DWARF FOR SALE
Pez’ cell door crashed to the floor, and in walked the strangest dwarf he’d ever seen. The flaming, red Mohawk, the beer belly, the florid tattoos, not to mention the various piercings. He almost had to physically restrain himself from laughing out loud.
“Pointy ears, wings…hmm…you must be the feller Tilly told me about.” Gardrid barked, “ The one the ogre got the best of…HAW, HAW, HAW!”
Pez massaged his temples and sighed heavily. First a mouthy rat, and now this. How much more indignity would he have to endure before he was allowed the glory of his own kind again.
The archon collected himself, and drew himself up, “I am Pez, Dispenser of Justice of the Church of Tyr the Even-handed. And you are…?”
“Gardrid Craghammer, Kuldjargh of Glaugathor. So, where’s me kinsman?”
“Who? Rusty?” Pez asked, perplexed, “How should I know? He’s not with you? He was still in the fight, the last I recall. Speaking of…where ARE the others exactly?”
At that moment, Tilly stepped into the cell, Oso behind him. Fario and Fellian remained in the corridor, tending to the other prisoners that Gardrid had liberated. Their ranks, however, did not include Rusty.
The halfling rushed towards Pez and flung himself bodily on the archon. “Pez! You’re alive!”
“It would appear so,” Pez said, disentangling himself from the enthusiastic rogue. “What happened Tilly? Where are Salazar and Rusty? Who is this fellow?”
Tilly stood back and drew a deep breath, then proceeded to tell his story again, not leaving out a single detail. When he’d finished Pez nodded.
“Salazar was a good man, despite his less than reputable occupational endeavors. I’m sure he has been welcomed warmly among the ranks of the Petitioners. His case will be a just one. I don’t know where Rusty is. I was unconscious until just a few hours ago, and have seen no one else, though I could hear cries and groans from nearby. Perhaps the other prisoners may have more information.”
The group stepped back out into the hallway, and returned to the guardroom. There, Fario and Fellian had gathered the remaining abductees with Coryston. A dark-haired young man with a sullen expression stood in one corner, arms folded, eyeing the dead hobgoblins with contempt. A teen-aged boy sat at the table, trying stoically to hold back tears. A middle-aged woman sat across from him, patting his hand, though her eyes looked, if anything, more haunted than his. Finally, an older gnome gentleman sat against a wall, rocking back and forth and mumbling to himself.
Fellian stood as the others entered, “Hello Pez,” he said, extending his hand, “I’ve heard a lot about you. I am Fellian Shard, and this is my partner Fario Ellegoth.”
“Yes,” Pez said in a slightly icy tone, “Tilly told me about your intervention on his behalf. It’s too bad it didn’t come sooner.”
Fellian cleared his throat and dropped his eyes briefly, then turned to the captives, “Allow me to introduce these good folk. This is Krylscar Endercott,” he indicated the sullen man, “one of the city guard. There are Deven Myrzal and Irruth Mercadi,” he pointed to the youth and the woman. “I’m not sure who the gnome is…he seems to be suffering from some sort of mental trauma.”
“You would be too if you’d been through half of what we’ve been, elf.” Krylscar said abruptly. “Who sent you people? What do you intend to do now?”
“We were sent by Jenya Urikas, of the Church of Tyr,” Pez replied, “We were sent to find four children taken from the Lantern Street orphanage, and to rescue any others that we encountered. Are there others being held elsewhere? Have you seen the children?”
“Yeah, there’s others,” Krylscar growled, “and I’ve seen the kids. As a matter of fact, they were taken to the block not long ago.”
“The block?” asked Pez
“The auction block,” Krylscar continued, “where Kazmojen sells us to the highest bidder. That’s where we all end up sooner or later. I’ve been there a few times, though for some reason, no one’s been interested in buying yet.” He grinned, rubbing a large bruise under his right eye. “Some of us have also been taken to the forge…slave labor.”
“Can you tell us how to find the auction block, and the forge?” Pez said, “What sort of clients does this Kazmojen entertain? What does he look like?”
“Some of the strangest creatures you’ve ever seen,” Krylscar shook his head, “Black skinned elves…”
“Drow!” Gardrid hissed.
“And gray-skinned dwarves…”
“Duergar!” Gardrid barked again.
“And some kind of men that look like they’ve got squids for heads.”
“Bah! Mind flayers as well!” Gardrid was enraged, “What sort of feller is this we’re talkin’ about?”
