JollyDoc's Shackled City
JollyDoc
Explorer
THE FORGE OF FURY
Tilly reached into one of his many belt pouches and withdrew a small flask of clear liquid. Unfortunately, he only had one such healing elixir. He looked worriedly between Pez and Oso. After a brief hesitation, he forced open Pez’ mouth, and poured the potion in. He knew that the archon had some healing abilities of his own, and once conscious, he might be able to use them to help Oso and Rusty.
After a few tense moments, Pez blinked, and took a deep gulp of air. Tilly helped him to a sitting position, and he looked around the chamber at the carnage. “Well, it seems like you again managed to handle things by yourself,” he said dryly. “And why doesn’t it surprise me to see the dwarf standing over Kazmojen’s body?”
He then climbed slowly to his feet, and made his way over to Oso.
Gardrid was leaning down wiping his axe on Kazmojen’s cloak, when he heard whimpering and crying. In confusion, he looked up and noticed the three remaining children, still chained to the post beside Rusty. The orphans were all sniffling, red-eyed, with looks of horror on their faces.
“Oh…” Gardrid said softly. He straightened and began walking casually towards the kids, hands outstretched in a soothing gesture, “Now, now young’uns, yer ole uncle Gardrid’s here. The bad ole troll and his Hell-spawned puppy ain’t gonna hurt’cha no more.”
Somehow, the battlerager’s gore streaked face, added to his already savage visage, failed to have the desired calming effect. The children shrieked and wailed all the more as he drew closer, struggling to move as far away from him as the chains would allow.
“What’s this all about?” Gardrid said, his brows knotting together in frustration, “I already tole ya everythin’s ok. What’cha still bawlin fer?”
Gardrid saw the eyes of the kids drop to the severed head of Kazmojen that he forgot he still carried.
“Oh this? This ain’t nothin. Look, see…dead!” he shook the grisly trophy in front of him, splattering more gore on the floor. The children all screamed in unison.
Gardrid’s patience was wearing thin. This was why he had stayed unmarried. “Shaddup!” he bellowed, “Stop all that caterwaulin’ fer I give yer somethin’ to really bawl about!”
At that moment, Pez stepped onto the platform, “Ah…Gardrid…why don’t you go and help Tilly. Oso and Krylscar don’t look so good. I’ll take care of the children and Rusty.”
“Bunch o’ whinin’, namby-pamby snot noses…and one of’em a dwarf ta boot!” Gardrid muttered to himself as he stomped back down the stairs.
Pez approached the kids slowly, calmly, his wings outstretched. He certainly looked the part of a guardian angel, and the orphans calmed immediately.
“Be still children…at peace. We will take you home. Gretchyn is waiting there for you.”
At the mention of their guardian’s name, the three actually managed weak smiles. Pez set about releasing their shackles and then turned his attention to Rusty. The priest was comatose. His wounds from the battle with Xukasus were still open. Pez concentrated and poured all his remaining power into him, and even then, it was barely enough. Rusty drew ragged, weak breaths. His eyes opened, but still seemed unfocused, “Pez…” he whispered.
“I’m not an angel, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Pez smiled, “You weren’t that lucky. You’re actually still among the living, so you’ll just have to make do.”
He lifted the priest and carried him down to the others. Oso remained unconscious and Krylscar was only marginally better, barely able to hold himself erect. Pez didn’t have the ability to heal everyone. His own injuries were only partially mended, and Tilly and Gardrid were also in bad shape.
“We’d best be leavin’,” Gardrid said, a look of concern on his bloody face as he eyed his clansman.
“I’m afraid not,” Pez sighed, “You forget what Krylscar told us. There are more prisoners being held in the forge. We can’t leave them here.”
The dwarf rubbed his head, and tugged at his beard, “I don’t think we’re in much shape ta make another rescue run, but I can see yer point.”
“Tilly,” Pez said, turning to the halfling, “you’re not going with us. You’re wounds are more serious, and besides, I need you to get the children to safety. Take them to the elevator and wait for us. Take Krylscar with you as well. He can help you carry Oso. If we haven’t joined you in thirty minutes, then leave. We won’t be coming back.”
Tilly was silent for a long moment, but then he nodded his head in understanding. He knew there was no other choice. He herded the children out of the room, and he and Krylscar followed, dragging Oso between them.
