looking creature, its flesh taut and dry on its bones.
“What on earth…?” Draton asked as he peered at the creature.
“I doubt that,” Reaper said absently as he moved closer to the portcullis and crouched down to get a closer look. Suddenly, the thing moved! Its arm flopped out to land inches away from Reaper’s foot, and with the creaking of ancient sinew, it turned its head towards the necromancer.
“F…free…me,” it rasped in a language no one understood…except Reaper. In his line of work, knowing the infernal tongue of the Pit was something of a necessity.
“Who…who are you?” Reaper asked, using the same language.
“I…was once called…Avaxial,” the fiend hissed softly.
“How did you come to be imprisoned here?”
“A…mage…Karzoug…”
Reaper pondered this. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Why were you bound?” he asked at length.
“To…to power this…dam,” said Avaxial.
Reaper’s eyes widened, and he glanced at his companions, who looked at him questioningly.
“How?” he whispered.
The infernal creature coughed in an attempt at laughter.
“Perhaps…I will tell you…when you release me…,”
“What…are you?” Reaper asked quietly.
“Mortals would name me…pit fiend…,” Avaxial chuckled dryly. “On my home plane…I was once a…general. Look at me now...,”
“And over there…?” Reaper nodded towards the second alcove.
“Another of my…brethren…,” sighed Avaxial. “Weakling!” he spat.
“I demand to know what’s going on here!” Draton interrupted. “What is that…thing…saying?”
Reaper partially turned, irritation on his face.
“Stand down! This is some sort of extraplanar being…a pit fiend,” he explained. “It says that it was imprisoned here to power the dam.”
Draton hissed as he drew his breath in sharply.
“Pit…fiend?” he spat, but Reaper had already turned back to Avaxial.
“How long ago did your…companion…die?” he asked.
Avaxial hesitated, his eyes unfocusing as if searching for a memory.
“Fifty-four years,” he said finally.
Reaper bowed his head in thought.
“I must consult with my companions in regards to your offer,” he said.
“Do…not…take too long…,” Avaxial chuckled again.
Reaper rose to his feet and turned to his companions as he heaved a sigh.
“This being calls itself Avaxial. It says that it can tell us how to open the flood gates…”
“But…?” Draton prodded angrily.
“But,” Reaper continued, “it requires that we free it first.”
“Absolutely not!” the priest exploded, and Duerten nodded his head vigorously in agreement, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. “We do not truck with Evil! There will be no bargains!”
“Who are you to make such decisions?” Reaper’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The lives of hundreds of people in Turtleback Ferry are at stake here, not to mention the other low-lying hamlets. You would decide their fates unilaterally?”
“The ends do not justify the means!” Draton fumed. “One soul outweighs ten-thousand lives! Despite what you might think, there is no ‘greater good.’ There is only right and wrong. Pit fiends are generals among their kind. What do you think will happen when this one returns to Hell? Tens of thousands…hundreds of thousands might suffer if it is restored to its former rank. No! I shall not condone this!”
“Father…,” Cruemann interrupted timidly. Draton looked sharply at him. “You know I would never go against you,” the guardsman continued, his eyes downcast, “but we gave our word to the town that we would do our best to help save them. Is it not possible that Sarenrae has put this creature in our path to serve that purpose?”
“You are young,” Draton replied, his words tight and clipped, “and…inexperienced, my son, so I will forgive your naiveté. We are not talking merely about the lives of the townsfolk, but their immortal souls. It is a hard path we have chosen for ourselves, and often unforgiving and unyielding, but such is the price of Faith. You should consider your own more carefully before you speak further.”
Cruemann retreated into a chagrined silence while Draton turned back to Reaper.
“This much I will grant you,” he said. “We will stay here until dawn. At that time I will Commune with my Lady. I will ask her guidance in this, but I feel sure of what the answer will be. Then you will see that one’s morals can never be compromised.”
He turned on his heel and left the room. Duerten moved to follow, but stopped to raise a questioning eyebrow at Cruemann. When the young man stayed where he was, the dwarf’s face turned beet red and he snorted dismissively as he followed Draton.
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“What d’ye hope t’find up here, Father?” Duerten asked as he and Draton stood upon the eastern walk of the dam, overlooking the breach through which the waters of Storval Deep flowed.
“I’m not sure,” the priest replied, “but there must be some other way to open the floodgates. We must present the others with an option other than a deal with a devil. We must show them that there is another way.”
“Bah!” the deacon snorted. “If they can’t see that fer themselves, then they deserve what they get!”
“Now, now, Brother,” Draton chided. “That is not what Sarenrae teaches us. We must show them the Path. Whether or not they follow it is their own choice, but we, as shepherds, must guide them…vigorously if need be.”
Draton turned towards his deacon, but saw that the dwarf was no longer paying attention. He was gazing down into the gorge below Skull’s Crossing.
“What is it?” the priest asked.
“We’ve got visitors,” the dwarf said absently.
Draton walked to the edge and followed the deacon’s gaze. Far below, ascending the stairs they had come up earlier in the day, two figures could be made out. One was small, certainly smaller than Duerten in stature, but the other was smaller still, and flitted about like a bird of some sort.
“I think we should go and greet our guests,” the priest said.
By the time the two clerics reached the far side of the dam, the two figures were just emerging from Gorger and Chaw’s cave. The larger of the two was obviously a gnome dressed in traveling robes, his cherubic features set off by his bright purple hair. Around his head fluttered a tiny, waifish little creature that looked like a diminutive elf with gossamer, butterfly-like wings. When they saw the dwarf and human facing them, they paused.
