JollyDoc's Shackled City: FINAL POST [Updated 11/2!!]
Nice update JD. Since I wasn't there for these sessions I am quite curious as to what actually happened. Your recovery from the Loremaster's unfortunate polymorph any object into an eyeball was quite good as was the 5 round time stop -- I always wanted to see how you'd describe those.
Here's to looking forward to an expolsive ending to Thirteen Cages.
Here's to looking forward to an expolsive ending to Thirteen Cages.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Great update & description of the time stop! One round, they have almost won the fight, and then it looks the other way around!
I'll be back, shortly...
Wasn't that the opportunity for Grimm to get a Wish?JollyDoc said:
I'll be back, shortly...
LordVyreth
First Post
Actually, if he had a minute to spend on it, wasn't it a 10-round time stop? And are you using a new system for the prismatic spray. Normally the yellow ray is electricity and the blue is petrification.
JollyDoc
Explorer
LordVyreth said:
Again, this was a bit of artistic license. In actuality, Shebelith had five rounds, but it didn't sound quite right to say, "He knew he had five rounds to act." Didn't have the PHB right in front of me when I was writing the description of the Pris, so I guessed on the colors...oops.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
I guess that's the difference between a minmaxer and a munchkin. Good roleplaying, in any case!Joachim said:
beer_motor
First Post
Houshang rocks the house. Archmage is kind of a cheater prestige class ... it might even be cooler on Sorcerers, but I guess it's harder for sorcerers to get the cheater DC on transmutation and evocation that Houshang had. Prismatic spray and polymorph any object ... yummy.
You will all be very saddened to hear, in the OD&D game, he met a very unfortunate demise. At approximately 1600 xp (total), he was struck by a lightning bolt, failed the saving throw and was forced to subtract 17 points of damage from his 2 maximum hps. Cripsyfried.
So was born his replacement, Carl "The Grappler" Haraldsson, priest of Tyr!
You will all be very saddened to hear, in the OD&D game, he met a very unfortunate demise. At approximately 1600 xp (total), he was struck by a lightning bolt, failed the saving throw and was forced to subtract 17 points of damage from his 2 maximum hps. Cripsyfried.
So was born his replacement, Carl "The Grappler" Haraldsson, priest of Tyr!
JollyDoc
Explorer
CATACLYSM Part 2
The massive elliptical chamber glowed with a hellish light from lava bubbling through shaped channels that formed a familiar pattern in the floor. These rivers coalesced in the shape of the sign of the Carcerian Eye, and from the eye’s ‘pupil’ grew a horrendous sight. A large tree of metal erupted from the lava. Thirteen branches sprouted from a central trunk several feet across, twisting menacingly around the chamber to increase the diameter of the area occupied by the tree to nearly sixty feet. The branches were covered in wicked barbs, but each branch tapered to end in a hook. From each hook hung a cage, and within each cage was the slumped form of a humanoid figure. These were most certainly the Shackleborn, individuals cursed by fate to be the keys to unlocking the gate to Carceri. Two of these were familiar to the Bright Axes: Terrem Kharatys and Zenith Splintershield. The others were strangers, but they all had something in common other than their unfortunate heritage: they were all very obviously dead.
“We’ve been watching you.” The rasping voices, speaking simultaneously, but slightly out of sync, came from the far side of the chamber, though there was no sign of the speakers. Grimm blinked once, attuning his vision to see the unseen. Immediately, he saw the hulking figure standing on the opposite side of the tree. It appeared to be a giant shator demodand at first glance, but on closer inspection he saw that there was something wrong with it. It was misshapen, or disfigured. From one side of its face, there projected a second, smaller, and if possible, more loathsome visage, along with a stunted arm and leg. “We knew you would come, and we know why you’ve come.” Both faces of the monster spoke as one. “We are Dyr’ryd, and we are the masters of the Cagewrights. Please allow us to explain to you the folly of the path you have chosen.” None of the other Bright Axes could see Dyr’ryd, but Grimm continued to watch them carefully, noting their every movement. He smelled a trap. “The Tree has already been activated, and the ritual completed,” the twins continued. “The only way that the process can be halted is to destroy the Tree, but to do so would be disastrous. The shockwaves would destroy this entire mountain, and alas, Cauldron with it. So you see, your quest has already failed. You should put it aside, and listen to reason. What is it that you fear? A new world order? One dominated by demodands? You need not fear this inevitability. You should welcome it. The people of this plane are incapable of self-government. They war constantly with each other. Strife defines your world. Your kind needs structure and discipline. They need masters with firm hands to guide them and instruct them. My kind would be such masters. In time, you will see the wisdom of our grand plan. Embrace it now, or be overwhelmed in the deluge.”
