EKAYM’S REQUEST
As the thunder of the crowd died to a dull roar, Dwilt stepped into the center of arena.
“My fellow Waterdhavians!” he cried, and the crowd answered with enthusiasm. “As team leader of Impotent Rage, I think I speak for all of us when we thank you for your respect and enthusiasm.” The civilar waited patiently as the tumult swelled once more. “But I would be remiss,” he continued, “if I were not to acknowledge a true hero among us here today…our host, Lord Prendergast Brokengulf!” At this, the throng became deafening, stamping their feet and shouting the veteran gladiator’s name over and over. With visible reluctance, Brokengulf rose to his feet with a forced smile on his face, and waved perfunctorily to the crowd.
“Why, only just yesterday,” Dwilt resumed his monologue, “I learned that over a decade ago Lord Brokengulf almost single-handedly beat back a horde of ghouls, and sealed them in their lair for all eternity! Surely we owe an unpayable debt of gratitude to such a man…one who would never think of letting the undead walk our fair streets and threaten our women and children!” The audience cheered and cheered at Dwilt’s words. The civilar bowed deeply before Brokengulf’s box, noting with satisfaction the look of pure, murderous hatred the gladiator leveled at him.
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Later in the coenoby, the team took their meal in silence in the common area, noting that the kobolds of Crazy Eight rounded out the semi-final teams. The team mates couldn’t help but suppress a snicker at the unlikely gladiators, as they were sure to be their competition in the next day’s bracket. Traditionally in the finals, the previous year’s champions would fight a beast of some sort, while the other two teams faced each other. This meant that Auric and Khellek would fight what essentially would be an exhibition match in the morning, almost assuring their place in the finals.
Just then, a beaming Ekaym walked into the coenoby, carrying a silver trophy depicting a dwarven gladiator, and a large sack of clinking coins.
“Well done again, lads!” he cried, holding up the trophy. He then frowned slightly at the replica of the dwarf. “Ironic, no? Well, it suits you boys…and lady…nonetheless. Stirring speech, by the way Dwilt.” The talkative merchant seated himself at their table, chattering away about the match and its high points while he parceled out the winnings. “Say,” he said after a brief brake from his ramblings, looking around conspiratorially, “do you think we could go someplace a bit more…private?” Vladius looked immediately skeptical, but Dwilt shrugged and rose to lead the group to one of the empty quarters. Not their own, Giovanni thought to himself, seeing as how they had an escaped prisoner as a guest at the moment.
As soon as everyone had seated themselves around the walls of the small enclosure, Ekaym pushed the door closed, then deliberately locked it. Turning towards his team, his face was transformed. Oh, it still had all the same features, but the foppish frivolity was gone, replaced with a seriousness, and underlying sadness that caught the entire band momentarily off guard.
“My friends,” he began with a deep sigh, “I am not whom you believe me to be. I have not been entirely…forthcoming with you.”
“Big surprise there,” Vladius muttered before Grubber elbowed him silent.
My true name is Lord Urtos Phylund II.” Dwilt and Hawk both knew of House Phylund, long known for training and procuring fierce monsters. “My father,” Urtos continued, “was Lord Urtos I. He was the director of the Field of Triumph until his death ten years ago, during a tragic accident while he was transporting an owlbear to the arena. Two months prior to his death, I met with an unfortunate accident myself. While out hunting at our family lodge in the Ardeep forest, my companions and I ran afoul of a large pack of wolves. I was sorely injured, and it took me over two months to recover. When I finally returned to Waterdeep, it was to the news of my father’s death, and to discover that my step-mother, Lady Aridarye, presuming me dead, had been named steward of my House until her young son, my half-brother, could come of age. My dear step-mother was not exactly overwhelmed with relief to see me alive, as I once more took control of my House’s affairs. Seven years ago, Lady Aridarye married a close friend of my fathers, and also of mine…Lord Prendergast Brokengulf. Of this I will say no more, except that is no secret that three years ago, my former step-mother began having an affair with a local gladiator named Auric. Now, none of this really concerns me, as I have always suspected Aridarye of being an opportunist and a user, moving from one relationship to the next as it suits her purposes. However, I have recently discovered that the body of my father has gone missing from our family vault. I have always been suspicious of the circumstances surrounding my father’s death. He was an expert beast handler, and for him to die at the claws of one of his animals is a bitter irony. I have long suspected Aridarye’s hand in his death, but have never been able to prove anything. I have my own reasons for suspecting that there may be some clue as to the true cause of my father’s death here beneath the Field of Triumph. My…complicated relationship with Aridarye and Prendergast prevents my direct investigation here, as you can imagine. So it was that I came up with the idea to gather together my own team of gladiators, in the hope of infiltrating the arena sub-levels to search for anything related to my father’s murder, or the whereabouts of his remains. I realize an undertaking such as this is not without risk, and so I offer you all of the winnings you have thus far accumulated, and may yet accumulate, in exchange for your services.” Here Urtos paused, his eyes cautious.