“Hello,” the gnome waved cheerfully. “Are you, by chance, the liberators of Fort Rannick?”
“Who’s askin’?” Duerten snapped.
“Sinclair Sneed,” the gnome bowed, “at your service, and my pixie companion is Yap. It is he who led me to you.”
“For what purpose?” Draton asked, not unkindly.
“I’ll allow him to explain,” Sinclair replied, and gestured to the pixie.
“My mistress,” the little fey began chattering rapidly, his high-pitched words almost too fast to follow, “she is…ill. Very ill. Death would have been a kindness. The land sickens with her heart, and it cannot be cleansed until her misery is purged. I cannot do this myself. Please, you must help her! You are friends with her human lover, yes? He wouldn’t leave her like this! I can take you to her…maybe you can do something. I have tried everything to cure her forlorn heart, but to no avail. She wails and moans in Whitewillow, and the trees and plants and nixies and frogs and everything are dying or worse! I can take you there! Please!”
“Who is your mistress’s lover?” Draton asked, confused.
“He is called Lamatar Bayden,” Yap replied.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know that name,” Draton said, “but perhaps our companions do. We have only recently joined them.”
“An’ what’s yer story, purple-hair?” Duerten asked the gnome.
“I come from Sanos Forest,” Sinclair replied, “and I can attest that what Yap says is true. The Shimmerglens swamp, which borders the forest and the human lands, has long been said to lie close to the First World of the Fey, and some of the more capricious or malicious of those creatures have long been known to harass travelers in that area. It was for this reason that the Wicker Walk was built between the human outpost of Bitterhollow and Sanos Forest, to promote safe trade between our two peoples. Yet recently, the trappers and hunters have been reporting more frequent encounters with nixies, sprites and other fey creatures, almost as if something deeper in the swamp were pushing them outward. Indeed, some of my people who ventured into the Shimmerglens told tales of the deeper parts of the swamp having become polluted and corrupted. Our trade routes have been endangered, so the elders of my village chose me to investigate these happenings more closely. As I began my trek into the Shimmerglens, I met Yap, and he told me the same tale you have just heard. I agreed to journey with him to Fort Rannick to seek out this human, Lamatar Bayden, which is where he was last known to dwell. When we got there, however, we found almost the entire town of Turtleback Ferry in residence. We heard the story of the ogre attack and the defeat of the Black Arrows. Further, we heard of the heroes from Magnimar who liberated the fort from the ogres in turn, then saved Turtleback Ferry from Black Magga. We were told where to find you, and so here we are, hoping you can direct us to Lamatar.”
“I see,” Draton replied. “As I said, we do not know this man, but come with us and we shall see if the others do.”
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“Lamatar Bayden?” Reaper asked. “Yes, I know that name. Adso, Dexter, you remember as well. Jakardros told us of him. He was the commander of Fort Rannick when the ogres attacked. I’m sorry,” he said as he turned back to Yap and Sinclair, “but as far as we know, Captain Bayden is dead. He was carried away by the ogres, and that is the last anyone saw of him.”
“Noooooo!” Yap wailed. “When my mistress learns of this, her anger will only grow! Her heart will be broken! What will become of us?”
Sinclair tried to soothe the pixie, and then turned to the others. “Is there nothing you can do to help? My home is threatened, and so is the way of life of your people.”
“We’re kind of busy here right now,” Reaper said sharply. “If we don’t get this dam up and running, you won’t have to worry about some lovelorn fey. The Shimmerglens and your forest will all be completely underwater.”
A look of concern crossed the gnome’s face.
“Have you discovered any way to solve this problem?” he asked.
“You bring up an excellent point!” Reaper said as he shot a look at Draton. “In fact, we have, but it entails freeing that creature you see there, who happens to be an imprisoned devil. He has promised to show us how to open the floodgates if we release him, but my esteemed companion here,” he gestured towards Draton, “takes moral issue with this. What is your opinion?”
Sinclair looked aghast.
“Why of course you should free the creature!” he said. “You can’t allow this disaster to happen! You’re supposed to be heroes!”
“My point exactly,” Reaper said in satisfaction.
“My companion oversimplifies the issue,” Draton said calmly. “There is more at issue here, and I am not advocating simply allowing the denizens of the Skull River valley to be destroyed. I would like to explore all of our options first, which was what Duerten and I were doing atop the dam when we saw you. In fact, I would like your help, and that of Yap, in this. I promise you both, when we deal with the matter of the floodgates, then we will accompany you back to the Shimmerglens and see what we can do about your problem.”
Yap nodded enthusiastically, wiping his dripping nose with his sleeve.
“Yes! Yes!” he squealed. “Yap help! Then you come help my mistress!”
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Reaper watched the two priests leave with the gnome and the pixie. When he was sure they were out of earshot, he went over to Avaxial’s circle and sat down cross-legged beside it.
“Quite…the dilemma…,” the pit fiend said. “What will you…do?”
Reaper shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet. I will at least wait to see what Draton discovers, and to hear what words his goddess has for him.”
Avaxial stared unblinking at the necromancer for a moment, and then he spoke again:
“Perhaps I can make…your decision…easier…”
Several minutes later, Reaper rose and walked over to Dexter. Glancing at Cruemann, he pulled the rogue aside.
“A new wrinkle has been added,” he whispered. “In addition to aiding us in operating the floodgates, Avaxial has made one more concession…”
Dexter raised one eyebrow. “And?”
