Friday, September 22nd, Continued
the passageway echoes with the sound of a dozen kettles being dropped in sack, a vaguely muted grunt of effort barely audible above the din. Geoffrey swears softly, struggling to his feet and smoothing the shifted plates of armor that were dislodged by his heavy landing.
“Hope they’re done being sneaky,” he mutters. One hand swings to the morning star at his side, the other freeing the shield from its moorings on his back. Shaking out some of the stiffness from his heavy landing, Geoffrey adopts a combat-ready stance and prepares to advance down the corridor towards the fight.
He’s barely managed more than a few steps before he finds himself walking blind. The only light in the crudely carved corridor is the dim radiance filtering down through the hole from the abbey, and that merely serves to spotlight the churned up dirt where Geoffrey dropped to the floor.
Geoffrey paused, crouching slightly. You could taste the freshly mined dirt on the air, and there were muffled sounds all the way down the corridor. He listens carefully to the sounds, hears the distant sound of someone weaving spell-chants and cackling into the darkness. It’s hard to tell exactly what’s being cast, the sound muffled as though passing through layers of thick cloth, but Geoffrey picks up enough to know that it’s not immediately worrying. There weren’t enough harsh syllables for those to be attack spells.
Closer to his position, he can hear occasional muffled curses being hissed out in a variety of tongues. As his eyes slowly became accustomed to the half-light, he could make out vague shapes ahead of him. Twitching patches of grey against the darkness.
“Damn it,” Geoffrey mutters. He digs through his belt pouch, searching for his everburning stone. When it’s found he tucks the morning star into his belt and holds it aloft, the cold-blue flames spilling pale light into the tunnel.
Not five feet before him the tunnel is awash with a tangled mass of sticky grey webbing, stretching from wall to wall like a shroud. Here and there Geoffrey can see moving clumps in the heart of the tangle, trussed up bundles that are perfectly sized to be his companions. Halgo is closest, the dwarves jutting goatee poking through the strands that have looped around him, but the layered strands make it difficult to determine what’s happening further in. Geoffrey can make out twitches of movement, the webs dancing as someone pulls and jerks against the strands. A guttural puny web can barely be made out from the heart of the tangle, so Geoffrey makes a guess that Blarth is tearing his way free in an attempt to accost whatever is on the other side.
This, Geoffrey thinks, is not the surprise attack they were counting on. As he stares into the webbing he can hear the chanting on the far side more clearly, recognises the intonations and syllables necessary to transform or move earth.
“Halgo,” Geoffrey hisses. “Can you hear me?”
The clump of webbing near the edge jerks wildly for a few seconds, scrambling wildly towards the narrower tip. With a great deal of effort, the dwarven wizard gets a hand free and begins tearing at the webbing covering his mouth.
“Mmphththmh,” he says. Geoffrey can’t quite make out the words.
“What?”
A large patch of webbing is torn away, revealing Halgo’s spitting lips.
“Burn the gods-damned web,” he yells. “He’s digging something out.”
Geoffrey is moving immediately, raising a crossbow and smoothly loading it in a single motion. He focuses on the sound of the Gauntian’s chanting, tries to gauge his position from sound alone. The muffled effects of the strands of webbing make it difficult, but eventually Geoffrey thinks he’s pinpointed the location. Exhaling softly, he lets the bolt fly.
It cuts through the webbing like a shark through water, splitting strands and flying true. Geoffrey grins in satisfaction for a split second, and then the bolt halts in mid-air, suddenly caught in the tangled strands only twenty feet in. Halgo starts thrashing again when he hears the crossbows telltale twang.
“We’ve already tried that,’ He yells. “Burn the web, it’s the only way we’ll get there in time.”
Geoffrey considers this for a few seconds, questions about the logic of burning something his companions are trapped in whirling through his head. In the end it is training that wins out, the St Cuthban ideals of duty, obedience and sacrifice driving him towards the enemy at any cost. He pulls flint from his belt pouch and crouches near the first strands of webbing. In a matter of seconds, the webbing has become a rapidly moving wall of flames that advances down the corridor. The flames quickly spit out a smoking Halgo, the dwarf quickly patting at burning patches on his robes.
“Damn it,” he screams. As soon as he’s sure nothing’s burning, he jumps up and starts screaming into the flames. “When the flames hit, try to fall back through them. Don’t try to outrun them.”
Almost as he finishes saying this, Yip bounces out of the fire. The kobold’s scales don’t show up burns well, but there smell of scorched lizard-flesh is stronger than that of burnt web. Halgo pauses to help the small monk to his feet, but Geoffrey keeps advancing behind the flames. His crossbow is held at the ready, eyes focused on the rapidly thinning webbing. As soon as the flames burn enough space to take a shot, the St Cuthban cleric is ready for it.
Towards the front of the web, Blarth is steadily ignoring Halgo’s advice. The half-orc has been hacking through the web since it settled upon him, his heavy muscles slicing through the sticky strands with a slow inevitability. When he hears the faint whoosh of flames behind him, Blarth merely focuses his attention forward and keeps moving. He doesn’t outrun the flames, but adrenaline washes through his body as the webs around him burn. Although patches of skin and hair catch alight, much of the damage is cosmetic rather than serious.
