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(Cydra) The Final City
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 7580897" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>The first thing Bix becomes aware of is the pounding in his head. He's an experienced drinker and has had his share of hangovers, but this... <em>this...</em></p><p></p><p>Bix knows that a hangover can be bad. It can grip your head in a pulsing vice; it can punch you in the stomach over and over again. It can make it so you can barely walk, see, and hear. It can leave you exhausted and feeling filthy, like a wrung-out rag. Yet as awful as it can be, something about <em>this</em> feels different. It lacks some distinctive queasy characteristic common to hangovers, and instead makes him feel as if... as if...</p><p></p><p>“We were drugged,” he groans. He takes in the area around him- it's underground, clearly still in the dungeon, overgrown with mold and fungus. He can't see much in the gloom, so he digs in his pack- thank the gods he still has that!- and pulls out his lantern. Once he can see a little better, he notes the still form lying in the weird growth nearby and shakes Morsado awake. “Hey! We were drugged!”</p><p></p><p>The tiefling groans and sits up, then immediately leans to his left and vomits. </p><p></p><p>“I don't know about you, but I didn't drink that much.” Bix frowns. “Where's Durnithio?”</p><p></p><p>Wiping his mouth, Morsado says, “Who do you think drugged us?”</p><p></p><p>“What do you- what, Durnithio?”</p><p></p><p>“That bastard. He probably thought that he could keep all the money and eliminate some o fhis competition in one fell swoop.”</p><p></p><p>Bix stares at him for a moment.</p><p></p><p>“Where the hell are we?” Morsado asks. </p><p></p><p>“I think we're still in Marble Hall.”</p><p></p><p>“That's not good.” </p><p></p><p>Both of them are starting to feel a little better; the aftereffects of whatever their rival used to knock them out clear quickly. So they elect to wait a few minutes, then try to find a way to exit the dungeon. </p><p></p><p>And then they hear a loud, frightening, wordless shout booms out somewhere in the darkness not too far away.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Below the water, everything is green. Softscale swims from Kriv to Drolc to Scotty, brushing a webbed hand along each of their necks, and announces, “You can breathe, now. Follow me!”</p><p></p><p>The nixie swims off, and the three follow, with Scotty swimming and the others two trudging along the river's bottom, underwater vegetation swirling around their calves, mud rising in their wake only to be carried past them by the current. The underwater environment seems slow-moving and eerie.</p><p></p><p>Soon their guide takes them to a rocky slab lying on the bottom with a crack in the middle of it. “Through there,” Softscale whispers. “That's where the dark ones are.”</p><p></p><p>“What are these dark ones, anyway?” asks Kriv, but Drolc is already pulling himself through the opening, Scotty swift behind him. The dwarf utters a curse and follows. </p><p></p><p>Behind them, Softscale wrings his hands.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“We're almost out of torches,” Rorin says. </p><p></p><p>Dzedz shrugs. “It doesn't matter. I have darkvision.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah,” Hungus objects, “but neither of us do.”</p><p></p><p>“I can guide you guys.”</p><p></p><p>“What if we have to fight?”</p><p></p><p>Dzedz scowls. “I guess I should have learned the <em>light</em> cantrip, but who'd have thought a dwarf would need it?”</p><p></p><p>The three trapped adventurers continue to move along the halls and passages of the dungeon. They still have no idea how to find their way out or how deep they are. Every squeak in the distance makes them tense up, fearing another flock of stirges or pack of giant rats. </p><p></p><p>“I wonder how far down this place goes,” mutters the dwarven wizard. </p><p></p><p>Hugus shrugs. “I don't think anybody knows.”</p><p></p><p>“Who do you suppose built it?” Rorin asks. </p><p></p><p>Dzedz shakes his head. “I can't tell. The work down below was rough and primitive, but the stuff up above is so smooth, without braces or butresses, that it almost seems to break the principles of architecture. Whatever clever techniques the builders up there used, they're beyond even my folk.”</p><p></p><p>Dzedz leaves unsaid how rare it is that a dwarf can't recognize architecture. Was magic involved in keeping the halls, some of them quite immense, from collapsing under their own weight? Or does some folk possess a deeper stonecunning than the dwarves?