JollyDoc
Explorer
THE TWIN PILLARS
One by one the Bright Axes descended the inky shaft until they found themselves gathered in a small room whose partially collapsed walls seemed to have been blasted apart by some ancient calamity. A small door was still accessible to the west, and beyond it they entered a narrow corridor. The air on this lower level was just as frigid as that above, and their breath misted in the air as they proceeded deeper into the ancient spell weaver abode.
Shortly, they came upon a four-way intersection. The passage to the west was a dead-end, while the one to the east was filled with another of the ubiquitous and deadly ice lattices. Directly ahead, the hallway ended in another door. Not wishing to deal with the numbing ice strands, the group proceeded towards the doorway.
___________________________________________________
Olarithusk paced the confines of his prison for the one-millionth time. Exactly twenty-five feet by forty-five feet, just as it had been nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred ninety-nine times before. Each step he had taken of that perimeter magnified his rage ten-fold. If the Binding didn’t physically restrain him from doing so, he would have ripped apart the walls of this room long ago. No curse in Carceri was vile enough to describe the hatred he felt for the Cagewright who had trapped him so, and he could not vent that anger on the wizard nor any of his minions for they always teleported around this chamber. He was charged with guarding a room which would never see an intruder, when by all rights he should be in charge of a legion of farastus guarding thousands of cursed souls back on Carceri. He was preparing to make his one million and first circuit of the room when of all things…he heard the door open.
_________________________________________________
Tilly pushed open the door to find a medium sized chamber that was filled floor to ceiling with a massive ice web. Standing in the center of the lattice was an obese, eight-foot tall humanoid with knobby skin coated with a pale, green slime. Stubby wings protruded from its shoulders. As its beady eyes fell upon the halfling, its lips cracked in what could only be a horrid facsimile of a smile.
“We’ve definitely got problems!” Tilly shouted behind him to his companions, and then drawing his swords, he began hacking at the ice strands, trying to clear a path.
Grimm shouldered his way past the others, barreling into the room to meet whatever new horror this gods-forsaken place had to throw at them. Unwittingly, he lumbered right through several of the searing beams, the cold lancing through his flesh. Undeterred, he lashed out at the hulking fiend, his heavy, spiked chain raking across the creature’s flesh, but leaving only a superficial wound, which began healing as soon as it was inflicted.
Olarithusk chuckled at the ineptitude of the brute who thought to stand toe-to-toe with him. The demodand prepared to teach the upstart a lesson in humility, but then suddenly his eyes began to burn from a blinding, painful light. A dwarf now stood in the doorway across the room, and the brilliant radiance seemed to emanate from him. Olarithusk actually saw his flesh starting to burn and peel in places where the light touched it. He growled deep in his chest, knowing just how to deal with this nuisance. Calling upon his innate arcane abilities, he conjured a massive cloud of acidic fog so thick and dense that it effectively trapped those within to die a slow and painful death.
Kiko was just preparing to dash to Grimm’s aid when the cloying, burning vapors enveloped him. He tried to dive beneath them and tumble to fresh air, but the mist refused to yield, engulfing him like a wet sponge. He closed his eyes and focused his ki, ignoring the droplets of acid settling on his exposed skin. He pictured himself back at the intersection, beyond the range of the fog, and when he opened his eyes once more he was there, free. Dalthon stood beside him smiling and nodding. “It never ceases to amaze me when I see you do that,” the sorcerer said, “and you are not even a practitioner of the art.”
“But you are,” Kiko responded, “and as such, isn’t there anything you can do about that?” He indicated the billowing, putrid green cloud. In reply, Dalthon barked a few unintelligible phrases and forked his fingers towards the fog. In an eye-blink, it was gone.
Free of the fog cloud, Grimm began striking in earnest at the fiend, and even though the wounds began to heal immediately, the half-ogre could tell that he was making progress. Olarithusk cursed in outrage, and prepared to charge the puny mortal, but before he could take a step, the accursed dwarf hurled a searing beam of light at him, scorching his entire chest. As he stumbled back, the half-ogre’s chain wrapped around his legs and pulled him from his feet. The demodand lay momentarily stunned on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He suddenly felt a weight land on his chest where a bald human had landed. The human was unarmed, yet his hands glistened with some sort of oil. Olarithusk had an instant to wonder what it could mean before the creature began pummeling him about the face, and each blow seemed to burn into his flesh with holy fire. The last thing the demodand heard in his long life was a prayer uttered to Mystra, the Lady of the Weave, and then he knew no more as the power of the goddess smote him from the earth.
