JollyDoc's Shackled City
JollyDoc
Explorer
DEATH BE NOT PROUD
Gardrid couldn’t stop shaking his head in disbelief. What in the name of Hela’s Hammer had happened to Pez and Tilly? One minute they were at their peak, facing off against a couple of gooey zombies (albeit scary ones), the next, they were a pair of drooling idiots, scratching themselves and picking lice out of each other’s hair. Wathros had managed to convey to Pez through that animal speak thing he did the need to fly them here, to the beach where the demon Pez had slain had laired. They had tossed the beast’s stinking carcass into the lake, along with all the other grisly remains they’d found. Wathros had managed to pull a couple of wriggly maggots out of Pez’ and Tilly’s scalps, and that had seemed to calm them down. The druid seemed to believe that he could do more for them with his magic after he’d had time to rest. For now, they were going to hold up here, cold, hungry and not knowing what other kinds of monstrosities lurked in these waters.
Gardrid was on watch. He had been pacing the beach restlessly for hours, followed by Pez, who was now crawling on all fours and sticking to his heels like a mangy cur. It was downright embarrassing. At one point the dwarf had seen some activity on the far shore. Several men came out on the beach with torches, and had combed one end of it to the other. More Alleybashers he guessed, trying to figure out what had happened to their leader. Well, there’d be time for them later. They didn’t look like they were packing up shop, so maybe they figured whoever’d hit’em had come for Triel alone, and were now gone. More’s the pity for them come morning.
Just then, Pez became suddenly agitated. He scurried down towards the water, peering out into the darkness, and growling low in his throat. He began running around in a circle, yipping and snarling, and then he’d pause and gaze out at the lake once again. His wings began twitching, and Gardrid feared he might take off alone. “Down boy!” he yelled, swatting the archon on the nose. Pez cowered, and huddled in the sand, whining and growling intermittently. Gardrid strained his eyes, trying to see what had provoked him, but he couldn’t make out anything. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the center of his forehead. He grabbed his skull, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He could have sworn, that just for a second, he’d heard a voice whispering to him…
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Bligg’git sank slowly back beneath the water, infuriated that its attempt to dominate the surface creature had failed. Had its pet not warned it, perhaps he could have taken it unaware. No matter, he was patient. He could wait. Others would come, and they would serve him. The city of his ancestors would be his once more…
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After he had rested for several hours, Wathros meditated briefly, and then sat beside Pez and took the archon’s face in his hands. He began chanting, and within a few moments, dawning comprehension, and the light of intelligence returned to Pez’ eyes.
“I owe you my life, druid,” he said solemnly, and then turned and went to Tilly, where he repeated the same incantation, restoring his friend as well.
“We must return,” Pez stated flatly, “If we retreat now, Triel’s remaining allies may decide to cut their losses and flee with the other wands. We must strike while they may still be caught off guard. I know now the nature of those creatures that we faced. They can be defeated, but we must be unified. You must all steel yourselves against your fear. If they strike at you with their parasites, remove them immediately. Come.”
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Once again they stood at the mouth of the glittering cave, and once again the spawn of Kyuss came for them. Pez was prepared. He had had Wathros enchant his flesh so that it became tough and bark-like. He knew that the maggots could not burrow through it, and he would be free to deal with the undead themselves. His companions braced themselves, and as the fear washed over them, they stood their ground firmly.
Pez wasn’t going to wait for the foul creatures to come to him. He raised his sword, and charged towards them. The battle was deadly silent, for the spawn uttered no sound, and Pez voiced no battle cry. He lunged for the leading one, hacking at its skeletal body, sending bits and pieces of its rotting flesh flying in all directions. In unison, both of the spawn plucked worms from their sunken cheeks and flicked them casually at the archon’s face. The maggots scurried across his skin, and tried to burrow their way in, but could find no purchase. Smiling grimly to himself, Pez again struck at the first, this time separating its torso from its legs. It fell twitching to the stone, but did not rise again.
The second spawn shambled towards Pez, arms outstretched. It raked its filthy claws down his leg, their jagged edges managing to pierce his toughened skin. As he turned to ward it off, he heard the twang of a bowstring and saw a crossbow bolt sprout suddenly from the creature’s skull. Abruptly, the monster burst into flames as Wathros hurled his magical fire at it from across the chamber. As it staggered about blindly, Pez deftly removed its head from its shoulders.
“Ye didn’t leave none fer me!” Gardrid bellowed as he ambled into the room, “No matter. I’ll still help meself to the reward!” The dwarf grinned in pure avarice as he lifted the lid of the black sarcophagus, revealing several leather sacks filled with coins.
“It looks like we found their vault,” Tilly said excitedly, “No wonder they guarded it so well.”
“Yes,” Pez said cautiously, “that’s what I’m afraid of…that we haven’t met the last of the guardians…”
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Pez led the way further into the warren of tunnels that they seemed to have stumbled upon. The Alleybasher they’d captured when they’d first entered the ruins had mentioned that one of Triel’s associates was some sort of necromancer. Judging from the undead they had encountered thus far, he felt that they might not be far from meeting the sorcerer himself.
Just as this thought occurred to him, he crept around a bend in the tunnel, some distance ahead of the rest of the group, and stopped dead in his tracks. The passage widened into another cave up ahead, and standing in the middle of the room was the largest skeleton that he’d ever seen! It was fully twenty feet tall, and looked like some sort of bipedal lizard with teeth the size of daggers. For a moment, he thought it may be only a construct…a statue of some sort, but then its great head swiveled towards him.
Pez backpedaled quickly around the corner, bumping into Gardrid as he moved up. “What’cha see?” the dwarf asked.
“More of the walking dead,” Pez replied, “but this one is a bit larger than its predecessors.”
“Bah!” Gardrid spat, “That just mean’s it’ll fall all the harder.”
The battlerager hefted his axe and stepped around the bend…and came face to face with the beast as it doubled itself over and was squeezing into the tunnel.