“I’m not sure what Kazmojen is,” Krylscar shrugged, “He’s always wearing full armor, including a visored helm. I’ve never seen his face. He’s man-sized though, but he’s got these freaky long arms. His knuckles almost drag the ground. He’s got some sort of double-headed weapon, with an axe on one end, and a spear on the other.”
“An urgrosh,” Gardrid muttered, “Thinks he can use a dwarf weapon, does he? We’ll have to see about that.”
“Can you tell us the way?” Pez asked again.
“No,” Krylscar said firmly, “but I’ll show you. I aim to get some payback from these bastards, and if you don’t take me with you, then you’ll just have to find them yourselves.”
Pez sighed again. This was just what they needed, some glorified security guard wanting to play hero. Well, it was his funeral. Pez was a servant of Justice, and perhaps it would be fitting for this man to seek his own against his oppressors.
“Fine,” he said simply, “but you should probably get yourself some equipment first.
Krylscar hastily stripped the armor off one of the dead guards and claimed its weapons as well. Pez searched thoroughly, but could find no sign of his own gear. The hobgoblin armor wouldn’t fit over his wings, so he eschewed it altogether. He did, however, avail himself of a replacement sword.
When they were ready, he turned to the elves, “We…appreciate what you have done for us, but we can’t have these people endangered any further. It would be a great service to us if you would escort them back to the surface, and to the Temple.”
Fellian nodded, “We will do so. We will also inform the High Priestess of your status. I’m sure she will be relieved to know that you are alive. Good luck to you friend. May your god’s grace shine on you this day.”
The elves gathered their charges and departed, leaving Pez, Gardrid, Tilly and Oso with Krylscar.
“Lead the way,” Pez ordered.
Krylscar quickly led the group back out to the causeway, and to the bridge which spanned the moat and connected to the main fortress. He paused at a pair of large, double doors.
“The auction block is beyond.”
“Right,” Pez said, and then threw open the portals.
The chamber beyond was vast. Four malachite pillars supported its arched ceiling. Near the top of each, hung an iron cage containing another of the large, glowing beetles. The southern half of the room was raised above the main floor, with a wide, black staircase leading up to it. Just past the top of the stairs, an eight-foot tall iron post jutted from the floor. Iron shackles hung from the top of it, and secured to these were three children…a dwarf boy, and two human girls…and an unconscious Rusty.
A muscular figure, clad in black plate armor, stood on the staircase, his face hidden behind a visor. In one gauntlet he clutched a wicked urgrosh, while in the other, he grasped a chain ending in an iron ring clamped around a human boy’s neck. Behind them, crouched at the top of the stairs, loomed a slavering, bestial hound, bristling with quills. At the far side of the room, a pair of hobgoblin guards flanked a massive set of iron doors.
The black-clad warrior seemed to be haggling with a creature that looked like an ash-skinned dwarf with sharply pointed ears and yellow eyes. He wore robes encrusted with mold, and was holding out a bone box filled with coins. As the door burst open, he turned and gazed at the intruders with utter disgust.
Tilly, knowing the mood of his allies, and hoping to avert another disastrous battle, quickly stepped into the chamber.
“Kazmojen the Slaver,” he shouted, “we are here as customers. We would like to bid on the dwarf, and the children.”
Krylscar stared open-mouthed at the halfling. This was not what they had agreed. He had been through living hell over the past weeks. He had bided his time, waited for an opportunity to get revenge on the slaver, and now these people were going to stand here and bargain with this low life? Not if he could help it.
The guardsman strode boldly to the middle of the room, brandishing his sword, “Kazmojen! I’m not here to trade with you. I simply want the payment that is already due me…your miserable life!”
“What is this nonsense?” a deep, bass voice grumbled from beneath the helm, “Who are you people to dare and interrupt my negotiations. You don’t have an appointment, and now you’ve freed one of my commodities. I hope you know that you are going to pay for him. He’s worth a lot on the open market. Now, you’ll wait your turn while I finish my business with Lord Pyllrak, and you’ll return that slave to his cell.” Kazmojen then waved the urgrosh dismissively at the interlopers.
At that moment, Pez stepped forward, “Justice does not bargain with Evil, foul slaver! You have been weighed, measured, and found wanting by the Scales of Tyr! Your life is forfeit!”
Kazmojen snarled, and in a single fluid motion, he dropped the chain holding the boy, pulled a throwing axe from his belt, and hurled it at Krylscar. The warrior’s sword dropped from his hand as he clutched at the blade buried in his belly. His knees buckled, and he staggered weakly against a pillar. “Prickles!” the slaver bellowed, “Kill them!”
