Ika_Greybeard
First Post
Nope just stating the obvious ![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
JollyDoc's Savage Tide-Updated 10/8!
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Hammerhead said:
What's so hot about this combo? I admit I'm not familiar with caster builds.
We've got a Dragon Shaman/Ranger in our Savage Tide campaign, and as of yesterday's encounter with Ripclaw the Savage Dinosaur, no cleric. So far the Shaman is an utter badass and a real life-saver with those auras. His role is melee tank: he's got Shield Specialization, Agile Shield Fighter, Improved Shield Bash, and a spiked heavy Bashing shield, so each shield hit does 2d6+4 damage. It's like he has a one-handed +1 greatsword that also gives +3 to AC.
He fights with spear and shield, and after seeing 300 yesterday we're all really getting a kick out of imagining his character in action.
The Ranger level is for Track, skill points, favored enemy (the party figures a sea campaign will feature plenty of humans, so Favored Enemy: Human will come in handy), and the ability to use Divine wands of spells from the ranger list (including the ever-popular "happy stick"). So far it's working out very well.
-z
JollyDoc
Explorer
Hammerhead said:
This is a difficult question because, unfortunately, Samson is being hamstrung at every turn. Admittedly, his aura's do help the party, but his role as a front-rank fighter has been severely hampered by his goblin physique. After this week, he is even less able to do so (as you will see). He relies pretty heavily on his breath weapon, which is useful. All in all, it is my opinion that the poor boy will not last to see the end of the AP, but I've been surprised before.
Joachim
First Post
Grubber was a cleric, a class that is one of the most powerful out there, and after the lower levels was not expected to be a front-line tank. The dragon shaman is a fairly weak class, and Samson is expected to spend all of his time up front encountering every improved grabbing monster that Paizo could find.
Grubber was also a medium sized creature that counted as being large and could wield large-sized weapons (2d8 hammer with a racial +4 modifier to strength, comparable damage of 11 per hit with a +2 on the attack roll). Samson was a medium sized creature that counts as being small, wielding a small weapon (1d6 with a racial -2 penalty to strength, comparable damage of 2.5 per hit with a -2 on the attack roll).
Grubber most powerful ability was Miracle / BoED goodness. Samson most powerful ability is a breath weapon that maxes out at 10d6.
Yeah, I see too similarly hampered characters there (note sarcasm), even if Grubber never flew, which was really more of a party problem than an individual problem.
Grubber was also a medium sized creature that counted as being large and could wield large-sized weapons (2d8 hammer with a racial +4 modifier to strength, comparable damage of 11 per hit with a +2 on the attack roll). Samson was a medium sized creature that counts as being small, wielding a small weapon (1d6 with a racial -2 penalty to strength, comparable damage of 2.5 per hit with a -2 on the attack roll).
Grubber most powerful ability was Miracle / BoED goodness. Samson most powerful ability is a breath weapon that maxes out at 10d6.
Yeah, I see too similarly hampered characters there (note sarcasm), even if Grubber never flew, which was really more of a party problem than an individual problem.
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Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Maybe it's time to buy Samson a Wish or Miracle, and revert him back to his original form. It's no fun for anyone if a player is stuck with a character he doesn't enjoy playing.
JollyDoc
Explorer
Zaruthustran said:
Well, that's the thing. I think Samson's player actually enjoys playing him! Case in point: when the group fought the mummies, originally Samson was overcome by the despair and was "paralyzed with fear." One of the mummies then performed a coup de grace and killed him. When Thomas (Samson's player) left that night, it was with the full intention of making a new character. As the week progressed, however, it came to my attention that dragon shamans are immune to paralysis. This then began a discussion as to whether or not mummy despair was a paralysis effect, or a fear effect. In the end, I found a web link that mentioned mummy despair, which directly referenced the paralyzed condition, not the fear condition. Ultimately, I offered Thomas the choice of bringing back Samson, or bringing in a new character. He chose to bring back Samson. Go figure.
Need_A_Life
First Post
Great, as always!
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
The road to roleplayers is paved with the dice of many good powergamers...or something like that.JollyDoc said:
Kudos Thomas!
JollyDoc
Explorer
THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY
“It’s Mummy Rot,” Anwar said as he examined the festering wound on Sepoto’s arm. “It’s a disease that mummies transmit on contact.”
“If it’s a disease,” Marius said through gritted teeth, obviously in pain, “then why didn’t our curatives remove it?”
“Well, technically, it’s a curse,” Anwar said, clinically.
“I can remove curses,” Basil chimed in, “but I’ll need a day to study the appropriate spell.
“I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” Anwar replied, turning to the young mage. “Mummy Rot is a very powerful curse. Even with your magic, you may have difficulty undoing it.”
“It doesn’t seem that we have much choice,” Urol said, matter-of-factly. “I’ll tend to these three,” he indicated Sepoto, Marius and Samson, “while the young feller there does whatever it is that he needs to do. We’ll just see what the morning brings.”
Basil fished a coil of rope from his pack, spoke a few words over it, and tossed it into the air, where it hung, rigid and unsuspended.
“Everybody climb up,” he said. “I’ve created a safe haven for us to rest.”
Sure enough, as each of the group clambered up the knotted rope, they found themselves in a large, bare room, big enough to accommodate all of them. They could peer out from where the rope entered the extradimensional space, much like a trap door. When the last of them were inside, Basil pulled the rope up behind them, leaving no trace of their passing.
When morning came, Urol’s patients looked no worse, and the druid had even managed to make some of their lesions look less purulent. It was time for Basil to begin his work. The wizard started with Sepoto, reasoning that they would need the big goliath hale and hearty if they were to find their way out of the tomb. Three times he wove his magic, but it was only on the third attempt that he finally sat back, sweat beading on his brow.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Sepoto asked. “Why are the sores still there?”
“Because only the curse has been broken,” Anwar answered. “The disease remains, and must be cured.”
Sepoto nodded. “That I can handle.” The goliath pulled a strand of prayer beads from his pocket, and sorted through them to one particular bead. This one he concentrated on, closing his eyes. Within a few moments, a soft, golden glow began to shine from between his hands, spreading to cover his entire body. Just as quickly, it faded.
“There,” he said.
Anwar nodded. “Now you will just have to let time do the rest. Speaking of which, it seems time is something we have a surplus of. Basil, I presume you will need to study your spells again and try once more in the morning.” The wizard nodded. “Then I will leave it to you, Urol, to tend to your charges. Thrisp, why don’t you and I go exploring?”
___________________________________________________________
The pair crept thru the tomb, silent and unseen, courtesy of Thrisp’s magic, looking closely at everything, but careful to touch nothing. At one point Thrisp paused at an apparent dead-end.
“What’s wrong?” Anwar whispered, prepared to flee if another mummy suddenly appeared.
“This wall,” Thrisp said absently, staring intently at the seemingly blank stone, “I think there may be some sort of opening here. The coloring of the stone is subtly different, and the air smells just a tad mustier.”
“Hmph,” Anwar snorted. “How can you tell? The whole place smells like Sepoto’s boots.”
Thrisp ignored him, still examining the wall. Abruptly, he touched a spot on one of the stones, and the entire wall swung inward.