________________________________________________________
Beyond Olarithusk’s prison, the cold, dead hallways of the spell weaver fortress continued for a short distance before coming to another intersection. Another door lay directly ahead, while the hallway to the east appeared to have collapsed. To the west, it seemed as if the corridor opened into a room of some sort, and a dim, green glow came from that direction.
Tilly, on point as usual, took a step in that direction, and then paused, his slightly pointed ears pricking up. He thought he could just make out the faint sounds of chanting. Though he was no wizard, the little rogue had long ago learned to make out the telltale cadence of spell casting. “I hate to sound redundant,” he sighed, turning back towards his companions, “but I think we’re in trouble…again.”
_________________________________________________
“What is it?” Orgo asked, glancing up from the object he was studying to glare in irritation at his companion. “You keep doing that! Do you hear something, or not?” Xail returned the half-orc’s gaze with an unblinking intensity that soon unnerved the warrior, causing him to shift his eyes away. “If you wissssh to live,” Xail hissed, “then you had bessst loosssen your blade in itsss sssscabbard, and move away from the door. It ssssseemssss Fetor’sss pet demodand hasss finally had sssome company. I think he didn’t live to regret it.” The creature then began murmuring and chanting to itself, and Orgo could feel magic rippling thru the air as Xail prepared several arcane defenses in anticipation that they too would soon be receiving company.
_______________________________________________
Tilly edged cautiously around the corner to peer into the glowing chamber. The floor of the room descended twenty feet below the doorway, and the ceiling rose to a height of forty feet above. A walkway ran around the perimeter of the room, but the chamber itself was dominated by two large pillars, each made of what looked like gray, necrotic flesh. A palpable chill emanated from the macabre structures, and now and again a tortured visage would form and then fade on one of the pillar’s surface with a faint whisper. Wrapped around the farthest pillar was what appeared to be a large, skeletal snake with glowing, emerald eyes. Standing near the creature was a half-orc, dressed in plate armor and holding a large axe in both hands.
Tilly was just about to report his observations to his friends, when he abruptly turned and ran right into Grimm, who had come up behind him. “No time for stealth any longer,” the half-ogre rumbled. “Dalthon, I need maneuverability.” The sorcerer nodded in understanding, and then wove a spell of flight around the planar champion. In an instant, Grimm was airborne. He had no idea what the bone snake was, or even if it was hostile, but he had learned by now to hit first, hard, and ask questions later. Speedy as he was with his magical flight, Grimm was surprised and amused to see that Kiko was keeping pace with him, sprinting full out around the edge of the walkway. He had to hand it to the monk; he was either very brave, or had an intense death wish.
If Xail was capable of a sense of humor, or even irony, he would have smiled, but alas, the bone naga was beyond such things, and he merely saw the fact that the intruders had now separated themselves as a tactical advantage to be exploited. He immediately began his spell, trusting that Orgo could at least delay the two assailants, though Xail was certain the bumbling half-orc was about to end his days on this plane of existence. Fetor had warned that interlopers might be coming to the ruins, especially in light of the exposure of the Kelemvorites' deception. The Cagewright had made it clear that the defense of the pillars was paramount. All other concerns…and lives…were secondary.
As Dalthon, Kylon and Rusty prepared to enter the chamber, the floor of the corridor suddenly erupted with a forest or writhing, rubbery black tentacles. Before the trio could move, the tendrils began wrapping around them, pinning their arms and slowly squeezing the life out of them.
At that moment, Grimm arced around one of the grotesque pillars, coming up on Orgo’s left flank and smashing the half-orc into the wall with his chain. Simultaneously, Kiko flew around the second pillar, momentarily catching Xail off guard. The monk hammered at the naga with his bare hands, trying to stun the creature but having no luck. Xail knew that he had to buy some time. With a few arcane words he conjured a wall of pure force that bisected the chamber, placing Kiko and Grimm on one side, and himself, and Orgo on the other with Tilly, who had quietly snuck up behind the half-orc, hoping to use Grimm’s distraction attack to deliver a coup de grace.