“Seems we’ve already heard this routine,” Rusty shouted. “You and yer folk need to get some new material. The tree’s comin’ down, one way or the other, and yer goin’ back to that hell-hole you call home.”
“We knew you would say that,” Dyr’ryd tittered, “and we also hoped that you would. Nevertheless, never let it be said that we did not offer our foes mercy before we destroyed them.” Grimm saw the demodand close its eyes in concentration, and instantly three huge kelubars appeared around it, clearly visible to his companions as well. “It’s on,” the half-ogre growled.
If there was one thing that experience had taught Rusty, it was that demodands were predictable. He knew when the kelubars appeared that it would only be a matter of moments before the Acid Fogs followed. So it was, that a split second before the first cloud descended, the old priest brought up one of his most powerful, yet also one of his weakest, defenses…a null-magic field. In an instant, every magical protection and device that he carried became inactive and mundane, but at the same time, when the fog cloud appeared, Rusty stood unscathed in the middle of it, the area immediately surrounding him clear of the deadly vapors. The kelubars saw the ploy immediately, and began conjuring more mists, but by that time the Bright Axes had scattered, rushing into the chamber in all directions and closing on their opponents.
In unison, Grimm and Ike bore down on the nearest kelubars, who stood just out of reach of Grimm’s chain on the far side of one of the lava rivulets. Without hesitation, Grimm leaped the stream, landing squarely in front of the demodand, and hammering at it before it could step away. Ike was right behind him, nimble as a mountain goat as he cleared the lava. Swinging his maul, he slammed its head into the side of the kelubars, but to his amazement, the weapon only grazed the creature before sliding harmless off its oily hide. At that moment, the kelubars squealed like a pithed boar. It clawed at its back as black blood jetted from a gaping wound there. Tumbling away from the flailing demodand, Tilly gave his partners a wink as he wiped the acidic ichor from his smoking blade. The kelubars hissed and spat, crouching down on all fours like a cornered animal as it faced its assailants. But no common beast was as canny as the native Carcerian. Gauging the proximity of the its foes, it quickly conjured yet another Acid Fog cloud, this one centered directly on top of Ike, Grimm and Tilly.
Chuckling evilly, Dyr’ryd watched his minions harry the interlopers. Three of them were now enmeshed in the fog, trapped as if they were wading in quicksand. The mutant shator began its own conjuration, creating a cloud of nauseating, green vapor superimposed upon the Acid Fog. They had often used this tactic in the past, first rendering prey immobile, and then lowering the Cloud Kill. It would only be a matter of time now. “Well done,” Ryd giggled. “Why thank you, my brother,” Dyr replied. It didn’t bother the twins in the least that their attack had negated their invisibility. It wasn’t as if these amateurs actually posed them any real threat after all.
Dalthon knew his friends had their hands full, but he was more than confident in their ability to survive and triumph as they always had. The bigger issue was the Tree. It had to be shut down. The sorcerer didn’t believe for a minute the lies Dyr’ryd had told. The beast would say anything to keep them from stopping the ritual. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. It seemed the Shackleborn were the key to the Tree’s activation. They were beyond saving now, but perhaps even in death, they still supplied the Tree with the energy it needed. Dalthon took a calculated risk. From the tip of his finger, he launched a green ray at the nearest Soulcage and its occupant. In a flash, both cage and corpse disintegrated into a pile of dust at the base of the Tree. There was no effect. Dyr’ryd seemed unconcerned at the effect of the sorcerer’s spell. Dalthon shrugged. It had been worth a try. Time for a more direct approach.
Rusty had a plan as well. The Tree was very obviously a creation of magic. He had surrounded himself with a field of dead magic. If the two were brought together, it just might be possible that the ritual process would shut down. The priest trundled across the chamber towards the Tree, heedless of the kelubars who stepped to intercept him. As soon as Rusty approached within ten feet of the demodand, it simply winked out of existence, the magic which had summoned it negated by anti-magic.
Tilly coughed and gagged as the cloying vapors seeped into his lungs, slowly choking the life out of him. Not only that, but his skin itched and burned wherever the acid fog touched his exposed flesh. The first kelubars stood slowly upright once more, confident that he and his companions were now easy targets. The second kelubars had also entered the cloud, both creatures inherently immune to the effects of their own magic. As the second kelubars loomed over him, Tilly lunged forward, stabbing repeatedly and desperately at its legs and flanks. Surprised, the brute lumbered back several steps, unprepared for the vicious assault from what it thought would be a quick kill.