“Voila!” the gnome said. “Shall we?”
The chamber beyond was a small crypt dominated by a large stone sarcophagus. Both the walls of the room and the sarcophagus itself were covered in decorative patterns and carvings of animals. The top of the sarcophagus depicted a man dressed in robes, wearing a feathered headdress, and clutching a blue rod in one hand, and a ceremonial dagger in the other.
“I’m not sure about this,” Anwar said as he gazed into the crypt from the doorway.
“Relax,” Thrisp said. “If there’s any danger, we can slip out unseen and be back to the others in a matter of moments.”
“Then you go and check it out,” the bard replied. “I’ll be sure and bring help if you get into any trouble.”
Thrisp rolled his eyes, and began making his way across the room, examining every flagstone for signs of hidden traps before he put his foot on it. The only thing he noted were numerous small holes pitting the entire floor. When he reached the sarcophagus, he walked around it once, inspecting it closely. Satisfied that it wasn’t going to explode if he touched it, he climbed on top. Once more, he scrutinized every inch of the lid and the relief carved upon it.
“Aha!” he said softly. Just where the lid joined the main sarcophagus, he found a small, depressed knob. Lifting the lid would allow the knob to rise up and trigger, Thrisp suspected, some sort of trap. Rubbing his hands together, he pulled a small bag of tools from his belt. Working with the expertise of a master craftsman, he managed to wedge the knob in place. Satisfied, he climbed back down and returned to Anwar.
“You see?” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Just the same, you might want to stand back. I’m going to open it from here.”
Anwar obliged without question, retreating around a corner. Thrisp spoke the words to a spell, and then mimed knocking on a door. The lid of the sarcophagus suddenly slid to the side and fell heavily to the floor. Thrisp waited breathlessly for a moment, but nothing emerged. Once more he moved across the room, and climbed atop the pedestal to peer in. A skeletal corpse lay within, adorned as the relief depicted. It held a blue, stone rod in one hand, and a gleaming silver dagger in the other. Around its neck was a golden medallion inset with a shining, pink pear, glowing dimly. The rod, Thrisp noted, was identical to the red one Samson had found, save for its color. The two must be important, he thought. Reaching in, he plucked all three items from the corpse, and again held his breath. The mummy remained stationary. Quickly, the gnome scuttled back out of the room, closing the hidden door behind him.
“Not bad,” Anwar said. “I would have thought you’d be dead three times over. Luck must be with you today.”
“Not luck at all…pure skill!” the beguiler retorted. Having had their fill of adventure for one day, they returned to their comrades.
_____________________________________________________________
The following morning saw Basil finally succeed at removing the mummy’s curse from Samson, after which Sepoto used his prayer beads to completely cure the diseased flesh of the dragon shaman. Marius was not so fortunate. Not only could the wizard not undo the foul magic afflicting the war mage, but Marius’ lesions grew worse, despite Urol’s ministrations.
“We’ve no choice but to remain another day,” Anwar said as he observed Marius’ condition, “but now that most of us are well, we had best go about finding our way out of this place. Amella, I would ask that you remain here with Urol and Tavey, and continue to tend Marius. We won’t be gone long.”
Amella looked reluctant to be separated from the bard, but she nodded, after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Thrisp said as they exited their safe haven.
“I wouldn’t play any other kind,” Anwar winked. “Tomorrow is promised to no one, which is why I live each day as if it were my last.”
The Legionnaires, minus Marius, wound their way through the twisting turns of the mausoleum, until at last they came upon twin stone doors. Thrisp ascertained that they were safe, and then Sepoto pushed through. Two gigantic iron doors stood closed to the south of the small chamber beyond. They were decorated with symbols of water and sea life in tarnished copper. Opposite them were a pair of pedestals, each with a peculiar notch cut into the side. One of the pedestals was made from dusky red granite, while the other was crafted from light blue marble.
“It seems we’ve solved the mystery of the colored rods,” Anwar said.
“Those doors probably lead out,” Thrisp added. “They look like water doors. There’s probably some tidal basin on the far side. Before we find out, however, I’d like to have a look at what’s on the other side of those doors.” He nodded to the far side of the room, where another pair of stone doors stood closed. “Unless I miss my guess, I would assume they lead eventually back to the far chasm bridge, but I’m curious just the same.”
“You know that they say about curiosity,” Anwar smiled.
“I also know that they say about satisfaction,” the gnome retorted.
Another largely bare chamber lay beyond the portals. One corner had completely crumbled away to reveal a stagnant pool of water, its surface calm, dark and mysterious. One more pair of closed stone doors stood on the north wall. Samson and Sepoto began moving across the room, cautiously approaching the pool while the others waited in the doorway. They were still ten feet away from the water when a viscous, black pseudopod suddenly erupted from within, attaching itself to Samson. The goblin screamed in agony as he was hoisted from his feet, his skin smoking as some sort of acid ate into his flesh. In a matter of seconds his clothing had completely dissolved, and shortly thereafter, his breastplate corroded as well. The appendage pulled him towards the pool as an amorphous, ebony body began to emerge.
Sepoto began backing slowly away. He knew that if just the touch of the creature could completely destroy Samson’s armor, then his weapon would be useless. He turned helplessly towards the others.
“Do something!” he shouted.
“Get back!” Basil yelled. The wizard rolled up his sleeves, a spell on his lips as he did so. Three searing blasts of fire flew from his hands, each striking the ooze unerringly. The creature shuddered with each hit, its pudding-like skin drying and cracking beneath the flames. Samson screamed again as the monstrosity reflexively constricted its pseudopod around him, this time melting his shield as he brought up in a warding gesture. In desperation, the dragon shaman breathed his own acidic breath onto the thing, and to his amazement, more of its form began to dissolve.
“Hit it again!” Anwar snapped at Basil, laying his hand upon the wizard’s shoulder as he imbued him with his own magic, augmenting that of the master specialist. Again Basil spoke the words to his spell, and again fire erupted from him. This time, the skin of the ooze began to boil and bubble like tar, until it began to discorporate, melting back into the pool. Samson leaped free, landing naked on the floor, his own flesh a mass of blisters. Mentally slowing his breathing and heart rate, he brought from within him the great stamina of the dragons, healing his wounds with their power.
Thrisp gave Samson a spare set of his robes to wear, and Basil wove a spell about the dragon shaman, conjuring a mystical field of force around him that would act as a sort of temporary armor.
“I’m sorry we can’t do more,” Thrisp said.
“You’ll just have to keep yourself out of the thick of things until we can come up with something better,” Anwar said, barely managing to keep the disgust from his voice. In his mind, the dragon shaman was quickly becoming a liability…an expendable one at that.
The doors at the opposite side of the chamber did indeed lead back to the chasm, just as Thrisp had suspected, so the group returned to the water doors. Samson and Sepoto each placed one of the rods into the pedestals and began to rotate them. The great doors opened with a screech of protest, flooding the chamber with fresh salt air from the world outside. Beyond the doors was a set of broad seaweed-choked stairs that led down to a small beach. It was low tide, or else the area beyond the beach would have been completely submerged. As it was, a wet stone path led between several deep tidal pools to a second beach, which rose up away from the water, forming a winding cliffside path roughly eighty feet above.
