Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth

[Lazybones]

Sadly, I had to trim down my non-D&D fiction from my Web site, due in part to space issues and in part to the fact that a lot of it requires some thorough editing. During grad school I wrote six full novels and part of a seventh. Five of those were based on an original campaign setting I'd originally written for a 1st ed game I hosted back in the late 80s. The game only went about 5 sessions, but the campaign setting was fleshed out a lot more in the novels. I thought about posting them here before, but they're really only peripherally related to D&D now. I reworked a lot of the mechanics, as I'd planned on trying to sell them at some point, but with hindsight I can see that they were pretty rough.

I think that Thunderspire Labyrinth will be my last 4e story. The system just isn't grabbing me the way that 3.0/3.5 did. I have a few ideas percolating.

* * * * *

Chapter 12


“Impressive,” Jaron said, once they had emerged from the passage and gotten their first good look at the Seven-Pillared Hall.

The place was vast, a bubble in the mountain that stretched out before them, its far end all but lost in the distance. The place was dimly illuminated by faint patches of glowing material affixed to the walls at intervals too regular to be entirely natural; the light was bright enough for them to clearly make out the broad outlines of the place, if not all of the specific details. They could identify the natural pillars that gave the place its name, and what looked to be a stream that bisected the complex across its middle, dividing the settlement into two halves.

The floor of the Hall was occupied by maybe a score of buildings of various shapes and sizes, ranging from squat single-story blockhouses to structures that looked tall enough to host three or even four stories within. But those were augmented by what looked to be additional quarters excavated from the walls of the cavern itself, stacked two or three or even four atop the other in tiers, accessed by precarious ledges and fragile-looking ladders. Beetle’s hands had started to itch at the sight of those, but Jaron took his cousin literally in hand, keeping him close to him as they made their way forward through the guardstation.

Their passage through that entry proved rather anticlimactic. The guards, which included men, orcs, and an ogre amongst their number, recognized Rendil, and only asked a few bored questions of Vhael about their purpose here. The dragonborn’s response was vague, but it apparently was enough. The adventurers barely had time to share a wary look before they were being waved through.

“They don’t seem to take security very seriously here,” Gezzelhaupt observed, once they were far enough away from the guards to speak without risk of being overheard.

“Look more closely,” Gral replied, inclining his head toward a niche in the cavern wall, where a large statue of a minotaur was just visible. “The Mages of Saruun are not to be trifled with, and they respond quickly to those who would bring disorder here.”

Vhael fixed a cold gaze on Carzen, but it was Jaron who shuddered at the wizard’s words, and he couldn’t help but tighten his grip on his cousin’s hand. “Good advice,” the dragonborn said.

“Come on,” Rendil said. “I’ll show you to my family’s inn; you can rest and get some hot food there.”

“Gral and I have an errand to attend to first,” Vhael said. “Go on ahead, but remember our purpose here. Don’t attract attention, and don’t invite trouble.”

“What errand?” Carzen asked, persisting despite the warning in the warlord’s eyes.

“We have a contact among the mages who might be able to give us information about these slavers,” Gral finally said. “It won’t take long, and we’ll meet you at the inn shortly.”

Vhael leaned in, close enough so that Carzen could feel the heat of his breath on his face. “No trouble,” he repeated. Then he turned and walked away, the dwarf close on his heels.

“Sheesh,” Carzen said, after a moment. “What does he think we are, children?”

“He knows the Hall,” Rendil said, “and what he says, it is good to listen. In this place, the trouble is always around the bend. Come on, my family’s probably worried sick about me, and I’m buying the first round.”

“Now you’re talking,” Gez said, falling in with the others as they set out across the Hall, following the halfling.

 

[arun]

wait no more 4e stories....does that mean no more stories are just that they will be based off a different set of rules? *please say it's the latter*

 

[Lazybones]

wait no more 4e stories....does that mean no more stories are just that they will be based off a different set of rules? *please say it's the latter*

Well, thus far the writing bug shows no signs of easing up, although I have been a lot busier of late, which has reduced the time I have to write. But yes, the ideas that I have percolating would use other systems than 4e. I'd share more but I still need to check a few things before I know for sure what I want to do as my next project. Let's just say that one idea would revisit an old setting of mine, and the other would explore some of the games I've been running in the CRPG arena.

