Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks, and welcome to the story. I appreciate the kudos, and it's good to know that the characters are coming across as real people. Sometimes I miss Lok, Cal, Dana and of course Benzan, but I'm coming to like these new folks as wellsandtiger said:
Elemental: glad you're still with us!
To those who posted above about Morgan: I've been writing some more development material for this character, and it's likely he'll get "deeper" as the companions spend more time with him. Of course, he is a cleric of Helm, and they sort of have a history in this campaign
The story continues tomorrow (I left the doc file at work)...
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 149
Mole closed the door softly behind her. She didn’t want to wake Zenna; her friend had been sleeping poorly of late and she suspected that the tiefling would need every bit of rest she could grasp before what they had waiting for them tomorrow.
The gnome was tired as well, but she was too keyed up to rest. The hallway was dark, with only a tiny slit of a window at the far end, but her gnomish eyes enabled her to navigate its length without difficulty until she came to the landing where diffuse firelight from below allowed her to see more clearly. The floorboards beneath her feet were old and had creaked earlier when her friends had retired for the night; under her light feet, however, they made not a sound.
After making a reflexive check for threats—a habit she could not easily break now, even here—she went downstairs to the common room. At this hour, in that nebulous zone between when the latest reveler departed and the earliest laborer rose, all was quiet. Flickering flames were visible in one of the hearths; the innkeeper Mikimax had built up the fire and left it to burn the night to warm the inn through the network of chimney ducts that rose up through the upper stories of the building. The room was deserted; no, she saw, there was one person there, sitting in a comfortable armchair in the shadows beyond the fire. She couldn’t clearly make him out, but she had a good guess as to whom it might be.
She walked over to him, and as he looked up her guess was confirmed. Dannel greeted her with a nod, and indicated another chair across from him. She took the seat and sat there, looking at the fire. For a long moment neither of them spoke.
“A long day tomorrow,” he finally said. “You should get some sleep.”
Mole shrugged. She knew that the elf, like all of those of his race, did not need sleep as most races knew it, instead restoring his mind each night with a meditative trance. But she knew Dannel well enough to know that he was troubled, and she wondered if he’d been able to complete his meditations this night.
“She doesn’t hate you, you know. She was just taken by surprise.”
The elf nodded again, and for a moment, just a moment, he let his frustration show on his face. “I cannot suppose I blame her,” he said.
“She feels as though everyone she’s ever loved has let her down.”
“You haven’t.”
The gnome fidgeted in her seat. She looked at Dannel, who simply met her gaze, waiting for her to say what she had to say.
“Well...”
The elf waited.
“I just didn’t think it was right. It wasn’t... I mean, I know that you may think I have a looser sense of the concept of personal property than some, and that’s fine, but it’s just... well, it wasn’t right. I didn’t earn it...”
“I understand,” Dannel said. "How did you manage to fool Zenna? Surely she would have noticed that you were no longer carrying the pin."
Mole managed to look a bit sheepish. "I had a duplicate copy made, while we were in Tethyr. Zenna never thought to cast detect magic on it, I guess."
Dannel nodded.
“You won’t tell Zenna?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Mole looked back at the stairs before leaning forward in her chair to narrow the gap between them. “Good. Because if she found out it was my fault that you...that they... found us, she’d... well, she wouldn’t be happy.”
“Whatever Zenna thinks, your families don’t want to control you. They are just concerned.”
“Yes. Well.”
The gnome sat back, and a few more minutes passed in silence. Finally, Mole leaned forward again, and asked, “May I see the plate again?”
In response the elf drew out a flat, heavy object from the pack sitting beside his chair. The firelight gleamed brightly on it; it was a square plate of silver, perhaps a foot across, etched with a finely etched but archaic design on one side, and a crude map scraped into the other. They hadn’t been able to make much sense of the etching, which appeared to depict a six-armed creature overseeing some sort of construction project with what appeared to be humanoid slaves as laborers. But the map, which had accompanying runes marked upon it in the Giant tongue, had proven more useful.
The plate had been purchased by Dannel at a shop in Cauldron, just two days ago. While the rest of the companions had pursued their meeting with Jenya Urikas, the elf had conducted his own investigation. It turned out that Alec Tercival had sold a number of items won on his various expeditions in the region to the halfling owner of a local curio shop. The plate had been a recent sale, and Dannel surmised that it might give them a clue as to where the paladin had been of late.
Last night he had shown the plate to the leaders of the Chisel, and they had confirmed his suspicions. Maavu told them that Alec had spent some time in the jungles to the southwest of Redgorge, in a dangerous region known as the Demonskar. This locale, which was given a wide berth by most travelers, featured prominently in the legends of the town and its magic-using founder. Apparently a powerful and terrible demon had lived in the region centuries ago, leading an army of his dread kind against the early settlers of Redgorge. Surabar Spellmason had finally defeated the demon with the aid of a celestial ally named Nidrama, raising the walls whose remnants still surrounded the town today. Maavu couldn’t say exactly what the paladin had been up to in that area, but Masht noted that there was a statue of a headless demon located several hours’ travel down the Red River; a landmark that had been identified upon the crude map scratched onto the silver plate.
It wasn’t much of a lead, but with no one knowing the current location of the paladin, it was all that they had to go on.
Mole examined the design on the etched side of the plate. As before, the strange sigils and unusual depictions there made little sense to her. She didn’t like the look of the six-armed creature, though.
She handed the heavy plate back to Dannel.
“What do you think, of them?” Mole asked.
She didn’t have to clarify of whom she was speaking; the enigma that was the Chisel had weighed heavily upon all of them, after their meeting. After the official gathering had closed Masht had asked them to join him in a walk along the summit of the bastions that surrounded the town. He had not spoken further of their mission or of Cauldron, instead talking to them of the natural wonders of the region, and of the struggles of Redgorge’s history. She still remembered something he had said at the end, as he had stared out over the darkened jungle canopy that stretched out before them to the west and south.
“Surabar’s spells raised this wall in seven days. But his guidance has failed to build a righteous society in as many centuries.”
The thought stayed with her as she took her leave of Dannel, returning to her room to try and grab a few hours of sleep before the coming of the dawn.