The literal coast looked clear, but Thrisp was never one to take things at face value. While his companions waited at the foot of the stairs, the beguiler spoke a spell, and then scuttled up the cliff wall like a spider, quickly blending into the shadows. He paused above a nearby pool, his keen eyes gazing around the area. Nothing moved. His gaze then swept the pool below him, but it was too murky for him to see within. He thought for a moment, and then shrugged as he made up his mind. Quickly, he climbed down the wall, and then into the pool, holding his breath as he submerged. The pool was relatively shallow, only about ten feet or so, but it was twenty or thirty feet across at its widest. Crouched around the bottom where three monstrous crabs, easily the size of horses. They busied themselves plucking brine and plankton from the water, and then feeding their catch into their mouths. They didn’t seem to notice Thrisp at all. As furtively as possible, he climbed back out of the water and returned to his comrades.
“We’ve got crabs,” he said as he stood dripping in front of them, “big ones.”
“Speak for yourself, my good man,” Anwar said indignantly. “I am always very selective about the female company I keep.” He laughed aloud at his own joke.
“May I continue?” Thrisp asked dryly as the bard continued to chuckle. “As I was saying, there are three of them, spaced around the bottom of the pool.”
“It’s not that big,” Basil observed. “I could engulf the whole thing with a well placed fireball.”
“Won’t the water extinguish the flames?” Sepoto asked.
“Ordinary ones, yes,” Basil explained, “but not necessarily magical ones. I have some skill at this.”
The group spaced themselves out along the stone path, waiting for Basil to either kill or draw the vermin out. The young wizard began his spell, tossing a pea-sized spark of fire into the pool. An instant later, the entire basin lit up from within, and steam rose from the boiling water. One by one, the crabs rapidly exited the pool, their shells bright red. Angered and in pain, they charged forward, claws snapping. Sepoto was ready. Whirling his chain, he brought it down with a force that sent a shockwave through the very stone beneath his feet. The crab exploded into a hundred fragments. As the second one approached, the goliath flicked his blade out and back, lightning fast, tearing pieces out of the creature’s carapace. At that moment, the third crab rushed at his flank, but a word from Thrisp froze its limbs to the ground, halting it in its tracks. Samson leaped forward, his acidic breath exploding from his lungs. One of the monsters collapsed, great smoking craters eaten into its hide. Sepoto darted at the other, cracking its shell cleanly in two with a final strike.
Anwar stepped forward, surveying the carnage with his hands on his hips.
“All I can say,” he laughed, “is who brought the hot butter?”
___________________________________________________
Having found the far side of Dark Mountain Pass, the Legionnaires returned to their companions and recounted their tale. Marius was stable, but still wracked with fever and pain. Another long night passed as Basil prepared his magic again, but the morning brought him no luck, and the company was forced to delay yet another day. Finally, on the following morning, the wizard found success. Sepoto quickly removed the remnants of the rot, but it was obvious to all that, though Marius could travel, he would be weak for days to come.
Gathering their gear, the expedition left the pass and took to the cliff trail. Soon it widened, becoming something of a road, though a poorly maintained one.
“The Mazticans built this at least a millennia ago,” Urol explained enthusiastically as they picked their way among the broken paving stones. “We’ll be following it along the coast south for at least the next six days, but with the road to guide us, we should make good time.”
The route was a winding one, at times taking the company nearly one-hundred feet above the waters below, and at others descending back to sea level to traverse stretches of rocky beach. As they made their way south, they found traces of recent native settlements…empty outrigger canoes beached on the rocks, sections of walkway that had been repaired or reinforced with wooden supports where erosion had washed away the stone, and every so often they even came upon small collections of beachside huts. All of these proved to be uninhabited and often partially collapsed, the nesting grounds for loud, angry gulls. The canoes were rotten, and the repairs to the cliffside path were dubious and looked unsafe. And so the first day went. As the sun began to sink, they made camp. This was done in relative safety, thanks to Basil’s ability to create his rope trick. Still, Thrisp came down from the haven in the middle of the night, restless with his thoughts. As he sat, gazing out at the moon-washed waves, he suddenly sensed that he was being watched. He was certain there was something out there in the dark, but he couldn’t see nor hear it. Huddling deeper into his cloak, he sank into the shadows, sleep eluding him.
The next day dawned bright and hot. The castaways set out again, Thrisp in the lead, scouting, while the others followed some fifty feet behind. It was mid-morning when they first caught the almost silent sound of flapping wings. As one, they looked to the sky, just in time to see a large shadow pass directly overhead. Samson gasped in wonder as he saw the silhouette. Could it be? As the creature landed on the road before them, between the main company and Thrisp, the dragon shaman saw that he had been right. A dragon crouched not twenty feet away. It was not mature, Samson saw, probably just barely into adulthood, yet it was still as large as an ox. Its black scales glistened in the sunlight, and curling, ram-like horns sprouted from its head. It stretched its neck out, hissing like a serpent, an acrid, burning stink carried on its breath. Before any of the others could react, Samson stepped forward, and dropped to one knee, bowing his head to the stones.
“Great one,” he said, “we bear you no ill will, and regret having transgressed upon your hunting grounds. We beg that you let us pass, and we shall honor your name across this land.” His words were spoken in the language of dragons, and the young wyrm seemed surprised to hear his native tongue from the mouth of a goblin.
“Spare me your honor,” he spat. “I hunger. If you truly revere the blood which flows through your veins, you will sacrifice one of your number to me. Then you shall pass.”
“Please, my lord,” Samson replied, raising his eyes to the dragon, “do not ask this of me. Their lives are not mine to give.”
“Then you are just as worthless to me as they are!” the wyrm roared.
Urol, who understood the draconic dialect, listened with growing dread. When the dragon bellowed, the little gnome panicked, bolting back down the trail. As he went, he called upon the magic of the natural world to create a billowing cloud of mist about him, obscuring him, he hoped, from the dragon’s view.
“Looks like negotiations are over,” Basil said. “Time for diplomacy by other means!” The wizard loosed a salvo of fiery contrails at the ebony dragon, each blast searing deep scores in its armor-plated flesh. The wyrm reared on its back legs, howling into the sky. Tavey’s nerve broke. Darting from Sepoto’s side, he vanished into Urol’s fog bank. Amella watched him go, and then quickly looked at Anwar. The bard nodded, and the sea captain followed after the boy.
Thrisp had watched the entire exchange from hiding. The dragon had paid him no notice, oblivious to his presence. The beguiler intended to use that to his advantage. Stepping from the cliff shadows, he shouted out arcane words, and as the wyrm turned in surprise, a blast of radiant light struck him squarely in the face, sending a blinding starburst of light into his eyes. Instantly, Thrisp vanished from sight.
“You think me beaten so easily?” the dragon roared. “I don’t need to see you to kill you!” His neck whipped back towards the main group, his supernaturally heightened senses picking out each of them. Stretching his jaws wide, he spewed a deadly line of caustic acid, catching Basil, Samson and Anwar in its spray. All three felt as if their skin were melting, and in places, it actually was. Anwar swore he could see the white of bone beneath one of the burns.