“It seems that his kind have great power at their call…even the power to grant wishes…”
Dexter’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped. Reaper only nodded, a small smile on his lips. Abruptly, Dexter turned away and went over to their gear, where he drew out the gleaming fork they had taken from the scrag.
“What are you doing?” Cruemann asked alarmed. Adso only looked on curiously.
“Mind your own business,” Dexter growled as he approached the portcullis and threw the lever, causing the gate to rise.
“Stop!” Cruemann shouted, but as he moved forward, Reaper stepped in front of him. Raw power radiated from the necromancer, and before it, Cruemann’s heart quailed. He felt pure terror grip him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was fleeing as if his life depended on it.
“Lest you forget,” Reaper chided as he took the fork from Dexter’s hand, “when the scrag used this, it opened wounds in his own body as well. You don’t regenerate, my friend. Allow me.”
He stood before the circle of runes and began chanting. As he did so, Avaxial rose painfully to his feet, expectation on his face. As the last words of Reapers incantation fell, the runes dimmed and faded, and for the first time in ten-thousand years, Avaxial stepped free. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as no one breathed, all tensed for betrayal.
“Have no fear, my friend,” Avaxial smiled toothily. “I keep my word. When the waters of the lake beyond rise above a certain level, an event that has happened only one-hundred-fifty times during my imprisonment, the dam attempts to draw the life force from two individuals within the circles. It only requires a small amount, but both circles must be occupied. If so, the floodgates will open.”
“So…two of us must step within the circles?” he asked.
“That is one option,” Avaxial smiled again. “But any life force will do. You are a wizard of some sort, I presume? Then certainly you are capable of a basic summoning spell…”
“I see…,” Reaper said, nodding in comprehension. “What will you do now? What of our other agreement?”
“As I said,” Avaxial replied, “I keep my word. For the moment, however, I am far too weak to call upon my full powers. Give me time, and I assure you, I will return to fulfill my promise. For now, however, I must recover my strength and attempt to return to my home.”
Reaper nodded. “I will hold you to your promise, Avaxial.” He spoke the fiend’s name with emphasis. The devil knew well the power such knowledge held. “Take your leave then, but avoid my colleagues when you go. I’m afraid they would not be very understanding.”
Avaxial nodded and extended his hand to grip Reaper’s before slipping quickly out the door. When Reaper looked down at his palm he saw the symbol of Asmodeus emblazoned there…
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It was sometime later when Draton and the others returned. He had asked Yap to investigate the pipes behind the mock-up of Skull’s Crossing, and the pixie had discovered that they led to the lake, but that no water entered into them. The four had then gone topside, where Draton and Duerten had stripped off their armor and lowered themselves into the water in hopes of finding some means to unblock the pipes from the outside, theorizing that if water flowed into the pipes, the model’s floodgates might open, which in turn would open the true gates. Their efforts were in vain. They could find no way to open the tubes.
“Ah! You’re back!” Reaper said jubilantly. “I think I may have deduced how to open the gates without the aid of the pit fiend. In fact, as you can see, we need no longer concern ourselves with him.”
Draton’s eyes narrowed, but when he looked into the circle, he saw no sign of Avaxial, only another pile of red ash sitting within the glowing circle of runes identical to the one in the opposite alcove.
“What happened?” he asked suspiciously.
Reaper shrugged. “I’m not sure. One moment he was laying there, and the next he screamed and dissolved into ash…which led me to my deduction. I believe that the dam operates off of life force, and that over the centuries, it has been draining that from the pit fiends to power the flood gates. So, all we have to do is provide that life energy.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Draton asked.
“Quite easily, actually,” the necromancer shrugged as he pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. He read aloud, and as he did so, two large spiders with spike-laden carapaces appeared from thin air, one in each alcove. As they did so, the runes flared once and the arachnids were instantly reduced to ash, but as this occurred, a deep rumble filled the entire interior of the dam. Draton nodded grudgingly to Reaper.
“Well done. Well done indeed.”
Unnoticed in the corner, Cruemann looked on, shamefaced. By the time his fear had left him, the deed had been done. He didn’t know if Reaper’s story was true, but he doubted it strongly. Worse, he found that, deep down, he did not disagree with the necromancer’s methods, and this was what scared him the most…all the way down to his soul…
Skull’s Watch, the large structure in the center of Skull’s Crossing, had a facade composed completely of carvings of different sized skulls. Two doors stood on the face that fronted the western walk of the dam, one on each side of an enormous skull, the eyes and nose of which were actually large windows some ten feet off the ground. The lakeside door looked to have been repeatedly smashed and hastily repaired, while the southern doors appeared secure. Though the northern doors seemed easily opened, Adso and Duerten found them stuck fast. Straining, the dwarf and the half-orc heaved at the massive portals, muscles straining, until they gave way with a groan. Piles of rubble dominated the large room revealed beyond, along with bits of flesh, broken weapons, splashes of blood, and a few dead ogres that had been torn limb from limb. Wind and rain howled through circular openings to the north that looked out over Storval Deep, and puddles of water had collected on the floor. Thick sheets of ropy green fungus grew along the walls, winding in through both the windows and through numerous cracks in the domed ceiling above. Behind the fungal vines, the walls were decorated with hundreds of skull-shaped carvings. As the monk and priest peered into the gloom, they saw eight hulking shapes detach themselves from the shadowy vines…trolls.
