PLANET OF THE APES
Pez stalked off across the clearing between the jungle and the inn with the others following in grim silence. He pushed open the doors and headed across the barroom, stepping over bodies as he went. There were several doors leading off the main room, as well as a large hallway, and a smaller curtained-off one. It was towards this one that Pez moved, intending to systematically search the inn, room by room if he had to, until he found those responsible for the massacre.
The small hallway led to what appeared to be a ransacked office. There were two doors leading in opposite directions, but Pez heard sounds of shouting coming from the right. Gardrid pushed past him, and pressed his ear to the door. On the other side, he heard a guttural male voice screaming in rage: “Damn you priest! Do you see what happens to those who defy me? You thought you could beat Tongueater, but I showed you, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Answer me!”
Gardrid had heard enough. He stepped back, and then kicked in the door. On the other side was the inn’s kitchen. A large center block dominated the room, with an iron rack above it from which dangled numerous pots and pans. It was in surprisingly good condition when compared to the rest of the inn. Piled on the workstation were stacks of coins and gems. Various paintings, silver candlesticks, clothing, and gold eating utensils were gathered around the walls. For a brief moment, Gardrid was actually stunned into inactivity. His mind couldn’t quite comprehend what it was he was seeing. Three large baboons sat on the counters and on the floor. Their black eyes locked on him immediately, and they opened their mouths in wide, fang-baring snarls. Standing on the opposite side of the center block was what appeared to be some sort of half-man/half-baboon hybrid. It wore well-made studded leather armor, and bore a large falchion in one hand. It was staring intently at an object that was nailed to the wall. As Gardrid followed the creature’s gaze, he saw that it was a human head. “No!” a voice wailed from behind him, and he turned to see Ruphus, his face stricken in horror and grief, “You bastard! FALL!” The young priest’s voice rang out in a magically amplified command. Tongueater shook his head in confusion for a moment, and then turned towards the intruders, howling in anger, his eyes bulging, and saliva slinging from his mouth.
Just then, one of the apes leaped at Gardrid. The dwarf anticipated its attack by a fraction of a second, and managed to raise his axe and cleave the animal in mid-air. Both halves of its body dropped to the floor with wet slaps. The battlerager then stepped into the kitchen as a second baboon jumped for him, it’s teeth sinking into his forearm. He tried to shake it loose, but when it wouldn’t release its grip, he settled for splitting its skull instead.
Wathros pushed past Ruphus, shoving the priest behind him and out of harm’s way. He saw the third baboon preparing to pounce on Gardrid’s back. With a few divine words, he conjured a small flame in the palm of his hand, and then hurled it at the ape, setting off sparks in its fur, and causing it to leap about in fury. Gardrid quickly ended its antics with another well-aimed blow.
Pez was tired of waiting. He rushed into the kitchen, and launched himself into the air to land atop the center block, facing Tongueater. “You will face your judgment this day, infidel!” He raised his greatsword and brought it down heavily across the ape-man’s collarbone, but to his surprise and dismay, he saw the wound immediately begin to close. “No,” Tongueater hissed, “it is you who shall be judged this day, fool! No one challenges Tongueater and lives!” He then slashed up at Pez, his blade opening up a gaping wound in the archon’s gut. Pez reeled back, struggling to keep his balance and just then, a small ball of fire streaked past him, striking Tongueater in the face. He screamed in pain and rage, then rushed around the workstation at his assailant, Wathros. As the druid scrambled back, Tongueater was on him, locking his foaming jaws on the druid’s shoulder.
Pez placed his hands on his bleeding gut and tried to concentrate. He summoned his divine magic to staunch the blood flow and at least superficially seal the wound. He began to turn towards Tongueater again, when he heard shouts coming from the two sets of stairs on the opposite side of the kitchen. From upstairs charged a male Alleybasher dressed in leather. From the stairs to the basement came a male and a female, dressed similarly. The woman leaped nimbly onto the counter next to Pez, rapier in hand. And then it got worse…two more women, these dressed in chainmail, came down the stairs, and then a man and two women, also in armor, rushed in from the basement. Tongueater had just gotten eight reinforcements.
