Session 18 (Part Three)
Walking…And Fighting…Legends
The heat and power from the pillar of fire subsided, leaving mewling silver furs and the stench of burning flesh behind. Sextus looked at Lew with a mix of wonder and fear. His friend’s face was a slack mask, but the priest’s eyes shone with smoldering violet flames.
Lew’s display of holy might shattered the silver back charge. A dozen fire-blackened forms ringed the impact point and the remaining attackers were injured; charred paws and jaws abounded. The huge leader roared another challenge, but it was laced with pain.
Rowan and Rosë recovered quickly, chopping and stabbing at the reeling silver furs. Sextus’s heart soared! A moment before, all had seemed lost, but now…
The bard’s voice rose above the din of battle, his song of valor ringing off the walls. Hefting his gladii, the diminutive Scipio charged, weaving through the struggling combatants and running straight towards the smoking silver back that towered above the others. He never made it.
Two impossibly long arms, tipped with razor sharp talons, scissored into the bard five paces from his target. The giant silver back howled in triumph as Sextus catapulted backwards like a broken, bloody rag doll. He crashed to the floor a spear’s length from where Rowan was engaged with two injured foes; blood fountained.
Rosë had long since given in to the rage of his forefathers, his axe carving a deadly path through the remaining silver furs. An anomaly registered in his dim mind as a stocky, heavily armored figure clanked past him, yelling a challenge and hefting a warhammer and scutum. The newcomer shrugged off two massive claw strikes from the huge silver fur and smashed its hammer into the beast’s thigh.
Rowan’s anguished mind didn’t even acknowledge the mysterious ally. ‘He’s even worse off than Rosë was!’
The ranger gauged his chances and made an instantaneous decision. He dropped his sword, pulled out his medical kit and dropped to his knees next to Sextus, using his body to shield his friend from the snapping jaws the silver furs. ‘I only have one chance…’
Rosë’s axe sliced through the breastbone and spine of his last opponent. He pivoted and charged the two raking Rowan’s back. The ranger struggled to put pressure on the worst of Sextus’s wounds, just like Lew had taught him, but the clinging beasts pulled his arm away at the last minute and the bard’s blood…bright red arterial blood…continued to flow. A bloody bubble formed on the younger Scipio’s lips and held, for there was no more breath left to burst it. Rowan screamed in anger and frustration, swept up the Old Man’s sword and lunged at the nearest silver fur.
(DM's Note: Poor Sextus has a penchant for charging into the teeth of danger. At this point, he was a Bard 3/Ranger 1 with a grand total of 16 hit points. The big silver fur had reach, hit with 2 claw attacks - 1 of which was critical. The blows dropped him to -9 and he has no CON bonus, so -10 is dead. He failed his stabilization roll and I gave Rowan one chance - vs. DC 15 Heal Check - to save him. Unfortunately, Rowan, who has a pretty high Heal modifier, rolled poorly. IIRC, the total was 12 or 13.)
Three chambers away from and above the battle, Quintus, still unable to move, heard Rowan’s wail. The sorcerer’s heart skipped a beat and his blood ran cold.
The stocky warrior stood toe-to-toe with the enormous silver fur. The warrior landed several blows, but the return strikes tore huge rents in the warrior’s scale mail, through which blood flowed freely.
Rosë and Rowan cut down their remaining foes, but both were staggering on leaden legs. Chest heaving, the Brigante hefted his axe and limped toward the roaring silver fur. Rowan unslung his bow and nocked an arrow with shaking hands. ‘The beast is still too strong,’ he thought grimly as he drew and loosed.
His shaft took it high on the left shoulder, but the pain-maddened beast shrugged it off and prepared to crush the armored warrior. Suddenly, another pillar of flame blossomed in the hallway behind the beast. The warrior ducked behind its shield as flames licked around the edges. Rosë flung up a battered arm to protect his face. Rowan saw the huge silver fur clearly silhouetted by the flames for a grain or two before the inferno consumed it. The charred corpse crumbled to the floor and silence reigned; save for labored breathing and the popping of sizzled flesh.
Rowan turned to see Lew on one knee beside Sextus. Joints creaking, the ranger joined him, fingers searching for a pulse. He looked at the priest, tears welling up, “Lew, he’s dead.”
The priest’s face remained strangely blank…not even a hint of emotion played across it. Rowan followed Lew’s gaze as the priest looked over his shoulder. He saw the short warrior, battered and bloody approaching. The warrior slung the scutum over his shoulder and slid his gore-spattered warhammer in a leather belt loop. Rowan’s weary eyes widened in amazement. The warrior was the spitting image of the statue they had just passed in the corridor.
Rosë gripped his axe tightly and eyed the warrior suspiciously as he brushed past the Brigante. He relaxed slightly when the warrior put his hammer away. He relaxed further, slumping for weariness, as his adrenaline drained away.
Lew barked something to the warrior in an unfamiliar language. Rowan looked on, numb and confused, while the warrior scooped up the body of the bard and followed Lew’s retreating form down the hallway they had come from. He and Rosë exchanged looks and shrugs, and then they hurried to follow.
The strange procession passed through the tapestry room, turned and entered the chamber with the huge dwarven statue. Lew motioned to the warrior, who gently laid Sextus’s corpse at the feet of the statue. Lew whirled on Rowan and Rosë, eyes blazing violet. “Will you pay the price?” Lew thundered.
Both companions took an involuntary step back. The words sounded like some stilted form of Tradespeak and Rowan’s addled brain could not sort the jumble out. “Will you pay the price?”
Rosë, amazingly able to make out the words, replied, “What is the price?”
“We have no time…even now his spirit flees! Will you pay the price?”
Dark visions swam in the barbarian’s head. What would the price be? With a cry of anguish, Rosë shouted, “Yes, we will pay the price! I will pay the price!”
A fleeting smile played across Lew’s emotionless visage and he turned and raised his arms towards the statue, chanting. Swirling violet mist began to fill the chamber.
On the balcony above, the force holding Quintus immobile finally loosened its grip. The sorcerer had heard some of the shouted exchange from below, but it made no sense. He looked over the balcony, but could only make out dim shapes in the mist. “What is going on down there?”
Rowan croaked above Lew’s chanting, “You better hurry up, Quintus! It’s Sextus!”
Quintus sprang away, running for the stairs, before the last syllable of Rowan’s call finished. The chanting chased after him, mocking him and spurring him on.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 18 (Part Four) – One Miracle Too Many?
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