Thanks for the support! You guys have kept me posting here for so long, with your feedback.

* * * * *

Chapter 13


The common room of the Halfmoon Inn looked smaller than it was at first glance, with swirling clouds of tobacco and other smokes drifting thick among the heavy pillars supporting the ceiling almost ten feet above. The crowded nature of the chamber was bolstered by the use of the available space, which placed the long bar in a U shape in the middle of the room, and curtained alcoves off to each side that offered a small modicum of privacy to premium customers.

The place looked fairly busy, with maybe thirty patrons and staff at the tables and bar. A majority of them were halflings, but the rest comprised a diverse collection of humans, dwarves, orcs, goblinoids, and other races both common and unfamiliar. Many of them had the pale, sallow look of those who spent most of their lives underground, out of the reach of the bright sun above. A few glanced up as the newcomers entered, but their attention returned quickly to their private conversations or to their drinks.

“Oh, crap,” Rendil said. They followed the halfling’s eyes to the far side of the room around the bar, where the largest ogre any of them had ever seen was causing a stir.

The ogre, clad in a vest of mail links that might have barded a warhorse, stood over the remains of what had recently been a table and bench. A halfling lay in the splinters, his coat soaked with ale, a confused look on his face that was quickly evolving into terror. He stared up at the ogre, blinking, trying to take in what was going on. Those patrons nearby were doing their best to ignore what was happening, although a few hastily took up their possessions and made for the door.

“I said, what you lookin’ at, you little crudder? You deaf, o’ somepin?”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Carzen hissed.

Jaron blinked; he’d crossed halfway through the room before the fighter’s question drew him up. He realized that Beetle had disappeared, and that meant trouble, even as he took in anew just how big the ogre was. He was so tall that its head scraped the rafters bolstering the ceiling, but beyond that he was thick, with meaty arms that were thicker around than Carzen’s torso.

Jaron swallowed, and started forward again. The ogre had bent over the terrified halfling, close enough so that spittle from his jaws sprayed over the halfling’s face. He hadn’t made a move toward the greatclub slung across his back, but that meant little; the ogre could have crushed every bone in the halfling’s body with one fist.

“What did I tell you about breaking furniture in here, Brugg?”

The voice came from a newcomer who entered the room through the low doorway in the rear wall near the end of the bar, presumably from the inn’s kitchen. Jaron’s jaw dropped as he recognized its owner.

It was Mara.

As the ogre shifted slightly, Mara caught sight of Jaron. She started in surprise, her attention distracted just enough so that the ogre’s sudden movement caught her off guard. Twisting his body, his long reach allowed his forearm to catch her hard across the chest as he spun around. The blow knocked Mara back a good five feet, and only the presence of one of the supporting beams stopped her there. She hit hard enough for Jaron to hear it clearly even across the room, and a sudden quiet spread across the chamber as the fighter slumped against the beam, gasping for breath as the ogre stepped forward to loom over her, blocking her from the view of the others.

 

[Tamlyn]

Well, thus far the writing bug shows no signs of easing up, although I have been a lot busier of late, which has reduced the time I have to write. But yes, the ideas that I have percolating would use other systems than 4e. I'd share more but I still need to check a few things before I know for sure what I want to do as my next project. Let's just say that one idea would revisit an old setting of mine, and the other would explore some of the games I've been running in the CRPG arena.

Good! I really don't care what system or setting you write in. I'm just happy to know you'll still be writing.

It was Mara.

Nice!

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks for the kudos, Tamlyn.

* * * * *

Chapter 14


The ogre stood over Mara, his lips twisted into a sinister grin.

The fighter’s hands twitched at her hips, brushing the hilts of the two swords that dangled there, but as she sucked in air to replace that knocked from her lungs by the ogre’s push she forced them back to her sides. Straightening, she said, “Are you going to break the mages’ law, Brugg, in front of all these witnesses?”

A young halfling behind the bar was joined by an older woman who emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron covered in flour. “I’ll see that the Ordinator hears of this! You know better than to fight in my inn!”

Brugg smiled, but coming from the ogre it was a sinister expression. “Nobody’s fighting, Erra,” he growled. “Your help’s just a little… clumsy.”

“Somehow a lot of people get ‘clumsy’ around you,” Erra said. As she spoke she caught sight of Rendil and the others on the edge of her vision, and her eyes widened. But she did not let the ogre escape her stare, nor did she back down against a creature that could have trampled her to death with a careless step. The ogre held that look for a few moments that seemed overly long, then he let out a chuckle.