“I like my dinner with a little more meat on its bones!” the dwarf laughed as he stepped up and sank his blade deep into the skull of the skeleton. The behemoth lurched backwards, pulling Gardrid with it as he struggled to free his axe. Pez dashed forward, trying to distract the monster and give Gardrid a chance to regain his balance. At the same time, Wathros moved to the mouth of the tunnel, and again summoned a small flame in the palm of his hand, then began hurling the deadly missiles at the brute.
Pez' ploy worked a little too well. As he dashed past the beast, it snapped its great maw at him, and would have severed his leg had he not leaped back at the last instant. As it was, one of the razor sharp fangs opened his thigh to the bone. At that moment, Gardrid regained his axe, and began chopping at the large cervical vertebrae at the base of the creature’s head. The monstrous skeleton reared up and out of reach, but then like a snake, it struck forward, biting deeply into the battlerager’s shoulder.
Pez balanced himself precariously on his good leg, and took up a position near the beast’s rear limb. Bracing himself, he swung at its knee joint, severing it with one blow. The creature immediately straightened itself, and then just as quickly began toppling over towards its missing leg. As it fell, Wathros continued to hurl ball after ball of flame at it. When it hit the ground, it shattered into hundreds of scorched splinters.
“Tyrannosaurus Rex” Wathros said, walking over to examine the bony remains, “I’ve seen them before in the jungles. Of course those were alive. Did you know that the T. Rex, as it is called in the vernacular, was once thought to be extinct, and…”
“Save the history lesson, perfessor,” Gardrid snapped, “We still got work to do here.”
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The companions tended their wounds and pressed on. The tunnels became more twisted and confusing, and at one point they found themselves in a room that was partially collapsed, as if from some great explosion. While the rest of the group scrambled and climbed over the rubble, Pez flew ahead, landing at the entrance to an adjoining cave. However, just as he touched down, there was a blinding flash of light. Tilly, Gardrid and Wathros reflexively shielded their eyes, and when they had blinked away the afterimage, they saw Pez standing where he’d landed, apparently unharmed…or so it appeared. The archon began staggering back and forth, his hands groping aimlessly in front of him, turning this way and that. “I’m blind!” Pez cried out, and it was then that Gardrid saw the shambling shapes moving towards the archon from the cave mouth.
Pez heard the approaching footsteps and low moans, and he quickly began stumbling back the way he’d come. The irony of his situation was not lost on him, as he remembered the battle with Triel the day before.
“Back off fly boy!” he heard Gardrid say from beside him, “We’ll handle this.”
Gardrid, Tilly, Wathros and Onesock moved in front of Pez, forming a wall before him. From out of the cave came several more of the walking dead. They seemed to be little more than animate corpses, their flesh rotten and hanging off of them in tatters, bone visible beneath. Still, the heroes had learned to be cautious, and they attacked in a coordinated phalanx.
As Gardrid and Tilly moved into flanking positions, and began wading into the undead, axe and swords performing deadly dances, Wathros ordered Onesock to attack, and the wolf began weaving in and out of the zombies, rushing in to bite a leg, and then pulling the feet out from under an opponent, leaving it sprawled on the floor. At the same time, Wathros peppered the corpses with flame balls, setting many alight, only to be cut down by either the dwarf or the rogue.
The last of the zombies crumpled, and Wathros and Tilly rushed quickly to Pez, trying to ascertain the extent of his injury.
“Not so fast ladies,” Gardrid warned from the opposite side of the room, “We ain’t alone…”
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Tarkilar paced impatiently around his chamber. The intruders were coming. He had heard the sounds of distant battles for some time now, and he knew that the living had invaded his sanctum. He had warned Triel and Skaven to leave him in peace, and had told them what would happen to any who dared to disturb him. The voices were bad enough. They gnawed at him day and night, burrowing into his brain, taunting him. They laughed at his failure, sneered at his feeble attempt to attain the ultimate state of immortal power…lichdom! They mocked what he had become instead, a pitiful imitation of undeath…a huecuva. Cyric was punishing him for his arrogance, but no matter. If he was to be forced to suffer this existence, then all who crossed him would suffer as well. He would flay the skin from their bones, and then grind their remains into dust!
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Gutterrut watched Tarkilar’s rant with amusement. Once, the quasit had been an ally of the priest…a companion. But then Tarkilar's arrogance had nearly been the end of him…had killed him in fact, and then restored him to this parody of life. He was weak, Gutterrut knew that now, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than tormenting the weak. It was he who whispered endless taunts and jibes into Tarkilar’s ear, hiding invisibly all the while, making the insane cleric believe he was hearing voices in his head. He had even gone so far as to steal the treasured wand that the bitch Triel had given Tarkilar for safekeeping. The fool had not even noticed that it was missing yet. What fun! And now, he would have a ringside seat for a great fight. Tarkilar was becoming increasingly enraged, and Gutterrut almost felt sorry for the targets of that rage…almost.
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Tilly crept silently towards the mouth of the cave while Gardrid and Wathros held back, waiting for him to tell them what he saw. Pez remained near the far side of the cave, straining his ears to listen to what was transpiring with his friends. It galled him not to be standing with them, but he knew he would be more of a hindrance. They would be worrying about protecting him instead of themselves. He would have to be a bystander this time, and hope that they could survive without him.
Tilly peered cautiously around the corner and into the adjoining room. It appeared to have once been a well-appointed parlor, complete with carpets, a laboratory, a small altar, and a bed, but some terrific explosion had scattered the furnishings into piles of twisted rubble along the edges of the cave. Standing near the remains of the altar was a creature that Tilly was at a loss to describe. It stood about seven feet tall, and resembled nothing so much as a bipedal hyena. Tilly had heard of gnolls, but this thing bore only a passing likeness. Its flesh was rotting and skeletal, it’s dry skin stretched tightly over yellow bones. Clumps of its fur were missing, leaving numerous raw, bald patches in its pelt. Its eyes glowed with a nasty, yellow light, and yellow drool dripped from its fangs, which were jagged, sharp and broken. It wore chainmail, but the links of the armor seemed to be woven directly into the creature’s flesh, as was the wicked looking spiked chain that dangled from its right hand. Tilly began backing slowly away, but the beast’s eyes locked directly on him. It howled in fury, saliva flying from its jaws, and began lumbering towards him.