As the kelubar retreated, Kiko followed, ignoring the poisonous gas and the burn of the caustic fog. Again and again he struck at the demodand, leaving it staggering and reeling, barely on its feet. Then, from behind came the familiar snap/hiss of a chain being whip-cracked. As the barbed coils struck the kelubars, it abruptly vanished, banished back to Carceri. Grimm then whirled, his movements completely unimpeded by the heavy fog due to the magical ring he wore. The remaining kelubar quailed before the hulking warrior, and joined his brother once more on the Prison Plane.
“You see?” Ryd railed, pounding his shrunken fist against his larger sibling’s head. “I told you they would defeat those pathetic brutes you called! You never listen to me! Fool!” “Patience, little brother,” Dyr soothed. “The battle is far from over. These mortals depend largely on brute strength, and not enough on their minds. Let us see how they do when their main weapon is taken away.” Then, as Grimm stepped free of the two killing clouds, Dyr’ryd struck. A cascading ray of blue energy washed over the half-ogre, and Grimm felt as if his muscles had become wet rags. He almost collapsed under the weight of his armor and equipment, so weak had he suddenly become. Nevertheless, the planar champion saw that Dyr’ryd was finally within his reach. Gathering what strength he had left, Grimm leapt the intervening lava flow, and charged the shator. “That’s close enough child,” Dyr said, holding up one hand. To his own amazement, and also to that of his companions, Grimm did stop. His head felt funny, muzzy. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, or what he was doing in this place. Then his eyes found Dyr’s once more, and he wondered why he had just been considering killing his old friend. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Dyr said calmly. “Ryd, I do believe the little halfling runt is trying to sneak up behind us. Would you mind?” Ryd’s head whipped around, and his eyes locked onto Tilly’s, who had just crept up behind the demodand, hoping the distraction caused by Grimm’s strange behavior would give him the chance to cripple the big shator. Instead, he too fell victim to the Cagewright. He too perceived Dyr’ryd as his most trusted ally, and woe to those who meant his friend harm.
”We have to end this now!” Rusty shouted as he quickly grasped what was happening to Grimm and Tilly. “Houshang! Dalthon! The Tree! Destroy the Tree!” With that, the dwarf priest began hammering at the metallic behemoth over and over with his hammer.
“Ah, we can do much better than that, can’t we Dalthon old boy?” Houshang asked as he watched Rusty’s futile efforts with amusement. “Follow my lead, and don’t let up!” Then the Red Wizard released his own disintegration beam, only this time he targeted the tree itself, and was pleased to see a large chunk of its metal hide simply evaporate. As it did, the ground began to tremble beneath his feet. Seeing his tactic, and knowing it was the only way, Dalthon began adding his own magic to the assault.
“What are you doing?” Dyr’ryd shrieked as he saw what the two arcanists were trying to accomplish. “You two,” he said, barking at Tilly and Grimm. “Leave this place. Now! Never return!” Obediently, the warrior and the rogue turned without a word and began walking slowly towards the exit. Dyr’ryd hefted his guisarme in both hands, and began moving towards the Tree and Houshang and Dalthon. Kiko, however had other plans. Having finally escaped the Acid Fog and Cloud Kill, the monk leaped at the shator just as he passed. At the last instant, Dyr’ryd brought his weapon up, deflecting most of Kiko’s blow. With blinding speed that belied his huge bulk, he manifested a second Ray of Enfeeblement, striking Kiko full on with it. As the monk sank to his knees, Dyr’ryd hefted his pole arm again and brought it down solidly across his neck.
Ike had heard Rusty’s warning, and against every warrior’s instinct he possessed, he had turned from the battle at hand, and gone to the Tree. Now he stood near the priest, just outside of his anti-magic field where his weapons could still be used to full effect, and he slammed repeatedly at the massive artifact. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grimm appear from around the far side of the Tree. The half-ogre was headed straight towards Rusty. Ike hefted his hammer and moved to intercept his friend, whom he might be forced to kill this day. “Hold Ike,” Rusty said, putting up one hand and warning the goliath back. “I’ll handle this.” Grimm came on, but as he stepped inside the border of Rusty’s magic (or lack thereof), his eyes suddenly cleared, and he shook his head violently, as if to clear it. “What happened?” he asked, bewildered. “The Cagewright Charmed ya,” Rusty said, “and yer still under his power if ye step more’n ten feet away from me, so ye’d best stay put fer the time bein’ and help us bring down this lumberjack’s nightmare.” Grimm nodded, knowing the priest was right, yet chafing at his own weak will and impotence. Readying his chain, he settled for taking out his frustrations upon the Tree of Shackled Souls.