“Down!” Cruemann shouted, and his two companions quickly obliged. With blinding speed, the guardsman knocked two arrows simultaneously and loosed, then followed with two more in rapid succession. All four shafts struck true, taking the foremost troll in the chest within inches of each other. With a strangled growl, the giant collapsed in a heap. For a moment, the other trolls just stood in stunned silence, and the next, they exploded into motion. As they charged, Adso, Dexter and Duerten moved to meet them. The chamber erupted in violence. The trolls were formidable creatures, with their filthy, slashing talons and curved, tusk-like fangs, but Adso and Dexter were fast, like quicksilver, dodging and weaving among the trolls, striking like cobras before whirling away again. Duerten, for his part, was more akin to a boulder standing in the midst of a storm-tossed sea. Shield held before him like a totem, he brushed aside the savage swipes of the trolls, while at the same time striking out with vicious chops of his axe. Devastating as the offensive of the trio was, it was Cruemann’s arrows, each one striking with surgical precision, that ultimately took the toll. Troll after troll fell beneath the unending flight of shafts, leaving the mopping up to the others. Before he died, Rico had once spoken of trolls to Dexter, Reaper and Adso. He told them that conventional weapons and even magic could not permanently kill them. The horrible creatures regenerated, and as the last of the giants fell, it was obvious to all of the companions that their wounds were slowly closing and knitting back together. Fortunately, Rico had also mentioned their one weakness…fire. Draton stepped into the room and gripped his holy symbol in his fist.
“Sarenrae!” he prayed. “Bright lady! Hear the words of your most humble servant! Have mercy on the souls of these depraved heathens, but take them now into your embrace, and burn their sins from their hearts with Holy fire!”
The sun symbol in his hand flared to life, and flames poured out of it, engulfing the bodies of the trolls and burning them to ash. It was a much more eloquent way of solving the problem than the ogres had arrived at, though their way had been just as effective. The Kreegs had simply tossed the torporous trolls into the lake. It turned out that trolls didn’t breathe water so well…
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The remainder of Skull’s Watch was devoid of life, consisting only of empty, fungus-encrusted rooms that the trolls had apparently used as dens. However, in one chamber, which appeared to have once been some sort of observation deck, the companions discovered a pair of massive stone double-doors, their smooth surfaces smeared with graffiti written in dried blood. The letters were runic, similar to the alphabet used by the dwarves, but Duerten confirmed that the writing was not Dwarven, and that giants and their kin incorporated the same symbols into their language, though it was indecipherable to him.
The ancient doors were exceptionally heavy, their hinges old and gritty. Adso and Duerten hauled them open, revealing a wide, stone stair that descended into darkness. They ended at a second set of doors, beyond which was a cold, damp chamber that featured a large pool in the floor, the edges of which were caked with pale yellow slime and fungus. The surface of the pool bore a similar film. Additional carvings of skulls decorated the walls, and on the far side of the room, an impressive mound of skulls…mostly from humanoids…lay heaped against the wall, where they partially blocked another pair of stone, double-doors.
“There’s magic in the pool,” Draton said, his medallion glowing as he concentrated on the water.
“It can’t be very deep,” Adso replied as he moved closer to the edge and placed his bo staff in, feeling for the bottom. Suddenly, the staff was ripped from his hands and disappeared beneath the surface. A moment later, a huge shape erupted from the pool, towering above the monk. The creature looked like a troll, but its skin was more like that of a fish than leather, and a large fin ran down its spine. In one massive hand it carried a gleaming military fork. It was from the weapon that Draton detected the magical emanation. Once again, it was Cruemann who was prepared. He drew and fired as easily as he breathed, and three arrows sprouted from the troll’s glistening hide. Dexter darted in, with Duerten right behind him, but as they drew near, the giant troll blurred into motion, the fork slashing across Dexter’s chest. Rather than a clean cut, the razor-sharp tines opened ragged, vicious wounds in the rogue’s flesh. Simultaneously, a jagged laceration appeared on the troll’s chest as well. Incredibly, the brute appeared to take pleasure from the wound, laughing loudly as its blood flowed briskly then slowed as the skin began to heal itself. Dexter hissed in pain, but still he struck, his silver dagger burning into the troll’s hide. Duerten’s axe struck true as well, the combined efforts of the warriors leaving more wounds than the giant could rapidly heal.
As the rogue and the deacon occupied the troll, Adso did what he did best…took a foolish risk. Leaping straight up, he seized the giant brute around the waist, pinning one of its arms to its side as he grappled with it. Suddenly, a flash of green light from Reaper’s outstretched hand struck the troll, sapping its massive strength with its fell energy.
“Now!” Adso shouted, anticipating what Draton would do, and struggling to hold the troll in place so that the priest could. Draton hurled a bolt of liquid fire, catching the monster full in the face. As it reeled, another volley of arrows from Cruemann’s massive bow simultaneously ripped the military fork from its hand as they pierced its forearm, and sent the troll crashing to the floor beside the pool as it lost consciousness. Draton hurried quickly over and prepared to immolate the creature before it could regenerate, but as he stood over it, he realized that its wounds weren’t closing.
“It’s th’water, Father,” Duerten said. “He ain’t innit no more. Can’t heal without it. We heard tell o’this kind’o beastie back home. Called’em scrags. Never met one till now. Hope its th’last.”
__________________________________________________
Two other doors, aside from the one hidden behind the skull pile, led from the troll chief’s chamber. One gave onto a long, bare room with another pool, that one blessedly empty. The second revealed a similar room, but opposite the pool in that chamber, there was an alcove in which rose a fantastically detailed scale model of Skull’s Crossing. The five skulls along its face seemed to be actual human skulls, the bone polished to a gleaming sheen. Though Draton determined that the device radiated a strong magical aura, manipulating the model produced no noticeable effects. The jaws of the skulls were hinged, and could be pulled down like levers, which revealed tubes that led into the wall. If the replica were somehow responsible for operating the flood gates, it no longer seemed to function in that capacity.