“That’s our signal,” Gardrid said wryly to Wathros, and he began trotting towards the cave entrance. Wathros hurried along after him, with Onesock loping easily to one side. As Gardrid reached the cave mouth, he skidded to a halt, his eyes widening at the sight of the huecuva. “Whoa! Now there’s somethin’ ye don’t see every day. Tilly! Fall back! We gotta tackle this one together!”
Tarkilar’s head whipped around at the sound of the battlerager’s shout. Another one! This one appeared more capable than the little rat in front of him. He’d deal with him first. He began uttering guttural, barking words, calling Cyric’s power to his hand. He completed the incantation, and gazed at the dwarf, fully expecting the creature to halt in its tracks. Indeed, for a moment it did pause, but then it shook its head as if befuddled, and kept coming. Fine, Tarkilar thought, he would just have to rend its limbs from its body while it still twitched.
The monster was too close to him now, Tilly thought. He wouldn’t be able to outrun it and get to Gardrid and Wathros. He decided to try and circle around behind it, so that he could flank it when the battlerager closed in, but he underestimated the thing’s reach with its deadly chain. Quick as a flash the chain whipped towards him, snapping back at the end of its length, and tearing into his skin with its cruel barbs. Tilly cried out in agony, the lacerations bleeding profusely.
Gardrid reached the melee at that moment. As the huecuva reeled in its chain, the battlerager struck, hammering his axe into the thing’s back. A blow like that would have staggered a normal creature, but Gardrid noted with dismay that the wound appeared only superficial. They might be in trouble here.
Wathros reached the cave mouth and quickly assessed the situation. That the creature had once been a gnoll was obvious. That it was something far different now was equally so, but he wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was, the druid hadn’t met the monster yet that could withstand a few well-aimed bolts of lightning. “Kill!” he instructed Onesock, and then he began weaving his spell.
The wolf darted into the combat, winding between the huecuva’s legs, and snapping viciously. But then the animal became confused, for its teeth could find no purchase in the monster’s foul tasting flesh. They simply slid off, leaving no mark. Just then, Onesock instinctively backed away, as the hair on its back began rising from the building static electricity in the air. Suddenly, a bolt of energy sizzled from the ceiling, engulfing Tarkilar, and charring his already withered skin.
Tarkilar roared in rage and pain as the lightning bolt dissipated. He spun around to look for the caster, and his glowing eyes began burning red as he spotted the druid. An elf! The most hated and foul of all creatures that walked the earth! How did a rotten, filthy elf dare to enter his abode? He would flay it alive, and sacrifice its still beating heart to Cyric as he ripped it from its chest! But first, he must stop it from using its magic against him. Once again he began chanting, enveloping the druid in a curtain of utmost silence.
So, this creature was priest of some sort, Wathros thought, but it obviously was not familiar with druid magic. The zone of silence was a good tactic, but he had already invoked the lightning, and he could continue to call it without uttering another word…which he did, sending down another bolt upon the beast.
Tilly attacked while the huecuva was still staggered by Wathros’ blast. He sank his sword blade deep into its side…or so he thought. When he retracted the thrust he saw that there was no wound at all. He gulped and gazed helplessly at Gardrid.
Tarkilar didn’t even notice the ineffective blow from his flank. His attention was focused squarely on the elf. He began moving purposefully towards it. Gardrid swung again as the creature stalked past him, his blade again piercing its hide, but inflicting only minimal damage. Tarkilar reached out one great paw and shoved the dwarf bodily out of his way as he passed. He reached Wathros within a few strides, and snapped his chain at his hated enemy. Wathros gasped in silent pain as the chain struck him, knocking him several steps backwards. He shook his head, trying to focus through the shock, and called forth another lightning bolt, hoping to drive the monster away. He then retreated several more steps, out of the range of that deadly weapon.
The pain from the electricity was a negligible thing to Tarkilar now. He was intent on only one thing…killing the elf. He growled deeply, and prepared to charge the despised creature, but just then a furry blur rushed past and in front of him, tangling his legs and knocking him to the floor.
Wathros silently thanked Onesock as the wolf rushed to his side after tripping the huecuva. The animal knew it could not harm the beast, but it would defend its master until its dying breath. As the monster heaved itself back to its feet, Wathros continued to hurl electricity at it, but damn the thing just kept coming! He couldn’t survive another blow. Where were the others?
Gardrid had an idea. He didn’t know what this thing was, but he’d heard stories of werewolves, told to him by his granny when he was a toddler to scare him into behaving. Maybe that’s what this creature was, and if memory served, werewolves weren’t too fond of silver. He quickly stowed his axe and reached into his pack, and pulled out the silver flail that he had taken off of Triel’s body. This had better work, he thought, or else they were finished. He hefted the flail and charged towards the huecuva, trying to intercept it before it reached Wathros. It turned towards him as he approached, raising its chain to ward him off. The battlerager ducked the blow at the last moment, and then swung the flail with all of his strength, aiming right for Tarkilar’s forehead. The spiked head of the flail seemed to pass through the huecuva’s flesh like a hot knife through butter. Blood and gore exploded in all directions, and at last the voices in Tarkilar’s mind were silenced.
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“Where are the wands?” Pez asked as the group completed their search of Tarkilar’s corpse and his chambers.
“Maybe Triel didn’t entrust him with any,” Wathros offered, “After all, he didn’t seem like the most stable sort.”
“We must be missing something,” Pez said. His sight had not returned, and he was unable to participate in the search. He was crippled, and could not go on in this state. “I must return to the temple,” he said, “I must see if Jenya can restore my vision.”