“Time for my shift, anyway.” He shot a look at Mara. “Maybe we’ll meet again somewhere more… private.”

Mara’s stance adjusted just barely enough to be noticeable, but in a way that moved her hilts closer to her hands. “That would be interesting,” she said, her tone giving away nothing.

Brugg snorted and turned away, but as he took his first step, his feet got tangled up and he toppled over with a surprised roar. Those few patrons that hadn’t cleared the area during the earlier altercation threw themselves out of the way of the falling ogre, with one dark-skinned dwarf narrowly avoiding being crushed under the hulking brute’s weight. A pair of high stools weren’t so lucky, and the brass footrail that ran along the bar rang loudly as Brugg’s shoulder hit it hard enough to leave a deep dent.

The ogre wasn’t really hurt, and he recovered quickly, pulling himself to his feet. He glanced down at one foot, where one of the throngs that laced his boots had torn free. Somehow, it had gotten tangled with the other boot, causing his fall. A few people had started to smirk at the ogre’s misfortune, but they had been quick to turn away before the creature’s gaze swept the room.

“Looks like I’m not the only clumsy one,” Mara said, not bothering to hide her own grin.

Brugg snarled and left. As he passed the new arrivals he shouldered Carzen roughly aside, knocking the fighter into the bar. The ogre glanced back to see if the human was going to protest, but Carzen merely caught himself and turned away, brushing off his cloak. Gezzelhaupt was quick to get out of his way as the ogre reached the door and squeezed his bulk through it.

Rendil let out a held breath. “What a homecoming.” he said.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 15


“So I met up with a merchant in Fallcrest, who was headed here,” Mara said, her eyes traveling over the inhabitants of the common room. “I hired on as a guard, but we didn’t get along, and when I arrived at the Hall, the Halfmoons put me up in exchange for some security work.”

It was noticeably quieter now, with only about a dozen people scattered at tables and in booths around the place. Jaron supposed that the residents of a place like this probably picked an arbitrary “night” that may or may not have any correlation to the cycles of the sun in the world above. The three of them—Jaron, Mara, and Beetle—had a wall to themselves, the curtains pulled back from the nook to give them a clear view to the door. Carzen and Gez had already retired, but Vhael and Gral had not yet returned from their errand.

“Good bread,” Beetle said, his words barely discernable through a full mouth. He smiled, and Mara smiled back at him. “It’s mostly made up of mushrooms and lichens,” she said, making a face, but Beetle took another slice, cramming in into his mouth to join the remnants already there.

She looked up at Jaron. “These Bloodreavers you’re looking for… I’m still finding my way around this place, but I’ve heard enough to know that they’re bad news. Are you sure about this?”

“They took my people,” Jaron said simply. He hadn’t eaten much, and he pushed a bit of bread around on his place as he spoke, distracted.

Mara nodded. “I understand.”

Jaron looked up. “We could use your swords.” “Sthords,” Beetle echoed, his mouth still full.

The fighter shook her head. “It’s not my fight. Anyway, it looks like you guys picked up some new muscle. And you’ve got a wizard now, you say?”

“Dorf,” Beetle mumbled around the bread.

“They’re all right, I suppose,” Jaron said. “And Commander Vhael seems to know what he…”

He trailed off at the change in Mara’s face. “Vhael? K’rol Vhael is with you?”

“Well, he’s not here, but yes, he’s in charge of the expedition, he’s working for the lord that sent us here. Why, do you know him?”

“You could say that, I suppose. Yes, you could say that, seeing as he killed my father.”

She got up, roughly, the hilt of her shortsword catching on the lip of the table. She nearly tore the table free of its moorings as she pulled away. “I wish you the best of luck, Jaron, I really do. I hope you find your people.”

“Mara, I—”

But the fighter had already walked away, disappearing through the low doorway into the back of the inn before Jaron could say anything further.

“Secrets,” Beetle whispered.

Jaron nodded, not sure what was going on.

 

[Lazybones]

I'm going away for a long weekend starting tomorrow, and I probably won't have access to a computer. So this is most likely the last update until Monday. The Friday cliffhanger will just have to keep.