The bristling hound leaped from the platform and raced around behind Pez and Tilly, coming to a halt in front of Oso, who had just entered the room. It opened its dripping maw and began emitting the most ear splitting howls the elf had ever heard.
Seeing that his plan was quickly degenerating, Tilly drew his swords and darted towards the gray-skinned dwarf that Kazmojen had identified as Pyllrak. The dwarf was calmly putting away the box that he held, when both of Tilly’s swords sank into his back. Slowly, Pyllrak turned towards his attacker. His red eyes flared in anger. Tilly saw that the wounds he had inflicted were rapidly closing. He gulped. Pyllrak stepped back, drew his robes about him, and promptly vanished. He had expected better from someone with Kazmojen’s reputation, but if the slaver couldn’t control his own domain, then the durzagon was better off looking elsewhere for good slave stock. Invisible, he walked calmly through the burgeoning melee, and headed for his rooms.
As Kazmojen surveyed the scene, Pez focused his divine power and bellowed a magical command to the slaver, “APPROACH!” Kazmojen shook his head momentarily as the spell washed over him, but then he chuckled to himself at the unmitigated gall of this riff raff.
Meanwhile, Gardrid made his appearance. He had to admit, he was thrilled that Tilly’s attempt at parley had failed. After all, battle was merely a continuation of politics by other means. As he entered the room, he saw the howler immediately to his left. “Heeeere kitty!” he grinned, and then swiped at the beast, driving it back several feet.
As Prickles retreated, Oso took the opportunity to bury an arrow in its bristling hide.
The hobgoblin guards both pounded on the iron doors as the battle was joined. They shouted out a warning cry, and then charged into the fray, heading for Tilly. They soon had the halfling trapped between them and Kazmojen, and the slaver didn’t miss the opportunity. His long arms swung his urgrosh in a wicked arc, ripping across Tilly’s chest, and then he reversed the weapon and plunged its spear tip into the rogue’s hip.
Prickles roared in rage and pain, and then put its head down, and rushed Gardrid. Going in low, it sank its teeth into the battlerager’s calf and began shaking it. “Leggo ye spiny beastie!” Gardrid shouted, smashing his axe across the howler’s back. Prickles loosened his grip for a moment, but then immediately seized the dwarf again.
Tilly knew he was in trouble. He feinted to the right of one of the hobgoblins, and then brought his shortsword up in a thrust to the groin. The guard fell writhing to the ground, and Tilly quickly somersaulted away, rolling up into a crouch back-to-back with Pez.
“You don’t look so good,” Pez said dryly.
“I don’t feel so good either,” Tilly replied shakily. Kazmojen was making his way to the floor and the rogue didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that urgrosh again.
“Hold still,” Pez said, and then he gripped Tilly by the shoulders tightly. Tilly felt a wave of relief rush over him as the archon healed several of his wounds.
“Thanks!” Tilly said, and then ducked, just in time to avoid a wild swing from the second hobgoblin. While he was off balance, the halfling hamstrung him with his shortsword, and then followed through with a lethal thrust of his long sword.
At that moment, the iron doors burst inward, and six more hobgoblins ran into the chamber.
“Company!” Oso shouted as he drew a bead on the howler. Firing another arrow into it, he didn’t spot Kazmojen approaching from his flank. The slaver’s urgrosh stabbed into the ranger’s back, but the elf managed to roll with it at the last minute and avoid a killing blow.
Pez decided to try his magic once again, “FALL!” he commanded Kazmojen, and to his surprise, the slaver did, collapsing to the ground in a boneless heap.
“What do you know?” Pez said smiling, “It worked.”
“Don’t just stand there!” Tilly yelled as he ducked behind another charging guard and then leaped on its back to slice both blades across its throat.
As Prickles continued to savage Gardrid’s leg, several of its knife-like spines penetrated the dwarf’s armor. The battlerager was bleeding freely from multiple wounds. He continued to batter at the howler, but his axe was having trouble penetrating its tough hide.
Suddenly, in the midst of the battle, an enormous spherical creature appeared. It had a stony hide, a large, central eye, a toothy maw, and a crown of writhing eyestalks. It fixed its many eyes upon the combatants and began to speak, “I have come for Terrem Kharatys. That boy should not have been taken from Cauldron. I intend to see that he is safely returned to his orphanage. You may keep the others. They are of no consequence. Come Terrem! You will be safe with me.”