Mole closed the door softly behind her. She didn’t want to wake Zenna; her friend had been sleeping poorly of late and she suspected that the tiefling would need every bit of rest she could grasp before what they had waiting for them tomorrow.
The gnome was tired as well, but she was too keyed up to rest. The hallway was dark, with only a tiny slit of a window at the far end, but her gnomish eyes enabled her to navigate its length without difficulty until she came to the landing where diffuse firelight from below allowed her to see more clearly. The floorboards beneath her feet were old and had creaked earlier when her friends had retired for the night; under her light feet, however, they made not a sound.
After making a reflexive check for threats—a habit she could not easily break now, even here—she went downstairs to the common room. At this hour, in that nebulous zone between when the latest reveler departed and the earliest laborer rose, all was quiet. Flickering flames were visible in one of the hearths; the innkeeper Mikimax had built up the fire and left it to burn the night to warm the inn through the network of chimney ducts that rose up through the upper stories of the building. The room was deserted; no, she saw, there was one person there, sitting in a comfortable armchair in the shadows beyond the fire. She couldn’t clearly make him out, but she had a good guess as to whom it might be.
She walked over to him, and as he looked up her guess was confirmed. Dannel greeted her with a nod, and indicated another chair across from him. She took the seat and sat there, looking at the fire. For a long moment neither of them spoke.
“A long day tomorrow,” he finally said. “You should get some sleep.”
Mole shrugged. She knew that the elf, like all of those of his race, did not need sleep as most races knew it, instead restoring his mind each night with a meditative trance. But she knew Dannel well enough to know that he was troubled, and she wondered if he’d been able to complete his meditations this night.
“She doesn’t hate you, you know. She was just taken by surprise.”
The elf nodded again, and for a moment, just a moment, he let his frustration show on his face. “I cannot suppose I blame her,” he said.
“She feels as though everyone she’s ever loved has let her down.”
“You haven’t.”
The gnome fidgeted in her seat. She looked at Dannel, who simply met her gaze, waiting for her to say what she had to say.
“Well...”
The elf waited.
“I just didn’t think it was right. It wasn’t... I mean, I know that you may think I have a looser sense of the concept of personal property than some, and that’s fine, but it’s just... well, it wasn’t right. I didn’t earn it...”
“I understand,” Dannel said. "How did you manage to fool Zenna? Surely she would have noticed that you were no longer carrying the pin."
Mole managed to look a bit sheepish. "I had a duplicate copy made, while we were in Tethyr. Zenna never thought to cast detect magic on it, I guess."
Dannel nodded.
“You won’t tell Zenna?”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Mole looked back at the stairs before leaning forward in her chair to narrow the gap between them. “Good. Because if she found out it was my fault that you...that they... found us, she’d... well, she wouldn’t be happy.”
“Whatever Zenna thinks, your families don’t want to control you. They are just concerned.”
“Yes. Well.”
The gnome sat back, and a few more minutes passed in silence. Finally, Mole leaned forward again, and asked, “May I see the plate again?”
In response the elf drew out a flat, heavy object from the pack sitting beside his chair. The firelight gleamed brightly on it; it was a square plate of silver, perhaps a foot across, etched with a finely etched but archaic design on one side, and a crude map scraped into the other. They hadn’t been able to make much sense of the etching, which appeared to depict a six-armed creature overseeing some sort of construction project with what appeared to be humanoid slaves as laborers. But the map, which had accompanying runes marked upon it in the Giant tongue, had proven more useful.
The plate had been purchased by Dannel at a shop in Cauldron, just two days ago. While the rest of the companions had pursued their meeting with Jenya Urikas, the elf had conducted his own investigation. It turned out that Alec Tercival had sold a number of items won on his various expeditions in the region to the halfling owner of a local curio shop. The plate had been a recent sale, and Dannel surmised that it might give them a clue as to where the paladin had been of late.
Last night he had shown the plate to the leaders of the Chisel, and they had confirmed his suspicions. Maavu told them that Alec had spent some time in the jungles to the southwest of Redgorge, in a dangerous region known as the Demonskar. This locale, which was given a wide berth by most travelers, featured prominently in the legends of the town and its magic-using founder. Apparently a powerful and terrible demon had lived in the region centuries ago, leading an army of his dread kind against the early settlers of Redgorge. Surabar Spellmason had finally defeated the demon with the aid of a celestial ally named Nidrama, raising the walls whose remnants still surrounded the town today. Maavu couldn’t say exactly what the paladin had been up to in that area, but Masht noted that there was a statue of a headless demon located several hours’ travel down the Red River; a landmark that had been identified upon the crude map scratched onto the silver plate.
It wasn’t much of a lead, but with no one knowing the current location of the paladin, it was all that they had to go on.
Mole examined the design on the etched side of the plate. As before, the strange sigils and unusual depictions there made little sense to her. She didn’t like the look of the six-armed creature, though.
She handed the heavy plate back to Dannel.
“What do you think, of them?” Mole asked.
She didn’t have to clarify of whom she was speaking; the enigma that was the Chisel had weighed heavily upon all of them, after their meeting. After the official gathering had closed Masht had asked them to join him in a walk along the summit of the bastions that surrounded the town. He had not spoken further of their mission or of Cauldron, instead talking to them of the natural wonders of the region, and of the struggles of Redgorge’s history. She still remembered something he had said at the end, as he had stared out over the darkened jungle canopy that stretched out before them to the west and south.
“Surabar’s spells raised this wall in seven days. But his guidance has failed to build a righteous society in as many centuries.”
The thought stayed with her as she took her leave of Dannel, returning to her room to try and grab a few hours of sleep before the coming of the dawn.
Lazybones
Adventurer
I've been banned!
I found out today that my workplace has installed a new filter on our internet access. No more accessing "Games" related sites (including ENWorld). Augh! Although the irony is that I'll probably be able to return to daily posting of story updates before too long, my inability to surf will leave me with writing this story as my only creative outlet at work...
* * * * *
Chapter 150
The next morning there were a number of yawns and groans all around, as the companions set out with the coming of the day, replacing their mounts with a small rowboat provided by the leaders of the Chisel. Both dwarves regarded the craft dubiously, and upon first seeing it Hodge absolutely refused to embark in, “that heap o’ driftwood,” but ultimately they gathered their supplies and set out down the Red River.