Silence pervaded the room for several long moments, and then Dwilt stood, shooting a warning look at Vladius as the mage started to open his mouth.
“We have our own reasons for conducting an investigation into the arena and Lord Brokengulf,” he said to Urtos, “as you have no doubt suspected. Why else would two civilars of the Guard be competing incognito in a gladiatorial competition? We accept your offer, and will see what our search turns up. Hear me on this, though. If any of the trails lead to your friend Brokengulf, we will not hesitate to bring him down, personal ally or not. Do not try to interfere.”
“Agreed,” Urtos said after a moment, and briskly shook hands with the civilar. “Ah yes,” he snapped his fingers, reaching into his cloak and drawing out a leather tube. “The scroll you asked for Grubber, though none of you seem gravely injured. Is this just for insurance?”
“Not exactly,” Grubber replied, accepting the scroll case. “Come with us, and we will share a secret of our own with you.”
They made their way across the coenoby to the team’s personal quarters, and stepped quickly inside. The prisoner still cowered in the corner, just as they had left him. Dwilt had given him stern instructions to remain inside, warning the man that if he was seen by any one, his life would surely be forfeit.
“Who is this?” Urtos asked, eyeing the filthy man skeptically.
“That is what we hope to soon find out,” Grubber said, crouching beside the prisoner and unfurling the scroll. He began reading in a sing-song chant, and slowly, a lambent glow surrounded his hands. As his words faded, the writing on the scroll likewise vanished, leaving the parchment blank. Grubber reached out gently towards the prisoner, laying his glowing hands on either side of the man’s head. Instantly, the look of terror and confusion left the prisoner, and his eyes lost their glazed appearance.
“What…what did you do?” he asked, awestricken.
“Merely healed your fractured mind,” Grubber said kindly. “Now, can you tell us who you are, and what you know about the worms?”
Involuntarily, the man shuddered, but he did not cower this time. “My name is Anele. I have been a beggar on these streets since I was a child…never harming nobody. Then, no more than a tenday past, two watchmen snatched me up for no reason…no reason! I thought I was being arrested for panhandling, but they’ve never bothered me before. They locked me up down here without explaining nothing. There was another fella in the cell across from me. He tried to talk to me, but I showed him I was deaf. Still, he seemed nice enough. Then one night, I heard the strangest sound in the hallway outside my cell. It sounded like hoof beats…like a horse or something. When I got up to look, I saw him…a devil he was! He was flabby, and cruel looking. Looked sort of like a man in the face, but he had hooves instead of feet. Hooves I tell you! And wings…big, black, leathery ones…like a bat. Horns was growing out of his head. He opened the door to that other fella’s cell, and went inside. That’s when he did it. He pulled this horrible looking green worm out of a bottle and put it on the fella’s face. I could tell the man was screaming the whole time, even though I couldn’t hear him. The worm…ate its way into his face. Pretty soon he keeled over. Dead as a door nail, but then…he got up again! Only he wasn’t moving right…kind of jerky and twitchy. And the worms…oh gods the worms! They were everywhere! Crawling out of his eyes, and his mouth.” Anele broke down into sobs as the horrible memory returned to him.
“What happened then,” Grubber asked gently. “Where did they go?”
“Back down the hall,” Anele said, getting hold of himself. They turned down a little short hall and disappeared. I haven’t seen them come back out since.”
Urtos’ face had gone pale during Anele’s tale, and now he gaped at Dwilt. “What is he talking about?” the Lord asked. “Is he mad?”
“Not anymore,” Dwilt said calmly, “I told you…we have our own reasons for investigating here. There is much more going on than you can possibly imagine. Stay away from here, Urtos. We will be in touch with you when we are able. For now, if you could take Anele from here and see to his safety. Storm will shroud him for you so that you can leave unnoticed.”
Storm stepped up to Anele and cast a brisk spell. Anele faded from sight, and Storm instructed him to hold Urtos’ cloak and not to let go until the spell wore off.