Wathros struggled to free himself from Tongueater, but the beast was too frenzied. The druid was not out of ideas, however. He again held the flame in his hand, and shoved it into Tongeater’s mouth. The ape-man shrieked, and dove back behind his henchmen, reaching into his belt and drawing out a flask from which he drank. Several of his wounds began to mend…
This was getting bad, Pez saw. Instantaneously, he willed his sword into its horn form, placed it to his mouth, and winded it. The woman next to him, her male counterpart and one of the armored men all froze in their tracks.
As Wathros attempted to line up another throw on Tongueater, the leather clad male Alleybasher snuck in from his flank, and plunged his rapier into his side. The druid still managed his toss, and Tongueater wailed again as the flames burned him anew. Tongueater needed a reprieve. These intruders were far more skilled than the brainless commoners they had had so much fun with earlier. Leaving his men to hold them off, he retreated into the stairwell. There, he began quaffing more of his healing elixirs, as well as a special drought Triel had given him. Instantly, his features and his entire form seemed to blur and lose focus.
“He’s gettin’ away!” Gardrid shouted, “Arrrgggg!” The battlerager lunged at one of the female warriors, chopping at her viciously and with deadly accuracy. She fell in a spray of arterial blood, and then the dwarf wasted no time in whirling on the rogue who had backstabbed Wathros. With a short-fisted chop, he severed the man’s spinal cord.
Pez shifted his horn back to its more deadly form, and with careful precision slid it into the abdomen of the woman paralyzed in front of him. She fell without a word, but Pez’ distraction cost him as another of the Alleybasher’s slashed at his legs, and then turned to harry Wathros. As the elf fought to defend himself, his eyes widened to see Ruphus running up behind the warrior. The priest’s mace crashed down, smashing the man between the shoulder blades, and buying Wathros a brief respite.
Gardrid continued wading through the melee, trying to work his way towards the stairs and Tongueater. One of the paralyzed thugs stood directly in front of him, and with a snarl, the dwarf grabbed the man’s head and snapped his neck. Just then, the rogue that had also fallen to Pez’ horn, shook himself free. He immediately jumped to the tabletop to occupy the space where his companion had just fallen.
Wathros drew out his scimitar, preparing to finish off his antagonist, but just as he got his blade clear, the Alleybasher struck again, this time stabbing the druid in the chest. Wathros staggered against a counter, and sagged to the floor. The thug smirked, then turned and climbed up on the center block, behind Pez, flanking the archon between himself and the rogue Alleybasher.
Almost there, Gardrid thought to himself, but then a woman in chainmail stepped before him, hacking at his shield arm repeatedly. Another one stepped up behind the battlerager, thinking to trap him. She was gravely mistaken. Gardrid roared in fury, slamming his shield into the first woman and pinning her against the stair rail. He then brought his axe over the top of his shield, slicing her throat. Letting her drop in one motion, he spun on the second woman, catching her in the ribs as she raised her blade to strike. Her eyes glazed over in death, but Gardrid had already turned away, his true target just ahead.
Ruphus knelt by Wathros’ side. The druid was gravely injured, but still barely conscious. Ruphus held a gilt bottle to the elf’s mouth, and poured its contents down his throat. Wathros felt his pain subside in a heartbeat. He knew he was still in no shape to fight, but he couldn’t leave his companions now. He surged to his feet, gripped his scimitar, and rushed in behind the warrior flanking Pez atop the counter.
Pez saw Wathros approaching, and he took to the air, spreading his great wings to glide over the heads of his opponents and land nimbly at the foot of the stairs. Looking up, he saw Tongueater there. “FALL!” the archon commanded, but again the ape-man shook off the spell. Spitting and snarling he jumped from the top stair and vaulted the rail, landing behind the surprised Gardrid. As the dwarf turned, Tongueater hamstrung him with his falchion.
The remaining rogue and warrior both stepped off the counter, and began slowly circling towards Wathros and Ruphus, swinging their blades in lazy arcs and laughing. Their leader was back now, and they knew he would handle the other two with ease. These weak, sniveling priests, on the other hand, were all theirs. The rogue darted in quickly, piercing Ruphus’ arm with a shallow, almost teasing thrust. At the same time, the warrior swiped at Wathros, opening another superficial wound in the druid’s already freely bleeding body.