“How can you travel in that state?” Wathros asked, “You’ll never make it by yourself, and I don’t think we should leave here as a group. If any of the other denizens of this place decide to abandon it, we must know where they go. I will go to the temple for you. I will ask Jenya to provide me with the magic to heal you.”
“You?” Pez asked, “How will you go? You cannot fly. You cannot cross the lake.”
Wathros smiled, though Pez could not see it, “Trust me,” he said, and then his body began to shimmer and undulate, taking the form of a great eagle. With a screech, he took to the air, and flew off into the tunnels.
“What happened?” Pez asked.
“The elf turned inta a bird and flew away,” Gardrid said dryly.
“No, seriously,” Pez said.
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Gutterrut watched from his hiding place near the ceiling, his wings beating quickly, hovering. He was frankly quite impressed with these mortals. They had managed to defeat Tarkilar, and still lived. They were definitely more interesting than that bag of bones had been. It was going to be quite entertaining to watch them, and perhaps have a little fun of his own from time to time.
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Wathros winged his way out of the lava tube and into the air above Cauldron. He flew swiftly back to the Temple of Tyr, landing on the front steps and shifting back to his true form as he did. He entered the sanctuary, and immediately saw Ruphus. What startled him was whom Ruphus was talking to. Rusty stood there, fully armored and looking haler than Wathros had seen him in months. “So there ye are!” the dwarf bellowed, “I’ve been trying to get the boy here to tell me where ye got off to, but he’s bein’ stubborn about it. Thinks I’m still too frail to go traipsing after you. Bah! Where’s the rest of them, elf? What’s been happening?”
Wathros proceeded to tell the two priests what had been transpiring in the caves below Cauldron. He told them that they had recovered three of the wands, and were still looking for the rest, but that Pez’ infirmity was severely hindering them. Nodding in understanding, Ruphus hurried away to procure the proper curatives. “I’m goin’ back with ye,” Rusty said matter-of-factly when he and Wathros were alone.
“Are you sure about that?” Wathros asked skeptically, “You haven’t been back on your feet for that long, and besides, I can’t carry you across that lake. There will be no way for you to get down.”
“Don’t ye be worryin’ about me!” the dwarf snarled, “I’m fit as a fiddle. There’s no way I’m gonna let that git Gardrid hog all the glory down there. I’ve just got a couple of things to tend to first. You get back to Pez and get his eyes fixed. Then you tell him to look fer me in about an hour or so. He can carry me down.”
Ruphus returned with a small, stoppered flask and instructed Wathros to have Pez drink it. Wathros thanked the priest, and then once again assumed the form of an eagle. Picking the flask up in his talons, he set out once more for the ruins.
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Pez rubbed his eyes, the sudden return of his vision painful, even in the low torchlight. “My thanks again to you druid. Your efforts in this endeavor are greatly appreciated, and will be duly noted to the high priestess.”
“Your gratitude is not necessary,” the druid replied, “It does not serve my purposes to see your city flooded, much as its people might deserve it.”
“Now,” Pez said, looking around the chamber, “to see if something here is hidden from our eyes.” He uttered a brief chant and immediately it seemed as if his companions were bathed in soft silver light. His vision was now attuned to magical emanations, and those enchanted items that his friends carried were obvious to him. He began walking around the perimeter of the room, examining every inch closely. Shortly, his efforts were rewarded, for near the ceiling he spied two magical glows. “There,” he said pointing, “Something is hidden there.”
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Gutterrut blinked in surprise. The creature had seen him! How could that be? His surprise was compounded when the winged elf invoked another spell, and he was rendered suddenly visible.
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“What in blazes is that?” Gardrid shouted, staring at the ugly little creature flying near the ceiling. Its leathery skin was a sickly green color, and covered with warty protrusions. Small horns sprouted from its head, and small bat-like wings beat the air at its back. Most interesting though, was the crystalline wand it clutched in its hands.
With a small squeak, Gutterrut quickly invoked its invisibility again, winking out of sight once more. Pez gazed at the spot where it had been, finally beginning to understand. The spell he had just cast dispelled magical effects, and it had negated the creature’s concealment. Unfortunately, it seemed to be able to manifest that ability at will.
“I know you are here, demon,” Pez called out, for he had instantly recognized the quasit for what it was. “We have no quarrel with you. Give us the wand, and you may go on your way unmolested. We will even leave your master’s belongings behind. Take them.”
“Master?” Gutterrut spat, “I serve no master! Tarkilar was a fool, and now I have what he treasured most. It seems many are interested in this little bauble. Perhaps there are others that are willing to pay far more than you offer.”
Pez smiled. The little imp had fallen for his trap. As soon as it spoke, he had pinpointed its location. Without hesitation he hurled a burst of sonic energy at the spot. A moment later, the wand clattered to the floor. Just as he’d planned, the sound burst had momentarily stunned the demon, causing it to drop the wand. Gardrid rushed over and retrieved the item, his axe poised to strike should the quasit appear.
“Curse you!” Gutterrut shrieked in frustration, “I’m not done with you yet! You will pay!” Pez heard its wings fluttering away into the tunnels. He was sure the little imp would carry out its threat, but that was a matter for later. They now had four of the wands. That meant that someone else had the remaining four. Triel’s last conspirator was still here somewhere.
Gardrid couldn’t stop shaking his head in disbelief. What in the name of Hela’s Hammer had happened to Pez and Tilly? One minute they were at their peak, facing off against a couple of gooey zombies (albeit scary ones), the next, they were a pair of drooling idiots, scratching themselves and picking lice out of each other’s hair. Wathros had managed to convey to Pez through that animal speak thing he did the need to fly them here, to the beach where the demon Pez had slain had laired. They had tossed the beast’s stinking carcass into the lake, along with all the other grisly remains they’d found. Wathros had managed to pull a couple of wriggly maggots out of Pez’ and Tilly’s scalps, and that had seemed to calm them down. The druid seemed to believe that he could do more for them with his magic after he’d had time to rest. For now, they were going to hold up here, cold, hungry and not knowing what other kinds of monstrosities lurked in these waters.