* * * * *


Chapter 16


Jaron’s internal clock was all askew, even only after a few days in the deep gloom of the underworld, and he had no idea what time it was supposed to be as he and his companions left the relative security of the Seven-Pillared Hall behind, and delved back into the winding tunnels of the Labyrinth. They had relatively clear directions from Rendil, and a clear destination, but that was all that was clear about this mission. An expedition that had started with the basic objective of recovering Yarine and the others had been getting more complicated by the minute, Jaron thought.

He didn’t need to look at the faces of his companions to see the tensions there. The hostility between Carzen and Vhael formed a frisson that the halfling could feel like the heat of an open flame. There were lesser cracks in the outward face presented by their team, including the barely-constrained fear in Gezzelhaupt, the sole survivor of the soldiers that had accompanied Carzen from Fallcrest, and the secrets that Vhael and Gral held about their past knowledge of this place. And Mara, whose sudden reappearance had slid another current of uncertainty into their presence here.

He hadn’t told Vhael about Mara, and Carzen hadn’t volunteered anything about their encounter with the ogre. Jaron supposed that put him in the category of keeping secrets.

And then there was Beetle. His cousin had been in a sulk all morning, and had trudged along with the rest of them, instead of wandering off and vanishing constantly as was his habit. He seemed to sense Jaron’s attention, and he turned just long enough to stick his tongue out. He moved over to the other side of Vhael and Gral, muttering about “his stuff.”

Jaron sighed. Beetle was another simmering problem waiting to explode. The confrontation that had created this latest clash had come last night, shortly after their meeting with Mara. The Halfmoon Inn had included several small rooms sized for halflings, so the two of them hadn’t had to share space with any of the others. Jaron had come in from his trip to the bathhouse to find Beetle hastily stuffing something under his pillow. Perhaps it would have been better to leave well enough alone, but at the time curiosity and all of the worry that had been building up since leaving Fallcrest had pushed him to ferret out what his cousin had been hiding. It was a small satchel, barely bigger than a purse, made out of ratty leather that looked like it had seen more years than the two of them combined. It had bulged slightly when Jaron had picked it up.

“Come on, Belden, I thought I told you…” Jaron had said, as he’d opened the purse to dump its contents onto the bed.

Even in memory, he felt some of the startlement he’d felt last night. The little bag had somehow contained a deluge of assorted items, ranging from pieces of petty trash to a veritable horde of gold and silver coins that plinked as they slid off the bed to tumble about the floor. The cache had included weapons, too, small blades and darts and even a crossbow with a broken crossbar that barely seemed able to fit through the mouth of the bag. The container was magical, obviously, but Beetle hadn’t been willing to share where he’d acquired it, only insisting that he’d “found it,” and that everything in it belonged to him.

Jaron carried the bag now, along with most of its contents. He suspected that he was only starting Beetle again from scratch; no matter how hard he tried to impart to his cousin the dangers of theft, especially in a place like this, the younger halfling seemed incapable of being anything other than what he was. Part of him suspected that his cousin’s behaviors were partly an act to cover his desire to continue such activities, but that did not change his own sense of responsibility toward the other halfling. No matter how much he might drive Jaron to frustration, Belden was still family, and about all he had left of it.

As they left the more-traveled passages near the Hall behind, Jaron had to give up those layered distractions and focus on the journey, for it became quickly clear that they were entering dangerous territory. Even staying on the main tunnel, which extended for miles beyond the boundaries of the Hall, they passed numerous places that showed signs of battles in the not-too-distant pass. Odd noises and unpleasant smells carried long distances to them, and more than once, as they passed a side passage, Jaron felt the unpleasant sense of being watched. His companions felt it too, and as they pressed on further Jaron saw their hands dropping more and more often to the hilts of weapons. There was no conversation save for the minimal exchanges needed to impart information. Jaron served as scout, but did not go more than a few dozen paces ahead of the others, carrying a small mining lamp he’d purchased in the Seven-Pillared Hall to brighten the pure black of the tunnel. The tunnel narrowed from six paces across to five, and then to four. It was still plenty wide enough to accommodate their small group, but Jaron could not help but feel as if all that stone was pressing in upon them, squeezing them like a hand crushing a lemon for its juice.