That left only the blocked door. Duerten, Adso and Cruemann made quick work of the pile of skulls barring the way, and then hauled open the portals. The narrow room on the other side ended at curved alcoves on the east and west sides. Each alcove was enclosed by a dull, iron portcullis. A nearby winch next to each seemed to provide a way to raise and lower the gates. Beyond each portcullis a circle of runes glowed with a faint orange light on the floor. Inside the western circle was a pile of crimson ash, while inside the eastern one was curled what appeared to be a long-dead demonic looking creature, its flesh taut and dry on its bones.
“What on earth…?” Draton asked as he peered at the creature.
“I doubt that,” Reaper said absently as he moved closer to the portcullis and crouched down to get a closer look. Suddenly, the thing moved! Its arm flopped out to land inches away from Reaper’s foot, and with the creaking of ancient sinew, it turned its head towards the necromancer.
“F…free…me,” it rasped in a language no one understood…except Reaper. In his line of work, knowing the infernal tongue of the Pit was something of a necessity.
“Who…who are you?” Reaper asked, using the same language.
“I…was once called…Avaxial,” the fiend hissed softly.
“How did you come to be imprisoned here?”
“A…mage…Karzoug…”
Reaper pondered this. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
“Why were you bound?” he asked at length.
“To…to power this…dam,” said Avaxial.
Reaper’s eyes widened, and he glanced at his companions, who looked at him questioningly.
“How?” he whispered.
The infernal creature coughed in an attempt at laughter.
“Perhaps…I will tell you…when you release me…,”
“What…are you?” Reaper asked quietly.
“Mortals would name me…pit fiend…,” Avaxial chuckled dryly. “On my home plane…I was once a…general. Look at me now...,”
“And over there…?” Reaper nodded towards the second alcove.
“Another of my…brethren…,” sighed Avaxial. “Weakling!” he spat.
“I demand to know what’s going on here!” Draton interrupted. “What is that…thing…saying?”
Reaper partially turned, irritation on his face.
“Stand down! This is some sort of extraplanar being…a pit fiend,” he explained. “It says that it was imprisoned here to power the dam.”
Draton hissed as he drew his breath in sharply.
“Pit…fiend?” he spat, but Reaper had already turned back to Avaxial.
“How long ago did your…companion…die?” he asked.
Avaxial hesitated, his eyes unfocusing as if searching for a memory.
“Fifty-four years,” he said finally.
Reaper bowed his head in thought.
“I must consult with my companions in regards to your offer,” he said.
“Do…not…take too long…,” Avaxial chuckled again.
Reaper rose to his feet and turned to his companions as he heaved a sigh.
“This being calls itself Avaxial. It says that it can tell us how to open the flood gates…”
“But…?” Draton prodded angrily.
“But,” Reaper continued, “it requires that we free it first.”
“Absolutely not!” the priest exploded, and Duerten nodded his head vigorously in agreement, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. “We do not truck with Evil! There will be no bargains!”
“Who are you to make such decisions?” Reaper’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The lives of hundreds of people in Turtleback Ferry are at stake here, not to mention the other low-lying hamlets. You would decide their fates unilaterally?”
“The ends do not justify the means!” Draton fumed. “One soul outweighs ten-thousand lives! Despite what you might think, there is no ‘greater good.’ There is only right and wrong. Pit fiends are generals among their kind. What do you think will happen when this one returns to Hell? Tens of thousands…hundreds of thousands might suffer if it is restored to its former rank. No! I shall not condone this!”
“Father…,” Cruemann interrupted timidly. Draton looked sharply at him. “You know I would never go against you,” the guardsman continued, his eyes downcast, “but we gave our word to the town that we would do our best to help save them. Is it not possible that Sarenrae has put this creature in our path to serve that purpose?”
“You are young,” Draton replied, his words tight and clipped, “and…inexperienced, my son, so I will forgive your naiveté. We are not talking merely about the lives of the townsfolk, but their immortal souls. It is a hard path we have chosen for ourselves, and often unforgiving and unyielding, but such is the price of Faith. You should consider your own more carefully before you speak further.”
Cruemann retreated into a chagrined silence while Draton turned back to Reaper.
“This much I will grant you,” he said. “We will stay here until dawn. At that time I will Commune with my Lady. I will ask her guidance in this, but I feel sure of what the answer will be. Then you will see that one’s morals can never be compromised.”
He turned on his heel and left the room. Duerten moved to follow, but stopped to raise a questioning eyebrow at Cruemann. When the young man stayed where he was, the dwarf’s face turned beet red and he snorted dismissively as he followed Draton.
_____________________________________________________
“What d’ye hope t’find up here, Father?” Duerten asked as he and Draton stood upon the eastern walk of the dam, overlooking the breach through which the waters of Storval Deep flowed.
“I’m not sure,” the priest replied, “but there must be some other way to open the floodgates. We must present the others with an option other than a deal with a devil. We must show them that there is another way.”
“Bah!” the deacon snorted. “If they can’t see that fer themselves, then they deserve what they get!”
“Now, now, Brother,” Draton chided. “That is not what Sarenrae teaches us. We must show them the Path. Whether or not they follow it is their own choice, but we, as shepherds, must guide them…vigorously if need be.”
Draton turned towards his deacon, but saw that the dwarf was no longer paying attention. He was gazing down into the gorge below Skull’s Crossing.