Gardrid was on watch. He had been pacing the beach restlessly for hours, followed by Pez, who was now crawling on all fours and sticking to his heels like a mangy cur. It was downright embarrassing. At one point the dwarf had seen some activity on the far shore. Several men came out on the beach with torches, and had combed one end of it to the other. More Alleybashers he guessed, trying to figure out what had happened to their leader. Well, there’d be time for them later. They didn’t look like they were packing up shop, so maybe they figured whoever’d hit’em had come for Triel alone, and were now gone. More’s the pity for them come morning.
Just then, Pez became suddenly agitated. He scurried down towards the water, peering out into the darkness, and growling low in his throat. He began running around in a circle, yipping and snarling, and then he’d pause and gaze out at the lake once again. His wings began twitching, and Gardrid feared he might take off alone. “Down boy!” he yelled, swatting the archon on the nose. Pez cowered, and huddled in the sand, whining and growling intermittently. Gardrid strained his eyes, trying to see what had provoked him, but he couldn’t make out anything. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the center of his forehead. He grabbed his skull, but just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He could have sworn, that just for a second, he’d heard a voice whispering to him…
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Bligg’git sank slowly back beneath the water, infuriated that its attempt to dominate the surface creature had failed. Had its pet not warned it, perhaps he could have taken it unaware. No matter, he was patient. He could wait. Others would come, and they would serve him. The city of his ancestors would be his once more…
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After he had rested for several hours, Wathros meditated briefly, and then sat beside Pez and took the archon’s face in his hands. He began chanting, and within a few moments, dawning comprehension, and the light of intelligence returned to Pez’ eyes.
“I owe you my life, druid,” he said solemnly, and then turned and went to Tilly, where he repeated the same incantation, restoring his friend as well.
“We must return,” Pez stated flatly, “If we retreat now, Triel’s remaining allies may decide to cut their losses and flee with the other wands. We must strike while they may still be caught off guard. I know now the nature of those creatures that we faced. They can be defeated, but we must be unified. You must all steel yourselves against your fear. If they strike at you with their parasites, remove them immediately. Come.”
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Once again they stood at the mouth of the glittering cave, and once again the spawn of Kyuss came for them. Pez was prepared. He had had Wathros enchant his flesh so that it became tough and bark-like. He knew that the maggots could not burrow through it, and he would be free to deal with the undead themselves. His companions braced themselves, and as the fear washed over them, they stood their ground firmly.
Pez wasn’t going to wait for the foul creatures to come to him. He raised his sword, and charged towards them. The battle was deadly silent, for the spawn uttered no sound, and Pez voiced no battle cry. He lunged for the leading one, hacking at its skeletal body, sending bits and pieces of its rotting flesh flying in all directions. In unison, both of the spawn plucked worms from their sunken cheeks and flicked them casually at the archon’s face. The maggots scurried across his skin, and tried to burrow their way in, but could find no purchase. Smiling grimly to himself, Pez again struck at the first, this time separating its torso from its legs. It fell twitching to the stone, but did not rise again.
The second spawn shambled towards Pez, arms outstretched. It raked its filthy claws down his leg, their jagged edges managing to pierce his toughened skin. As he turned to ward it off, he heard the twang of a bowstring and saw a crossbow bolt sprout suddenly from the creature’s skull. Abruptly, the monster burst into flames as Wathros hurled his magical fire at it from across the chamber. As it staggered about blindly, Pez deftly removed its head from its shoulders.
“Ye didn’t leave none fer me!” Gardrid bellowed as he ambled into the room, “No matter. I’ll still help meself to the reward!” The dwarf grinned in pure avarice as he lifted the lid of the black sarcophagus, revealing several leather sacks filled with coins.
“It looks like we found their vault,” Tilly said excitedly, “No wonder they guarded it so well.”
“Yes,” Pez said cautiously, “that’s what I’m afraid of…that we haven’t met the last of the guardians…”
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Pez led the way further into the warren of tunnels that they seemed to have stumbled upon. The Alleybasher they’d captured when they’d first entered the ruins had mentioned that one of Triel’s associates was some sort of necromancer. Judging from the undead they had encountered thus far, he felt that they might not be far from meeting the sorcerer himself.
Just as this thought occurred to him, he crept around a bend in the tunnel, some distance ahead of the rest of the group, and stopped dead in his tracks. The passage widened into another cave up ahead, and standing in the middle of the room was the largest skeleton that he’d ever seen! It was fully twenty feet tall, and looked like some sort of bipedal lizard with teeth the size of daggers. For a moment, he thought it may be only a construct…a statue of some sort, but then its great head swiveled towards him.
Pez backpedaled quickly around the corner, bumping into Gardrid as he moved up. “What’cha see?” the dwarf asked.
“More of the walking dead,” Pez replied, “but this one is a bit larger than its predecessors.”
“Bah!” Gardrid spat, “That just mean’s it’ll fall all the harder.”
The battlerager hefted his axe and stepped around the bend…and came face to face with the beast as it doubled itself over and was squeezing into the tunnel.
“I like my dinner with a little more meat on its bones!” the dwarf laughed as he stepped up and sank his blade deep into the skull of the skeleton. The behemoth lurched backwards, pulling Gardrid with it as he struggled to free his axe. Pez dashed forward, trying to distract the monster and give Gardrid a chance to regain his balance. At the same time, Wathros moved to the mouth of the tunnel, and again summoned a small flame in the palm of his hand, then began hurling the deadly missiles at the brute.