___________________________________________
“It’s up to us now,” Pez said to Gardrid, and then they left the auction hall through a far door…one that Krylscar had said led to the forge. Beyond the chamber they found a large, abandoned dining hall. Several doors led off it to the kitchens, pantry and larder. However, they could here the distinctive sounds of hammering coming from one door to the north. Pez paused for a moment and called upon his last remaining bit of divine power to bolster his stamina, like that of a bear. He knew it was a risk. When the spell wore off, he would be even weaker than he was now, especially after another battle, but he had no choice. He quietly opened the door to the forge.
The forge itself was large and stuffy. A huge hearth dominated the center of the room, fronted by a large worktable. A dwarven woman stood atop the table, hammering away on a white-hot length of iron. Two goblin overseers stood nearby, goading her to work faster. On the floor behind the table sat two halflings, one male and one female, threading together chain links into a mail shirt. Four armed and armored hobgoblin guards kept a close watch over all, and one of them turned towards the door just as Pez and Gardrid entered.
A shout of alarm sounded over the din of the forge, and all of the guards moved to intercept the intruders. One of the nearest hobgoblins hefted a steel-tipped javelin and hurled it at Pez. The missile was clumsily thrown, but Pez had several disadvantages, mainly his lack of armor, and also his current wounded state. He tried to side step, but only managed to avoid a direct hit. The javelin opened a large gash across his left side. He used his momentum from the dodge attempt to carry him into melee range with the guards. As long as they had missile weapons, they would be at an advantage. The hobgoblin that had thrown the javelin was now hastily trying to draw his sword as the winged warrior bored down on him. Pez never gave him the chance. He chopped down with his long sword in a two-handed grip, and the guard fell at his feet.
The remaining three hobgoblins and the two goblins rushed forward, forming a wall around Gardrid, and separating him from Pez. Pez hacked at the nearest goblin, trying to force his way into the circle. He managed to slay the little creature, but one of the large hobgoblins quickly stepped into its place and delivered a wicked thrust into his still outstretched arm.
Gardrid turned rapidly from foe to foe, trying to prevent any of them from getting behind him. The two hobgoblins and the last goblin dodged and feinted, drawing him this way and that. The battlerager was becoming frustrated and careless. As the goblin ducked in again, Gardrid managed to grab him around the throat with one hand, and then brought his axe down with the other. Though the goblin fell, this was the opening the hobgoblins needed. One of them moved directly behind the dwarf, grabbed his shoulder, and impaled him in the middle of his back.
Pez clutched his bleeding arm close to his body while still trying to parry his opponent’s blows. His injured leg didn’t seem to want to support his weight, and as he sidestepped, it buckled, bringing him to one knee. The hobgoblin was on him in a flash, cutting him deeply across the abdomen. Pez fell backward, but as he did, he raised the point of his sword. The guard was so sure of his victory that he plunged recklessly after him…and speared himself on the readied blade.
Gardrid staggered under the force of the blow. His vision went dark momentarily. He swung blindly about him, trying to fend off his unseen foes. Suddenly, he felt a burning pain in his shoulder as another sword thrust connected. His arm felt numb, and he was also losing feeling in his legs. He shook his head savagely to clear it, and just as his eyes regained their focus, he saw one of the hobgoblins charging. With all his remaining strength he braced himself, and putting his head down, met the guard straight on. The hobgoblin bounced back and as he struggled to keep his feet, the battlerager’s axe found its mark.
Pez couldn’t stand. He was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. There was no way he could fight any further to aid Gardrid. But perhaps he could still offer some assistance. Focusing his mind, he willed his body into a misty, translucent state. He hoped to distract the last guard, if only for a moment, for out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimmer of hope.
Maple knew she had to do something. The dwarf and the winged-elf were fighting for their lives, and hers to. Jerred, the halfling who had been helping her to link armor, was too frightened to be of any use, and Sondor, the dwarven smith, was no warrior. So…it was up to her. Cautiously, quietly, she had been creeping forward during the battle. She had managed to pick up one of the forging hammers without being seen. Now was her chance. The elf had created some sore of mist, and the last hobgoblin’s attention was diverted. With a cry of defiance, Maple ran at her former captor. He turned at the last instant, only to have his final sight be that of the hammer coming for his skull.