</p><p></p><p>It's a mystery that will have to wait, as more squeaking comes from the darkness ahead. The party tenses; at least whatever is making the noises is at floor level. It's probably not stirges.</p><p></p><p>Then red, beady eyes come into view. More and more of them. </p><p></p><p>“Giant rats!” Rorin yells. </p><p></p><p>The vermin come rushing out of the dark at the beleagured trio. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>“What the hell was that?” hisses Bix. </p><p></p><p>“I have no idea.” Morsado fingers the neck of his lute. “Either trouble or help.”</p><p></p><p>“What kind of help are we going to find down here?”</p><p></p><p>“Adventurers. Dwarves. Maybe even orcs.”</p><p></p><p>“Orcs!”</p><p></p><p>“We did just perform for them.”</p><p></p><p>“And ended up here! Left for dead!”</p><p></p><p>“But not dead. Besides, I don't think that was the orcs. Or at least, not all of them. Durnithio might have paid a few of them off to help dump us, but on the whole, they know that if word gets out that bards who go to entertain them never come back, nobody else will come down here for them again. And it's not like their folk are any good, musically.”</p><p></p><p>“And as we saw, they do like a good party.” Bix nods. “All right. So- move toward the noise?”</p><p></p><p>Morsado nods, and the two of them creep toward the source of the yell. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Beneath the crack is a dim chamber, the water filling it hazy with mud. An opening at the far end leads deeper in, and Drolc pushes himself through it without hesitation. His two companions follow quick on his heels.</p><p></p><p>The dark ones' champion lies beyond. </p><p></p><p>It is like a dark, distorted reflection of a mermaid, with a piscine lower body and an upper half that is roughly, but only roughly, that of a humanoid. Its thick arms bulge, clutching a long, wickedly barbed harpoon. It turns as the three would-be heroes enter. </p><p></p><p>Drolc is upon it, swinging his greatsword through the water. But water is thicker than air; he doesn't expect the resistance that it puts against his attack, and the dark one swims nimbly out of the arc of his weapon. </p><p></p><p>And then Kriv and Scotty reach it, and an intense battle develops. </p><p></p><p>None of the three adventurers has the proper type of weapon for this fight. The dark one, on the other hand, is perfectly suited to fighting underwater. It stabs one of them, then another, then the third, wounding all of them. They fight back; several blows land, and Kriv uses his <em>action surge</em> to land another. </p><p></p><p>But the dark one is tough and tenacious. Though bleeding from several cuts and bruised from Scotty's blows, it stabs Kriv violently, and the tip of its harpoon pierces the dwarf's lung. “Aagh!” he cries, the water near him rapidly changing color, and the dark one rips the harpoon free. Kriv shrieks, and the monster lashes out, grabbing him by the throat and holding him in place as his thrashing subsides. Finally, the dwarf goes limp.</p><p></p><p>“Kriv!” cries Drolc, and delivers a terrific blow. There is a flash of silver light as the half-orc smites the dark one, and the monster staggers, barely still conscious. </p><p></p><p>Then it swings the butt end of its harpoon around, catching Drolc alongside the chin. Drolc reels, seeing stars, and then a great pain runs all the way through his chest and out his back. </p><p></p><p>Already terrifically wounded, Scotty Beandelver considers making his escape while the dark one is busy tearing his two friends to pieces. But he has always, since the days of his youth, possessed an unreasonable level of optimism. He has always been sure that things will work out for him. So instead of taking to his metaphorical heels, Scotty swims in to finish the dark one champion off.</p><p></p><p>It is the last time that Scotty feels optimistic. In fact, it's the last time that he feels anything at all.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Rorin shoots a rat, but the pack has already almost reached them. </p><p></p><p>Dzedz rushes forward and casts a <em>prestidigitation</em>, shouting as loud as he can and using the cantrip to amplify it. The sound reverberates down the hall, terrifying the rats. They scatter and retreat. </p><p></p><p>“Good move!” Rorin says. “There were enough of them that they might have overrun us.” </p><p></p><p>They start to continue down the hallway, but a door down the way opens. Immediately, they strike defensive poses.