Sepoto had been willing to give Samson the benefit of the doubt, but when it became obvious that the dragon was in no mood to parley, the goliath was in motion. He nimbly dodged aside as the acidic breath of the creature spewed forth, and he rolled to within mere feet of the wyrm. Spinning his chain like a lasso, he raked it across the dragon’s neck. Though it was obvious that the beast was still blind, it turned its head directly towards the goliath. Raising one paw, he raked five, razor-sharp claws across Sepoto’s chest. As he reared to strike again, a fiery blast exploded behind him, knocking him off balance. Sepoto didn’t hesitate, striking again, knowing that he had to stay on the offensive to survive. The dragon regained his balance and took a cautious step back. He crouched low, as if to pounce, and Sepoto readied himself for the coming assault. To his surprise, however, the wyrm leaped into the air, soaring over him to land several yards away, directly in front of Basil.
“So, little wizard,” the dragon hissed, “you like to play with fire? Let us see how well your flesh burns!”
“As tempting as that offer sounds,” Basil said shakily, “I believe I’m going to have to pass.” He quickly drew a wand from his belt and spoke a single word, “Switcheroo!” In an eye-blink, Sepoto stood in the wizard’s place.
“Surprise!” the goliath grinned.
“Surprise indeed!” the dragon growled, and it was at that moment that Sepoto noticed the fog was gone from his eyes. The wyrm could see him! The dragon lunged, knocking the goliath to the ground and then leaping on him like a cat, claws ripping, wings buffeting, teeth seeking his throat.
“No!” Samson cried. Drawing his morningstar, he charged forward. The dragon spun towards him, but a fraction of a second too late. There were tears in his eyes when Samson struck the killing blow, his cudgel cracking the thick skull of his revered totem.
“Forgive me,” the dragon shaman whispered as the dragon heaved its last breath.
_________________________________________________________
The day wore on, and the company continued steadily south. Samson was uncharacteristically quiet, and even Anwar knew better than to goad him. They had traveled some twenty-odd miles from Dark Mountain pass, and the sun was setting. Urol advised they make up for lost time while they still had daylight, and so they pressed onward. The cliff road narrowed to a mere twenty feet, and rose to a height of some eighty feet above the crashing waves below. Thrisp was on point, though his companions could barely see him as he flitted from shadow to shadow. However, even his sharp eyes did not see the eyes that watched his party in turn.
There was no warning this time. They were just simply there, seemingly having appeared out of thin air, though it was obvious they had swooped down silent as death. There were five of them, grotesque, winged humanoids with horned heads and stony hides. Before the Legionnaires and their charges knew what was happening, the gargoyles were among them. Sepoto hissed in pain as one clamped its teeth into his shoulder. A second one slashed Basil across the arm, while a third lowered its head and rammed into Amella with its horns. It was chaos. Still, the seasoned adventurers had not survived for so long by giving in to panic. Basil was the first to get his bearings, and almost instinctively he spoke the words to a spell, rendering himself invisible. Thus cloaked, he ducked between their attackers and got clear of the melee. Tavey Nesk was not so fortunate. While the boy was a true child of the street, and accustomed to evading trouble, these were much more than common street thugs. Tavey tucked and rolled, trying to tumble between the legs of the monstrosities, but he was not fast enough. Two of them slashed and bit at him as he passed. When he rolled to his feet, he was pale and bleeding freely. Desperately, he ran.
“Run Tavey, run!” Amella called, drawing the attention of the gargoyles back to her. The Captain was no more experienced with battling monsters than the boy, but she was no coward. Taunting the beasts, she whirled nimbly between two of them, until she was back-to-back with Sepoto. Samson’s lethargy from the morning seemed to drop from him in a matter of moments, only to be replaced by blind rage. Roaring, he spat acid at two of the nearest gargoyles, causing them to recoil, shrieking. At the same time, Sepoto wrapped his chain around the creature that had bitten him, and heaved it over his shoulder, snapping its neck as it hit the ground.
Thrisp cursed. So much for his scouting abilities. In any case, the Dark Lady had not chosen him for his stealth. It was his magic that She craved, and he would prove to Her that he was worthy of Her attention. Touching the Shadow Weave he altered the very nature of the air around the combatants, both friend and foe. It shimmered, and rippled in a vertiginous field. At his mental command, the effect centered most strongly upon the gargoyles. All of them doubled over, grabbing their stomachs and retching violently. His allies stumbled around a bit drunkenly, but they were still capable of action, unlike their opponents. The gargoyles began to stagger for the edges of the effect, but Sepoto slashed one with his chain, whipping it like a dog as it retreated. Still, the creature’s stone-like hide deflected the worst of the blow, and when it was free of Thrisp’s magic, its nausea fading, it glared at the little gnome and started towards him.
The remaining three gargoyles were not so fast to recover, and Samson took advantage, battering one about the head and shoulders as it heaved bile onto the ground. At the same moment, two things happened. First, Thrisp dodged his approaching foe easily, moving towards the battle. As he ran, he spoke another spell, seizing the muscles of the three sickened beasts, and slowing their reflexes considerably. They moved as if swimming through mud, languid and clumsy. Second, Anwar brought his own magic to bear, creating a greasy slick beneath the feet of two of the unfortunate predators. Both of them slipped and fell, landing in the middle of their own sick. As one of them struggled to regain its feet, Samson smashed in the side of its face, and it fell back to the ground, twitching.
Meanwhile, Thrisp’s antagonist would not be so easily foiled. Taking to the air, it closed the distance to the gnome, snatching him up in a bear hug as it landed. Thrisp grunted as the air was driven from his lungs, but then he heard a familiar voice nearby.
“Go limp, and trust me,” Basil said. The gargoyle looked around, but could not see the invisible mage. Basil spoke a single word, touched Thrisp’s arm, and whisked them both momentarily between dimensions, to reappear several dozen yard’s away.
“Thanks,” Thrisp gasped. “I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to your tab,” Basil chuckled.
One of the gargoyles was outside of Anwar’s spell, and though its movements were still slowed, its nausea had faded. It watched the battle unfolding, deciding what its next action should be. It was then that its gaze fell on Tavey. The wounded boy had stopped running after several yards, and now stood gasping, barely able to stand. Grinning savagely, the gargoyle loped towards him. Tavey heard it coming, and sobbed as he tried to avoid its charge. Fortunately, due to the creature’s sluggish movements, he was able to do just that, lunging past it and limping back towards the group.
Thrisp was now much closer to Tavey, thanks to Basil’s timely rescue. He watched as Tavey tried to make his escape, but the gargoyle was turning to follow, spreading its wings. If it went airborne, the boy would never make it.
“Not so fast,” the gnome muttered, and he began to cast, summoning his host of ghostly sentinels once more. They began swarming around the gargoyle, and it paused, staring in confusion at them. It raised one claw, swatting at one, but seeing its hand pass harmlessly through. Thinking it was being tricked by some illusion, it growled, and took to the air. It realized its mistake much too late. Twelve sets of fists hammered into it, bypassing its rocky hide easily with their incorporeal touch. The gargoyle crashed to the ground, buried beneath the spectral horde.