“What is it?” the priest asked.
“We’ve got visitors,” the dwarf said absently.
Draton walked to the edge and followed the deacon’s gaze. Far below, ascending the stairs they had come up earlier in the day, two figures could be made out. One was small, certainly smaller than Duerten in stature, but the other was smaller still, and flitted about like a bird of some sort.
“I think we should go and greet our guests,” the priest said.
By the time the two clerics reached the far side of the dam, the two figures were just emerging from Gorger and Chaw’s cave. The larger of the two was obviously a gnome dressed in traveling robes, his cherubic features set off by his bright purple hair. Around his head fluttered a tiny, waifish little creature that looked like a diminutive elf with gossamer, butterfly-like wings. When they saw the dwarf and human facing them, they paused.
“Hello,” the gnome waved cheerfully. “Are you, by chance, the liberators of Fort Rannick?”
“Who’s askin’?” Duerten snapped.
“Sinclair Sneed,” the gnome bowed, “at your service, and my pixie companion is Yap. It is he who led me to you.”
“For what purpose?” Draton asked, not unkindly.
“I’ll allow him to explain,” Sinclair replied, and gestured to the pixie.
“My mistress,” the little fey began chattering rapidly, his high-pitched words almost too fast to follow, “she is…ill. Very ill. Death would have been a kindness. The land sickens with her heart, and it cannot be cleansed until her misery is purged. I cannot do this myself. Please, you must help her! You are friends with her human lover, yes? He wouldn’t leave her like this! I can take you to her…maybe you can do something. I have tried everything to cure her forlorn heart, but to no avail. She wails and moans in Whitewillow, and the trees and plants and nixies and frogs and everything are dying or worse! I can take you there! Please!”
“Who is your mistress’s lover?” Draton asked, confused.
“He is called Lamatar Bayden,” Yap replied.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t know that name,” Draton said, “but perhaps our companions do. We have only recently joined them.”
“An’ what’s yer story, purple-hair?” Duerten asked the gnome.
“I come from Sanos Forest,” Sinclair replied, “and I can attest that what Yap says is true. The Shimmerglens swamp, which borders the forest and the human lands, has long been said to lie close to the First World of the Fey, and some of the more capricious or malicious of those creatures have long been known to harass travelers in that area. It was for this reason that the Wicker Walk was built between the human outpost of Bitterhollow and Sanos Forest, to promote safe trade between our two peoples. Yet recently, the trappers and hunters have been reporting more frequent encounters with nixies, sprites and other fey creatures, almost as if something deeper in the swamp were pushing them outward. Indeed, some of my people who ventured into the Shimmerglens told tales of the deeper parts of the swamp having become polluted and corrupted. Our trade routes have been endangered, so the elders of my village chose me to investigate these happenings more closely. As I began my trek into the Shimmerglens, I met Yap, and he told me the same tale you have just heard. I agreed to journey with him to Fort Rannick to seek out this human, Lamatar Bayden, which is where he was last known to dwell. When we got there, however, we found almost the entire town of Turtleback Ferry in residence. We heard the story of the ogre attack and the defeat of the Black Arrows. Further, we heard of the heroes from Magnimar who liberated the fort from the ogres in turn, then saved Turtleback Ferry from Black Magga. We were told where to find you, and so here we are, hoping you can direct us to Lamatar.”
“I see,” Draton replied. “As I said, we do not know this man, but come with us and we shall see if the others do.”
__________________________________________________
“Lamatar Bayden?” Reaper asked. “Yes, I know that name. Adso, Dexter, you remember as well. Jakardros told us of him. He was the commander of Fort Rannick when the ogres attacked. I’m sorry,” he said as he turned back to Yap and Sinclair, “but as far as we know, Captain Bayden is dead. He was carried away by the ogres, and that is the last anyone saw of him.”
“Noooooo!” Yap wailed. “When my mistress learns of this, her anger will only grow! Her heart will be broken! What will become of us?”
Sinclair tried to soothe the pixie, and then turned to the others. “Is there nothing you can do to help? My home is threatened, and so is the way of life of your people.”
“We’re kind of busy here right now,” Reaper said sharply. “If we don’t get this dam up and running, you won’t have to worry about some lovelorn fey. The Shimmerglens and your forest will all be completely underwater.”
A look of concern crossed the gnome’s face.
“Have you discovered any way to solve this problem?” he asked.
“You bring up an excellent point!” Reaper said as he shot a look at Draton. “In fact, we have, but it entails freeing that creature you see there, who happens to be an imprisoned devil. He has promised to show us how to open the floodgates if we release him, but my esteemed companion here,” he gestured towards Draton, “takes moral issue with this. What is your opinion?”
Sinclair looked aghast.
“Why of course you should free the creature!” he said. “You can’t allow this disaster to happen! You’re supposed to be heroes!”
“My point exactly,” Reaper said in satisfaction.
“My companion oversimplifies the issue,” Draton said calmly. “There is more at issue here, and I am not advocating simply allowing the denizens of the Skull River valley to be destroyed. I would like to explore all of our options first, which was what Duerten and I were doing atop the dam when we saw you. In fact, I would like your help, and that of Yap, in this. I promise you both, when we deal with the matter of the floodgates, then we will accompany you back to the Shimmerglens and see what we can do about your problem.”
Yap nodded enthusiastically, wiping his dripping nose with his sleeve.
“Yes! Yes!” he squealed. “Yap help! Then you come help my mistress!”