“It’s just a little water,” Mole chided Hodge, but Arun’s response was serious.
“Easy for a gnome, or a human for that matter,” the paladin said. “Unencumbered, you float. But if you were denser than water, and clad in heavy armor to boot, you’d likely react in the same way.”
But the boat proved sturdy enough, although it was a bit crowded with the six of them and all of their gear, and with the swift current descending down from the cataracts above Redgorge they had soon left the black basalt walls of the town behind them. The river led them into the dense jungle that extended for several leagues below the mountains. While this jungle was nothing in contrast to the mighty Forest of Mir, extending in a belt ranging hundreds of north along the Marching Mountains to the border of Tethyr, the companions were nevertheless awed by the looming presence of the densely arranged trees and the overall impression of teeming life that surrounded them.
Of course, some were more awed than others.
“Damned bloody blasted bugs!” Hodge yelled, snapping at his neck in an awkward motion that threatened to overturn the entire boat.
“For the last time, hold, dwarf!” Morgan complained, steadying the craft with his oar. The boat had come with two oars, and they had taken turns propelling the craft and keeping it clear of obstacles as the morning deepened. In truth, though, the current did most of the work for them, although they had to be mindful of shoals and other unexpected dangers along the fast-moving river.
Long shafts of sunshine slanted down upon the river through the gap in the trees above. At places the canopies of the trees leaned out over the river, forming a vaulted corridor of sorts with a long slash of blue between them overhead. Zenna spent the morning huddled deep within the shelter of her cloak, quietly miserable in the stern of the small craft. Mole passed the first hour dispensing various and sometimes contradictory nautical advice until Hodge threatened to hurl her overboard; while the exchange of dwarven profanities had been temporarily amusing, she soon got tired and passed out in a small space in the back of the craft near their piled packs of supplies. While Mole had taken care to see that they had everything that they might need in her bag of holding, after what had happened in Bhal-Hamatugn none of them begrudged being extra prepared this time out.
The morning passed slowly, and as the sun rose the heat grew, despite the earliness of the season, until it hung over them like a thick cloak of hot dampness. Masht had told them that the decapitated statue indicated on the silver plate was located about four hours’ passage down the river. At times they could feel eyes watching them from the fastness of the jungle to either side, but other than an occasional quiver in the dense undergrowth, or a sudden splash in the water ahead of them, there were no other indications of potential threats. Still, the companions had gone through too much together to let down their guard, especially in a region unknown to any of them.
Finally, as the sun neared its zenith in the sky above them, Dannel in the prow caught sight of a clearing in the jungle ahead on the right bank of the river. As they drew nearer they could see that the clearing formed a wedge that penetrated into the jungle for about fifty yards. A few pieces of broken stone that were yet too regular in their placement and form to be natural were visible, shrouded in tangled weeds and clinging vines that found purchase in their pocked and worn surfaces. Toward the rear of the clearing they could make out the looming figure of what had to be the statue marked on the plate; despite the distance they could see that the considerable monument reflected no human model.
Zenna shuddered. “There is a darkness gathered here,” she said. The others glanced back at her, but she did not elaborate. Morgan looked about to respond, but he apparently thought better of it, and instead turned to face the jungle, his lips pursed, his jaw tight.
The dwarves happened to be working the oars at the time, and they started directing the boat out of the main channel toward the muddy shoreline that fronted the clearing. What they lacked in nautical skill they nearly made up for in strength and determination, and the small craft was soon arcing toward its destination.
None of them detected the danger that lurked behind the wall of tangled growth at the far edge of the clearing. The first warning they had were the long shafts that shot out from the brush, sunlight gleaming from the heads of jagged iron as they slammed into the intruders.
“Ambush!” someone yelled.
I found out today that my workplace has installed a new filter on our internet access. No more accessing "Games" related sites (including ENWorld). Augh! Although the irony is that I'll probably be able to return to daily posting of story updates before too long, my inability to surf will leave me with writing this story as my only creative outlet at work...
* * * * *
Chapter 150
The next morning there were a number of yawns and groans all around, as the companions set out with the coming of the day, replacing their mounts with a small rowboat provided by the leaders of the Chisel. Both dwarves regarded the craft dubiously, and upon first seeing it Hodge absolutely refused to embark in, “that heap o’ driftwood,” but ultimately they gathered their supplies and set out down the Red River.
“It’s just a little water,” Mole chided Hodge, but Arun’s response was serious.
“Easy for a gnome, or a human for that matter,” the paladin said. “Unencumbered, you float. But if you were denser than water, and clad in heavy armor to boot, you’d likely react in the same way.”
But the boat proved sturdy enough, although it was a bit crowded with the six of them and all of their gear, and with the swift current descending down from the cataracts above Redgorge they had soon left the black basalt walls of the town behind them. The river led them into the dense jungle that extended for several leagues below the mountains. While this jungle was nothing in contrast to the mighty Forest of Mir, extending in a belt ranging hundreds of north along the Marching Mountains to the border of Tethyr, the companions were nevertheless awed by the looming presence of the densely arranged trees and the overall impression of teeming life that surrounded them.
Of course, some were more awed than others.
“Damned bloody blasted bugs!” Hodge yelled, snapping at his neck in an awkward motion that threatened to overturn the entire boat.
“For the last time, hold, dwarf!” Morgan complained, steadying the craft with his oar. The boat had come with two oars, and they had taken turns propelling the craft and keeping it clear of obstacles as the morning deepened. In truth, though, the current did most of the work for them, although they had to be mindful of shoals and other unexpected dangers along the fast-moving river.
Long shafts of sunshine slanted down upon the river through the gap in the trees above. At places the canopies of the trees leaned out over the river, forming a vaulted corridor of sorts with a long slash of blue between them overhead. Zenna spent the morning huddled deep within the shelter of her cloak, quietly miserable in the stern of the small craft. Mole passed the first hour dispensing various and sometimes contradictory nautical advice until Hodge threatened to hurl her overboard; while the exchange of dwarven profanities had been temporarily amusing, she soon got tired and passed out in a small space in the back of the craft near their piled packs of supplies. While Mole had taken care to see that they had everything that they might need in her bag of holding, after what had happened in Bhal-Hamatugn none of them begrudged being extra prepared this time out.