Pez' ploy worked a little too well. As he dashed past the beast, it snapped its great maw at him, and would have severed his leg had he not leaped back at the last instant. As it was, one of the razor sharp fangs opened his thigh to the bone. At that moment, Gardrid regained his axe, and began chopping at the large cervical vertebrae at the base of the creature’s head. The monstrous skeleton reared up and out of reach, but then like a snake, it struck forward, biting deeply into the battlerager’s shoulder.
Pez balanced himself precariously on his good leg, and took up a position near the beast’s rear limb. Bracing himself, he swung at its knee joint, severing it with one blow. The creature immediately straightened itself, and then just as quickly began toppling over towards its missing leg. As it fell, Wathros continued to hurl ball after ball of flame at it. When it hit the ground, it shattered into hundreds of scorched splinters.
“Tyrannosaurus Rex” Wathros said, walking over to examine the bony remains, “I’ve seen them before in the jungles. Of course those were alive. Did you know that the T. Rex, as it is called in the vernacular, was once thought to be extinct, and…”
“Save the history lesson, perfessor,” Gardrid snapped, “We still got work to do here.”
___________________________________________________________
The companions tended their wounds and pressed on. The tunnels became more twisted and confusing, and at one point they found themselves in a room that was partially collapsed, as if from some great explosion. While the rest of the group scrambled and climbed over the rubble, Pez flew ahead, landing at the entrance to an adjoining cave. However, just as he touched down, there was a blinding flash of light. Tilly, Gardrid and Wathros reflexively shielded their eyes, and when they had blinked away the afterimage, they saw Pez standing where he’d landed, apparently unharmed…or so it appeared. The archon began staggering back and forth, his hands groping aimlessly in front of him, turning this way and that. “I’m blind!” Pez cried out, and it was then that Gardrid saw the shambling shapes moving towards the archon from the cave mouth.
Pez heard the approaching footsteps and low moans, and he quickly began stumbling back the way he’d come. The irony of his situation was not lost on him, as he remembered the battle with Triel the day before.
“Back off fly boy!” he heard Gardrid say from beside him, “We’ll handle this.”
Gardrid, Tilly, Wathros and Onesock moved in front of Pez, forming a wall before him. From out of the cave came several more of the walking dead. They seemed to be little more than animate corpses, their flesh rotten and hanging off of them in tatters, bone visible beneath. Still, the heroes had learned to be cautious, and they attacked in a coordinated phalanx.
As Gardrid and Tilly moved into flanking positions, and began wading into the undead, axe and swords performing deadly dances, Wathros ordered Onesock to attack, and the wolf began weaving in and out of the zombies, rushing in to bite a leg, and then pulling the feet out from under an opponent, leaving it sprawled on the floor. At the same time, Wathros peppered the corpses with flame balls, setting many alight, only to be cut down by either the dwarf or the rogue.
The last of the zombies crumpled, and Wathros and Tilly rushed quickly to Pez, trying to ascertain the extent of his injury.
“Not so fast ladies,” Gardrid warned from the opposite side of the room, “We ain’t alone…”
_________________________________________________________
Tarkilar paced impatiently around his chamber. The intruders were coming. He had heard the sounds of distant battles for some time now, and he knew that the living had invaded his sanctum. He had warned Triel and Skaven to leave him in peace, and had told them what would happen to any who dared to disturb him. The voices were bad enough. They gnawed at him day and night, burrowing into his brain, taunting him. They laughed at his failure, sneered at his feeble attempt to attain the ultimate state of immortal power…lichdom! They mocked what he had become instead, a pitiful imitation of undeath…a huecuva. Cyric was punishing him for his arrogance, but no matter. If he was to be forced to suffer this existence, then all who crossed him would suffer as well. He would flay the skin from their bones, and then grind their remains into dust!
__________________________________________________________
Gutterrut watched Tarkilar’s rant with amusement. Once, the quasit had been an ally of the priest…a companion. But then Tarkilar's arrogance had nearly been the end of him…had killed him in fact, and then restored him to this parody of life. He was weak, Gutterrut knew that now, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than tormenting the weak. It was he who whispered endless taunts and jibes into Tarkilar’s ear, hiding invisibly all the while, making the insane cleric believe he was hearing voices in his head. He had even gone so far as to steal the treasured wand that the bitch Triel had given Tarkilar for safekeeping. The fool had not even noticed that it was missing yet. What fun! And now, he would have a ringside seat for a great fight. Tarkilar was becoming increasingly enraged, and Gutterrut almost felt sorry for the targets of that rage…almost.
_______________________________________________________
Tilly crept silently towards the mouth of the cave while Gardrid and Wathros held back, waiting for him to tell them what he saw. Pez remained near the far side of the cave, straining his ears to listen to what was transpiring with his friends. It galled him not to be standing with them, but he knew he would be more of a hindrance. They would be worrying about protecting him instead of themselves. He would have to be a bystander this time, and hope that they could survive without him.
Tilly peered cautiously around the corner and into the adjoining room. It appeared to have once been a well-appointed parlor, complete with carpets, a laboratory, a small altar, and a bed, but some terrific explosion had scattered the furnishings into piles of twisted rubble along the edges of the cave. Standing near the remains of the altar was a creature that Tilly was at a loss to describe. It stood about seven feet tall, and resembled nothing so much as a bipedal hyena. Tilly had heard of gnolls, but this thing bore only a passing likeness. Its flesh was rotting and skeletal, it’s dry skin stretched tightly over yellow bones. Clumps of its fur were missing, leaving numerous raw, bald patches in its pelt. Its eyes glowed with a nasty, yellow light, and yellow drool dripped from its fangs, which were jagged, sharp and broken. It wore chainmail, but the links of the armor seemed to be woven directly into the creature’s flesh, as was the wicked looking spiked chain that dangled from its right hand. Tilly began backing slowly away, but the beast’s eyes locked directly on him. It howled in fury, saliva flying from its jaws, and began lumbering towards him.