“Wait!” Tilly cried, “This is the one who took the boy from the orphanage,” he pointed at the prone form of Kazmojen. “Help us to defeat him and he will pose no further threat to you.”
The eye tyrant laughed evilly, “He poses no threat to me now halfling. Nor do you. Your campaign does not interest me. I am merely correcting an error. You will, of course, be compensated for your loss, slaver,” he said to Kazmojen. From out of thin air, a heavy bag of coins appeared and dropped to the floor beside the slaver, spilling platinum marks across the flagstones.
“Sold!” cried Kazmojen. The beholder then drifted near Terrem, the boy Kazmojen had been holding when the group arrived. The disembodied voice of a woman began speaking arcane words from somewhere near the pair, and then, as quickly as it had appeared, the eye tyrant was gone, and Terrem as well.
Pez didn’t know what to make of what had just transpired, but it didn’t change the fact that they were still fighting for their lives. Drawing his sword, he moved to aid Gardrid against the howler, but as he did, Kazmojen swung at his legs from the ground.
Oso used the momentary distraction to lock onto the howler, and then loosed a final arrow, which flew true…straight into Prickle’s left eye. The monster wailed in anguish, releasing Gardrid and rearing up on its back legs, before falling heavily to its side, unmoving.
“Nooooo! Prickles!” the enraged cry from Kazmojen was enough to freeze the blood of the heroes. Oso wasn’t sure if that had been such a good idea after all.
Tilly had his hands full with the hobgoblin reinforcements. Two of them managed to flank him, while a third charged in from his side, opening up a fresh wound in his left arm. One of its partners followed this up with a blindside thrust into the rogues calf.
Another of the guards ducked behind one of the pillars and hurled a javelin at Pez. The missile pierced the archon’s wing, spewing blood and feathers in all directions. At the same moment, Kazmojen heaved himself to his feet. Pez slashed at him as he rose, but the blood-crazed slaver barely seemed to notice. He brought the flat axe head of his urgrosh under Pez’ chin, knocking him off balance, and then quickly reversed it and rammed the spear point all the way through the archon’s belly. Pez fell backward, sliding off the weapon and crumpling in a heap.
Desperately, Oso whirled towards the approaching warrior. With lightning speed, he fired two arrows, both of them sinking deep into the slaver’s chest, but he didn’t even slow. “You killed Prickles!” he roared. He raised the axe head of the urgrosh high above him, and then brought it down solidly upon the joint between Oso’s neck and shoulder. The ranger fell like a stone, his bow clattering several feet away.
“Why don’t ye pick on some one yer own size?” Gardrid bellowed, rushing in towards Kazmojen as he stood over the elf. Too late, Kazmojen realized his danger. He raised the urgrosh horizontally in front of him to stave off the devastating blow coming his way, but the force of the battlerager’s attack cleaved through the weapon, and continued, slicing right through the visored helm, and nearly splitting Kazmojen’s skull in two.
“Who’s ne…” the dwarf began, but then he was slammed from the side by another hobgoblin.
“Ah! We have a volunteer!” Gardrid shouted gleefully. He swung his axe almost lazily, yet managing to separate the guard’s right leg from the rest of its body. With the back swing, he hammered at Kazmojen’s unmoving form once again…just for good measure.
Tilly was now surrounded by four hobgoblins, and was fighting like a dervish. He spun and tumbled, blades flashing, trying to confuse his opponents and find an opening. One finally presented itself, and the rogue nearly disemboweled the unlucky fellow. One down, three to go, he told himself, but abruptly there were only two left…then one…then none. Like sheaves of wheat, Gardrid cleaved through the remaining three, his battle fury still in full force.
As the last of their foes fell, Tilly looked around, a feeling of déjà vu coming over him. Once again, he was left standing while his friends might be dead. He ran quickly to the fallen forms of Pez and Oso, praying desperately to Yondalla to spare them. To his immense relief, they were alive, though critically wounded. He began to bind their wounds as best he could while Gardrid knelt over Kazmojen’s body. The dwarf peeled off the ruined helm, revealing the face within. The slaver wore a sparse beard, and definitely had a dwarven look to him, but his nose was long and hooked, and his skin had a greenish cast to it. “Troll blood,” Gardrid sneered in disgust, “Maybe only a half-breed, but a troll’s a troll. They’ll be callin’ me Troll Killer in the halls of Glaugathor from now on!” He then pulled a torch from his pack, lit it, and promptly began smashing what was left of the half-troll’s face with it.