The morning passed slowly, and as the sun rose the heat grew, despite the earliness of the season, until it hung over them like a thick cloak of hot dampness. Masht had told them that the decapitated statue indicated on the silver plate was located about four hours’ passage down the river. At times they could feel eyes watching them from the fastness of the jungle to either side, but other than an occasional quiver in the dense undergrowth, or a sudden splash in the water ahead of them, there were no other indications of potential threats. Still, the companions had gone through too much together to let down their guard, especially in a region unknown to any of them.
Finally, as the sun neared its zenith in the sky above them, Dannel in the prow caught sight of a clearing in the jungle ahead on the right bank of the river. As they drew nearer they could see that the clearing formed a wedge that penetrated into the jungle for about fifty yards. A few pieces of broken stone that were yet too regular in their placement and form to be natural were visible, shrouded in tangled weeds and clinging vines that found purchase in their pocked and worn surfaces. Toward the rear of the clearing they could make out the looming figure of what had to be the statue marked on the plate; despite the distance they could see that the considerable monument reflected no human model.
Zenna shuddered. “There is a darkness gathered here,” she said. The others glanced back at her, but she did not elaborate. Morgan looked about to respond, but he apparently thought better of it, and instead turned to face the jungle, his lips pursed, his jaw tight.
The dwarves happened to be working the oars at the time, and they started directing the boat out of the main channel toward the muddy shoreline that fronted the clearing. What they lacked in nautical skill they nearly made up for in strength and determination, and the small craft was soon arcing toward its destination.
None of them detected the danger that lurked behind the wall of tangled growth at the far edge of the clearing. The first warning they had were the long shafts that shot out from the brush, sunlight gleaming from the heads of jagged iron as they slammed into the intruders.
“Ambush!” someone yelled.
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Broccli_Head
Explorer
Bummer about the filters!
SolidSnake
First Post
Wow! After a week of reading, I have finally caught up. You clearly have amazing skills LB...kudos. Initially, I really wanted to play this module. However, with the wealth of information this story hour has provided me, now I would like to try DMing it! I hope you don't mind blatant plot theft
This is one of the few threads I check regularily here and will continue to do so, now that I am completely addicted. Can't wait to hear what happens next...
This is one of the few threads I check regularily here and will continue to do so, now that I am completely addicted. Can't wait to hear what happens next...
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Hey, thanks SolidSnake, glad to have you as a regular reader!
* * * * *
Chapter 151
“Ambush!” Dannel cried, his warning punctuated a moment later by a cry of pain as a long arrow grazed his arm, the rough-edged head tearing a bloody gash as it passed.
“I think we know that!” Hodge yelled, growling his own quiet challenge as an arrow hit one of the banded plates covering his torso with enough force to dent the metal. “Close yer yap and shoot them already!” he urged. The dwarf reached for his crossbow, but then thought better of it and instead bent himself to his oar, paddling for all he was worth.
“Aye, close to land!” Arun shouted from the other side of the boat, the paladin already working his own oar. “We’re sitting ducks out here!”
Several more arrows shot through the air. One caught Morgan a glancing blow to the neck that was thankfully mostly deflected by his gorget; the cleric had drawn attention to himself when he rose to peer out toward the jungle, as if altitude could give his vision the power to penetrate the dense jungle growth. Even if he could see them, however, he lacked the power to respond; the javelins he carried could fain carry all of the way to the thicket that shrouded their enemies. A heartbeat later another missile sliced down the length of the boat right through the space between all of them, missing several of the companions by mere inches before zipping out to finally fall into the water fifty paces behind their craft. Clearly whoever the archers were, they were using powerful bows.
“Get down, you fool, you’ll tip the boat,” Zenna said to the cleric. Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, she opened her mind to her magic, calling up a protective shield before her in defense.
Mole, beside her at the stern of the craft, stirred. “Are we there yet?” she asked, bleary-eyed.
Dannel had strung his bow, and was sending careful shafts into the jungle were the arrows were originating. While he could not clearly see their foes, his sharp eyes marked where the enemy arrows emerged from the jungle, and despite the slight swaying of the boat, his arrows more often than not struck within a hand’s span of where the shot had originated.
Unfortunately, his prominent position at the prow of the boat made him a prime target, and several more arrows struck him. The force of two shots was largely absorbed by the links of magical chain armor forged of mithal that covered his body, although the impacts still drew solid grunts from the elf. A third arrow, however, slammed into his thigh with a meaty thunk, the shaft penetrating so far that the bloody steel head was just visible out the back side of the limb. Biting off a cry of pain, Dannel slumped down on the forward seat of the boat, clutching onto the wale in order to keep from falling over the side.
Slowly but steadily, the boat drew nearer to the shore.
Morgan stepped forward, between the dwarves, and drew up the elf with his muscled hands. Dannel grimaced in pain at the sudden movement, and the boat shook with the motion, but the cleric kept his footing and turned, depositing the elf behind him and holding him upright between the straining (and cursing, in one case) dwarves.
“Be steadfast, archer,” he said, but gave no other warning as he reached down and thrust the arrow in Dannel’s leg deeper, drawing another cry of agony from the elf. The thrust forced the bloody head fully out of his leg, enough for the cleric to grab it and snap it off with a ruthless twist of his fist. More arrows continued to fly out in a more or less steady stream from various positions of cover—it seemed that the archers were moving about, now—although the rowboat had closed to within fifty feet of the shore. Froth rose up from both sides of the boat as Arun and Hodge drove their oars into the water with violent strokes, putting their full weight into each downward thrust. An arrow connected with the cleric’s right shoulder, penetrating the steel armor there, but Morgan ignored the wound as he drew the remainder of the arrow from Dannel’s leg and called upon the power of his god to help the stricken elf. Blue fire flared from his fingers, bloody around Dannel’s savaged leg, and the elf gasped as healing energy poured into him.
Morgan reached down and grabbed Dannel’s longbow, shoving it into the elf’s hands even as he turned and lifted his shield to form a bulwark at the front of the boat. An arrow clanged off of the front of the shield even as he moved, adding urgency to the maneuver. “Keep firing!” he ordered. He spoke more, words that none of them but Arun and Zenna recognized, words in the shining Celestial language, words of invocation to his god.