Again, and again Kiko climbed to his feet, managing to deliver a weak punch or kick here and there. Again, and again, Dyr’ryd beat him back down, using either his pole arm, or a barrage of Magic Missiles. The monk knew he couldn’t hold on for long, but at least he could buy his friends some time.
“It’s working!” Rusty shouted as another of Dalthon’s disintegration rays struck the tree, followed by an explosion of pure sonic energy unleashed by Houshang. Half the trunk was now gone, and what was left was starting to splinter and crack. Ike drew back his hammer one last time, and swung two-handed. The head of the weapon completely shattered the last pieces of metal holding the trunk upright, and with an ear-splitting groan, the Tree of Shackled Souls toppled.
The entire cavern began to buck and heave. Lava spewed into the air in geysers from the streams. Cracks began to appear in the floor, and rocks tumbled from the ceiling. “Do you see?” Dyr’ryd wailed. “Do you see what you have done? You’ve killed us all, as well as those above you sought to save! Fools!” In rage, he smashed Kiko again with his guisarme, leaving the monk barely able to lift his head. On the far side of the chamber, Gunther watched in horror. “We have to do something!” he shouted. “We can’t just leave him to die!” Without a second thought, the theurge summoned the words for a Fly spell, and immediately took to the air. “Gunter, ye idiot! No!” Rusty shouted, but it was too late. Gunther arrowed right towards Kiko, hoping to snatch the monk and Teleport them both to safety. Unfortunately, he underestimated the reach Dyr’ryd’s deadly pole arm gave him. As the theurge approached, the shator swung, batting the dwarf out of the air like he was a gnat. As the Bright Axes looked on helplessly, the Cagewright then drove the tip of the weapon straight thru Gunther’s chest, impaling him. Kiko knew he had to act. Though near death himself, he still had one more trick up his sleeve. Reaching out to touch Gunther’s lifeless body, the monk summoned his ki one last time, stepping between dimensions and taking his fallen comrade with him.
“That’s our cue to go!” Rusty cried. “Grimm, grab Tilly and flee! I’ll be right behind ye!” Without hesitation, Grimm acted. Snatching the bewildered halfling up under one arm, the half-ogre bolted for the door, and though as soon as he left Rusty’s side the Charm regained its hold over him, he was still under orders from Dyr’Ryd to retreat, and that was exactly what he was going to do. No sooner had the pair reached the door, than Houshang appeared at their side. “One way express to the surface is leaving now!” he shouted, and then the Red Wizard leaped onto the half-ogres’s back and Teleported, taking Tilly and Grimm along for the ride.
No sooner had Rusty moved, than the last kelubars reappeared where it had previously stood, the anti-magic field no longer close enough to suppress its call. Immediately it headed towards the last three Bright Axes remaining: Rusty, Ike and Dalthon. Moving in from a flanking position, was Dyr’ryd, and to make matters worse, the Acid Fog bank remained between the three and the exit. They were cut off. “Get behind me,” Ike said to his companions. “If we’re going to die anyway, let’s make sure we die on our feet, and try to take these bastards with us!” Then the demodands were upon him, and Ike began the fight of his life, whirling like a dervish, trying to keep the monsters away from Rusty and Dalthon.
“Drop the field,” Dalthon screamed at Rusty. “It’s no good now! My magic won’t work, and neither will yours! We are all going to die if we don’t get out of here!” Rusty didn’t question the sorcerer’s logic. With a snap of his fingers, he dismissed the null-magic effect, and instantly he felt magical power flow thru him. But it wasn’t his magic that was going to save them. “Now Dalthon!” Nodding, the sorcerer seized the dwarf by the hand, and then both of them dashed towards Ike, narrowly avoiding the flailing weapons and slashing claws around them. Both of them wrapped their arms tightly around the rampaging goliath, and then Dalthon uttered the words to his own Teleportation spell just as Dyr’ryd’s guisarme flashed thru the spot where they had just been standing.