The other downed gargoyle in the oil slick surged to its feet, avoiding Sepoto’s swing as it came up and lifted into the air. It too sensed easy prey, and made straight for Tavey. Much to its shock and dismay, the lad was no longer then when it landed. Instead, it faced the grinning goliath, courtesy of another timely transposition from Basil.
“Why not pick on someone your own size?” the goliath rumbled before smashing the creature into paste.
That left only one…the one who stood empty-handed after Thrisp was whisked from its grasp. With most of the combatants scattered, no one stood between it and Amella and Anwar.
“Behind me, my love,” Anwar shouted as it charged towards them, but Amella was too slow. The gargoyle’s horns raked across her back as she ran. Anwar moved to put himself in front of the gargoyle, hoping someone would notice their situation before his mock-bravery got him killed. Fortunately, someone did, and one volley of arcane bolts later, the gargoyle lay dead, and Basil stood smiling, quite pleased with himself.
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“You know, now that I think of it,” Urol said after the carcasses of the gargoyles had been dumped over the cliff and the wounded had been tended, “I do remember hearing something about an aerie of savage gargoyles just across the bay. I think they are a fairly good-sized tribe.”
“Now you tell us?” Amella shouted. “You couldn’t have warned us ahead of time? You are useless, gnome! You are the one supposedly leading us on a safe route, and yet we seem to be running from one near-death experience to another! It’s almost as if you’re trying to get us killed!”
Urol’s face turned bright red, and he looked indignant. “Now see here!” he began, but Anwar quickly intervened.
“I think we are all a bit overwrought from this day, and it’s time we rested. Sleep and food will clear our heads. Things will look brighter in the morning.” He smiled warmly at Amella. “I guarantee it!”
The night did indeed pass uneventfully, but when the company emerged from their shelter with the dawn, they found a disquieting sight. All about their campsite were dozens of bird carcasses. Each one was tied, wings outstretched and head to the ground on an X-shaped frame. Anwar recognized the effigy as a representation of Maztican crucifixion.
“It’s Mummy Rot,” Anwar said as he examined the festering wound on Sepoto’s arm. “It’s a disease that mummies transmit on contact.”
“If it’s a disease,” Marius said through gritted teeth, obviously in pain, “then why didn’t our curatives remove it?”
“Well, technically, it’s a curse,” Anwar said, clinically.
“I can remove curses,” Basil chimed in, “but I’ll need a day to study the appropriate spell.
“I’m afraid it won’t be that easy,” Anwar replied, turning to the young mage. “Mummy Rot is a very powerful curse. Even with your magic, you may have difficulty undoing it.”
“It doesn’t seem that we have much choice,” Urol said, matter-of-factly. “I’ll tend to these three,” he indicated Sepoto, Marius and Samson, “while the young feller there does whatever it is that he needs to do. We’ll just see what the morning brings.”
Basil fished a coil of rope from his pack, spoke a few words over it, and tossed it into the air, where it hung, rigid and unsuspended.
“Everybody climb up,” he said. “I’ve created a safe haven for us to rest.”
Sure enough, as each of the group clambered up the knotted rope, they found themselves in a large, bare room, big enough to accommodate all of them. They could peer out from where the rope entered the extradimensional space, much like a trap door. When the last of them were inside, Basil pulled the rope up behind them, leaving no trace of their passing.
When morning came, Urol’s patients looked no worse, and the druid had even managed to make some of their lesions look less purulent. It was time for Basil to begin his work. The wizard started with Sepoto, reasoning that they would need the big goliath hale and hearty if they were to find their way out of the tomb. Three times he wove his magic, but it was only on the third attempt that he finally sat back, sweat beading on his brow.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Sepoto asked. “Why are the sores still there?”
“Because only the curse has been broken,” Anwar answered. “The disease remains, and must be cured.”
Sepoto nodded. “That I can handle.” The goliath pulled a strand of prayer beads from his pocket, and sorted through them to one particular bead. This one he concentrated on, closing his eyes. Within a few moments, a soft, golden glow began to shine from between his hands, spreading to cover his entire body. Just as quickly, it faded.
“There,” he said.
Anwar nodded. “Now you will just have to let time do the rest. Speaking of which, it seems time is something we have a surplus of. Basil, I presume you will need to study your spells again and try once more in the morning.” The wizard nodded. “Then I will leave it to you, Urol, to tend to your charges. Thrisp, why don’t you and I go exploring?”
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The pair crept thru the tomb, silent and unseen, courtesy of Thrisp’s magic, looking closely at everything, but careful to touch nothing. At one point Thrisp paused at an apparent dead-end.
“What’s wrong?” Anwar whispered, prepared to flee if another mummy suddenly appeared.
“This wall,” Thrisp said absently, staring intently at the seemingly blank stone, “I think there may be some sort of opening here. The coloring of the stone is subtly different, and the air smells just a tad mustier.”
“Hmph,” Anwar snorted. “How can you tell? The whole place smells like Sepoto’s boots.”
Thrisp ignored him, still examining the wall. Abruptly, he touched a spot on one of the stones, and the entire wall swung inward.
“Voila!” the gnome said. “Shall we?”
The chamber beyond was a small crypt dominated by a large stone sarcophagus. Both the walls of the room and the sarcophagus itself were covered in decorative patterns and carvings of animals. The top of the sarcophagus depicted a man dressed in robes, wearing a feathered headdress, and clutching a blue rod in one hand, and a ceremonial dagger in the other.
“I’m not sure about this,” Anwar said as he gazed into the crypt from the doorway.
“Relax,” Thrisp said. “If there’s any danger, we can slip out unseen and be back to the others in a matter of moments.”
“Then you go and check it out,” the bard replied. “I’ll be sure and bring help if you get into any trouble.”
Thrisp rolled his eyes, and began making his way across the room, examining every flagstone for signs of hidden traps before he put his foot on it. The only thing he noted were numerous small holes pitting the entire floor. When he reached the sarcophagus, he walked around it once, inspecting it closely. Satisfied that it wasn’t going to explode if he touched it, he climbed on top. Once more, he scrutinized every inch of the lid and the relief carved upon it.
“Aha!” he said softly. Just where the lid joined the main sarcophagus, he found a small, depressed knob. Lifting the lid would allow the knob to rise up and trigger, Thrisp suspected, some sort of trap. Rubbing his hands together, he pulled a small bag of tools from his belt. Working with the expertise of a master craftsman, he managed to wedge the knob in place. Satisfied, he climbed back down and returned to Anwar.
“You see?” he said. “Nothing to worry about. Just the same, you might want to stand back. I’m going to open it from here.”
Anwar obliged without question, retreating around a corner. Thrisp spoke the words to a spell, and then mimed knocking on a door. The lid of the sarcophagus suddenly slid to the side and fell heavily to the floor. Thrisp waited breathlessly for a moment, but nothing emerged. Once more he moved across the room, and climbed atop the pedestal to peer in. A skeletal corpse lay within, adorned as the relief depicted. It held a blue, stone rod in one hand, and a gleaming silver dagger in the other. Around its neck was a golden medallion inset with a shining, pink pear, glowing dimly. The rod, Thrisp noted, was identical to the red one Samson had found, save for its color. The two must be important, he thought. Reaching in, he plucked all three items from the corpse, and again held his breath. The mummy remained stationary. Quickly, the gnome scuttled back out of the room, closing the hidden door behind him.