“Well…done…lass…” Gardrid gasped. He was having trouble thinking clearly. He felt so very tired. If only he could lie down for a moment.
“Gardrid!” he heard Pez shout, snapping him into focus again. “We have to go…now! I’m not going to last much longer.” The archon was solid once again, but if anything, he looked even worse than Gardrid felt. The battlerager draped his arm around his companion, and the two began limping as quickly as they could for the exit.
“Come on!” Maple cursed at her fellow captives, “Do you want to live, or not?”
____________________________________________
Tilly nearly fainted with relief when he saw his friends making their way slowly down the hall towards him, and then he nearly fainted again in dismay when he saw the extent of their wounds. The halfling maid with them gave him a worried smile as they passed, and then he quickly got the elevator moving.
The journey back through Jzadirune to Keygan’s shop seemed interminable to Tilly. His friends were dieing and he had no way to help them. By the time they made it to the street, Pez had collapsed completely.
“Go!” Tilly shouted to Maple, “Go to the Tyrites! Bring help now!”
Tilly reached into one of his many belt pouches and withdrew a small flask of clear liquid. Unfortunately, he only had one such healing elixir. He looked worriedly between Pez and Oso. After a brief hesitation, he forced open Pez’ mouth, and poured the potion in. He knew that the archon had some healing abilities of his own, and once conscious, he might be able to use them to help Oso and Rusty.
After a few tense moments, Pez blinked, and took a deep gulp of air. Tilly helped him to a sitting position, and he looked around the chamber at the carnage. “Well, it seems like you again managed to handle things by yourself,” he said dryly. “And why doesn’t it surprise me to see the dwarf standing over Kazmojen’s body?”
He then climbed slowly to his feet, and made his way over to Oso.
Gardrid was leaning down wiping his axe on Kazmojen’s cloak, when he heard whimpering and crying. In confusion, he looked up and noticed the three remaining children, still chained to the post beside Rusty. The orphans were all sniffling, red-eyed, with looks of horror on their faces.
“Oh…” Gardrid said softly. He straightened and began walking casually towards the kids, hands outstretched in a soothing gesture, “Now, now young’uns, yer ole uncle Gardrid’s here. The bad ole troll and his Hell-spawned puppy ain’t gonna hurt’cha no more.”
Somehow, the battlerager’s gore streaked face, added to his already savage visage, failed to have the desired calming effect. The children shrieked and wailed all the more as he drew closer, struggling to move as far away from him as the chains would allow.
“What’s this all about?” Gardrid said, his brows knotting together in frustration, “I already tole ya everythin’s ok. What’cha still bawlin fer?”
Gardrid saw the eyes of the kids drop to the severed head of Kazmojen that he forgot he still carried.
“Oh this? This ain’t nothin. Look, see…dead!” he shook the grisly trophy in front of him, splattering more gore on the floor. The children all screamed in unison.
Gardrid’s patience was wearing thin. This was why he had stayed unmarried. “Shaddup!” he bellowed, “Stop all that caterwaulin’ fer I give yer somethin’ to really bawl about!”
At that moment, Pez stepped onto the platform, “Ah…Gardrid…why don’t you go and help Tilly. Oso and Krylscar don’t look so good. I’ll take care of the children and Rusty.”
“Bunch o’ whinin’, namby-pamby snot noses…and one of’em a dwarf ta boot!” Gardrid muttered to himself as he stomped back down the stairs.
Pez approached the kids slowly, calmly, his wings outstretched. He certainly looked the part of a guardian angel, and the orphans calmed immediately.
“Be still children…at peace. We will take you home. Gretchyn is waiting there for you.”
At the mention of their guardian’s name, the three actually managed weak smiles. Pez set about releasing their shackles and then turned his attention to Rusty. The priest was comatose. His wounds from the battle with Xukasus were still open. Pez concentrated and poured all his remaining power into him, and even then, it was barely enough. Rusty drew ragged, weak breaths. His eyes opened, but still seemed unfocused, “Pez…” he whispered.
“I’m not an angel, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Pez smiled, “You weren’t that lucky. You’re actually still among the living, so you’ll just have to make do.”