_________________________________________________________
“I assume this means the plan has failed,” Freija Doorgan said coldly as Dyr’ryd barged into her chambers. “It is only a delay, my dear,” Dyr said. “Set back?” Ryd wailed, shaking his little fist. “You are a complete and utter hopeless waste! Our Lord was counting on us, and now you’ve betrayed his trust yet again!” “Would that I could pluck you from my skull, you little parasite,” Dyr growled in an uncharacteristic display of anger towards his twin. That alone told Freija that he was more shaken up than he appeared. “Nevertheless,” Dyr continued in a calmer tone, “we are leaving. Nulin and Ardeth are right behind me. You know where we are going Freija?” “Of course I do,” she snorted. “Shatterhorn, where I’m sure that bitch Embril will find this all very amusing.”
____________________________________________________________
Kiko lay panting in the tunnel, desperately trying to regain his strength and his breath. He had to move, had to get to safety. He didn’t know how long he had until the volcano erupted, but from the sound of things, time was going to be of the essence. Gathering Gunther in his arms, he began to run. By his calculations, it was approximately four miles to the surface. He thought he might just make it if he pushed himself. He was wrong. The monk of Ilmater was still well over a mile from Cauldron when the long dormant volcano finally unleashed all of its pent up fury, burying the city and everything in it and beneath it in a lake of fire.
The massive elliptical chamber glowed with a hellish light from lava bubbling through shaped channels that formed a familiar pattern in the floor. These rivers coalesced in the shape of the sign of the Carcerian Eye, and from the eye’s ‘pupil’ grew a horrendous sight. A large tree of metal erupted from the lava. Thirteen branches sprouted from a central trunk several feet across, twisting menacingly around the chamber to increase the diameter of the area occupied by the tree to nearly sixty feet. The branches were covered in wicked barbs, but each branch tapered to end in a hook. From each hook hung a cage, and within each cage was the slumped form of a humanoid figure. These were most certainly the Shackleborn, individuals cursed by fate to be the keys to unlocking the gate to Carceri. Two of these were familiar to the Bright Axes: Terrem Kharatys and Zenith Splintershield. The others were strangers, but they all had something in common other than their unfortunate heritage: they were all very obviously dead.
“We’ve been watching you.” The rasping voices, speaking simultaneously, but slightly out of sync, came from the far side of the chamber, though there was no sign of the speakers. Grimm blinked once, attuning his vision to see the unseen. Immediately, he saw the hulking figure standing on the opposite side of the tree. It appeared to be a giant shator demodand at first glance, but on closer inspection he saw that there was something wrong with it. It was misshapen, or disfigured. From one side of its face, there projected a second, smaller, and if possible, more loathsome visage, along with a stunted arm and leg. “We knew you would come, and we know why you’ve come.” Both faces of the monster spoke as one. “We are Dyr’ryd, and we are the masters of the Cagewrights. Please allow us to explain to you the folly of the path you have chosen.” None of the other Bright Axes could see Dyr’ryd, but Grimm continued to watch them carefully, noting their every movement. He smelled a trap. “The Tree has already been activated, and the ritual completed,” the twins continued. “The only way that the process can be halted is to destroy the Tree, but to do so would be disastrous. The shockwaves would destroy this entire mountain, and alas, Cauldron with it. So you see, your quest has already failed. You should put it aside, and listen to reason. What is it that you fear? A new world order? One dominated by demodands? You need not fear this inevitability. You should welcome it. The people of this plane are incapable of self-government. They war constantly with each other. Strife defines your world. Your kind needs structure and discipline. They need masters with firm hands to guide them and instruct them. My kind would be such masters. In time, you will see the wisdom of our grand plan. Embrace it now, or be overwhelmed in the deluge.”
“Seems we’ve already heard this routine,” Rusty shouted. “You and yer folk need to get some new material. The tree’s comin’ down, one way or the other, and yer goin’ back to that hell-hole you call home.”
“We knew you would say that,” Dyr’ryd tittered, “and we also hoped that you would. Nevertheless, never let it be said that we did not offer our foes mercy before we destroyed them.” Grimm saw the demodand close its eyes in concentration, and instantly three huge kelubars appeared around it, clearly visible to his companions as well. “It’s on,” the half-ogre growled.
If there was one thing that experience had taught Rusty, it was that demodands were predictable. He knew when the kelubars appeared that it would only be a matter of moments before the Acid Fogs followed. So it was, that a split second before the first cloud descended, the old priest brought up one of his most powerful, yet also one of his weakest, defenses…a null-magic field. In an instant, every magical protection and device that he carried became inactive and mundane, but at the same time, when the fog cloud appeared, Rusty stood unscathed in the middle of it, the area immediately surrounding him clear of the deadly vapors. The kelubars saw the ploy immediately, and began conjuring more mists, but by that time the Bright Axes had scattered, rushing into the chamber in all directions and closing on their opponents.