“Ah,” Orgo smiled, baring his fangs at the little halfling in front of him, “now the odds are a bit more even. Wouldn’t you agree?” He hefted his axe and lunged towards the rogue. Without a word, Tilly shoulder rolled to one side of the narrow platform, coming to his feet behind the charging warrior. He slashed at the half-orc’s hamstring as he passed, and Orgo collapsed with a curse, clutching at his wounded leg. “Now I would say it’s even.” Tilly said. “Wouldn’t you agree Grimm?” Orgo turned, eyes bugging as the huge half-ogre rose from below the lip of the platform. With the pillars in the center of the pit, the force wall was not able to reach the floor. Grimm had discovered this, flown beneath the wall, and was now blocking any hope of escape by the half-orc. “Say good night, Maple” Tilly hissed, and then he leaped upon Orgo, who struggled futilely to bring his axe up in defense. Tilly sliced his blades simultaneously across the warrior’s throat, and the half-orc’s life-blood spilled to the stone.
Xail shook his skull-like head. The fool had lasted even less time than he’d anticipated. No matter, dealing with these two would be child’s play. Once again he summoned a mass of black tentacles from the flagstones of the platform, and in moments, both half-ogre and halfling were trapped. However, before the naga could finish them off, Grimm roared and heaved himself free of the entwining tendrils. Bulling his way forward, he slashed at the naga, tearing hunks of bone loose from its body. Xail hissed and spat in anger, and then began another spell. In an instant Grimm and Tilly felt waves of fatigue and weakness wash over them. Grimm found himself barely able to lift his mighty chain, and before he could react, the black tentacles had wrapped around him once again.
As the rubbery appendages continued to squeeze the life out of him, Dalthon closed his eyes and forced his body to go completely limp. The tentacles momentarily slipped an inch, and in that moment, the sorcerer uttered a single word. In a brief flash of light he vanished, only to reappear several yards back down the hallway, safely out of range of the grasping arms. Without hesitation, he cast again, dispelling the magical tendrils and freeing Rusty and Kylon.
Tilly twisted and turned, using every escape trick his mentor had ever taught him. Finally, he managed to slip one arm loose, and then a leg. As the tentacles whipped towards him to attack again, he freed himself completely and tumbled over the edge of the platform, landing gracefully on the floor twenty feet below. No sooner had he made his escape, than Xail finished casting what he hoped would be the killing blow. A dense, bone-numbingly cold mist enclosed Grimm and the tentacles. The half-ogre felt his life being leeched slowly away. With one final, titanic effort, he tore himself loose from his bonds once again. Leaping into the air, he flew above the deadly fog, but just as he reached the top, a blast of freezing air and ice struck him from within the mists. The planar champion listened intently, hearing the telltale susurrus of bone sliding over stone from directly below him. He snapped his chain into the fog, feeling it connect solidly with something below, and hearing an abyssal curse in response. Grimm wound himself up for another attack, but before he could strike, a second cone of cold struck him. His mind went gray, and he tumbled from the air, bouncing off the edge of the platform and crashing to the floor of the pit, landing not five feet from the crouching form of Tilly.
Rusty watched all this transpire from the far platform. He knew that if Grimm was dead, he had only seconds to act before the planar champion’s soul passed on to the outer planes, after which it would be very difficult to retrieve it. He uttered a quick prayer, and feathery, white wings sprouted from his back. He spread them wide, and soared down to the floor of the chamber, shouldering a bewildered Tilly out of the way. Placing his hand on Grimm’s head, the priest began a low chant, struggling to hold the warrior’s spirit in place. Suddenly, with a great, whooping gasp of breath, Grimm’s eyes snapped open, and he looked around in confusion. He was alive, but weak as a kitten. Rusty set about trying to remedy that as well.
Still on the opposite platform, Dalthon and Kylon stared in stunned disbelief as events unfolded. Kiko was trapped behind a wall of force. Tilly had been forced to retreat from the battle. Grimm was incapacitated, and Rusty was busy trying to keep him alive. One of their opponents was down, but the other, far more deadly one, still waited in the billowing mist, planning its next lethal attack. Kylon turned to Dalthon, a stoic expression on his face. “I’ve seen you use your magic to enable the others to fly,” the paladin said. “I ask you to do the same for me.” “Do you have a death wish?” Dalthon asked in disbelief. “I know you worship the God of the Dead, but do you desire to join him so badly?”