Zenna had reinforced her defenses, adding a layer of mage armor to the shield that she’d conjured earlier. She loaded her crossbow, but to her eyes the threshold of the forest looked like an unbroken sea of green and brown; she could not identify a target to shoot. Their foes had no such difficulty, evidenced a moment later as another arrow erupted from the undergrowth and sped across the clearing and to the boat. The arrow punched through Zenna’s shield as though the barrier were a mere illusion, vanishing into the darkness of the tiefling’s hood. A tight cry came from within, and Zenna fell backward hard against the rear wale of the boat.
Mole, who’d been sniping ineffectually from her position of relative cover behind her friends and the piled supplies, was at her side in an instant. “Zenna!” She drew back the tiefling’s hood, afraid of what she’d see, but Zenna seemed merely stunned, a thin line of red trickling down her temple. Her magical hat hung askew, and there was a hole in the back of her hood where the arrow had exited, but she seemed otherwise intact.
“Are you all right?” she asked, as her friend pulled herself up.
“I... I think it hit one of my horns,” Zenna said, wincing as she probed at the shallow gash with her fingers.
The boat lurched as its bottom finally scraped muddy soil. Morgan, standing at the prow, leapt the final intervening foot to stable land, his shield raised high as he continued to absorb hits from the withering barrage coming from the jungle. Despite his heavy armor and shield he bled now from two serious hits, a puncture in his right leg an inch above the knee to add to the deep wound in his shoulder. Several other arrows that hadn’t quite penetrated through his armor jutted from his body, and he had the look of a pincushion as he rushed forward, not waiting for the dwarves who transitioned cumbersomely from the boat to solid ground. Dannel, meanwhile, continued his own barrage, and while he could still not clearly mark his targets, at least one cry of pain from behind the line of greenery indicated a likely hit.
Zenna looked up to see Morgan charging into the center of the clearing, not waiting for the dwarves. The sun caught full on his steel armor, setting him ablaze with reflected light, and he looked... magnificent, a god striding forth to do battle against evil. Eschewing the javelins he carried, he drew his sword as he ran, four feet of bright steel that shone with a golden nimbus of light. Zenna swallowed, and for a moment she forgot that she hated him, this man whose faith was both powerful and blind at the same time.
A volley of arrows knifed out from the underbrush, pattering off the holy knight’s armor with loud pings of impact. All of the hidden archers were focusing on the cleric now, but even as another iron head found a weak point in his armor, jamming two inches into his torso below his right armpit, he continued his rush. The man cried out, a holy word of power, and his form seemed to swell... no, Zenna realized, he really was growing, recognizing the spell he had used, and then he was standing twelve feet tall, looming over them like a giant. She could feel the ground tremble beneath his boots as he charged, and she hoped that their attackers were as impressed as she was by the transformation.
“Gods, he’s crazier than Arun,” Mole said from beside her. Zenna turned her head, and nodded in agreement.
“Are you going to fire that thing?” the gnome asked. Zenna looked down at her lap, and realized that she’d forgotten about the crossbow, sitting ignored throughout the battle. She hadn’t even cast a spell. Angry with herself, she turned to extracting herself from the precariously grounded boat, while behind her Mole aimed and snapped off a quick shot toward the jungle.
Morgan reached the wall of growth separating the clearing from the forest, and without hesitation crashed through the bushes to where the enemy fire had originated. Behind him came the dwarves, pounding belatedly across the muddy clearing, while Dannel came more deliberately, an arrow half-drawn and ready to fire.
There was some thrashing from beyond the bushes, then Morgan’s head reappeared from above a thicket, still twelve feet above the forest floor.
“They’re gone,” the cleric reported. “Some bloodstains, a few broken arrows, that’s it.”
A hush fell over the clearing, as a relative peace returned to the jungle.
* * * * *
Chapter 151
“Ambush!” Dannel cried, his warning punctuated a moment later by a cry of pain as a long arrow grazed his arm, the rough-edged head tearing a bloody gash as it passed.
“I think we know that!” Hodge yelled, growling his own quiet challenge as an arrow hit one of the banded plates covering his torso with enough force to dent the metal. “Close yer yap and shoot them already!” he urged. The dwarf reached for his crossbow, but then thought better of it and instead bent himself to his oar, paddling for all he was worth.
“Aye, close to land!” Arun shouted from the other side of the boat, the paladin already working his own oar. “We’re sitting ducks out here!”
Several more arrows shot through the air. One caught Morgan a glancing blow to the neck that was thankfully mostly deflected by his gorget; the cleric had drawn attention to himself when he rose to peer out toward the jungle, as if altitude could give his vision the power to penetrate the dense jungle growth. Even if he could see them, however, he lacked the power to respond; the javelins he carried could fain carry all of the way to the thicket that shrouded their enemies. A heartbeat later another missile sliced down the length of the boat right through the space between all of them, missing several of the companions by mere inches before zipping out to finally fall into the water fifty paces behind their craft. Clearly whoever the archers were, they were using powerful bows.
“Get down, you fool, you’ll tip the boat,” Zenna said to the cleric. Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, she opened her mind to her magic, calling up a protective shield before her in defense.
Mole, beside her at the stern of the craft, stirred. “Are we there yet?” she asked, bleary-eyed.
Dannel had strung his bow, and was sending careful shafts into the jungle were the arrows were originating. While he could not clearly see their foes, his sharp eyes marked where the enemy arrows emerged from the jungle, and despite the slight swaying of the boat, his arrows more often than not struck within a hand’s span of where the shot had originated.
Unfortunately, his prominent position at the prow of the boat made him a prime target, and several more arrows struck him. The force of two shots was largely absorbed by the links of magical chain armor forged of mithal that covered his body, although the impacts still drew solid grunts from the elf. A third arrow, however, slammed into his thigh with a meaty thunk, the shaft penetrating so far that the bloody steel head was just visible out the back side of the limb. Biting off a cry of pain, Dannel slumped down on the forward seat of the boat, clutching onto the wale in order to keep from falling over the side.
Slowly but steadily, the boat drew nearer to the shore.