In unison, Grimm and Ike bore down on the nearest kelubars, who stood just out of reach of Grimm’s chain on the far side of one of the lava rivulets. Without hesitation, Grimm leaped the stream, landing squarely in front of the demodand, and hammering at it before it could step away. Ike was right behind him, nimble as a mountain goat as he cleared the lava. Swinging his maul, he slammed its head into the side of the kelubars, but to his amazement, the weapon only grazed the creature before sliding harmless off its oily hide. At that moment, the kelubars squealed like a pithed boar. It clawed at its back as black blood jetted from a gaping wound there. Tumbling away from the flailing demodand, Tilly gave his partners a wink as he wiped the acidic ichor from his smoking blade. The kelubars hissed and spat, crouching down on all fours like a cornered animal as it faced its assailants. But no common beast was as canny as the native Carcerian. Gauging the proximity of the its foes, it quickly conjured yet another Acid Fog cloud, this one centered directly on top of Ike, Grimm and Tilly.
Chuckling evilly, Dyr’ryd watched his minions harry the interlopers. Three of them were now enmeshed in the fog, trapped as if they were wading in quicksand. The mutant shator began its own conjuration, creating a cloud of nauseating, green vapor superimposed upon the Acid Fog. They had often used this tactic in the past, first rendering prey immobile, and then lowering the Cloud Kill. It would only be a matter of time now. “Well done,” Ryd giggled. “Why thank you, my brother,” Dyr replied. It didn’t bother the twins in the least that their attack had negated their invisibility. It wasn’t as if these amateurs actually posed them any real threat after all.
Dalthon knew his friends had their hands full, but he was more than confident in their ability to survive and triumph as they always had. The bigger issue was the Tree. It had to be shut down. The sorcerer didn’t believe for a minute the lies Dyr’ryd had told. The beast would say anything to keep them from stopping the ritual. Still, it never hurt to be cautious. It seemed the Shackleborn were the key to the Tree’s activation. They were beyond saving now, but perhaps even in death, they still supplied the Tree with the energy it needed. Dalthon took a calculated risk. From the tip of his finger, he launched a green ray at the nearest Soulcage and its occupant. In a flash, both cage and corpse disintegrated into a pile of dust at the base of the Tree. There was no effect. Dyr’ryd seemed unconcerned at the effect of the sorcerer’s spell. Dalthon shrugged. It had been worth a try. Time for a more direct approach.
Rusty had a plan as well. The Tree was very obviously a creation of magic. He had surrounded himself with a field of dead magic. If the two were brought together, it just might be possible that the ritual process would shut down. The priest trundled across the chamber towards the Tree, heedless of the kelubars who stepped to intercept him. As soon as Rusty approached within ten feet of the demodand, it simply winked out of existence, the magic which had summoned it negated by anti-magic.
Tilly coughed and gagged as the cloying vapors seeped into his lungs, slowly choking the life out of him. Not only that, but his skin itched and burned wherever the acid fog touched his exposed flesh. The first kelubars stood slowly upright once more, confident that he and his companions were now easy targets. The second kelubars had also entered the cloud, both creatures inherently immune to the effects of their own magic. As the second kelubars loomed over him, Tilly lunged forward, stabbing repeatedly and desperately at its legs and flanks. Surprised, the brute lumbered back several steps, unprepared for the vicious assault from what it thought would be a quick kill.
As the kelubar retreated, Kiko followed, ignoring the poisonous gas and the burn of the caustic fog. Again and again he struck at the demodand, leaving it staggering and reeling, barely on its feet. Then, from behind came the familiar snap/hiss of a chain being whip-cracked. As the barbed coils struck the kelubars, it abruptly vanished, banished back to Carceri. Grimm then whirled, his movements completely unimpeded by the heavy fog due to the magical ring he wore. The remaining kelubar quailed before the hulking warrior, and joined his brother once more on the Prison Plane.