“It is because I revere Kelemvor that I know what must be done,” Kylon replied. “I know the abominations that are the living dead when I see them. I am sworn to destroy such monstrosities, and it is within my power to do so. Do as I ask, or watch your friends die.” Dalthon could not argue the logic, so he summoned the magic to imbue the paladin with flight. Without another word, Kylon took to the air. The paladin could not make out the naga within the mist, but he hoped the creature would be blind to his approach as well. Without hesitation, he flew into the frigid cloud, feeling its necromantic magic begin to suck at his soul instantly. Directly in front of him, he saw the looming shape of the bone naga. A prayer to Kelemvor came to his lips, giving him the gift of laying on of hands, a gift meant to be used to heal the wounds of those in need. But Kylon knew another use for this gift. The undead, being creatures spawned from negative energy, abhorred the positive touch of healing. It was anathema to them. Reaching out his bare hand, he touched the bony form of Xail. The naga opened is maw and screamed an inhuman, unholy wail. Instinctively, it lashed out with its magic, engulfing the paladin in a ball of fire. Kylon dove from the mist, seeking cover in the pit below, but Xail was right behind him, uncoiling its bulk from the fleshy pillar, and leaning over the edge of the platform. It saw most of its enemies gathered below, and used the opportunity to blast them again with a cone of ice and cold. The Bright Axes scattered for cover, but Rusty stood his ground. Kylon’s ploy had worked, and the naga had exposed itself. Now the Mystran priest retaliated with his own magic, lashing at the undead horror with a spray of razor like diamond shards imbued with holy power. Xail recoiled, realizing his mistake too late, but before he could retreat into the restorative mists again, Kylon charged at him one last time, slicing through his vertebrae with his holy sword, and sending both halves crashing to the ground.
One by one the Bright Axes descended the inky shaft until they found themselves gathered in a small room whose partially collapsed walls seemed to have been blasted apart by some ancient calamity. A small door was still accessible to the west, and beyond it they entered a narrow corridor. The air on this lower level was just as frigid as that above, and their breath misted in the air as they proceeded deeper into the ancient spell weaver abode.
Shortly, they came upon a four-way intersection. The passage to the west was a dead-end, while the one to the east was filled with another of the ubiquitous and deadly ice lattices. Directly ahead, the hallway ended in another door. Not wishing to deal with the numbing ice strands, the group proceeded towards the doorway.
___________________________________________________
Olarithusk paced the confines of his prison for the one-millionth time. Exactly twenty-five feet by forty-five feet, just as it had been nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred ninety-nine times before. Each step he had taken of that perimeter magnified his rage ten-fold. If the Binding didn’t physically restrain him from doing so, he would have ripped apart the walls of this room long ago. No curse in Carceri was vile enough to describe the hatred he felt for the Cagewright who had trapped him so, and he could not vent that anger on the wizard nor any of his minions for they always teleported around this chamber. He was charged with guarding a room which would never see an intruder, when by all rights he should be in charge of a legion of farastus guarding thousands of cursed souls back on Carceri. He was preparing to make his one million and first circuit of the room when of all things…he heard the door open.
_________________________________________________
Tilly pushed open the door to find a medium sized chamber that was filled floor to ceiling with a massive ice web. Standing in the center of the lattice was an obese, eight-foot tall humanoid with knobby skin coated with a pale, green slime. Stubby wings protruded from its shoulders. As its beady eyes fell upon the halfling, its lips cracked in what could only be a horrid facsimile of a smile.
“We’ve definitely got problems!” Tilly shouted behind him to his companions, and then drawing his swords, he began hacking at the ice strands, trying to clear a path.
Grimm shouldered his way past the others, barreling into the room to meet whatever new horror this gods-forsaken place had to throw at them. Unwittingly, he lumbered right through several of the searing beams, the cold lancing through his flesh. Undeterred, he lashed out at the hulking fiend, his heavy, spiked chain raking across the creature’s flesh, but leaving only a superficial wound, which began healing as soon as it was inflicted.