They had marched for the better part of two hours before they reached the side-tunnel that led to their destination. Jaron found the marker that Rendil had spoken of without difficulty, although he might have walked past it had he not been forewarned. The stylized eye etched into the stone looked out from the mouth of a passage much like the others they had passed, but somehow the knowledge of what lay in that direction made it seem rather more menacing.

After verifying that the others were following, Jaron led them in that direction. The passage continued for maybe a hundred paces, bending slightly around to the left, before it deposited them into a large chamber. The place showed signs of decay and neglect, and was littered with piles of rubble from what might have once been statues and carvings along the perimeter.

The place seemed to be deserted. As Jaron lifted his lamp the darkness receded, enough for him to make out a set of doors recessed into an alcove in the center of the wall to his right. He could also just make out a balcony along the far wall, a ledge some fifteen feet above the level of the floor. There was no one up there either, at least no one he could see, and as he made his way forward he observed that there was a small door up there as well.

He moved across the room toward the alcove, careful not to disturb any of the loose rocks that were scattered across the floor. Behind him the others entered the room, and spread out, their eyes searching every niche and shadow for any sign of danger.

“The slavers have lax security,” Gral muttered.

Carzen heard him, and said, “Maybe because nobody down here’s stupid enough to take them on.”

“Quiet,” Vhael said, gesturing for Carzen and Gez to take the left flank as he and Gral moved after Jaron toward the doors.

The alcove was flanked by a pair of statues that were no longer distinguishable as anything other than vague humanoid shapes. But the doors themselves looked very solid, heavy planks reinforced with generous banding in cold iron. There was a locking mechanism set into the door on the right, and Jaron didn’t need to probe to guess there was likely a bar on the far side as well. Shrouding his light so that it wouldn’t betray them through any cracks in the doors, he bent forward and pressed his head against the thin crevice where the two panels came together. He heard the voices almost at once, recognizing again the familiar cadences of the goblin speech. He listened for a few seconds, picking up the tone of the conversation, if not the words, which were muffled by the thick wood.

“Goblins,” he mouthed, turning back to face the others.

“If we have to cut our way through that, every goblin in the place will be waiting for us,” Carzen said. At least he had the sense to keep his voice low, Jaron thought, but at the moment he couldn’t disagree with the fighter’s assessment.

Vhael gestured them back from the alcove, moving into the room where they could speak quietly without standing directly in front of the doors.

“There’s another door up…” Jaron began, but his voice froze in his throat as he looked in that direction in time to see Beetle running up the wall.

He didn’t, not really, but it was still pretty impressive to see him ascent where the two walls met, kicking off one and then the other, gaining about five feet with each hop, until he sprang off the wall and snared the edge of the balcony with the fingertips of one hand. He dangled there precariously for a moment, grinning down at them, then got enough leverage with his feet to push himself up over the lip, rolling back up to his feet with aplomb and dusting himself off.

“Beetle!” Jaron hissed, but if his cousin heard him, he didn’t pay any heed. The halfling started toward the door, a dagger popping into his hand out of nowhere.

“Should we go up after him?” Gezzelhaupt asked, nervously fingering his bowstring.

“There’s no way we’d make that ascent without making enough noise to alert the complex,” Vhael said.

“I can get up there quietly, especially if one of you gives me a boost,” Jaron said. He took a step in that direction, but Vhael cut him off. “We cannot afford to further divide our strength.”

“I can’t just sit here while he’s in danger.”

Vhael’s expression did not shift in the slightest. “There is more than one person at stake. Your cousin took rash action on his own initiative; now we must hope that he can find a way to open the door.” And as they watched, Beetle reached the door at the end of the balcony. He paused barely a moment before it opened and he vanished into the space beyond.

“And those guards?” Carzen asked.

Vhael turned back to the alcove and the doors. He glanced at Gral. “If necessary, we must be ready to do things the hard way.”

 

[Richard Rawen]

“If necessary, we must be ready to do things the hard way.”

LOL, what other way is there?
I always appreciate the little details you put in to show different cultures, locations and environments.
Just doing my fanboy duties for March lol, thanks for the updates!

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 17


Beetle wasn’t preoccupied with guards or complex plans when he vaulted up atop the balcony and went through the door at its end. Had he taken the time to consider the implications of his actions, he might have thought better of heading alone into a complex of deadly slavers, but the halfling wasn’t one to get bogged down with such considerations. If it was exciting, and dangerous, and maybe offered the chance of reward, that was enough.

