Session Eight, Part Three: The Open Door
"Dru. Dru!" The voice was coming from about waist high - not the normal place for someone to be hailing her from. An unwise hand caught at her cloak, and her hand went to the hilt of her rapier as she turned, then slipped off just as unconsciously.
The man who had hailed her was propped under the eaves of a building. The mud-stained rags that served him as clothing were still damp from the rain, and the cup in front of him held a scant few coppers.
"Tim," she greeted, crouching down to be closer to his level. "You're normally down at the docks."
"Aye," he agreed. "The sailors give t'one of their own." He scratched at one of his leg-stumps. "And I'll be back there when the harbor opens, y'can bet. But I wanted t'tell you, there were som folks as were askin' about your part...well, still your friend, I'm guessin'. They wanted to know as where he lived and such. I heard someone point 'em to his parent's house, that was as close as anyone knew.
Dru looked up at her bodyguard. "That doesn't sound good. Thank you, Tim."
The coin vanished almost before it hit the cup.
Wouldn't do to look as I'm doing too
well...
Di'Fier staggered back, staring in disbelief as the half-orc climbed to his feet, flames licking from his clothing and blood staining nearly everything below the breastbone.
What does it take to kill
this guy? he thought, as the axes whistled through the air, narrowly missing him once, twice.
The warrior-mage touched the silver dagger on his belt and murmured the words to a spell, summoning a shimmering blade of force behind the raging axeman. It didn't seem to help - the spinning steel of the axes knocked aside his sword, even with the distraction provided by the magical blade. He could hear the boards over a window splinter as Quooral came to look inside, and saw crossbow bolts fly from the shadows to ricochet off of the huge man's helmet.
And how many of them are
there?
The halfbreed warrior stepped forward, axes high...and then crashed, in a blazing heap, to the ground.
With a thought, Di'Fier sent the
flaming sphere bounding across the room to attack one of the archers, and stepped forward towards the other, his blade missing by a handsbreadth as the sniper dove headlong out of its way. Then the blackness hit him.
He could hear a male voice in the darkness, summoning fire to do his bidding - and then the flames washed over him, searing him like so much meat on a grill. He bit back a curse, and dimly noted that the sorcerer's aim had not been perfect - judging, at least, from the cursing that came out of the darkness where his opponent had landed.
No way to fight if I can't see, except... He was already summoning his magic to add quickness to his limbs, in preparation for what he was about to do.
This, he thought,
is going to hurt.
Light returned to the room, and Katya uncurled herself. Her back was smarting like a bad sunburn, her hair was scorched - but she'd come through the
fireball remarkably unscathed. Whoever had called the darkness had apparently left, leaving her alone in the room with...
"Jemis!" Katya leapt across the room.
There's no way he could have done anything about the fireball
tied up like that! She could see the chair, overturned and flipped on top of her team-mate, the legs and seat-bottom scorched black and smoking. Red embers crawled slowly along the wood.
The words of the healing prayer jumbled in her mind as she seized the chair and yanked it over, to reveal Jemis: unburned and alive.
"Mll oo
meez ae mph uh ag?"
Quooral couldn't see, which was upsetting enough. But he also couldn't fit through the window, which had been his original intent when he ripped off the boards covering it. In fact, he was a bit stuck. At least they had stopped shooting at him now that it was dark.
Di'Fier kept shouting in the strange language he used whenever he worked magic. Quooral was glad, because that usually meant that his job was going to be quite a bit easier. He flexed his arms and
pushed, hearing the wooden frame of the window shriek in protest and then splinter.
That's better.
The blast of cold slammed into him with almost as much force as the chunks of ice that brought it.
The ice pummeled at Di'Fier, as he twisted and ducked in a desperate attempt to keep his own spell from doing him in. He could hear the ice chunks ricocheting off of something large and metal, and his wet cloak was stiff with frost.
Hopefully, that took care of... he thought, and was interrupted by the sound of chanting, and a wave of flame washing over him again.
...damn. He stepped forward, ready to swing - but hesitated. His teammates were somewhere there in the dark as well. Running footsteps charged past him, and he thrust, but his blade found nothing.
And then the darkness was gone - and with it, their living opponents. The half-orc still burned in front of the door, and several bodies lay scattered around the room, but Di'Fier knew that the
real enemies had gotten away.
Dru hurried down the side street - wanting to charge down it, blade out, but knowing that would only cause a panic. And with the crackdown on crime - she couldn't afford the delay of dealing with her former comrades-in-arms.
She and Ellerand rounded the corner to the street Di'Fier's parents lived on, skidding to a halt as they assessed the situation. It was nearly deserted - besides them, only an alley cat trotted past, on some errand of its own.
Dru stepped forward, and looked at her destination.
The door stood slightly ajar.
- End of Session 8 -
It's enough to make me want to use up a feat slot for 'Blind Fight.' Heh.