Olarithusk chuckled at the ineptitude of the brute who thought to stand toe-to-toe with him. The demodand prepared to teach the upstart a lesson in humility, but then suddenly his eyes began to burn from a blinding, painful light. A dwarf now stood in the doorway across the room, and the brilliant radiance seemed to emanate from him. Olarithusk actually saw his flesh starting to burn and peel in places where the light touched it. He growled deep in his chest, knowing just how to deal with this nuisance. Calling upon his innate arcane abilities, he conjured a massive cloud of acidic fog so thick and dense that it effectively trapped those within to die a slow and painful death.
Kiko was just preparing to dash to Grimm’s aid when the cloying, burning vapors enveloped him. He tried to dive beneath them and tumble to fresh air, but the mist refused to yield, engulfing him like a wet sponge. He closed his eyes and focused his ki, ignoring the droplets of acid settling on his exposed skin. He pictured himself back at the intersection, beyond the range of the fog, and when he opened his eyes once more he was there, free. Dalthon stood beside him smiling and nodding. “It never ceases to amaze me when I see you do that,” the sorcerer said, “and you are not even a practitioner of the art.”
“But you are,” Kiko responded, “and as such, isn’t there anything you can do about that?” He indicated the billowing, putrid green cloud. In reply, Dalthon barked a few unintelligible phrases and forked his fingers towards the fog. In an eye-blink, it was gone.
Free of the fog cloud, Grimm began striking in earnest at the fiend, and even though the wounds began to heal immediately, the half-ogre could tell that he was making progress. Olarithusk cursed in outrage, and prepared to charge the puny mortal, but before he could take a step, the accursed dwarf hurled a searing beam of light at him, scorching his entire chest. As he stumbled back, the half-ogre’s chain wrapped around his legs and pulled him from his feet. The demodand lay momentarily stunned on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He suddenly felt a weight land on his chest where a bald human had landed. The human was unarmed, yet his hands glistened with some sort of oil. Olarithusk had an instant to wonder what it could mean before the creature began pummeling him about the face, and each blow seemed to burn into his flesh with holy fire. The last thing the demodand heard in his long life was a prayer uttered to Mystra, the Lady of the Weave, and then he knew no more as the power of the goddess smote him from the earth.
________________________________________________________
Beyond Olarithusk’s prison, the cold, dead hallways of the spell weaver fortress continued for a short distance before coming to another intersection. Another door lay directly ahead, while the hallway to the east appeared to have collapsed. To the west, it seemed as if the corridor opened into a room of some sort, and a dim, green glow came from that direction.
Tilly, on point as usual, took a step in that direction, and then paused, his slightly pointed ears pricking up. He thought he could just make out the faint sounds of chanting. Though he was no wizard, the little rogue had long ago learned to make out the telltale cadence of spell casting. “I hate to sound redundant,” he sighed, turning back towards his companions, “but I think we’re in trouble…again.”
_________________________________________________
“What is it?” Orgo asked, glancing up from the object he was studying to glare in irritation at his companion. “You keep doing that! Do you hear something, or not?” Xail returned the half-orc’s gaze with an unblinking intensity that soon unnerved the warrior, causing him to shift his eyes away. “If you wissssh to live,” Xail hissed, “then you had bessst loosssen your blade in itsss sssscabbard, and move away from the door. It ssssseemssss Fetor’sss pet demodand hasss finally had sssome company. I think he didn’t live to regret it.” The creature then began murmuring and chanting to itself, and Orgo could feel magic rippling thru the air as Xail prepared several arcane defenses in anticipation that they too would soon be receiving company.
_______________________________________________
Tilly edged cautiously around the corner to peer into the glowing chamber. The floor of the room descended twenty feet below the doorway, and the ceiling rose to a height of forty feet above. A walkway ran around the perimeter of the room, but the chamber itself was dominated by two large pillars, each made of what looked like gray, necrotic flesh. A palpable chill emanated from the macabre structures, and now and again a tortured visage would form and then fade on one of the pillar’s surface with a faint whisper. Wrapped around the farthest pillar was what appeared to be a large, skeletal snake with glowing, emerald eyes. Standing near the creature was a half-orc, dressed in plate armor and holding a large axe in both hands.