Morgan stepped forward, between the dwarves, and drew up the elf with his muscled hands. Dannel grimaced in pain at the sudden movement, and the boat shook with the motion, but the cleric kept his footing and turned, depositing the elf behind him and holding him upright between the straining (and cursing, in one case) dwarves.
“Be steadfast, archer,” he said, but gave no other warning as he reached down and thrust the arrow in Dannel’s leg deeper, drawing another cry of agony from the elf. The thrust forced the bloody head fully out of his leg, enough for the cleric to grab it and snap it off with a ruthless twist of his fist. More arrows continued to fly out in a more or less steady stream from various positions of cover—it seemed that the archers were moving about, now—although the rowboat had closed to within fifty feet of the shore. Froth rose up from both sides of the boat as Arun and Hodge drove their oars into the water with violent strokes, putting their full weight into each downward thrust. An arrow connected with the cleric’s right shoulder, penetrating the steel armor there, but Morgan ignored the wound as he drew the remainder of the arrow from Dannel’s leg and called upon the power of his god to help the stricken elf. Blue fire flared from his fingers, bloody around Dannel’s savaged leg, and the elf gasped as healing energy poured into him.
Morgan reached down and grabbed Dannel’s longbow, shoving it into the elf’s hands even as he turned and lifted his shield to form a bulwark at the front of the boat. An arrow clanged off of the front of the shield even as he moved, adding urgency to the maneuver. “Keep firing!” he ordered. He spoke more, words that none of them but Arun and Zenna recognized, words in the shining Celestial language, words of invocation to his god.
Zenna had reinforced her defenses, adding a layer of mage armor to the shield that she’d conjured earlier. She loaded her crossbow, but to her eyes the threshold of the forest looked like an unbroken sea of green and brown; she could not identify a target to shoot. Their foes had no such difficulty, evidenced a moment later as another arrow erupted from the undergrowth and sped across the clearing and to the boat. The arrow punched through Zenna’s shield as though the barrier were a mere illusion, vanishing into the darkness of the tiefling’s hood. A tight cry came from within, and Zenna fell backward hard against the rear wale of the boat.
Mole, who’d been sniping ineffectually from her position of relative cover behind her friends and the piled supplies, was at her side in an instant. “Zenna!” She drew back the tiefling’s hood, afraid of what she’d see, but Zenna seemed merely stunned, a thin line of red trickling down her temple. Her magical hat hung askew, and there was a hole in the back of her hood where the arrow had exited, but she seemed otherwise intact.
“Are you all right?” she asked, as her friend pulled herself up.
“I... I think it hit one of my horns,” Zenna said, wincing as she probed at the shallow gash with her fingers.
The boat lurched as its bottom finally scraped muddy soil. Morgan, standing at the prow, leapt the final intervening foot to stable land, his shield raised high as he continued to absorb hits from the withering barrage coming from the jungle. Despite his heavy armor and shield he bled now from two serious hits, a puncture in his right leg an inch above the knee to add to the deep wound in his shoulder. Several other arrows that hadn’t quite penetrated through his armor jutted from his body, and he had the look of a pincushion as he rushed forward, not waiting for the dwarves who transitioned cumbersomely from the boat to solid ground. Dannel, meanwhile, continued his own barrage, and while he could still not clearly mark his targets, at least one cry of pain from behind the line of greenery indicated a likely hit.
Zenna looked up to see Morgan charging into the center of the clearing, not waiting for the dwarves. The sun caught full on his steel armor, setting him ablaze with reflected light, and he looked... magnificent, a god striding forth to do battle against evil. Eschewing the javelins he carried, he drew his sword as he ran, four feet of bright steel that shone with a golden nimbus of light. Zenna swallowed, and for a moment she forgot that she hated him, this man whose faith was both powerful and blind at the same time.
A volley of arrows knifed out from the underbrush, pattering off the holy knight’s armor with loud pings of impact. All of the hidden archers were focusing on the cleric now, but even as another iron head found a weak point in his armor, jamming two inches into his torso below his right armpit, he continued his rush. The man cried out, a holy word of power, and his form seemed to swell... no, Zenna realized, he really was growing, recognizing the spell he had used, and then he was standing twelve feet tall, looming over them like a giant. She could feel the ground tremble beneath his boots as he charged, and she hoped that their attackers were as impressed as she was by the transformation.
“Gods, he’s crazier than Arun,” Mole said from beside her. Zenna turned her head, and nodded in agreement.
“Are you going to fire that thing?” the gnome asked. Zenna looked down at her lap, and realized that she’d forgotten about the crossbow, sitting ignored throughout the battle. She hadn’t even cast a spell. Angry with herself, she turned to extracting herself from the precariously grounded boat, while behind her Mole aimed and snapped off a quick shot toward the jungle.
Morgan reached the wall of growth separating the clearing from the forest, and without hesitation crashed through the bushes to where the enemy fire had originated. Behind him came the dwarves, pounding belatedly across the muddy clearing, while Dannel came more deliberately, an arrow half-drawn and ready to fire.
There was some thrashing from beyond the bushes, then Morgan’s head reappeared from above a thicket, still twelve feet above the forest floor.
“They’re gone,” the cleric reported. “Some bloodstains, a few broken arrows, that’s it.”
A hush fell over the clearing, as a relative peace returned to the jungle.
Dungannon said:
Morgan rocks. On toast.
Arun is in danger of being surpassed as my favorite character... though Hodge will go down in history as the most fun.
Sorry to hear about the filter, LB, but I can't complain about it too much if this means we get more great updates!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 152
“Ugly sucker, even without its head.”
Mole’s expression was almost comically serious as she stared up at the headless statue of the demon, but Zenna could not disagree. She did not recognize the monstrosity that was depicted in the rough-hewn carving, which even shortened stood a good nine feet tall above the chipped stone platform on which it rested. It had four arms and a muscled body, but time and the harsh environment of the jungle had removed all other details from the statue. Dannel had found its head nearby, a worn slab of stone that had a vague dog-like look to it.
“Well, the elf has found the trail, and there’s only so much day left to us. We’d best be on our way,” Arun said.
Zenna turned away from the statue, feeling a shiver despite the damp heat of the jungle. Not that the heat bothered her, really; her mixed heritage would make this journey much easier for her than for her companions, particularly those clad in heavy armor. She made a mental note to take a spell of create water in addition to the purification spell she already possessed, the next time she meditated.