“May the gods be with you,” Urtos said as he left the chamber, casting one last worried glance at the team he had assembled…and quite possibly, doomed.
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Evening came to the quiet coenoby, and the wardens once more departed, but not before warning the three remaining teams again not to wander from the area, especially since there was an escaped prisoner on the loose who was considered armed and dangerous.
As the midnight hour came and went, the League members crept from their quarters, and retraced their steps from the previous night. Though the saying goes that ‘lightning never strikes twice,’ that adage apparently did not hold true for the intrepid explorers. Try as they might to muffle it, the squealing of the long-disused upper stairway gate gave away their position a second time. This time, the shouting of the wardens was more urgent. They were already on heightened alert, with a prisoner having escaped right under their noses less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“We can’t avoid them this time,” Dwilt whispered hurriedly, “take up defensive positions! Hawk, try and stall them!” Havok and Shay quickly faded from view, while Grubber, Grim, Storm and Vladius flattened themselves against a wall. As the warden’s drew nearer, Hawk stepped into the hallway before them, silently stretching out his senses for the presence of evil and finding none.
“What the hell are you doing up here?” one of the wardens shouted. “You know you’re not allowed to be out of the coenoby! You could be disqualified!”
Hawk had no weapon in his hands. He raised both of them to punctuate the fact. “I beg your pardon, gentleman, but Lord Prendergast himself gave me his leave to explore a bit…sort of a reward for a job well done.”
The wardens regarded each other for a moment, and then turned back to glare at the civilar. “We happen to know for a fact that what you say is patently untrue,” the leader replied. “Now, we offer you just this one chance to return to the coenoby, or we will expel you from the tournament.”
“Time for talk is over!” shouted the diminutive mephit that flitted out from behind the paladin. “Show time!” With a word and a gesture, the wizard created a thick, oily layer of grease on the floor directly beneath the feet of three of the four wardens. All three immediately stumbled and crashed to the ground.
“I apologize in advance,” Hawk said as he rushed the remaining warden with his shield upraised, “but you are working for evil, knowingly or not, and we cannot allow you to interfere with us.” He slammed into the warden, rocking the man back several steps, right into the grease pit, and in short order, he had joined his comrades on the floor. Simultaneously, Havok appeared behind the four downed guards with Dwilt in tow, having dimension walked to flank them. The wardens tried to rise and defend themselves, but they were hopelessly over-matched and out classed. In less than a minute, they all lay unconscious.
“So what do we do with them?” Grubber asked as they stood over the subdued wardens.
“Obviously, we kill them,” Vladius said, with no hint of sarcasm in his voice, only deadly earnest. “They work for a man who wants us dead, and who is trying to summon an undead monstrosity that may be capable of destroying this whole city! Plus, they’ve seen us and can identify us. Case closed.”
“I won’t be a party to that,” Grubber said, folding his arms across his chest. “These men are simply hirelings for the arena. They have no part in Prendergast’s schemes that we know of. It would be murder.”
“Are you insane?” Vladius asked incredulously, “How many other people have you ‘murdered’ since we got involved in this whole affair? What about that whole tribe of lizardfolk? Didn’t I just personally witness you today smash in the skull of a dwarf or two in that arena? What part did they play in all this? Did they deserve to die?”
Grubber looked uncomfortable, his gaze falling to his feet. “That was different,” he said quietly, “There were extenuating circumstances.”
“Oh really??” Vladius pressed, “By all means, please explain them to me. I’d love to hear your moral justification of murder for money.”
“Enough!” Dwilt said, stepping between the feuding pair. “We are not going to kill these men. That’s final!” he glared at Vladius as the mephit opened his mouth again, then promptly snapped it shut. “We’ll tie them, gag them, and lock them in the cell block for now. We can decide their ultimate fate later.”
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A short time later, Shay secured the lock on the same cell that had held Anele with its four new occupants. The group then moved up the main hall to the smaller branch that Anele had indicated in his tale. It was a short passage, only ten feet long, with a stout wooden door at its end. Beyond the door lay a small cellar containing several barrels and hundreds of glass bottles on shelving. The air was thick with the smell of vinegar. There was no obvious way out. Shay stepped cautiously into the room, peering closely at the walls and the shelves. He moved to the back wall and began running his hands over its surface. Finally, he carefully removed a specific bottle from the rack to his left, and the section of wall slid back, revealing a dark stairwell leading down. “I would say we have our clue,” he said.