Tilly was just about to report his observations to his friends, when he abruptly turned and ran right into Grimm, who had come up behind him. “No time for stealth any longer,” the half-ogre rumbled. “Dalthon, I need maneuverability.” The sorcerer nodded in understanding, and then wove a spell of flight around the planar champion. In an instant, Grimm was airborne. He had no idea what the bone snake was, or even if it was hostile, but he had learned by now to hit first, hard, and ask questions later. Speedy as he was with his magical flight, Grimm was surprised and amused to see that Kiko was keeping pace with him, sprinting full out around the edge of the walkway. He had to hand it to the monk; he was either very brave, or had an intense death wish.
If Xail was capable of a sense of humor, or even irony, he would have smiled, but alas, the bone naga was beyond such things, and he merely saw the fact that the intruders had now separated themselves as a tactical advantage to be exploited. He immediately began his spell, trusting that Orgo could at least delay the two assailants, though Xail was certain the bumbling half-orc was about to end his days on this plane of existence. Fetor had warned that interlopers might be coming to the ruins, especially in light of the exposure of the Kelemvorites' deception. The Cagewright had made it clear that the defense of the pillars was paramount. All other concerns…and lives…were secondary.
As Dalthon, Kylon and Rusty prepared to enter the chamber, the floor of the corridor suddenly erupted with a forest or writhing, rubbery black tentacles. Before the trio could move, the tendrils began wrapping around them, pinning their arms and slowly squeezing the life out of them.
At that moment, Grimm arced around one of the grotesque pillars, coming up on Orgo’s left flank and smashing the half-orc into the wall with his chain. Simultaneously, Kiko flew around the second pillar, momentarily catching Xail off guard. The monk hammered at the naga with his bare hands, trying to stun the creature but having no luck. Xail knew that he had to buy some time. With a few arcane words he conjured a wall of pure force that bisected the chamber, placing Kiko and Grimm on one side, and himself, and Orgo on the other with Tilly, who had quietly snuck up behind the half-orc, hoping to use Grimm’s distraction attack to deliver a coup de grace.
“Ah,” Orgo smiled, baring his fangs at the little halfling in front of him, “now the odds are a bit more even. Wouldn’t you agree?” He hefted his axe and lunged towards the rogue. Without a word, Tilly shoulder rolled to one side of the narrow platform, coming to his feet behind the charging warrior. He slashed at the half-orc’s hamstring as he passed, and Orgo collapsed with a curse, clutching at his wounded leg. “Now I would say it’s even.” Tilly said. “Wouldn’t you agree Grimm?” Orgo turned, eyes bugging as the huge half-ogre rose from below the lip of the platform. With the pillars in the center of the pit, the force wall was not able to reach the floor. Grimm had discovered this, flown beneath the wall, and was now blocking any hope of escape by the half-orc. “Say good night, Maple” Tilly hissed, and then he leaped upon Orgo, who struggled futilely to bring his axe up in defense. Tilly sliced his blades simultaneously across the warrior’s throat, and the half-orc’s life-blood spilled to the stone.
Xail shook his skull-like head. The fool had lasted even less time than he’d anticipated. No matter, dealing with these two would be child’s play. Once again he summoned a mass of black tentacles from the flagstones of the platform, and in moments, both half-ogre and halfling were trapped. However, before the naga could finish them off, Grimm roared and heaved himself free of the entwining tendrils. Bulling his way forward, he slashed at the naga, tearing hunks of bone loose from its body. Xail hissed and spat in anger, and then began another spell. In an instant Grimm and Tilly felt waves of fatigue and weakness wash over them. Grimm found himself barely able to lift his mighty chain, and before he could react, the black tentacles had wrapped around him once again.
As the rubbery appendages continued to squeeze the life out of him, Dalthon closed his eyes and forced his body to go completely limp. The tentacles momentarily slipped an inch, and in that moment, the sorcerer uttered a single word. In a brief flash of light he vanished, only to reappear several yards back down the hallway, safely out of range of the grasping arms. Without hesitation, he cast again, dispelling the magical tendrils and freeing Rusty and Kylon.