“You see?” Ryd railed, pounding his shrunken fist against his larger sibling’s head. “I told you they would defeat those pathetic brutes you called! You never listen to me! Fool!” “Patience, little brother,” Dyr soothed. “The battle is far from over. These mortals depend largely on brute strength, and not enough on their minds. Let us see how they do when their main weapon is taken away.” Then, as Grimm stepped free of the two killing clouds, Dyr’ryd struck. A cascading ray of blue energy washed over the half-ogre, and Grimm felt as if his muscles had become wet rags. He almost collapsed under the weight of his armor and equipment, so weak had he suddenly become. Nevertheless, the planar champion saw that Dyr’ryd was finally within his reach. Gathering what strength he had left, Grimm leapt the intervening lava flow, and charged the shator. “That’s close enough child,” Dyr said, holding up one hand. To his own amazement, and also to that of his companions, Grimm did stop. His head felt funny, muzzy. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, or what he was doing in this place. Then his eyes found Dyr’s once more, and he wondered why he had just been considering killing his old friend. “That’s better, isn’t it?” Dyr said calmly. “Ryd, I do believe the little halfling runt is trying to sneak up behind us. Would you mind?” Ryd’s head whipped around, and his eyes locked onto Tilly’s, who had just crept up behind the demodand, hoping the distraction caused by Grimm’s strange behavior would give him the chance to cripple the big shator. Instead, he too fell victim to the Cagewright. He too perceived Dyr’ryd as his most trusted ally, and woe to those who meant his friend harm.
”We have to end this now!” Rusty shouted as he quickly grasped what was happening to Grimm and Tilly. “Houshang! Dalthon! The Tree! Destroy the Tree!” With that, the dwarf priest began hammering at the metallic behemoth over and over with his hammer.
“Ah, we can do much better than that, can’t we Dalthon old boy?” Houshang asked as he watched Rusty’s futile efforts with amusement. “Follow my lead, and don’t let up!” Then the Red Wizard released his own disintegration beam, only this time he targeted the tree itself, and was pleased to see a large chunk of its metal hide simply evaporate. As it did, the ground began to tremble beneath his feet. Seeing his tactic, and knowing it was the only way, Dalthon began adding his own magic to the assault.
“What are you doing?” Dyr’ryd shrieked as he saw what the two arcanists were trying to accomplish. “You two,” he said, barking at Tilly and Grimm. “Leave this place. Now! Never return!” Obediently, the warrior and the rogue turned without a word and began walking slowly towards the exit. Dyr’ryd hefted his guisarme in both hands, and began moving towards the Tree and Houshang and Dalthon. Kiko, however had other plans. Having finally escaped the Acid Fog and Cloud Kill, the monk leaped at the shator just as he passed. At the last instant, Dyr’ryd brought his weapon up, deflecting most of Kiko’s blow. With blinding speed that belied his huge bulk, he manifested a second Ray of Enfeeblement, striking Kiko full on with it. As the monk sank to his knees, Dyr’ryd hefted his pole arm again and brought it down solidly across his neck.
Ike had heard Rusty’s warning, and against every warrior’s instinct he possessed, he had turned from the battle at hand, and gone to the Tree. Now he stood near the priest, just outside of his anti-magic field where his weapons could still be used to full effect, and he slammed repeatedly at the massive artifact. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Grimm appear from around the far side of the Tree. The half-ogre was headed straight towards Rusty. Ike hefted his hammer and moved to intercept his friend, whom he might be forced to kill this day. “Hold Ike,” Rusty said, putting up one hand and warning the goliath back. “I’ll handle this.” Grimm came on, but as he stepped inside the border of Rusty’s magic (or lack thereof), his eyes suddenly cleared, and he shook his head violently, as if to clear it. “What happened?” he asked, bewildered. “The Cagewright Charmed ya,” Rusty said, “and yer still under his power if ye step more’n ten feet away from me, so ye’d best stay put fer the time bein’ and help us bring down this lumberjack’s nightmare.” Grimm nodded, knowing the priest was right, yet chafing at his own weak will and impotence. Readying his chain, he settled for taking out his frustrations upon the Tree of Shackled Souls.
Again, and again Kiko climbed to his feet, managing to deliver a weak punch or kick here and there. Again, and again, Dyr’ryd beat him back down, using either his pole arm, or a barrage of Magic Missiles. The monk knew he couldn’t hold on for long, but at least he could buy his friends some time.
“It’s working!” Rusty shouted as another of Dalthon’s disintegration rays struck the tree, followed by an explosion of pure sonic energy unleashed by Houshang. Half the trunk was now gone, and what was left was starting to splinter and crack. Ike drew back his hammer one last time, and swung two-handed. The head of the weapon completely shattered the last pieces of metal holding the trunk upright, and with an ear-splitting groan, the Tree of Shackled Souls toppled.