“Blarth Kill Puny Wizard,” he roars.
Geoffrey quietly takes up position beside the half-orc, catching sight of the silver orb for the first time as fast-moving flames burn patches through the obscuring webbing. There is a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and Geoffrey reacts. The crossbow twangs softly, the bold missing the wizard by mere inches before burying itself in the dirt wall scant inches from the silver orb.
“Damn,” Geoffrey mutters.
The Gauntian Wizard was cackling when he fired, a glowing wand in his hand pointed at the silver orb. Everyone watches as his eyes jerk towards the bolt still quivering in the dirt, then turns with a snarl on his lips. When his mouth opens, the sheer force of his scream carries through the hiss of burning webbing.
“No, not now. Not Now!”
A clawed hand drops to a small sack at the wizards belt, tearing through the course canvas rather than opening it. The wizard holds a small skull carved from black stone aloft, glaring at Geoffrey through the flames and webbing. His mouth moves silently as he throws the skull to the floor, setting off a rippling wave of black energy that washes down the passageway. Blarth and Geoffrey both scream as the wave touches them, their bodies burning with pain as old wounds open and start bleeding once more.
"You will not stop me," the Gauntian screams. he’s already rummaging through a scroll case with one hand, the other diving towards a component pouch in search of his next weapon.
Blarth is in bad shape in the aftermath of the wave. As a warrior his body is covered in the scars of old blows, and many of them have opened wide enough that blood is seeping through the cracks and crevices of his armour. Geoffrey fares slightly better, but is quick to halt his advance.
“Do something,” he barks at Halgo, then turns his attention to healing Blarth before the half-orc collapses.
“Count to ten,” Halgo orders. “Then charge. The web should be burned through by then.”
He takes a step forward without bothering to check who heard him, so Halgo doesn’t hear Yip’s dubious query of “Should?” muttered under his breath before the kobold starts counting. As he follows the flames Halgo starts casting a spell, filling the air around the Gauntian with sparkling silver motes of light that flare and shine. As the motes drift slowly towards the ground they cling to the wizards robes, skin and face. The wizard is lit up like a warning fire, light spilling off him. More importantly his dark eyes start casting about wildly, seeing nothing.
“I cannot see,” he yells. “Damn you dwarf, I cannot see.”
Halgo just smiles and loads his crossbow.
“Count,” he calls.
“Eight...Seven...Six...” Yip yells back.
Blarth and Geoffrey push forward, crossbow and bow a the ready. missiles fly through the burning webs, one striking the wizard as his twisted fingers are weaving the words to a spell. The wizard screams in pain, a hideous sound that reminds everyone of a slowly burning swamp-toad. A beam of black light spills from the twisted fingers, flying towards Blarth but missing the half-orcs chest by a full foot. The blind eyes cast back and forth wildly, as though straining to see something through the dancing sparks that leap back and forth before the wizards eyes.
“five...four...” Yip counts, making sure his voice is loud enough for the others to hear. More missiles are launched, but the Wizard’s protective wards are enough to throw them clear. He blindly throws another spell forward, a field of energy settling over Geoffrey that starts to sap the very strength from his legs. Geoffrey snarls in frustration, trying to force himself to keep moving despite the tremors in his limbs, gradually fighting off the effects.
“Three...two...” Yip counts.
The silver motes of light that cling to the Gauntian suddenly fade as Halgo’s spell looses strength. They drift off, fading into nothingness, and the empty casting of the wizards eyes ceases in the space of a second. The wizards eyes flare open, suddenly drinking in the sight of the burning web and advancing adventurers before him.
“I can see,” he screams, laughing wildly. “You’re going to pay for that, Dwarf,”
“One,” Yip counts.
Halgo smiles as the webbing drops away, only the faintest scraps still burning against the floor and ceiling of the passageway. The dwarven wizards hands are already moving as his companions start lurching forward in a charge, sending rays of rainbow coloured light towards the Guantian a split second before Yip and Blarth pass him. Both the kobold and the half-orc pause for but a moment to watch the display, the wizard throwing a robed arm up to protect his eyes from the sight as the rainbow glare dances around his body, filling the passageway.
It does the Gauntian little good.
"I'm blind," the wizard screams. "Curse you to Hell, not again. Not when i was so close..."
He gets no further than that, Blarth and Yip both surging forward to hammer the wizard with sword and fist. A moment later Geoffrey is there as well, flailing at the crumpling robed form with his morning star.
Noone is sure if the Gauntian is killed by Blarth's sword sliding through his chest, Geoffrey's mace caving in his skull or Yip's paw shattering his kneecap, but it is agreed that he comes to a messy end. He falls to the ground in a crumpled heap.
Everyone catches their breath for a few seconds, bathed in the orbs silvery glow.
"So," Geoffrey says eventually, glancing at the four-foot sphere. "What's that then?"