Tilly twisted and turned, using every escape trick his mentor had ever taught him. Finally, he managed to slip one arm loose, and then a leg. As the tentacles whipped towards him to attack again, he freed himself completely and tumbled over the edge of the platform, landing gracefully on the floor twenty feet below. No sooner had he made his escape, than Xail finished casting what he hoped would be the killing blow. A dense, bone-numbingly cold mist enclosed Grimm and the tentacles. The half-ogre felt his life being leeched slowly away. With one final, titanic effort, he tore himself loose from his bonds once again. Leaping into the air, he flew above the deadly fog, but just as he reached the top, a blast of freezing air and ice struck him from within the mists. The planar champion listened intently, hearing the telltale susurrus of bone sliding over stone from directly below him. He snapped his chain into the fog, feeling it connect solidly with something below, and hearing an abyssal curse in response. Grimm wound himself up for another attack, but before he could strike, a second cone of cold struck him. His mind went gray, and he tumbled from the air, bouncing off the edge of the platform and crashing to the floor of the pit, landing not five feet from the crouching form of Tilly.
Rusty watched all this transpire from the far platform. He knew that if Grimm was dead, he had only seconds to act before the planar champion’s soul passed on to the outer planes, after which it would be very difficult to retrieve it. He uttered a quick prayer, and feathery, white wings sprouted from his back. He spread them wide, and soared down to the floor of the chamber, shouldering a bewildered Tilly out of the way. Placing his hand on Grimm’s head, the priest began a low chant, struggling to hold the warrior’s spirit in place. Suddenly, with a great, whooping gasp of breath, Grimm’s eyes snapped open, and he looked around in confusion. He was alive, but weak as a kitten. Rusty set about trying to remedy that as well.
Still on the opposite platform, Dalthon and Kylon stared in stunned disbelief as events unfolded. Kiko was trapped behind a wall of force. Tilly had been forced to retreat from the battle. Grimm was incapacitated, and Rusty was busy trying to keep him alive. One of their opponents was down, but the other, far more deadly one, still waited in the billowing mist, planning its next lethal attack. Kylon turned to Dalthon, a stoic expression on his face. “I’ve seen you use your magic to enable the others to fly,” the paladin said. “I ask you to do the same for me.” “Do you have a death wish?” Dalthon asked in disbelief. “I know you worship the God of the Dead, but do you desire to join him so badly?”
“It is because I revere Kelemvor that I know what must be done,” Kylon replied. “I know the abominations that are the living dead when I see them. I am sworn to destroy such monstrosities, and it is within my power to do so. Do as I ask, or watch your friends die.” Dalthon could not argue the logic, so he summoned the magic to imbue the paladin with flight. Without another word, Kylon took to the air. The paladin could not make out the naga within the mist, but he hoped the creature would be blind to his approach as well. Without hesitation, he flew into the frigid cloud, feeling its necromantic magic begin to suck at his soul instantly. Directly in front of him, he saw the looming shape of the bone naga. A prayer to Kelemvor came to his lips, giving him the gift of laying on of hands, a gift meant to be used to heal the wounds of those in need. But Kylon knew another use for this gift. The undead, being creatures spawned from negative energy, abhorred the positive touch of healing. It was anathema to them. Reaching out his bare hand, he touched the bony form of Xail. The naga opened is maw and screamed an inhuman, unholy wail. Instinctively, it lashed out with its magic, engulfing the paladin in a ball of fire. Kylon dove from the mist, seeking cover in the pit below, but Xail was right behind him, uncoiling its bulk from the fleshy pillar, and leaning over the edge of the platform. It saw most of its enemies gathered below, and used the opportunity to blast them again with a cone of ice and cold. The Bright Axes scattered for cover, but Rusty stood his ground. Kylon’s ploy had worked, and the naga had exposed itself. Now the Mystran priest retaliated with his own magic, lashing at the undead horror with a spray of razor like diamond shards imbued with holy power. Xail recoiled, realizing his mistake too late, but before he could retreat into the restorative mists again, Kylon charged at him one last time, slicing through his vertebrae with his holy sword, and sending both halves crashing to the ground.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
) to see the rest of the Bright Axes statted out.Up till now,we've only seen Grimm,the dear departed Caine,and a glimpse of Kiko.I want to see the rest of them!Who's with me?