“Not bad,” Anwar said. “I would have thought you’d be dead three times over. Luck must be with you today.”
“Not luck at all…pure skill!” the beguiler retorted. Having had their fill of adventure for one day, they returned to their comrades.
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The following morning saw Basil finally succeed at removing the mummy’s curse from Samson, after which Sepoto used his prayer beads to completely cure the diseased flesh of the dragon shaman. Marius was not so fortunate. Not only could the wizard not undo the foul magic afflicting the war mage, but Marius’ lesions grew worse, despite Urol’s ministrations.
“We’ve no choice but to remain another day,” Anwar said as he observed Marius’ condition, “but now that most of us are well, we had best go about finding our way out of this place. Amella, I would ask that you remain here with Urol and Tavey, and continue to tend Marius. We won’t be gone long.”
Amella looked reluctant to be separated from the bard, but she nodded, after giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Thrisp said as they exited their safe haven.
“I wouldn’t play any other kind,” Anwar winked. “Tomorrow is promised to no one, which is why I live each day as if it were my last.”
The Legionnaires, minus Marius, wound their way through the twisting turns of the mausoleum, until at last they came upon twin stone doors. Thrisp ascertained that they were safe, and then Sepoto pushed through. Two gigantic iron doors stood closed to the south of the small chamber beyond. They were decorated with symbols of water and sea life in tarnished copper. Opposite them were a pair of pedestals, each with a peculiar notch cut into the side. One of the pedestals was made from dusky red granite, while the other was crafted from light blue marble.
“It seems we’ve solved the mystery of the colored rods,” Anwar said.
“Those doors probably lead out,” Thrisp added. “They look like water doors. There’s probably some tidal basin on the far side. Before we find out, however, I’d like to have a look at what’s on the other side of those doors.” He nodded to the far side of the room, where another pair of stone doors stood closed. “Unless I miss my guess, I would assume they lead eventually back to the far chasm bridge, but I’m curious just the same.”
“You know that they say about curiosity,” Anwar smiled.
“I also know that they say about satisfaction,” the gnome retorted.
Another largely bare chamber lay beyond the portals. One corner had completely crumbled away to reveal a stagnant pool of water, its surface calm, dark and mysterious. One more pair of closed stone doors stood on the north wall. Samson and Sepoto began moving across the room, cautiously approaching the pool while the others waited in the doorway. They were still ten feet away from the water when a viscous, black pseudopod suddenly erupted from within, attaching itself to Samson. The goblin screamed in agony as he was hoisted from his feet, his skin smoking as some sort of acid ate into his flesh. In a matter of seconds his clothing had completely dissolved, and shortly thereafter, his breastplate corroded as well. The appendage pulled him towards the pool as an amorphous, ebony body began to emerge.
Sepoto began backing slowly away. He knew that if just the touch of the creature could completely destroy Samson’s armor, then his weapon would be useless. He turned helplessly towards the others.
“Do something!” he shouted.
“Get back!” Basil yelled. The wizard rolled up his sleeves, a spell on his lips as he did so. Three searing blasts of fire flew from his hands, each striking the ooze unerringly. The creature shuddered with each hit, its pudding-like skin drying and cracking beneath the flames. Samson screamed again as the monstrosity reflexively constricted its pseudopod around him, this time melting his shield as he brought up in a warding gesture. In desperation, the dragon shaman breathed his own acidic breath onto the thing, and to his amazement, more of its form began to dissolve.
“Hit it again!” Anwar snapped at Basil, laying his hand upon the wizard’s shoulder as he imbued him with his own magic, augmenting that of the master specialist. Again Basil spoke the words to his spell, and again fire erupted from him. This time, the skin of the ooze began to boil and bubble like tar, until it began to discorporate, melting back into the pool. Samson leaped free, landing naked on the floor, his own flesh a mass of blisters. Mentally slowing his breathing and heart rate, he brought from within him the great stamina of the dragons, healing his wounds with their power.
Thrisp gave Samson a spare set of his robes to wear, and Basil wove a spell about the dragon shaman, conjuring a mystical field of force around him that would act as a sort of temporary armor.
“I’m sorry we can’t do more,” Thrisp said.
“You’ll just have to keep yourself out of the thick of things until we can come up with something better,” Anwar said, barely managing to keep the disgust from his voice. In his mind, the dragon shaman was quickly becoming a liability…an expendable one at that.
The doors at the opposite side of the chamber did indeed lead back to the chasm, just as Thrisp had suspected, so the group returned to the water doors. Samson and Sepoto each placed one of the rods into the pedestals and began to rotate them. The great doors opened with a screech of protest, flooding the chamber with fresh salt air from the world outside. Beyond the doors was a set of broad seaweed-choked stairs that led down to a small beach. It was low tide, or else the area beyond the beach would have been completely submerged. As it was, a wet stone path led between several deep tidal pools to a second beach, which rose up away from the water, forming a winding cliffside path roughly eighty feet above.
The literal coast looked clear, but Thrisp was never one to take things at face value. While his companions waited at the foot of the stairs, the beguiler spoke a spell, and then scuttled up the cliff wall like a spider, quickly blending into the shadows. He paused above a nearby pool, his keen eyes gazing around the area. Nothing moved. His gaze then swept the pool below him, but it was too murky for him to see within. He thought for a moment, and then shrugged as he made up his mind. Quickly, he climbed down the wall, and then into the pool, holding his breath as he submerged. The pool was relatively shallow, only about ten feet or so, but it was twenty or thirty feet across at its widest. Crouched around the bottom where three monstrous crabs, easily the size of horses. They busied themselves plucking brine and plankton from the water, and then feeding their catch into their mouths. They didn’t seem to notice Thrisp at all. As furtively as possible, he climbed back out of the water and returned to his comrades.
“We’ve got crabs,” he said as he stood dripping in front of them, “big ones.”
“Speak for yourself, my good man,” Anwar said indignantly. “I am always very selective about the female company I keep.” He laughed aloud at his own joke.
“May I continue?” Thrisp asked dryly as the bard continued to chuckle. “As I was saying, there are three of them, spaced around the bottom of the pool.”
“It’s not that big,” Basil observed. “I could engulf the whole thing with a well placed fireball.”
“Won’t the water extinguish the flames?” Sepoto asked.
“Ordinary ones, yes,” Basil explained, “but not necessarily magical ones. I have some skill at this.”