She caught sight of Morgan, standing by the edge of the forest. If the heat gave him any difficulty, he refused to show it. The cleric had returned to normal size shortly after the end of the battle, and had quickly treated the wounds he had suffered using scrolls scribed with healing spells. He seemed to be husbanding his own reservoir of power, a strategy that Zenna acknowledged; they had no idea what might be waiting for them in the jungle, and she doubted that whoever had ambushed them would simply give up and let them pass unmolested. She and Dannel had used a few charges from their own healing wands to treat the injuries suffered by the others; even if Morgan hadn’t had there wherewithal to help himself, she wasn’t sure he would have accepted her assistance anyway.
On that dour thought, she walked over to join the others as they set out down the trail.
Within ten minutes, she’d mentally revised that definition of their route. “Trail” was only a loose approximation of the winding, tortuous path that wound roughly northward into the jungle, the entire route choked with dense growth that encroached from both sides. Clearly at least some traffic came though here; they could see occasional signs of damage to the brush and Dannel occasionally pointed out the prints of some unidentified creature or another.
They had to pause for brief rests frequently. The dwarves, in particular, were soon drenched in sweat, and Zenna had to chide them frequently to drink often from the waterskins they all carried. In the damp heat their supply of water was depleted quickly, with both dwarves running dry only a few hours into the trek, but Dannel was able to find a stream easily and with a purify spell from Zenna they were able to restore their caches and press on.
Throughout the hike, they could feel the jungle’s teeming life all around them, pressing in as though the forest itself were sentient and resented their intrusion. Bird calls, animal cries, and the omnipresent buzz of insects were only the most common noises they heard; many sounds that rose from deeper in the forest beyond the trail could not easily be identified. By the time that the diffuse light drifting down from the dense canopy above began to grow dim, they were all exhausted and rather ragged from nearly six hours of difficult travel.
“I thought you dwarves were supposed to have stamina,” Morgan snapped, during one of their breaks. The cleric seemed as unaffected by the heat as he’d appeared earlier, despite the fact that his armor and gear had to by a huge burden upon him.
“Bragh,” Hodge said, pausing to suck in a breath in between gulps from his waterskin. “The day I let a puny manling walk me into the ground...” He spat noisily. “Put me up agin yet on a mountain trail, I’ll show you stamina. But this damned place,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “if this wet be gettin’ any thicker, we’ll be swimmin’, not walkin’!”
The cleric chuckled, and Zenna belatedly realized that she should have anticipated this problem, that her clerical spells could help both dwarves withstand the heat—as Morgan had no doubt already done, she now understood. But before she could make the offer, the cleric was already speaking.
“On the morrow I will ask Helm to extend his blessings to you two,” he said. “So that you can keep up.”
Hodge bristled, and looked about to retort with a curse, but Arun silenced him by standing up and hefting his pack. “Let us be on our way, then,” he said. “It will be dark soon, and we should find a secure place to camp.”
“I’d just take a slight breeze,” Mole said.
They pushed on down the trail as the shadows gradually deepened. The map on the silver plate bore no key to scale, so the short distance between the river and the first landmark, an apparent cave marked as, “Home,” could have been a few miles or a few leagues. They were a bit concerned about meeting the creator of the map, but Dannel pointed out that the fact that Alec had sold the plate suggested that said owner was likely no longer around to complain.
And then, so suddenly that they were upon it almost before they realized it, the trail emerged onto another clearing.
The clearing stretched out before them wasn’t large, perhaps fifty paces across, and was situated against the base of a hillock that rose from the jungle floor like a camel’s hump. The ground slanted slightly down toward the point where clearing and hill met, and visible there at that intersection of the two they could just make out a dark opening that could possibly be a cave.
“Are those what I think they are?” Mole asked, drawing their attention to the sloping, uneven ground leading down to the cave. The others could see what she had spotted, occasional white objects scattered, half-buried in the tortured earth of the slope.
“Bones,” Arun said, grimly.
“Well, we know Alec made it back from here, anyway, right?” Mole asked, starting forward.
Her first step into the clearing was accompanied by a loud sound that originated somewhere in the forest behind them. It sounded as though something were tearing the very fabric of the jungle asunder, a great ripping and crashing noise that was growing louder. Fast.
“Something’s coming,” Morgan said needlessly.
“Yer tryin’ to cap the elf’s rep for statin’ the obvious, eh?” Hodge said, sparing a look at the quiver of fat bolts at his hip before settling on his axe.
Morgan opened his mouth to reply, but Zenna cut him off. “The question is, do we face it in the open, or in the jungle?”
“I’d rather see what I’m facing, and have room to maneuver,” Arun said, already moving out into the open space.
Dannel, meanwhile, had dug into his pouch and had produced a pair of silk slippers, which he quickly switched out for his narrow boots. “I’ll take a look,” he said, picking the nearest tree and darting nimbly up its trunk through the power of his slippers of spider climbing.
Mole watched him ascend with a sigh of regret.
“Zenna, Mole, get behind us,” Arun said, as he, Hodge, and Morgan spread out in a concave line facing the jungle’s edge. Zenna nodded and moved away from the loud crashing sound, which was getting close enough for her to see vines, bushes, and smaller trees shuddering from the passage of whatever was approaching. Through a gap in the foliage she caught a glimpse of something bulky, and big.
Mole, of course, had vanished somewhere.
“Here it comes!” Dannel’s voice came down from above.
“Still the champ!” Hodge growled.
“What is it?” Morgan shouted up, drawing back one arm, a javelin ready to throw.
“It’s...” the elf trailed off, uncertain. Zenna saw him draw back his bow, and fire into the undergrowth.
Then a thick wall of brush ten feet to the left of the trailhead parted, and it appeared, coming at them in a full charge.
“Ugly sucker, even without its head.”
Mole’s expression was almost comically serious as she stared up at the headless statue of the demon, but Zenna could not disagree. She did not recognize the monstrosity that was depicted in the rough-hewn carving, which even shortened stood a good nine feet tall above the chipped stone platform on which it rested. It had four arms and a muscled body, but time and the harsh environment of the jungle had removed all other details from the statue. Dannel had found its head nearby, a worn slab of stone that had a vague dog-like look to it.