Grimm took the lead descending the stair, which curved to the right after reaching a small landing. No sooner had the dwarf stepped on the landing, than an explosion of black energy engulfed him. He staggered forward, and nearly fell down the second set of stairs, but for Hawk reaching out to grab him. “A slaying ward,” Grubber said from further up the stairs. “He was lucky,” he indicated Grim, “it was meant to kill.” Shaking himself out of his daze, Grim continued down the stair, arriving at another door at their base.
Pushing it open, the mineral warrior saw a square room which contained three plain, wooden coffins. Two lay along the south wall, while the third had been placed in the north part of the room. Several empty sacks were piled near the third coffin. Standing near the center of the room were three corpses with green, slithering words protruding from their eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Kyuss Spawn! Grim started to lift his axe, preparing to strike, but then a wave of paralyzing fear and nausea knotted his gut. He could not explain it. All that he knew was that he had to get away…now! Turning back into the stairwell, he began shoving his comrades aside, barreling his way up the stairs. Grubber saw the panic in his eyes, and knew that it was the magic of the spawn that affected him. As the mineral warrior approached, the goliath braced himself, and shoved his hands against Grim’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.
Shay, who was right behind Grim, also felt the fear seize him. He knew instinctively that only death awaited him in that room. Death, and undeath. He quickly followed in Grim’s path, and when the dwarf was stopped by Grubber, the wily rogue darted between the legs of both of them, coming up behind the goliath into the wine cellar. As he bolted towards the door, he was suddenly shocked to find himself face down on the floor as Storm stuck out her foot to trip him as he darted by.
Hawk couldn’t worry about his fleeing comrades at the moment. The spawn were still there, unthreatened. Rushing into the room, he charged the nearest of the horrors, and rammed his sword into its chest, unleashing a burst of holy energy as he did so. If the creature felt pain, it didn’t show it. It simply plucked a fat, wriggling worm from its mouth and reached out towards Hawk’s face. Instantly, the room erupted into fire. As the heat and light faded, Hawk saw that all that remained of the spawn were three greasy spots on the floor. “Thanks,” he said over his shoulder to the hovering mephit in the doorway.
Grubber chanted his prayer quickly, letting his energy flow through his hands and into Grim. For a moment, the fear gripped the dwarf even tighter, but then his mind cleared of its panicky fog, and he felt his face flush in shame. “That’s twice those bastards have gotten to me,” he said. “Never again…this I vow.”
Back in the wine cellar, Storm had shut the door to prevent Shay’s escape. The rogue rolled to his feet, and backed into a shadowy corner. His shadow walker ritual had gifted him with the ability to use shadows as dimensional doorways, and he prepared to do just that to escape these lunatics who couldn’t see their own deaths approaching. However, just as he began to focus his energies, Grubber rushed him, cuffing him across the forehead with his mallet. As Shay’s vision exploded into stars, Dwilt and Hawk were on him, punching him repeatedly until he lapsed into unconsciousness. Once he was out, Grubber pulled a potion flask from his pouch, an elixir that would remove the magical fear effect, which he had purchased after their last encounter with Kyuss Spawn. Opening Shay’s mouth, he forced it down the rogue’s throat.
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“What were those…thing?” Giovanni asked as Grubber tended Shay’s external bruises (his bruised ego would have to heal on its own).
“Those were Kyuss Spawn,” Hawk said, as he looked into the coffins, making sure they held no other nasty surprises. “The same things we met in the lower level of Cromm’s Hold.”
Giovanni shuddered. “I know how you described them, but…”
“Yeah, kind of makes you want to bring your lunch up,” Vladius offered. “Don’t worry about it kid. They die just fine.”
Just then, Hawk came to a halt in his search around the chamber. He stood in an archway leading east. After about fifteen feet, it branched north, but twenty feet beyond that it ended at a door. It was there that Hawk was looking. “We’ve got trouble,” he said.
“What?” Dwilt replied, stepping beside him. “Do you detect something?”
Hawk nodded. “Behind that door…nine of them. Three are more powerful than the others.” Dwilt knew exactly what he was talking about. The paladin was sensing evil. Not only could he detect its presence, but he could also discern how many creatures were present, and how strongly evil they were. The most powerful radiations tended to come from undead, priests, and outsiders, beings from other planes.
“Form up team,” Dwilt commanded. Without hesitation, the group organized themselves with Grim in front, followed by Dwilt, then Hawk, Grubber, Shay, Storm, Vladius and Giovanni. They moved carefully down the hall, towards the door.