Gardrid was furious. He barely recognized friend from foe anymore. All he could focus on was Tongueater. Inarticulate grunts and snarls came from the battlerager as he hacked and slashed at the ape-man. Tongueater parried well, but some of the dwarf’s blows made it past his defenses. However, his blurred form made him an even more difficult target, and an assault that would have eviscerated another man, merely wounded him.
Pez saw his chance. Tongueater was preoccupied with Gardrid, leaving his back exposed. The archon moved into position, preparing to finish the villain, but suddenly he was struck by a heavy weight. The rogue Alleybasher had quietly crept up, seeing that his leader was having difficulty. He tackled Pez, grappling for his sword, screaming at Tongueater to watch his back. “Fool!” Pez yelled, “You might have lived through this night if you were a wiser man. Now you will pay the price for your misguided allegiance.” Pez brought up one knee into the man’s groin, doubling him over and freeing himself. Without hesitation, he then brought down his sword, dealing out death as efficiently as a headsman.
Tongueater and Gardrid tore at each other like animals, blood flying in all directions. Time and again the ape-man sank his fangs into the dwarf, ripping and tearing his flesh. Gardrid responded in kind, kicking, biting, clawing with his hands and swinging his axe in a berserk frenzy. Finally, with one wild swing, he connected solidly, and Tongueater weaved drunkenly away, clutching a fatal wound, blood coursing between his fingers. Gardrid’s vision was swimming. He could barely focus. His breath came in ragged gasps. He turned away, thinking his opponent defeated, but with his last ounce of strength Tongueater pounced on the dwarf's back, biting deeply into his neck. Gardrid fell heavily to the floor, unmoving.
“This ends here!” Pez roared, stepping over his fallen comrade and ramming his sword all the way through Tongueater’s body, impaling him against the wall next to the severed head of Sarcem.
The last remaining Alleybasher stood with his sword half-raised, poised to press his attack against Ruphus and Wathros, but then he watched open-mouthed as Tongueater hung limply from the wall. Slowly, he lowered his sword and raised his hands in surrender. “Ruphus!” Pez hissed, moving to the soldier and slapping the sword from his hand, “Tend to Gardrid. I’ll handle this one.” He then reached out and grabbed the man around the throat, hoisting him up on his toes, and placing the point of his sword beneath his chin, “Are there more of your kind here, swine? If I sense you are lying, I’ll hang you next to your leader. Answer me! Where is Sarcem’s body?”
“Th..th..there were sixteen of us,” the man stammered.
“Then you’re all accounted for, and you are the only survivor,” Pez said. “Where is the priest?”
“In the cellar…with the other one.”
“Other one? What other one?” Pez pressed.
“The woman,” said the Alleybasher, “She barricaded herself in a storeroom…trapped the door somehow. When three of the others tried to break in, they fell dead. She’s still in there.”
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Ruphus managed to awaken Gardrid and get him to his feet. The dwarf took one look at Tongueater’s body, and promptly decapitated it, stuffing the grisly trophy into his backpack, “A head fer a head, as I say.”
The four of them then walked down the stairs to the basement, pushing their prisoner in front of them. The cellar was definitely the site of a great battle. Smashed barrels and bloodstains were everywhere, and in one corner lay the slumped form of Sarcem. Ruphus walked slowly over to him and kneeled, “I’m so sorry, my Lord. We were too late.” A great, wracking sob escaped him, and he began gathering up the High Priest’s belongings.
A single hallway led from the cellar, with two open doors halfway down. At the far end was a closed wooden door that seemed to somehow bulge in its frame. Lying before it were the bodies of three Alleybashers, a thin layer of frost covering them. Gardrid stepped to the mouth of the corridor and called out, “Hey lady! Ye can come out now! We’ve killed all the brigands and that monkey boy too! It’s safe!”
“That won’t work,” the captured bandit said, shaking his head, “We’ve tried it already. She won’t fall for it.”