</p><p></p><p>“Oh thank the gods,” comes a voice. Two people, and halfling and a tiefling, step into view. Both are dressed for a party, though both look as though they've already finished partying and it was a rough one. </p><p></p><p>“Uh, hello,” says Hungus. </p><p></p><p>“We're lost,” the tiefling states. “We could use a hand finding our way out of here.”</p><p></p><p>There is a long silence. Then Dzedz responds, “You and us both, pal.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 7580897, member: 1210"] The first thing Bix becomes aware of is the pounding in his head. He's an experienced drinker and has had his share of hangovers, but this... [i]this...[/i] Bix knows that a hangover can be bad. It can grip your head in a pulsing vice; it can punch you in the stomach over and over again. It can make it so you can barely walk, see, and hear. It can leave you exhausted and feeling filthy, like a wrung-out rag. Yet as awful as it can be, something about [i]this[/i] feels different. It lacks some distinctive queasy characteristic common to hangovers, and instead makes him feel as if... as if... “We were drugged,” he groans. He takes in the area around him- it's underground, clearly still in the dungeon, overgrown with mold and fungus. He can't see much in the gloom, so he digs in his pack- thank the gods he still has that!- and pulls out his lantern. Once he can see a little better, he notes the still form lying in the weird growth nearby and shakes Morsado awake. “Hey! We were drugged!” The tiefling groans and sits up, then immediately leans to his left and vomits. “I don't know about you, but I didn't drink that much.” Bix frowns. “Where's Durnithio?” Wiping his mouth, Morsado says, “Who do you think drugged us?” “What do you- what, Durnithio?” “That bastard. He probably thought that he could keep all the money and eliminate some o fhis competition in one fell swoop.” Bix stares at him for a moment. “Where the hell are we?” Morsado asks. “I think we're still in Marble Hall.” “That's not good.” Both of them are starting to feel a little better; the aftereffects of whatever their rival used to knock them out clear quickly. So they elect to wait a few minutes, then try to find a way to exit the dungeon. And then they hear a loud, frightening, wordless shout booms out somewhere in the darkness not too far away. *** Below the water, everything is green. Softscale swims from Kriv to Drolc to Scotty, brushing a webbed hand along each of their necks, and announces, “You can breathe, now. Follow me!” The nixie swims off, and the three follow, with Scotty swimming and the others two trudging along the river's bottom, underwater vegetation swirling around their calves, mud rising in their wake only to be carried past them by the current. The underwater environment seems slow-moving and eerie. Soon their guide takes them to a rocky slab lying on the bottom with a crack in the middle of it. “Through there,” Softscale whispers. “That's where the dark ones are.” “What are these dark ones, anyway?” asks Kriv, but Drolc is already pulling himself through the opening, Scotty swift behind him. The dwarf utters a curse and follows. Behind them, Softscale wrings his hands. *** “We're almost out of torches,” Rorin says. Dzedz shrugs. “It doesn't matter. I have darkvision.” “Yeah,” Hungus objects, “but neither of us do.” “I can guide you guys.” “What if we have to fight?” Dzedz scowls. “I guess I should have learned the [i]light[/i] cantrip, but who'd have thought a dwarf would need it?” The three trapped adventurers continue to move along the halls and passages of the dungeon. They still have no idea how to find their way out or how deep they are. Every squeak in the distance makes them tense up, fearing another flock of stirges or pack of giant rats. “I wonder how far down this place goes,” mutters the dwarven wizard. Hugus shrugs. “I don't think anybody knows.” “Who do you suppose built it?” Rorin asks. Dzedz shakes his head. “I can't tell. The work down below was rough and primitive, but the stuff up above is so smooth, without braces or butresses, that it almost seems to break the principles of architecture. Whatever clever techniques the builders up there used, they're beyond even my folk.” Dzedz leaves unsaid how rare it is that a dwarf can't recognize architecture. Was magic involved in keeping the halls, some of them quite immense, from collapsing under their own weight? Or