The group spaced themselves out along the stone path, waiting for Basil to either kill or draw the vermin out. The young wizard began his spell, tossing a pea-sized spark of fire into the pool. An instant later, the entire basin lit up from within, and steam rose from the boiling water. One by one, the crabs rapidly exited the pool, their shells bright red. Angered and in pain, they charged forward, claws snapping. Sepoto was ready. Whirling his chain, he brought it down with a force that sent a shockwave through the very stone beneath his feet. The crab exploded into a hundred fragments. As the second one approached, the goliath flicked his blade out and back, lightning fast, tearing pieces out of the creature’s carapace. At that moment, the third crab rushed at his flank, but a word from Thrisp froze its limbs to the ground, halting it in its tracks. Samson leaped forward, his acidic breath exploding from his lungs. One of the monsters collapsed, great smoking craters eaten into its hide. Sepoto darted at the other, cracking its shell cleanly in two with a final strike.
Anwar stepped forward, surveying the carnage with his hands on his hips.
“All I can say,” he laughed, “is who brought the hot butter?”
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Having found the far side of Dark Mountain Pass, the Legionnaires returned to their companions and recounted their tale. Marius was stable, but still wracked with fever and pain. Another long night passed as Basil prepared his magic again, but the morning brought him no luck, and the company was forced to delay yet another day. Finally, on the following morning, the wizard found success. Sepoto quickly removed the remnants of the rot, but it was obvious to all that, though Marius could travel, he would be weak for days to come.
Gathering their gear, the expedition left the pass and took to the cliff trail. Soon it widened, becoming something of a road, though a poorly maintained one.
“The Mazticans built this at least a millennia ago,” Urol explained enthusiastically as they picked their way among the broken paving stones. “We’ll be following it along the coast south for at least the next six days, but with the road to guide us, we should make good time.”
The route was a winding one, at times taking the company nearly one-hundred feet above the waters below, and at others descending back to sea level to traverse stretches of rocky beach. As they made their way south, they found traces of recent native settlements…empty outrigger canoes beached on the rocks, sections of walkway that had been repaired or reinforced with wooden supports where erosion had washed away the stone, and every so often they even came upon small collections of beachside huts. All of these proved to be uninhabited and often partially collapsed, the nesting grounds for loud, angry gulls. The canoes were rotten, and the repairs to the cliffside path were dubious and looked unsafe. And so the first day went. As the sun began to sink, they made camp. This was done in relative safety, thanks to Basil’s ability to create his rope trick. Still, Thrisp came down from the haven in the middle of the night, restless with his thoughts. As he sat, gazing out at the moon-washed waves, he suddenly sensed that he was being watched. He was certain there was something out there in the dark, but he couldn’t see nor hear it. Huddling deeper into his cloak, he sank into the shadows, sleep eluding him.
The next day dawned bright and hot. The castaways set out again, Thrisp in the lead, scouting, while the others followed some fifty feet behind. It was mid-morning when they first caught the almost silent sound of flapping wings. As one, they looked to the sky, just in time to see a large shadow pass directly overhead. Samson gasped in wonder as he saw the silhouette. Could it be? As the creature landed on the road before them, between the main company and Thrisp, the dragon shaman saw that he had been right. A dragon crouched not twenty feet away. It was not mature, Samson saw, probably just barely into adulthood, yet it was still as large as an ox. Its black scales glistened in the sunlight, and curling, ram-like horns sprouted from its head. It stretched its neck out, hissing like a serpent, an acrid, burning stink carried on its breath. Before any of the others could react, Samson stepped forward, and dropped to one knee, bowing his head to the stones.
“Great one,” he said, “we bear you no ill will, and regret having transgressed upon your hunting grounds. We beg that you let us pass, and we shall honor your name across this land.” His words were spoken in the language of dragons, and the young wyrm seemed surprised to hear his native tongue from the mouth of a goblin.
“Spare me your honor,” he spat. “I hunger. If you truly revere the blood which flows through your veins, you will sacrifice one of your number to me. Then you shall pass.”
“Please, my lord,” Samson replied, raising his eyes to the dragon, “do not ask this of me. Their lives are not mine to give.”
“Then you are just as worthless to me as they are!” the wyrm roared.
Urol, who understood the draconic dialect, listened with growing dread. When the dragon bellowed, the little gnome panicked, bolting back down the trail. As he went, he called upon the magic of the natural world to create a billowing cloud of mist about him, obscuring him, he hoped, from the dragon’s view.
“Looks like negotiations are over,” Basil said. “Time for diplomacy by other means!” The wizard loosed a salvo of fiery contrails at the ebony dragon, each blast searing deep scores in its armor-plated flesh. The wyrm reared on its back legs, howling into the sky. Tavey’s nerve broke. Darting from Sepoto’s side, he vanished into Urol’s fog bank. Amella watched him go, and then quickly looked at Anwar. The bard nodded, and the sea captain followed after the boy.
Thrisp had watched the entire exchange from hiding. The dragon had paid him no notice, oblivious to his presence. The beguiler intended to use that to his advantage. Stepping from the cliff shadows, he shouted out arcane words, and as the wyrm turned in surprise, a blast of radiant light struck him squarely in the face, sending a blinding starburst of light into his eyes. Instantly, Thrisp vanished from sight.
“You think me beaten so easily?” the dragon roared. “I don’t need to see you to kill you!” His neck whipped back towards the main group, his supernaturally heightened senses picking out each of them. Stretching his jaws wide, he spewed a deadly line of caustic acid, catching Basil, Samson and Anwar in its spray. All three felt as if their skin were melting, and in places, it actually was. Anwar swore he could see the white of bone beneath one of the burns.
Sepoto had been willing to give Samson the benefit of the doubt, but when it became obvious that the dragon was in no mood to parley, the goliath was in motion. He nimbly dodged aside as the acidic breath of the creature spewed forth, and he rolled to within mere feet of the wyrm. Spinning his chain like a lasso, he raked it across the dragon’s neck. Though it was obvious that the beast was still blind, it turned its head directly towards the goliath. Raising one paw, he raked five, razor-sharp claws across Sepoto’s chest. As he reared to strike again, a fiery blast exploded behind him, knocking him off balance. Sepoto didn’t hesitate, striking again, knowing that he had to stay on the offensive to survive. The dragon regained his balance and took a cautious step back. He crouched low, as if to pounce, and Sepoto readied himself for the coming assault. To his surprise, however, the wyrm leaped into the air, soaring over him to land several yards away, directly in front of Basil.
“So, little wizard,” the dragon hissed, “you like to play with fire? Let us see how well your flesh burns!”
“As tempting as that offer sounds,” Basil said shakily, “I believe I’m going to have to pass.” He quickly drew a wand from his belt and spoke a single word, “Switcheroo!” In an eye-blink, Sepoto stood in the wizard’s place.
“Surprise!” the goliath grinned.
“Surprise indeed!” the dragon growled, and it was at that moment that Sepoto noticed the fog was gone from his eyes. The wyrm could see him! The dragon lunged, knocking the goliath to the ground and then leaping on him like a cat, claws ripping, wings buffeting, teeth seeking his throat.
“No!” Samson cried. Drawing his morningstar, he charged forward. The dragon spun towards him, but a fraction of a second too late. There were tears in his eyes when Samson struck the killing blow, his cudgel cracking the thick skull of his revered totem.
“Forgive me,” the dragon shaman whispered as the dragon heaved its last breath.