Grim glanced over his shoulder at Dwilt. When the civilar nodded, the burly dwarf raised one hobnailed boot and kicked in the door. The air that rushed out of the large chamber beyond was particularly noisome. The northern wall of the room was almost completely covered by the remains of a wooden bookshelf whose contents had long ago crumbled to dust. The southern portion of the chamber was occupied by dusty pieces of ancient, ruined machinery that may once have comprised sets of semi-automated combat dummies. A set of double-doors stood closed in the room’s north wall. Standing about the large room, all facing the door which Grim had just smashed, were six more spawn. Among them, however, were three other creatures that looked like gaunt, nearly skeletal corpses, their rib cages filled with horrid, writhing viscera. Their tongues, which protruded obscenely from their mouths, were long, cartilaginous and clawed!
“Mohrgs!” Grubber shouted as he glimpsed the horrific-looking undead.
“I don’t care what they are,” Vladius replied, “as long as they’re not fire proof. Incoming!” Reflexively, Grim crouched low behind his tower shield as a massive explosion ripped through the chamber. Even so-protected, the flames from the powerful fireball still scorched even his thick hide. Peering over the top of his shield, he saw that their opponents were far worse off than he. Five of the spawn had been consumed by the blast, and the one remaining looked like a burned out torch. The mohrgs, though clearly damaged, still looked more than capable of putting up a fight. All three of the creatures rushed Grim, but since he had essentially created a bottle-neck in the doorway, they couldn’t all reach him at once. Nevertheless, one of them managed to rake its filthy, snake-like tongue across his face. For a split-second, felt every muscle in his body seize up, but just as quickly the sensation passed.
“Beware their tongues!” Grubber called from further down the hallway, “They can paralyze you!”
“Thanks for the warning,” Grim muttered.
From her position in the middle of the party, Storm could just make out the mohrg facing Grim. “Duck!” she shouted to Shay, Dwilt and Hawk, who obliged without question. From her palm came a scorching ray of pure flame, which passed harmlessly over Grim’s head and struck the walking corpse full in the chest. As it recoiled, Dwilt snaked his chain between Grim’s legs, coiling around one ankle of the mohrg, and jerked. With a guttural cry, the monstrosity fell to the ground at Grim’s feet. Grim didn’t waste the opportunity, and hammered his axe into the mohrg’s animate viscera.
Hawk was frustrated. Though Grim’s position effectively protected the rest of the group, it prevented him from entering the melee. He tried to peer over the heads of those in front of him to see if any new enemies had entered the room. It was then that he noticed the last spawn. It had shambled over to the far doors, and opened one of them.
“Havok!” Hawk shouted, “Get me in there…now!” He then turned and shouldered his way past Grubber, Shay and Storm. He couldn’t see the warlock, as he had rendered himself invisible once more, but he felt Giovanni’s hand seize his, and the next thing he knew he was standing right beside the Kyuss Spawn.
Vladius cursed. Now that Hawk and Giovanni were in the room, he couldn’t hurl his more destructive spells. Well, he could, but that might result in hurt feelings, and all sorts of whining, so instead, he drew a slender wand from his robe and with a word, sent a burst of missiles of energy down the hall. Amazingly, the bolts deftly dodged and weaved around everyone in front of him, and struck unerringly the mohrg he had aimed at. At that moment, the mohrg had been trying to stand, but Dwilt flicked his chain again, sending it sprawling back to the floor, at which time Grim followed up with a second chop, cracking several of its rotting ribs in the process.
The other two mohrg’s, however, had not failed to notice Hawk’s sudden appearance behind them. Rotting sinew creaked as they turned their heads to regard the civilar, and then as one, they charged. Hawk turned, shield raised just as the horrid tongues of the creatures struck like snakes. Showing surprising intelligence, the mohrgs moved to flank the paladin, stepping between him and the spawn. As Hawk watched, unable to intervene, the thing shambled into a darkened hallway beyond the door.