does some folk possess a deeper stonecunning than the dwarves? It's a mystery that will have to wait, as more squeaking comes from the darkness ahead. The party tenses; at least whatever is making the noises is at floor level. It's probably not stirges. Then red, beady eyes come into view. More and more of them. “Giant rats!” Rorin yells. The vermin come rushing out of the dark at the beleagured trio. *** “What the hell was that?” hisses Bix. “I have no idea.” Morsado fingers the neck of his lute. “Either trouble or help.” “What kind of help are we going to find down here?” “Adventurers. Dwarves. Maybe even orcs.” “Orcs!” “We did just perform for them.” “And ended up here! Left for dead!” “But not dead. Besides, I don't think that was the orcs. Or at least, not all of them. Durnithio might have paid a few of them off to help dump us, but on the whole, they know that if word gets out that bards who go to entertain them never come back, nobody else will come down here for them again. And it's not like their folk are any good, musically.” “And as we saw, they do like a good party.” Bix nods. “All right. So- move toward the noise?” Morsado nods, and the two of them creep toward the source of the yell. *** Beneath the crack is a dim chamber, the water filling it hazy with mud. An opening at the far end leads deeper in, and Drolc pushes himself through it without hesitation. His two companions follow quick on his heels. The dark ones' champion lies beyond. It is like a dark, distorted reflection of a mermaid, with a piscine lower body and an upper half that is roughly, but only roughly, that of a humanoid. Its thick arms bulge, clutching a long, wickedly barbed harpoon. It turns as the three would-be heroes enter. Drolc is upon it, swinging his greatsword through the water. But water is thicker than air; he doesn't expect the resistance that it puts against his attack, and the dark one swims nimbly out of the arc of his weapon. And then Kriv and Scotty reach it, and an intense battle develops. None of the three adventurers has the proper type of weapon for this fight. The dark one, on the other hand, is perfectly suited to fighting underwater. It stabs one of them, then another, then the third, wounding all of them. They fight back; several blows land, and Kriv uses his [i]action surge[/i] to land another. But the dark one is tough and tenacious. Though bleeding from several cuts and bruised from Scotty's blows, it stabs Kriv violently, and the tip of its harpoon pierces the dwarf's lung. “Aagh!” he cries, the water near him rapidly changing color, and the dark one rips the harpoon free. Kriv shrieks, and the monster lashes out, grabbing him by the throat and holding him in place as his thrashing subsides. Finally, the dwarf goes limp. “Kriv!” cries Drolc, and delivers a terrific blow. There is a flash of silver light as the half-orc smites the dark one, and the monster staggers, barely still conscious. Then it swings the butt end of its harpoon around, catching Drolc alongside the chin. Drolc reels, seeing stars, and then a great pain runs all the way through his chest and out his back. Already terrifically wounded, Scotty Beandelver considers making his escape while the dark one is busy tearing his two friends to pieces. But he has always, since the days of his youth, possessed an unreasonable level of optimism. He has always been sure that things will work out for him. So instead of taking to his metaphorical heels, Scotty swims in to finish the dark one champion off. It is the last time that Scotty feels optimistic. In fact, it's the last time that he feels anything at all. *** Rorin shoots a rat, but the pack has already almost reached them. Dzedz rushes forward and casts a [i]prestidigitation[/i], shouting as loud as he can and using the cantrip to amplify it. The sound reverberates down the hall, terrifying the rats. They scatter and retreat. “Good move!” Rorin says. “There were enough of them that they might have overrun us.” They start to continue down the hallway, but a door down the way opens. Immediately, they strike defensive poses. “Oh thank the gods,” comes a voice. Two people, and halfling and a tiefling, step into view. Both are dressed for a party, though both look as though they've already finished partying and it was a rough one. “Uh, hello,” says Hungus. “We're lost,” the tiefling states. “We could use a hand finding our way out of here.” There is a long silence. Then Dzedz responds, “You and us both, pal.” [/QUOTE]
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