He lifted the priest and carried him down to the others. Oso remained unconscious and Krylscar was only marginally better, barely able to hold himself erect. Pez didn’t have the ability to heal everyone. His own injuries were only partially mended, and Tilly and Gardrid were also in bad shape.
“We’d best be leavin’,” Gardrid said, a look of concern on his bloody face as he eyed his clansman.
“I’m afraid not,” Pez sighed, “You forget what Krylscar told us. There are more prisoners being held in the forge. We can’t leave them here.”
The dwarf rubbed his head, and tugged at his beard, “I don’t think we’re in much shape ta make another rescue run, but I can see yer point.”
“Tilly,” Pez said, turning to the halfling, “you’re not going with us. You’re wounds are more serious, and besides, I need you to get the children to safety. Take them to the elevator and wait for us. Take Krylscar with you as well. He can help you carry Oso. If we haven’t joined you in thirty minutes, then leave. We won’t be coming back.”
Tilly was silent for a long moment, but then he nodded his head in understanding. He knew there was no other choice. He herded the children out of the room, and he and Krylscar followed, dragging Oso between them.
___________________________________________
“It’s up to us now,” Pez said to Gardrid, and then they left the auction hall through a far door…one that Krylscar had said led to the forge. Beyond the chamber they found a large, abandoned dining hall. Several doors led off it to the kitchens, pantry and larder. However, they could here the distinctive sounds of hammering coming from one door to the north. Pez paused for a moment and called upon his last remaining bit of divine power to bolster his stamina, like that of a bear. He knew it was a risk. When the spell wore off, he would be even weaker than he was now, especially after another battle, but he had no choice. He quietly opened the door to the forge.
The forge itself was large and stuffy. A huge hearth dominated the center of the room, fronted by a large worktable. A dwarven woman stood atop the table, hammering away on a white-hot length of iron. Two goblin overseers stood nearby, goading her to work faster. On the floor behind the table sat two halflings, one male and one female, threading together chain links into a mail shirt. Four armed and armored hobgoblin guards kept a close watch over all, and one of them turned towards the door just as Pez and Gardrid entered.
A shout of alarm sounded over the din of the forge, and all of the guards moved to intercept the intruders. One of the nearest hobgoblins hefted a steel-tipped javelin and hurled it at Pez. The missile was clumsily thrown, but Pez had several disadvantages, mainly his lack of armor, and also his current wounded state. He tried to side step, but only managed to avoid a direct hit. The javelin opened a large gash across his left side. He used his momentum from the dodge attempt to carry him into melee range with the guards. As long as they had missile weapons, they would be at an advantage. The hobgoblin that had thrown the javelin was now hastily trying to draw his sword as the winged warrior bored down on him. Pez never gave him the chance. He chopped down with his long sword in a two-handed grip, and the guard fell at his feet.
The remaining three hobgoblins and the two goblins rushed forward, forming a wall around Gardrid, and separating him from Pez. Pez hacked at the nearest goblin, trying to force his way into the circle. He managed to slay the little creature, but one of the large hobgoblins quickly stepped into its place and delivered a wicked thrust into his still outstretched arm.
Gardrid turned rapidly from foe to foe, trying to prevent any of them from getting behind him. The two hobgoblins and the last goblin dodged and feinted, drawing him this way and that. The battlerager was becoming frustrated and careless. As the goblin ducked in again, Gardrid managed to grab him around the throat with one hand, and then brought his axe down with the other. Though the goblin fell, this was the opening the hobgoblins needed. One of them moved directly behind the dwarf, grabbed his shoulder, and impaled him in the middle of his back.
Pez clutched his bleeding arm close to his body while still trying to parry his opponent’s blows. His injured leg didn’t seem to want to support his weight, and as he sidestepped, it buckled, bringing him to one knee. The hobgoblin was on him in a flash, cutting him deeply across the abdomen. Pez fell backward, but as he did, he raised the point of his sword. The guard was so sure of his victory that he plunged recklessly after him…and speared himself on the readied blade.