__________________________________________________
Reaper watched the two priests leave with the gnome and the pixie. When he was sure they were out of earshot, he went over to Avaxial’s circle and sat down cross-legged beside it.
“Quite…the dilemma…,” the pit fiend said. “What will you…do?”
Reaper shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet. I will at least wait to see what Draton discovers, and to hear what words his goddess has for him.”
Avaxial stared unblinking at the necromancer for a moment, and then he spoke again:
“Perhaps I can make…your decision…easier…”
Several minutes later, Reaper rose and walked over to Dexter. Glancing at Cruemann, he pulled the rogue aside.
“A new wrinkle has been added,” he whispered. “In addition to aiding us in operating the floodgates, Avaxial has made one more concession…”
Dexter raised one eyebrow. “And?”
“It seems that his kind have great power at their call…even the power to grant wishes…”
Dexter’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped. Reaper only nodded, a small smile on his lips. Abruptly, Dexter turned away and went over to their gear, where he drew out the gleaming fork they had taken from the scrag.
“What are you doing?” Cruemann asked alarmed. Adso only looked on curiously.
“Mind your own business,” Dexter growled as he approached the portcullis and threw the lever, causing the gate to rise.
“Stop!” Cruemann shouted, but as he moved forward, Reaper stepped in front of him. Raw power radiated from the necromancer, and before it, Cruemann’s heart quailed. He felt pure terror grip him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was fleeing as if his life depended on it.
“Lest you forget,” Reaper chided as he took the fork from Dexter’s hand, “when the scrag used this, it opened wounds in his own body as well. You don’t regenerate, my friend. Allow me.”
He stood before the circle of runes and began chanting. As he did so, Avaxial rose painfully to his feet, expectation on his face. As the last words of Reapers incantation fell, the runes dimmed and faded, and for the first time in ten-thousand years, Avaxial stepped free. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as no one breathed, all tensed for betrayal.
“Have no fear, my friend,” Avaxial smiled toothily. “I keep my word. When the waters of the lake beyond rise above a certain level, an event that has happened only one-hundred-fifty times during my imprisonment, the dam attempts to draw the life force from two individuals within the circles. It only requires a small amount, but both circles must be occupied. If so, the floodgates will open.”
“So…two of us must step within the circles?” he asked.
“That is one option,” Avaxial smiled again. “But any life force will do. You are a wizard of some sort, I presume? Then certainly you are capable of a basic summoning spell…”
“I see…,” Reaper said, nodding in comprehension. “What will you do now? What of our other agreement?”
“As I said,” Avaxial replied, “I keep my word. For the moment, however, I am far too weak to call upon my full powers. Give me time, and I assure you, I will return to fulfill my promise. For now, however, I must recover my strength and attempt to return to my home.”
Reaper nodded. “I will hold you to your promise, Avaxial.” He spoke the fiend’s name with emphasis. The devil knew well the power such knowledge held. “Take your leave then, but avoid my colleagues when you go. I’m afraid they would not be very understanding.”
Avaxial nodded and extended his hand to grip Reaper’s before slipping quickly out the door. When Reaper looked down at his palm he saw the symbol of Asmodeus emblazoned there…
__________________________________________________
It was sometime later when Draton and the others returned. He had asked Yap to investigate the pipes behind the mock-up of Skull’s Crossing, and the pixie had discovered that they led to the lake, but that no water entered into them. The four had then gone topside, where Draton and Duerten had stripped off their armor and lowered themselves into the water in hopes of finding some means to unblock the pipes from the outside, theorizing that if water flowed into the pipes, the model’s floodgates might open, which in turn would open the true gates. Their efforts were in vain. They could find no way to open the tubes.
“Ah! You’re back!” Reaper said jubilantly. “I think I may have deduced how to open the gates without the aid of the pit fiend. In fact, as you can see, we need no longer concern ourselves with him.”
Draton’s eyes narrowed, but when he looked into the circle, he saw no sign of Avaxial, only another pile of red ash sitting within the glowing circle of runes identical to the one in the opposite alcove.
“What happened?” he asked suspiciously.
Reaper shrugged. “I’m not sure. One moment he was laying there, and the next he screamed and dissolved into ash…which led me to my deduction. I believe that the dam operates off of life force, and that over the centuries, it has been draining that from the pit fiends to power the flood gates. So, all we have to do is provide that life energy.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Draton asked.
“Quite easily, actually,” the necromancer shrugged as he pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. He read aloud, and as he did so, two large spiders with spike-laden carapaces appeared from thin air, one in each alcove. As they did so, the runes flared once and the arachnids were instantly reduced to ash, but as this occurred, a deep rumble filled the entire interior of the dam. Draton nodded grudgingly to Reaper.
“Well done. Well done indeed.”
Unnoticed in the corner, Cruemann looked on, shamefaced. By the time his fear had left him, the deed had been done. He didn’t know if Reaper’s story was true, but he doubted it strongly. Worse, he found that, deep down, he did not disagree with the necromancer’s methods, and this was what scared him the most…all the way down to his soul…
Hammerhead
Explorer
Sounds like Cruemann really kicked ass.
It seems to be that all of your group's clerics or paladins end up as these incredibly inflexible, 'kill anything evil' crusaders that enter the group and immediately start telling the group what to do (with the exception of Daelric, who was a little weasel). I suppose I'm mainly thinking of that Kelemvor inquisitor in AoW. Or is this group conflict just added in to add flavor to the story?
It seems to be that all of your group's clerics or paladins end up as these incredibly inflexible, 'kill anything evil' crusaders that enter the group and immediately start telling the group what to do (with the exception of Daelric, who was a little weasel). I suppose I'm mainly thinking of that Kelemvor inquisitor in AoW. Or is this group conflict just added in to add flavor to the story?