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Bozal Zahol stood before the altar, deep in meditation over the large scroll unfurled atop it, its writing bathed in a sickly green light. It was almost time. Soon the Apostle would awaken, and the ritual would be complete. Even now, he could feel the ulgurstasta stirring, its mind reaching out to him, giving him just the barest hint of the unfathomable dark secrets it harbored.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled explosion from the training hall. With a curse, he withdrew his attention from the scroll and the Apostle. He had been expecting this. Those so-called adventurers had finally arrived. He had warned Brokengulf that they would be trouble, but the old fool had been certain that Ilserv and his doppelgangers could handle them. Bozal had not been so confident. Theldrick was no weakling, and yet this band of bumpkins from a backwater town had managed to defeat him as well as the other Triad leaders, not to mention the Ebon Aspect. No, these were not typical treasure hunters, and they had been making Brokengulf look like a fool by defeating team after team in the Games. So now they were on his doorstep. Well, he had not come this far, brought the faithful of Kyuss so close to the Age of Worms, just to be thwarted on the eve of his apotheosis. Even before his spawn minion burst in to needlessly warn him of intruders, he began uttering his prayers.
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Hawk pivoted and whirled like a dervish, trying to outmaneuver the mohrgs. He slashed at the leg of one, cutting through several layers of decaying muscle. Suddenly, he saw Havok appear out of thin air as his invisibility spell ended with the blast that erupted out of his hand and down the hall where the spawn had vanished. In a brilliant flash of light, Giovanni saw the spawn illuminated for the briefest of instants, standing in an open doorway, before his eldritch blast obliterated it entirely.
The mohrg before Grim struggled to its feet one last time before a second missile volley from Vladius caused its skeletal head to explode. Dwilt and Grim wasted no time rushing past the still falling corpse and closing to aid Hawk. Both warriors struck simultaneously, Grim’s axe and Dwilt’s chain each knocking the legs out from under a mohrg, and sending them both to the ground. Hawk stabbed his sword through the sternum of the nearest one, and it began to crumble to dust as it died a second time. He then bashed the last mohrg with his shield as it began to rise, and followed up with a thrust from his blade through its chin and straight up into its rotten brain. Before it could recover, Dwilt slashed three quick strokes, each one shattering an exposed vertebra, and it followed its brethren into eternal rest.
“Come on!” Grim shouted as he started down the hall in the direction the spawn had gone. “It’s bringing others!” As he skidded to a halt at the open door at the end of the hall, his eyes went wide at what he beheld on the other side. Two braziers in the northeast and southeast corners lit the rectangular room. A simple altar of stone sat in the middle of the east wall, facing a large set of stone double doors to the west. On the altar was a scroll, which glowed with an unnatural green light. A writhing green beam of light emanated from the scroll to strike the doors, bathing them in the same green glow. Standing in front of the altar was what at first appeared to be a middle-aged man with a flaccid and misshapen figure. However, his goat-like hooves, large leathery wings, and vestigial horns labeled him as something else entirely. He wore chain mail armor and carried a wooden shield. At his side was slung a gleaming, wooden club.
Grim never hesitated. Roaring a challenge, he rushed into the chamber, but as soon as he did, he noticed the total absence of sound. He couldn’t even hear his own voice as he shouted. Nevertheless, he let his momentum carry him forward, raising his axe to cleave into the demonic figure. However, when he was still a dozen feet away, he ran up against what seemed to be a solid barrier, though one he could not see.
Grubber approached the door next and saw Grim’s dilemma. Something about the situation struck him as familiar. And then he had it. The fiendish looking man was a priest, and he had raised a powerful abjuration about himself…an anti-life shell! It would hedge out any mortal creature, preventing it from touching his person…unless Grubber could do something about it. The goliath noted that he could not hear Grim’s shouting, though the dwarf was clearly doing so. If he stepped into the chamber, he would not be able to form the words for his prayer, so he began his incantation outside the room, conjuring a dispelling field around the evil priest, hoping to bring down the anti-life shell, and whatever other defensive spells he may have in effect.
Before Grim could register the fact that the barrier had vanished, Hawk rushed past him, but as the paladin drew near Bozal, the priest uttered words unheard by no one but himself, bathing his hand in black light. He reached out gently, right for the paladin’s heart. With a silent cry of dismay, Hawk leaped back, batting the fiend’s hand aside with his shield, and then burying his sword to the hilt in the priest’s chest, unleashing a surge of holy energy as he did so. As Bozal staggered back, blood spurting from his wound, Dwilt sprang to Hawk’s side, snapping his chain around the fiend’s leg, tripping him and mentally sending a stunning blast down the length of the weapon. As Bozal jittered and jerked on the floor, Grim stood over him, and then brought his axe down upon his neck.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
and deserve no quarter. Plus on the Ice Storm there is somethings that have resistance to fire Matter of fact there is alot of things that do. I am going for archmage Prestige to get the Sculpting and substitution from that prestige.