“Let me try,” said Pez, and then he spoke in the melodic tongue of the Celestials, “My Lady, we speak the truth. I am a holy servant of Tyr. We came here seeking our High Priest, Sarcem. We have delivered vengeance upon those who perpetrated the crimes here.”
Again, silence.
Wathros began speaking in his native elvish, repeating the same words that Pez had spoken. To his surprise, a woman’s voice responded from behind the door, “Who is it that speaks? Are you truly elven?”
“I am Wathros, druid of the Emerald Conclave,” Wathros replied.
“Druid?” came the incredulous voice, “Prove it,” and then her voice shifted to a different language, one of strange words and inflections that sounded at once like wind in the trees and water babbling in a brook. Wathros recognized it instantly as the sacred Druid Speak. She was asking him to translate her words. He responded in kind, and the woman’s voice took on a tone of hope and relief, “Thank the Traveler that you have come! I am trapped in here! I used a special breed of mold from the deep freeze to seal the door, but now I cannot approach it, lest I suffer from its deadly effects. Do not bring flame close to it! It will only grow in response.”
“Bah!” Gardrid snorted, “I am from the frigid mountains. What’s a bit of cold air?” He then set off at a dead run down the corridor.
“Gardrid no!” Wathros called after him, knowing full well the properties of the brown mold that the druid described. But the dwarf did not slow. He hit the door at full speed, smashing a hole right through the middle of it, and barreling on to the room beyond. At that point he screamed. It felt as though every ounce of warmth had been completely sucked from his body. His limbs went white with the cold, and his lips blue. His teeth began chattering uncontrollably, and he fell to one knee. His companions came quickly after him, and wrapped him tightly with cloaks, trying to restore some of his body heat. It was then that they noticed the woman huddled in the corner.
She had long, straight, silver hair, and wore a simple tunic and leggings. Her features were definitely elven, but her skin was dusky, and her eyes red. She looked haggard and beaten, but her eyes flashed with a hidden inner strength. Wathros had never seen an elf like this before, but Gardrid had. The dwarf still shivered, but at least his teeth had stopped clacking together. He stared at the woman with recognition dawning on his face, “Drow!” he spat, and then threw off the cloaks and hefted his axe.
“Hold!” Pez said, restraining the battlerager, “This woman is wounded, and it is obvious that she has done battle with the brigands. Do not be so quick to judge her.”
“It is true,” the woman said softly, “I am of dark elf heritage, though I know nothing of my parents. I was raised an orphan by monks. I am Shensen. I am a follower of Shaundekal the Traveler, and I tend his shrine in this place of wayfarers.”
“We are honored to meet you, and thankful that you still live,” Pez replied, “Can you tell us what happened here?”
“I can actually tell very little,” she said sadly, “I was walking in the woods last evening, when I heard the sounds of combat coming from the inn. I hurried to investigate and found that the bandits had already slain most of the guests and employees. Only a few remained standing, including a human priest who seemed to be the focus of the brigands’ attention. The raiders were led by a horrible ape-man, a lycanthrope I am sure, and he in turn was following the orders of a red-haired woman. She wore plate armor emblazoned with the symbol of the Unholy One…Bane. I tried to aid the priest, but we were outnumbered, and were forced to retreat to the cellar. The shapechanger killed him, and I stood alone. I knew that I had no chance against them, so I fled here, seizing the brown mold as I came and sealing the door with it. I have remained here since.”
Ruphus approached the druid and began ministering to her wounds, “I am grateful for what you tried to do,” he said, “Sarcem would thank you if he could, and I know that Jenya, High Priestess of my order, will welcome you too. Will you come back with us to Cauldron?”
“I shall,” Shensen nodded, “I must contact others of my own order there and tell them what has transpired.”
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The companions tended their wounds and then carried the bodies of the dead to the midden heap near the jungle. They reclaimed those of Sarcem and the two acolytes. All of them save Pez returned to the inn to rest for the night. The archon had other business. He led his prisoner into the jungle a short distance, and then watched over the man all night as he proceeded to dig a mass grave for those he had murdered…and for himself.
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