JollyDoc
Explorer
No, the conflict was really there, and it comes to ahead this week again...possibly for the last time...!
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Great update, JollyDoc. I'm looking forward to Draton's face, when Avaxial comes back. Or should Reaper die, he might find Avaxial waiting for him in the beyond...kind of what Marius experienced in STAP. ![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
Joachim
First Post
Cruemann follows the old maxim, "Do one thing. Do it well." Stress is on the 'one' in the first sentence.
Actually, the flip side of the exalted coin showed up this week. As far as the post above is concerned, it is a good thing that I went ahead and decided to max out Bluff with my high Charisma.
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Joachim
First Post
Great update, JollyDoc. I'm looking forward to Draton's face, when Avaxial comes back. Or should Reaper die, he might find Avaxial waiting for him in the beyond...kind of what Marius experienced in STAP.
The Avaxial chapter will be concluded very soon, but Reaper has no inclination to do anything selfish with his wish. In fact, Reaper's wish may end up indirectly taking care of his little 'exalted problem'.
EDIT: I just noticed this in the Alignment description for the Dread Necromancer, and thought it most appropriate in describing Reaper's worldview, and his stance in the discussions that occurred last night [emphasis mine]:
"Not all dread necromancers are evil, although the best of them could easily be described them as evil tolerant. No dread necromancer can have a good alignment. Performing evil acts is a basic feature of the class, but some dread necromancers manage to balance evil acts with good intentions, remaining solidly neutral (most PC dread necromancers fall into this category)."
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JollyDoc
Explorer
SUNDAY TEASER
Why so early, you ask? It's because we actually gamed last night, and had a rather lengthy session...
1) The heroes return triumphantly to Fort Rannick to deliver the good news about Skull's Crossing...leaving out the whole deal-with-a-devil part...
2) Yap's quest still remains, and so the companions accompany the little pixie to the Shimmerglens and Whitewillow
3) The fey wasn't kidding when he said the place had gone to pot...spooky trees, ghostly sprites, and a familiar blast from the past all greet them as they row their little boats deeper into the swamp
4) Lamatar's lover is not happy with those she blames for his death, and she shows her displeasure in a 'blinding' fashion, prompting the heroes to do some fast-talking and make some binding promises.
5) Fortunately, vengeance for the lovesick nymph translates to vengeance on the Kreegs, and so the heroes return once more to Hook Mountain.
6) The ogres are not the disorganized mob they seem to be, however, and wave-after-wave of the brutes hurl themselves against the unbreakable wall of the Heroes of Sandpoint/Magnimar/Turtleback Ferry/Fort Rannick...or as we like to say it...Sandimarbackrannick.
7) Ah, but who could orchestrate such a coordinated effort by a bunch of unruly ogres? The truth is revealed when Barl Breakbones and his minions are bearded in their lair.
8) Tragically, another heroe falls beneath the hammer of Barl, yet astonishingly, the battle does not end in total annihilation, but in unconditional surrender!
9) Not all are pleased with this turn of events, and morale quandaries aplenty rear their ugly heads...hilarity ensues!
10) The bargain with Myriana, Lamatar's lover, is fulfilled...and a quite unexpected benefit is gained.
Why so early, you ask? It's because we actually gamed last night, and had a rather lengthy session...
1) The heroes return triumphantly to Fort Rannick to deliver the good news about Skull's Crossing...leaving out the whole deal-with-a-devil part...
2) Yap's quest still remains, and so the companions accompany the little pixie to the Shimmerglens and Whitewillow
3) The fey wasn't kidding when he said the place had gone to pot...spooky trees, ghostly sprites, and a familiar blast from the past all greet them as they row their little boats deeper into the swamp
4) Lamatar's lover is not happy with those she blames for his death, and she shows her displeasure in a 'blinding' fashion, prompting the heroes to do some fast-talking and make some binding promises.
5) Fortunately, vengeance for the lovesick nymph translates to vengeance on the Kreegs, and so the heroes return once more to Hook Mountain.
6) The ogres are not the disorganized mob they seem to be, however, and wave-after-wave of the brutes hurl themselves against the unbreakable wall of the Heroes of Sandpoint/Magnimar/Turtleback Ferry/Fort Rannick...or as we like to say it...Sandimarbackrannick.
7) Ah, but who could orchestrate such a coordinated effort by a bunch of unruly ogres? The truth is revealed when Barl Breakbones and his minions are bearded in their lair.
8) Tragically, another heroe falls beneath the hammer of Barl, yet astonishingly, the battle does not end in total annihilation, but in unconditional surrender!
9) Not all are pleased with this turn of events, and morale quandaries aplenty rear their ugly heads...hilarity ensues!
10) The bargain with Myriana, Lamatar's lover, is fulfilled...and a quite unexpected benefit is gained.
carborundum
Adventurer
OLO - I've just got through reading this week's update and there's a new teaser. Sorry JD, you'll have to take a few days off work to write the next update!
Nice work by Reaper - did you play it out at the table or go into another room for five minutes? Those things are always tricky!
Anythanks again for a bangup job on the update Mr Doc - brilliant!
Nice work by Reaper - did you play it out at the table or go into another room for five minutes? Those things are always tricky!
Anythanks again for a bangup job on the update Mr Doc - brilliant!
JollyDoc
Explorer
We actually did it all at the table, which was very cool. My players are very good about keeping player info out of character info.
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