To be honest, there was a bit of resentment at work too; he was still a bit angry with his cousin for taking away his magic bag. That boon, found in a cramped crawlspace in the dungeon under the Keep on the Shadowfell, had proven a delightful find, offering a solution to the frequent dilemma of insufficient pocket space to accommodate all of the wonderful things that he came upon in his travels. But now he’d show Jaron and all of them, by dealing with these slavers personally.

He heard voices as soon as he opened the balcony door, and almost unconsciously blended into the shadows, making as much noise as a soft puff of wind as he slipped through and closed the door behind him. The passageway beyond the door opened onto a stair that descended into a room. He crawled up to where he could get a good look.

The room wasn’t especially large, and rather crowded with the crude pieces of furniture that filled it. There was another exit on the far side of the room, but Beetle’s eyes were drawn to the room’s occupants, two big and rather ugly goblins, clad in metal armor, with axes thrust through their belts and bows slung across their backs. One was sitting on a small cot, sharpening a knife, while the other was seated on a stool in front of a table, gnawing on some bones had already been well stripped of meat. A small iron brazier on a three-pronged stand provided heat and a weak, ruddy light. It was just enough for Beetle to make out the hulking mound atop another of the beds, a form far too big to be another goblin. As he watched, it shifted slightly, and issued a fragment of a snore. The goblin sitting on the other cot said something, but unlike his cousin, Beetle did not speak the Goblin language, so he had no idea what he said. The other one snorted and responded, tossing his bone aside and yanking another from the pile heaped on the plate in front of him.

Beetle let out a soft breath. This was going to be tricky.

“How long do we wait?” Gezzelhaupt asked. He was trying to keep his hands busy, testing his bowstring, adjusting the arrows in the quiver at his hip, fidgeting until Vhael shot him a hard look that quieted him. He had reason to be nervous, Jaron thought; he’d watched his comrades get slaughtered, and it was likely that what awaited them behind the door was at least as dangerous as a wyvern. How many goblinoids waited beyond those portals? From everything he’d heard, from Rendil and the others in the Hall, these Bloodreavers were not a trivial force.

And yet here he was, planning on taking them on directly.

Was Yarine even still alive? He had no idea of the priestess or the others from Fairhollow lived, or if the Bloodreavers still held them captive. But there was nothing else he could do.

Still, the passage of the seconds seemed to build the tension in his gut like bricks stacked one upon the other. He held his own bow ready, standing in the shadow of the dragonborn warlord, who stood facing the doors, outwardly patient, a statue that might still be here hours, days, or even years from now, unaffected by such mortal concerns as fear and worry.

When all hell broke loose a moment later, they heard it clearly even through the doors.

The first indication that the goblins had that something was wrong was a soft snick, a noise like a sharp blade being stropped on leather. The goblin at the table turned, looked at the bugbear warrior asleep on his pallet. He started to turn back to his bones, but something subtle that couldn’t quite be defined froze his stare, drew his attention back. The bugbear wasn’t moving, but a faint hissing noise came from him. Then the goblin’s eyes dropped, to the thread of fluid draining from the bottom of the cot, gathering in a spreading pool of red upon the floor. His eyes widened, but before he could do anything further, a small figure sprang up from behind the cot. The goblin’s surprised stare was drawn to the bare steel of the blade in the intruder’s hand, glistening with bright red blood…

The goblin tumbled back from the table, clutching at his axe. The chair fell over as he pulled free, making a loud noise as it hit the floor. The creature—smaller even than a goblin, he realized—let out an odd noise and flicked his hand forward. The goblin started to duck before he realized that the attack wasn’t aimed at him.

The goblin on the bed had only started to realize that something was wrong, and as his head turned the thrown knife drew a line of bright red across his forehead, scoring it to the bone. He drew back, almost tumbling off of the cot, clutching his face as blood spurted down into his eyes.

The attacker had gained complete surprise, but the goblin was a Skullcleaver, no common, inexperienced warrior sealed into a burrow to earn his first kill. He’d been caught off guard, but as his axe finally tore free and came into his hands he started yelling an alarm, drawing the attention of the pair of guards in the hallway outside. As the intruder started toward his injured companion on the nearby cot, the goblin lifted his axe and snarled a challenge.