“That’s our signal,” Gardrid said wryly to Wathros, and he began trotting towards the cave entrance. Wathros hurried along after him, with Onesock loping easily to one side. As Gardrid reached the cave mouth, he skidded to a halt, his eyes widening at the sight of the huecuva. “Whoa! Now there’s somethin’ ye don’t see every day. Tilly! Fall back! We gotta tackle this one together!”
Tarkilar’s head whipped around at the sound of the battlerager’s shout. Another one! This one appeared more capable than the little rat in front of him. He’d deal with him first. He began uttering guttural, barking words, calling Cyric’s power to his hand. He completed the incantation, and gazed at the dwarf, fully expecting the creature to halt in its tracks. Indeed, for a moment it did pause, but then it shook its head as if befuddled, and kept coming. Fine, Tarkilar thought, he would just have to rend its limbs from its body while it still twitched.
The monster was too close to him now, Tilly thought. He wouldn’t be able to outrun it and get to Gardrid and Wathros. He decided to try and circle around behind it, so that he could flank it when the battlerager closed in, but he underestimated the thing’s reach with its deadly chain. Quick as a flash the chain whipped towards him, snapping back at the end of its length, and tearing into his skin with its cruel barbs. Tilly cried out in agony, the lacerations bleeding profusely.
Gardrid reached the melee at that moment. As the huecuva reeled in its chain, the battlerager struck, hammering his axe into the thing’s back. A blow like that would have staggered a normal creature, but Gardrid noted with dismay that the wound appeared only superficial. They might be in trouble here.
Wathros reached the cave mouth and quickly assessed the situation. That the creature had once been a gnoll was obvious. That it was something far different now was equally so, but he wasn’t sure what. Whatever it was, the druid hadn’t met the monster yet that could withstand a few well-aimed bolts of lightning. “Kill!” he instructed Onesock, and then he began weaving his spell.
The wolf darted into the combat, winding between the huecuva’s legs, and snapping viciously. But then the animal became confused, for its teeth could find no purchase in the monster’s foul tasting flesh. They simply slid off, leaving no mark. Just then, Onesock instinctively backed away, as the hair on its back began rising from the building static electricity in the air. Suddenly, a bolt of energy sizzled from the ceiling, engulfing Tarkilar, and charring his already withered skin.
Tarkilar roared in rage and pain as the lightning bolt dissipated. He spun around to look for the caster, and his glowing eyes began burning red as he spotted the druid. An elf! The most hated and foul of all creatures that walked the earth! How did a rotten, filthy elf dare to enter his abode? He would flay it alive, and sacrifice its still beating heart to Cyric as he ripped it from its chest! But first, he must stop it from using its magic against him. Once again he began chanting, enveloping the druid in a curtain of utmost silence.
So, this creature was priest of some sort, Wathros thought, but it obviously was not familiar with druid magic. The zone of silence was a good tactic, but he had already invoked the lightning, and he could continue to call it without uttering another word…which he did, sending down another bolt upon the beast.
Tilly attacked while the huecuva was still staggered by Wathros’ blast. He sank his sword blade deep into its side…or so he thought. When he retracted the thrust he saw that there was no wound at all. He gulped and gazed helplessly at Gardrid.
Tarkilar didn’t even notice the ineffective blow from his flank. His attention was focused squarely on the elf. He began moving purposefully towards it. Gardrid swung again as the creature stalked past him, his blade again piercing its hide, but inflicting only minimal damage. Tarkilar reached out one great paw and shoved the dwarf bodily out of his way as he passed. He reached Wathros within a few strides, and snapped his chain at his hated enemy. Wathros gasped in silent pain as the chain struck him, knocking him several steps backwards. He shook his head, trying to focus through the shock, and called forth another lightning bolt, hoping to drive the monster away. He then retreated several more steps, out of the range of that deadly weapon.
The pain from the electricity was a negligible thing to Tarkilar now. He was intent on only one thing…killing the elf. He growled deeply, and prepared to charge the despised creature, but just then a furry blur rushed past and in front of him, tangling his legs and knocking him to the floor.
Wathros silently thanked Onesock as the wolf rushed to his side after tripping the huecuva. The animal knew it could not harm the beast, but it would defend its master until its dying breath. As the monster heaved itself back to its feet, Wathros continued to hurl electricity at it, but damn the thing just kept coming! He couldn’t survive another blow. Where were the others?
Gardrid had an idea. He didn’t know what this thing was, but he’d heard stories of werewolves, told to him by his granny when he was a toddler to scare him into behaving. Maybe that’s what this creature was, and if memory served, werewolves weren’t too fond of silver. He quickly stowed his axe and reached into his pack, and pulled out the silver flail that he had taken off of Triel’s body. This had better work, he thought, or else they were finished. He hefted the flail and charged towards the huecuva, trying to intercept it before it reached Wathros. It turned towards him as he approached, raising its chain to ward him off. The battlerager ducked the blow at the last moment, and then swung the flail with all of his strength, aiming right for Tarkilar’s forehead. The spiked head of the flail seemed to pass through the huecuva’s flesh like a hot knife through butter. Blood and gore exploded in all directions, and at last the voices in Tarkilar’s mind were silenced.
_____________________________________________________
“Where are the wands?” Pez asked as the group completed their search of Tarkilar’s corpse and his chambers.
“Maybe Triel didn’t entrust him with any,” Wathros offered, “After all, he didn’t seem like the most stable sort.”
“We must be missing something,” Pez said. His sight had not returned, and he was unable to participate in the search. He was crippled, and could not go on in this state. “I must return to the temple,” he said, “I must see if Jenya can restore my vision.”
“How can you travel in that state?” Wathros asked, “You’ll never make it by yourself, and I don’t think we should leave here as a group. If any of the other denizens of this place decide to abandon it, we must know where they go. I will go to the temple for you. I will ask Jenya to provide me with the magic to heal you.”
“You?” Pez asked, “How will you go? You cannot fly. You cannot cross the lake.”