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The day wore on, and the company continued steadily south. Samson was uncharacteristically quiet, and even Anwar knew better than to goad him. They had traveled some twenty-odd miles from Dark Mountain pass, and the sun was setting. Urol advised they make up for lost time while they still had daylight, and so they pressed onward. The cliff road narrowed to a mere twenty feet, and rose to a height of some eighty feet above the crashing waves below. Thrisp was on point, though his companions could barely see him as he flitted from shadow to shadow. However, even his sharp eyes did not see the eyes that watched his party in turn.
There was no warning this time. They were just simply there, seemingly having appeared out of thin air, though it was obvious they had swooped down silent as death. There were five of them, grotesque, winged humanoids with horned heads and stony hides. Before the Legionnaires and their charges knew what was happening, the gargoyles were among them. Sepoto hissed in pain as one clamped its teeth into his shoulder. A second one slashed Basil across the arm, while a third lowered its head and rammed into Amella with its horns. It was chaos. Still, the seasoned adventurers had not survived for so long by giving in to panic. Basil was the first to get his bearings, and almost instinctively he spoke the words to a spell, rendering himself invisible. Thus cloaked, he ducked between their attackers and got clear of the melee. Tavey Nesk was not so fortunate. While the boy was a true child of the street, and accustomed to evading trouble, these were much more than common street thugs. Tavey tucked and rolled, trying to tumble between the legs of the monstrosities, but he was not fast enough. Two of them slashed and bit at him as he passed. When he rolled to his feet, he was pale and bleeding freely. Desperately, he ran.
“Run Tavey, run!” Amella called, drawing the attention of the gargoyles back to her. The Captain was no more experienced with battling monsters than the boy, but she was no coward. Taunting the beasts, she whirled nimbly between two of them, until she was back-to-back with Sepoto. Samson’s lethargy from the morning seemed to drop from him in a matter of moments, only to be replaced by blind rage. Roaring, he spat acid at two of the nearest gargoyles, causing them to recoil, shrieking. At the same time, Sepoto wrapped his chain around the creature that had bitten him, and heaved it over his shoulder, snapping its neck as it hit the ground.
Thrisp cursed. So much for his scouting abilities. In any case, the Dark Lady had not chosen him for his stealth. It was his magic that She craved, and he would prove to Her that he was worthy of Her attention. Touching the Shadow Weave he altered the very nature of the air around the combatants, both friend and foe. It shimmered, and rippled in a vertiginous field. At his mental command, the effect centered most strongly upon the gargoyles. All of them doubled over, grabbing their stomachs and retching violently. His allies stumbled around a bit drunkenly, but they were still capable of action, unlike their opponents. The gargoyles began to stagger for the edges of the effect, but Sepoto slashed one with his chain, whipping it like a dog as it retreated. Still, the creature’s stone-like hide deflected the worst of the blow, and when it was free of Thrisp’s magic, its nausea fading, it glared at the little gnome and started towards him.
The remaining three gargoyles were not so fast to recover, and Samson took advantage, battering one about the head and shoulders as it heaved bile onto the ground. At the same moment, two things happened. First, Thrisp dodged his approaching foe easily, moving towards the battle. As he ran, he spoke another spell, seizing the muscles of the three sickened beasts, and slowing their reflexes considerably. They moved as if swimming through mud, languid and clumsy. Second, Anwar brought his own magic to bear, creating a greasy slick beneath the feet of two of the unfortunate predators. Both of them slipped and fell, landing in the middle of their own sick. As one of them struggled to regain its feet, Samson smashed in the side of its face, and it fell back to the ground, twitching.
Meanwhile, Thrisp’s antagonist would not be so easily foiled. Taking to the air, it closed the distance to the gnome, snatching him up in a bear hug as it landed. Thrisp grunted as the air was driven from his lungs, but then he heard a familiar voice nearby.
“Go limp, and trust me,” Basil said. The gargoyle looked around, but could not see the invisible mage. Basil spoke a single word, touched Thrisp’s arm, and whisked them both momentarily between dimensions, to reappear several dozen yard’s away.
“Thanks,” Thrisp gasped. “I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to your tab,” Basil chuckled.
One of the gargoyles was outside of Anwar’s spell, and though its movements were still slowed, its nausea had faded. It watched the battle unfolding, deciding what its next action should be. It was then that its gaze fell on Tavey. The wounded boy had stopped running after several yards, and now stood gasping, barely able to stand. Grinning savagely, the gargoyle loped towards him. Tavey heard it coming, and sobbed as he tried to avoid its charge. Fortunately, due to the creature’s sluggish movements, he was able to do just that, lunging past it and limping back towards the group.
Thrisp was now much closer to Tavey, thanks to Basil’s timely rescue. He watched as Tavey tried to make his escape, but the gargoyle was turning to follow, spreading its wings. If it went airborne, the boy would never make it.
“Not so fast,” the gnome muttered, and he began to cast, summoning his host of ghostly sentinels once more. They began swarming around the gargoyle, and it paused, staring in confusion at them. It raised one claw, swatting at one, but seeing its hand pass harmlessly through. Thinking it was being tricked by some illusion, it growled, and took to the air. It realized its mistake much too late. Twelve sets of fists hammered into it, bypassing its rocky hide easily with their incorporeal touch. The gargoyle crashed to the ground, buried beneath the spectral horde.
The other downed gargoyle in the oil slick surged to its feet, avoiding Sepoto’s swing as it came up and lifted into the air. It too sensed easy prey, and made straight for Tavey. Much to its shock and dismay, the lad was no longer then when it landed. Instead, it faced the grinning goliath, courtesy of another timely transposition from Basil.
“Why not pick on someone your own size?” the goliath rumbled before smashing the creature into paste.
That left only one…the one who stood empty-handed after Thrisp was whisked from its grasp. With most of the combatants scattered, no one stood between it and Amella and Anwar.
“Behind me, my love,” Anwar shouted as it charged towards them, but Amella was too slow. The gargoyle’s horns raked across her back as she ran. Anwar moved to put himself in front of the gargoyle, hoping someone would notice their situation before his mock-bravery got him killed. Fortunately, someone did, and one volley of arcane bolts later, the gargoyle lay dead, and Basil stood smiling, quite pleased with himself.
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“You know, now that I think of it,” Urol said after the carcasses of the gargoyles had been dumped over the cliff and the wounded had been tended, “I do remember hearing something about an aerie of savage gargoyles just across the bay. I think they are a fairly good-sized tribe.”
“Now you tell us?” Amella shouted. “You couldn’t have warned us ahead of time? You are useless, gnome! You are the one supposedly leading us on a safe route, and yet we seem to be running from one near-death experience to another! It’s almost as if you’re trying to get us killed!”
Urol’s face turned bright red, and he looked indignant. “Now see here!” he began, but Anwar quickly intervened.
“I think we are all a bit overwrought from this day, and it’s time we rested. Sleep and food will clear our heads. Things will look brighter in the morning.” He smiled warmly at Amella. “I guarantee it!”
The night did indeed pass uneventfully, but when the company emerged from their shelter with the dawn, they found a disquieting sight. All about their campsite were dozens of bird carcasses. Each one was tied, wings outstretched and head to the ground on an X-shaped frame. Anwar recognized the effigy as a representation of Maztican crucifixion.