The entire cavern began to buck and heave. Lava spewed into the air in geysers from the streams. Cracks began to appear in the floor, and rocks tumbled from the ceiling. “Do you see?” Dyr’ryd wailed. “Do you see what you have done? You’ve killed us all, as well as those above you sought to save! Fools!” In rage, he smashed Kiko again with his guisarme, leaving the monk barely able to lift his head. On the far side of the chamber, Gunther watched in horror. “We have to do something!” he shouted. “We can’t just leave him to die!” Without a second thought, the theurge summoned the words for a Fly spell, and immediately took to the air. “Gunter, ye idiot! No!” Rusty shouted, but it was too late. Gunther arrowed right towards Kiko, hoping to snatch the monk and Teleport them both to safety. Unfortunately, he underestimated the reach Dyr’ryd’s deadly pole arm gave him. As the theurge approached, the shator swung, batting the dwarf out of the air like he was a gnat. As the Bright Axes looked on helplessly, the Cagewright then drove the tip of the weapon straight thru Gunther’s chest, impaling him. Kiko knew he had to act. Though near death himself, he still had one more trick up his sleeve. Reaching out to touch Gunther’s lifeless body, the monk summoned his ki one last time, stepping between dimensions and taking his fallen comrade with him.
“That’s our cue to go!” Rusty cried. “Grimm, grab Tilly and flee! I’ll be right behind ye!” Without hesitation, Grimm acted. Snatching the bewildered halfling up under one arm, the half-ogre bolted for the door, and though as soon as he left Rusty’s side the Charm regained its hold over him, he was still under orders from Dyr’Ryd to retreat, and that was exactly what he was going to do. No sooner had the pair reached the door, than Houshang appeared at their side. “One way express to the surface is leaving now!” he shouted, and then the Red Wizard leaped onto the half-ogres’s back and Teleported, taking Tilly and Grimm along for the ride.
No sooner had Rusty moved, than the last kelubars reappeared where it had previously stood, the anti-magic field no longer close enough to suppress its call. Immediately it headed towards the last three Bright Axes remaining: Rusty, Ike and Dalthon. Moving in from a flanking position, was Dyr’ryd, and to make matters worse, the Acid Fog bank remained between the three and the exit. They were cut off. “Get behind me,” Ike said to his companions. “If we’re going to die anyway, let’s make sure we die on our feet, and try to take these bastards with us!” Then the demodands were upon him, and Ike began the fight of his life, whirling like a dervish, trying to keep the monsters away from Rusty and Dalthon.
“Drop the field,” Dalthon screamed at Rusty. “It’s no good now! My magic won’t work, and neither will yours! We are all going to die if we don’t get out of here!” Rusty didn’t question the sorcerer’s logic. With a snap of his fingers, he dismissed the null-magic effect, and instantly he felt magical power flow thru him. But it wasn’t his magic that was going to save them. “Now Dalthon!” Nodding, the sorcerer seized the dwarf by the hand, and then both of them dashed towards Ike, narrowly avoiding the flailing weapons and slashing claws around them. Both of them wrapped their arms tightly around the rampaging goliath, and then Dalthon uttered the words to his own Teleportation spell just as Dyr’ryd’s guisarme flashed thru the spot where they had just been standing.
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“I assume this means the plan has failed,” Freija Doorgan said coldly as Dyr’ryd barged into her chambers. “It is only a delay, my dear,” Dyr said. “Set back?” Ryd wailed, shaking his little fist. “You are a complete and utter hopeless waste! Our Lord was counting on us, and now you’ve betrayed his trust yet again!” “Would that I could pluck you from my skull, you little parasite,” Dyr growled in an uncharacteristic display of anger towards his twin. That alone told Freija that he was more shaken up than he appeared. “Nevertheless,” Dyr continued in a calmer tone, “we are leaving. Nulin and Ardeth are right behind me. You know where we are going Freija?” “Of course I do,” she snorted. “Shatterhorn, where I’m sure that bitch Embril will find this all very amusing.”
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Kiko lay panting in the tunnel, desperately trying to regain his strength and his breath. He had to move, had to get to safety. He didn’t know how long he had until the volcano erupted, but from the sound of things, time was going to be of the essence. Gathering Gunther in his arms, he began to run. By his calculations, it was approximately four miles to the surface. He thought he might just make it if he pushed himself. He was wrong. The monk of Ilmater was still well over a mile from Cauldron when the long dormant volcano finally unleashed all of its pent up fury, burying the city and everything in it and beneath it in a lake of fire.
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