Wathros smiled, though Pez could not see it, “Trust me,” he said, and then his body began to shimmer and undulate, taking the form of a great eagle. With a screech, he took to the air, and flew off into the tunnels.
“What happened?” Pez asked.
“The elf turned inta a bird and flew away,” Gardrid said dryly.
“No, seriously,” Pez said.
___________________________________________________________
Gutterrut watched from his hiding place near the ceiling, his wings beating quickly, hovering. He was frankly quite impressed with these mortals. They had managed to defeat Tarkilar, and still lived. They were definitely more interesting than that bag of bones had been. It was going to be quite entertaining to watch them, and perhaps have a little fun of his own from time to time.
___________________________________________________________
Wathros winged his way out of the lava tube and into the air above Cauldron. He flew swiftly back to the Temple of Tyr, landing on the front steps and shifting back to his true form as he did. He entered the sanctuary, and immediately saw Ruphus. What startled him was whom Ruphus was talking to. Rusty stood there, fully armored and looking haler than Wathros had seen him in months. “So there ye are!” the dwarf bellowed, “I’ve been trying to get the boy here to tell me where ye got off to, but he’s bein’ stubborn about it. Thinks I’m still too frail to go traipsing after you. Bah! Where’s the rest of them, elf? What’s been happening?”
Wathros proceeded to tell the two priests what had been transpiring in the caves below Cauldron. He told them that they had recovered three of the wands, and were still looking for the rest, but that Pez’ infirmity was severely hindering them. Nodding in understanding, Ruphus hurried away to procure the proper curatives. “I’m goin’ back with ye,” Rusty said matter-of-factly when he and Wathros were alone.
“Are you sure about that?” Wathros asked skeptically, “You haven’t been back on your feet for that long, and besides, I can’t carry you across that lake. There will be no way for you to get down.”
“Don’t ye be worryin’ about me!” the dwarf snarled, “I’m fit as a fiddle. There’s no way I’m gonna let that git Gardrid hog all the glory down there. I’ve just got a couple of things to tend to first. You get back to Pez and get his eyes fixed. Then you tell him to look fer me in about an hour or so. He can carry me down.”
Ruphus returned with a small, stoppered flask and instructed Wathros to have Pez drink it. Wathros thanked the priest, and then once again assumed the form of an eagle. Picking the flask up in his talons, he set out once more for the ruins.
______________________________________________________
Pez rubbed his eyes, the sudden return of his vision painful, even in the low torchlight. “My thanks again to you druid. Your efforts in this endeavor are greatly appreciated, and will be duly noted to the high priestess.”
“Your gratitude is not necessary,” the druid replied, “It does not serve my purposes to see your city flooded, much as its people might deserve it.”
“Now,” Pez said, looking around the chamber, “to see if something here is hidden from our eyes.” He uttered a brief chant and immediately it seemed as if his companions were bathed in soft silver light. His vision was now attuned to magical emanations, and those enchanted items that his friends carried were obvious to him. He began walking around the perimeter of the room, examining every inch closely. Shortly, his efforts were rewarded, for near the ceiling he spied two magical glows. “There,” he said pointing, “Something is hidden there.”
________________________________________________________
Gutterrut blinked in surprise. The creature had seen him! How could that be? His surprise was compounded when the winged elf invoked another spell, and he was rendered suddenly visible.
_________________________________________________________
“What in blazes is that?” Gardrid shouted, staring at the ugly little creature flying near the ceiling. Its leathery skin was a sickly green color, and covered with warty protrusions. Small horns sprouted from its head, and small bat-like wings beat the air at its back. Most interesting though, was the crystalline wand it clutched in its hands.
With a small squeak, Gutterrut quickly invoked its invisibility again, winking out of sight once more. Pez gazed at the spot where it had been, finally beginning to understand. The spell he had just cast dispelled magical effects, and it had negated the creature’s concealment. Unfortunately, it seemed to be able to manifest that ability at will.
“I know you are here, demon,” Pez called out, for he had instantly recognized the quasit for what it was. “We have no quarrel with you. Give us the wand, and you may go on your way unmolested. We will even leave your master’s belongings behind. Take them.”
“Master?” Gutterrut spat, “I serve no master! Tarkilar was a fool, and now I have what he treasured most. It seems many are interested in this little bauble. Perhaps there are others that are willing to pay far more than you offer.”
Pez smiled. The little imp had fallen for his trap. As soon as it spoke, he had pinpointed its location. Without hesitation he hurled a burst of sonic energy at the spot. A moment later, the wand clattered to the floor. Just as he’d planned, the sound burst had momentarily stunned the demon, causing it to drop the wand. Gardrid rushed over and retrieved the item, his axe poised to strike should the quasit appear.
“Curse you!” Gutterrut shrieked in frustration, “I’m not done with you yet! You will pay!” Pez heard its wings fluttering away into the tunnels. He was sure the little imp would carry out its threat, but that was a matter for later. They now had four of the wands. That meant that someone else had the remaining four. Triel’s last conspirator was still here somewhere.
Lela
First Post
Though I started last night, I was forced into bed and have only just finished. I'd like to note that Pez seems to be falling for a lot of these little status affecting traps. Ouch.
Wonderful moment there with Wathros and Wild Shape. You all have such vivid characters and I love it. Not that that's anything new but it's still worth saying.
Wonderful moment there with Wathros and Wild Shape. You all have such vivid characters and I love it. Not that that's anything new but it's still worth saying.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Great episode, JollyDoc! The druid sure proves to be a very resourceful party member.
Well, how about blind fighting for your next feat?gfunk said:
JollyDoc
Explorer
Neverwinter Knight said:Great episode, JollyDoc! The druid sure proves to be a very resourceful party member.
Well, how about blind fighting for your next feat?
You haven't seen the half of it yet...the druid really does prove the value of the 3.5 updates to this class. It is infinately more playable, and more powerful.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Damn, I wasn't really planning on going 3.5, but I really, really like what they've done with the druid!JollyDoc said:
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