Unfortunately, he failed to notice the throng that had been strung between the table and the brazier, and with his first step he snagged it. He fell awkwardly forward, his momentum knocking the brazier wildly aside, scattering its contents across half of the room. A shower of sparking ash filled the air.

The Skullcleaver felt a jab of pain as a burning coal settled on the back of his right knee. He snarled and pulled himself to his feet, trying to sift through the chaos that surrounded him. He could hear his companion yelling, and staggered forward, not quite clear what was happening until he was almost right on top of the battle. The small invader was lunging at the other goblin with another knife, moving with incredible speed, not giving the dazed Skullcleaver a chance to recover. Blood was splattered all over the cot and the adjacent crates of supplies, and it continued to flicker about in fat drops as the little demon’s knife darted in and out.

The goblin followed his instincts, and attacked. His axe sliced toward the intruder’s head, but at the last instant the little bastard ducked, and the sharp blade only clove through cloth. The enemy fell back against the wall, and the cowl of his cloak fell back, to reveal…

A halfling.

“You little bastard!” the goblin cursed, coming forward to attack again before the fast little bugger could move away. The halfling seemed frozen, but as the Skullcleaver committed to his attack he countered with a sudden lunge, coming in low under the goblin’s swing. The Skullcleaver grunted as the halfling’s knife cut into his knee; the wound wasn’t serious, not through the thick leather leggings he wore, but it knocked him off balance, and he caromed off the wall and fell to the floor. The goblin cursed and tried to get up before the halfling could slit his throat.

But the enemy assassin’s position was growing more precarious by the second. The other Skullcleaver had finally recovered his axe, and the two door guards had arrived, adding their numbers to the battle and shifting the odds decisively in the favor of the defenders. The halfling seemed to realize this, for instead of attacking he sprang up into the air, bouncing off the cot and then up onto the stack of crates. Even as the wounded Skullcleaver, still half blind from the blood smeared across his face, crushed the end of one of the crates with his axe, the halfling jumped again, landing halfway up the stairs that led up to the corridor above.

He’d barely gotten his balance when he lifted his cloak and thrust his buttocks boldly in the direction of the goblins. Then he ran up the stairs, the goblins not far behind. Behind them, the room was slowly filling with smoke as the burning coals from the fallen brazier fueled small fires here and there.

The halfling was faster than the goblins, and he might have gotten away. But as he sprang up the last few steps, he couldn’t resist a last rude gesture toward the goblins, one that transcended the limitations of language. Thus he didn’t see the dark figure that stepped into view at the top of the steps, or the heavy hammer that he lifted.

He turned back just in time to take the blow squarely in the chest. It knocked him back roughly, reversing his momentum and flipping him heels over head as he was flung off the stairs and fell into the smoky chaos below.

“Take him alive, if you can,” the duergar snorted.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 18


“He’s in trouble!” Jaron cried, as the first shouts filtered through the heavy doors that warded the entrance to the Bloodreaver hideout.

“We have to hack through it!” Carzen said. He started forward, although his sword was ill-suited to the task of destroying a door. But Vhael stopped him with a raised arm. “Hold your blade,” he said.

“You’re not going to do anything?” the fighter hissed. But Gral was already moving forward, lifting his staff. Wisps of icy fog stirred in the air along its length, and as he pressed its tip to the center of the doors, frost spread from the point of contact, forming intricate patterns across the metal and wood as it thickened. A slight cracking noise accompanied the spread of power, which seemed longer than the seconds that Gral held his staff in place.

“Ware your ears,” Vhael warned, as the dwarf wizard drew back the staff. Then, muttering a word of power under his breath, Gral thrust his focus forward again, unleashing a potent surge of magical energy as the staff struck the frozen surface of the door. The thunderwave shattered the new coating of ice, and the substance of the door itself was damaged as the potency of the spell weakened it. The doors held, but all of them could see the new cracks in its surface as Gral stepped aside.

Vhael took his place, surging forward, delivering a massive blow as his armored shoulder crashed into the door. Wood cracked, metal groaned but held. Vhael didn’t wait, and spun into another immediate attack, driving his other shoulder into the portals. This time they gave way, and the doors sprang open. The others rushed to follow him as he staggered forward into the hallway beyond the doors.

Right into the largest wolf any of them had ever seen, which seized the dragonborn in its jaws, yanked him off his feet, shook him hard, and dashed him to the ground.