Gardrid staggered under the force of the blow. His vision went dark momentarily. He swung blindly about him, trying to fend off his unseen foes. Suddenly, he felt a burning pain in his shoulder as another sword thrust connected. His arm felt numb, and he was also losing feeling in his legs. He shook his head savagely to clear it, and just as his eyes regained their focus, he saw one of the hobgoblins charging. With all his remaining strength he braced himself, and putting his head down, met the guard straight on. The hobgoblin bounced back and as he struggled to keep his feet, the battlerager’s axe found its mark.
Pez couldn’t stand. He was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. There was no way he could fight any further to aid Gardrid. But perhaps he could still offer some assistance. Focusing his mind, he willed his body into a misty, translucent state. He hoped to distract the last guard, if only for a moment, for out of the corner of his eye, he saw a glimmer of hope.
Maple knew she had to do something. The dwarf and the winged-elf were fighting for their lives, and hers to. Jerred, the halfling who had been helping her to link armor, was too frightened to be of any use, and Sondor, the dwarven smith, was no warrior. So…it was up to her. Cautiously, quietly, she had been creeping forward during the battle. She had managed to pick up one of the forging hammers without being seen. Now was her chance. The elf had created some sore of mist, and the last hobgoblin’s attention was diverted. With a cry of defiance, Maple ran at her former captor. He turned at the last instant, only to have his final sight be that of the hammer coming for his skull.
“Well…done…lass…” Gardrid gasped. He was having trouble thinking clearly. He felt so very tired. If only he could lie down for a moment.
“Gardrid!” he heard Pez shout, snapping him into focus again. “We have to go…now! I’m not going to last much longer.” The archon was solid once again, but if anything, he looked even worse than Gardrid felt. The battlerager draped his arm around his companion, and the two began limping as quickly as they could for the exit.
“Come on!” Maple cursed at her fellow captives, “Do you want to live, or not?”
____________________________________________
Tilly nearly fainted with relief when he saw his friends making their way slowly down the hall towards him, and then he nearly fainted again in dismay when he saw the extent of their wounds. The halfling maid with them gave him a worried smile as they passed, and then he quickly got the elevator moving.
The journey back through Jzadirune to Keygan’s shop seemed interminable to Tilly. His friends were dieing and he had no way to help them. By the time they made it to the street, Pez had collapsed completely.
“Go!” Tilly shouted to Maple, “Go to the Tyrites! Bring help now!”
Lela
First Post
Wow, you're just popping out the updates lately JollyDoc. Thankie muchly.
I love the way your writing this up. The challange of putting a D&D game on paper, to me, has always been the desire to stay within the rules framework (he can't have his arm bloodied and held back, he's still getting two-handed damage). You're breaking out of that and the story can only get better from here.
And, as story hour reader extraordinare, my challange comes in with me reminding myself (enough that I no longer need too) that this is a story and doesn't have to fallow said rules. The real challange, not that I have a problem doing it, is maintaining my humility in the process.
I love the way your writing this up. The challange of putting a D&D game on paper, to me, has always been the desire to stay within the rules framework (he can't have his arm bloodied and held back, he's still getting two-handed damage). You're breaking out of that and the story can only get better from here.
And, as story hour reader extraordinare, my challange comes in with me reminding myself (enough that I no longer need too) that this is a story and doesn't have to fallow said rules. The real challange, not that I have a problem doing it, is maintaining my humility in the process.
JollyDoc
Explorer
Lela said:
Wow! What a loquacious post from you Lela
) Seriously, I appreciate your support, and I agree with you completely about the balance you have to reach when your trying to the tell a story about a table game. The things we enjoy as a group when we get together and play every week, don't necessarily translate to riveting story telling. So I have taken a few liberties with the details here, although the heart of the events is factual. Although, I will have to say that this past weekend when we gamed, I laughed more than I have in a game session is quite awhile, and it all revolved around Gardrid and a certain personal goal that he has undertaken. I'll enjoy posting the details of this sometime soon.Again, thankyou for your enthusiasm.
JollyDoc
Explorer
Suldulin said:heh, 'tis quite good and at least you post more often than gfunk does in his story hour
Well, in all fairness, the campaign that Gfunk is detailing has been concluded, and so he has a bit more time luxury to complete his story.
This campaign is ongoing, and if I don't make an effort to keep up with the story as it happens in our game on a weekly basis, I'll end up getting hopelessly behind.
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