“Well, the elf has found the trail, and there’s only so much day left to us. We’d best be on our way,” Arun said.
Zenna turned away from the statue, feeling a shiver despite the damp heat of the jungle. Not that the heat bothered her, really; her mixed heritage would make this journey much easier for her than for her companions, particularly those clad in heavy armor. She made a mental note to take a spell of create water in addition to the purification spell she already possessed, the next time she meditated.
She caught sight of Morgan, standing by the edge of the forest. If the heat gave him any difficulty, he refused to show it. The cleric had returned to normal size shortly after the end of the battle, and had quickly treated the wounds he had suffered using scrolls scribed with healing spells. He seemed to be husbanding his own reservoir of power, a strategy that Zenna acknowledged; they had no idea what might be waiting for them in the jungle, and she doubted that whoever had ambushed them would simply give up and let them pass unmolested. She and Dannel had used a few charges from their own healing wands to treat the injuries suffered by the others; even if Morgan hadn’t had there wherewithal to help himself, she wasn’t sure he would have accepted her assistance anyway.
On that dour thought, she walked over to join the others as they set out down the trail.
Within ten minutes, she’d mentally revised that definition of their route. “Trail” was only a loose approximation of the winding, tortuous path that wound roughly northward into the jungle, the entire route choked with dense growth that encroached from both sides. Clearly at least some traffic came though here; they could see occasional signs of damage to the brush and Dannel occasionally pointed out the prints of some unidentified creature or another.
They had to pause for brief rests frequently. The dwarves, in particular, were soon drenched in sweat, and Zenna had to chide them frequently to drink often from the waterskins they all carried. In the damp heat their supply of water was depleted quickly, with both dwarves running dry only a few hours into the trek, but Dannel was able to find a stream easily and with a purify spell from Zenna they were able to restore their caches and press on.
Throughout the hike, they could feel the jungle’s teeming life all around them, pressing in as though the forest itself were sentient and resented their intrusion. Bird calls, animal cries, and the omnipresent buzz of insects were only the most common noises they heard; many sounds that rose from deeper in the forest beyond the trail could not easily be identified. By the time that the diffuse light drifting down from the dense canopy above began to grow dim, they were all exhausted and rather ragged from nearly six hours of difficult travel.
“I thought you dwarves were supposed to have stamina,” Morgan snapped, during one of their breaks. The cleric seemed as unaffected by the heat as he’d appeared earlier, despite the fact that his armor and gear had to by a huge burden upon him.
“Bragh,” Hodge said, pausing to suck in a breath in between gulps from his waterskin. “The day I let a puny manling walk me into the ground...” He spat noisily. “Put me up agin yet on a mountain trail, I’ll show you stamina. But this damned place,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “if this wet be gettin’ any thicker, we’ll be swimmin’, not walkin’!”
The cleric chuckled, and Zenna belatedly realized that she should have anticipated this problem, that her clerical spells could help both dwarves withstand the heat—as Morgan had no doubt already done, she now understood. But before she could make the offer, the cleric was already speaking.
“On the morrow I will ask Helm to extend his blessings to you two,” he said. “So that you can keep up.”
Hodge bristled, and looked about to retort with a curse, but Arun silenced him by standing up and hefting his pack. “Let us be on our way, then,” he said. “It will be dark soon, and we should find a secure place to camp.”
“I’d just take a slight breeze,” Mole said.
They pushed on down the trail as the shadows gradually deepened. The map on the silver plate bore no key to scale, so the short distance between the river and the first landmark, an apparent cave marked as, “Home,” could have been a few miles or a few leagues. They were a bit concerned about meeting the creator of the map, but Dannel pointed out that the fact that Alec had sold the plate suggested that said owner was likely no longer around to complain.
And then, so suddenly that they were upon it almost before they realized it, the trail emerged onto another clearing.
The clearing stretched out before them wasn’t large, perhaps fifty paces across, and was situated against the base of a hillock that rose from the jungle floor like a camel’s hump. The ground slanted slightly down toward the point where clearing and hill met, and visible there at that intersection of the two they could just make out a dark opening that could possibly be a cave.
“Are those what I think they are?” Mole asked, drawing their attention to the sloping, uneven ground leading down to the cave. The others could see what she had spotted, occasional white objects scattered, half-buried in the tortured earth of the slope.
“Bones,” Arun said, grimly.
“Well, we know Alec made it back from here, anyway, right?” Mole asked, starting forward.
Her first step into the clearing was accompanied by a loud sound that originated somewhere in the forest behind them. It sounded as though something were tearing the very fabric of the jungle asunder, a great ripping and crashing noise that was growing louder. Fast.
“Something’s coming,” Morgan said needlessly.
“Yer tryin’ to cap the elf’s rep for statin’ the obvious, eh?” Hodge said, sparing a look at the quiver of fat bolts at his hip before settling on his axe.
Morgan opened his mouth to reply, but Zenna cut him off. “The question is, do we face it in the open, or in the jungle?”
“I’d rather see what I’m facing, and have room to maneuver,” Arun said, already moving out into the open space.
Dannel, meanwhile, had dug into his pouch and had produced a pair of silk slippers, which he quickly switched out for his narrow boots. “I’ll take a look,” he said, picking the nearest tree and darting nimbly up its trunk through the power of his slippers of spider climbing.
Mole watched him ascend with a sigh of regret.
“Zenna, Mole, get behind us,” Arun said, as he, Hodge, and Morgan spread out in a concave line facing the jungle’s edge. Zenna nodded and moved away from the loud crashing sound, which was getting close enough for her to see vines, bushes, and smaller trees shuddering from the passage of whatever was approaching. Through a gap in the foliage she caught a glimpse of something bulky, and big.
Mole, of course, had vanished somewhere.
“Here it comes!” Dannel’s voice came down from above.
“Still the champ!” Hodge growled.
“What is it?” Morgan shouted up, drawing back one arm, a javelin ready to throw.
“It’s...” the elf trailed off, uncertain. Zenna saw him draw back his bow, and fire into the undergrowth.
Then a thick wall of brush ten feet to the left of the trailhead parted, and it appeared, coming at them in a full charge.
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