Pathfinder 1E JollyDoc's Way Of The Wicked
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The Sacking of Daveryn - 9 Pharast, 4718 - 16 Pharast, 4718
"This should do the trick," Kelvin said, as he placed the ducal crown upon his head. "Now let's see about finding your owner."
The young wizard closed his eyes and focused his mind as he cast out with his magic. At first his inner vision was clouded, almost as if something was intentionally blocking his spell. He pushed harder and the mist parted, revealing a middle-aged man clad in ratty and tattered noble garb, hunched and shivering in a darkened cellar.
"Got him!" Kelvin said, his eyes snapping open. "No sense wasting any more time. Gather round."
The others stood in a circle around Kelvin, hands linked as he began to cast. A bright light gathered around them until it was a blinding nimbus. There was a moment of disorientation, and then the glow faded. They still stood in a circle, but they were no longer inside the city hall. Instead, they were in a low cellar, surrounding the man Kelvin had seen in his vision...Duke Martin of Daveryn.
"Polydorus sends his regards," Tardaesha smirked as she drew her sword and slashed the cringing man viciously down his right arm.
"Now, now," Kelvin chided. "We need him alive."
"Done," Kat said as she drew a sap from her belt and smashed it into the back of the Duke's skull.
He reeled drunkenly but still did not go down.
"Let me show you how it's done, little girl," Roger sighed.
He turned his greatsword so the flat of the blade faced the Duke, and then swung it mightily into his face. Duke Martin went down as if deboned.
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The Fire-Axe was beyond pleased at the live-capture of the Duke and ordered a great feast be held in the Nessian Knot's honor. He offered slaves to them for their own personal use, but Dakota had only one request...to be present during the Duke's "interrogation."
The Duke was very forthcoming under Dakota's tender ministrations, especially when she threatened to keep him alive until she delivered her baby, so that she could feed him to it one morsel at a time. He quickly spilled his guts, babbling and yammering hysterically. According to Martin, most of his army had marched south to join the Grand Army of Talingarde that was assembling under the king. He wasn't sure of its exact size, but felt it must be 20,000 soldiers and knights at least. The King himself was leading that army and nothing could take him from the side of his men...with one exception. The King wore an amulet around his neck. If his beloved daughter, the beautiful princess Bellinda, was ever threatened by an evil so grave that his trusted veteran knights could not deal with it, they would summon the King and he would rush to the Adarium via the amulet. Distracting the King in such a way would not mean the end of the army's might, however. His second in command was General Vastenus Barca, a veteran soldier and considered by some to be a military genius.
After that information was pried out of him, the bugbears celebrated in earnest. More of Daveryn burned and Sakkarot had the Duke roasted in a large open pit. The Fire-Axe and his lieutenants then proceeded to eat Duke Martin.
“His city and his power are now mine! ” proclaimed the Fire-Axe to his assembled throng of monsters.
They roared back in bestial and brutal delight. The frenzied celebration lasted long into the night.
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Katarina was bored, and that was a potentially volatile and dangerous situation for those around her. She wasn't sure what they were still doing in Daveryn. The Duke had been found and dealt with. Sure there were still some pockets of resistance, but there were more than enough bugbears and other monsters to deal with them. She and her companions were meant for greater things. Kelvin kept telling her to be patient, and that Thorn would contact them soon with their next mission, but Kat was not good at being patient, and the curiosity of her nick-name was getting the best of her. She had taken to hanging around the bugbear camps, listening for any interesting rumors that might provide her some distraction. One such evening, she got lucky.
"Don't go near the Ballerina School o' sword fighting," one of the big brutes said to his gathered brethren. "No wait, that's not it. The Balleryn school in Glassboro. Yeah that's it. Those fops are dangerous with those little swishy pokes of theirs."
That was all the incentive Kat needed.
Glassboro had been an artisan's district, and the Balleryn School, little more than an open courtyard really, had been one of its barely-tolerated ventures. The headmaster was not from Talingarde. Rodrigo Garza Diego Guillermo Valentino Estanza de Garradora (usually Rodrigo sufficed) was definitely a foreigner. He was a swarthy man of uncertain accent who occasionally broke out in a rapid fire language no one on the island understood. Regardless, the short, dark and handsome foreigner had managed to establish himself as one of the premier sword masters for hire in just a few years, and gathered together a band of dedicated bravos desperate to prove themselves to their master. Rodrigo was, by any reasonable standard, insane. He made time enough for only three things in life: dueling, drinking and wooing. Yet, that wasn't what made Rodrigo insane. His madness came from his bravery. Where some men claimed to be fearless, Rodrigo was very nearly so. He believed himself the greatest swordsman in the world and would eagerly take any challenge to that title. He never refused a duel (even though dueling was patently illegal in Talingarde) and was all too eager to prove his prowess with a blade to anyone who happened by. Rodrigo was amongst the most hated men in Daveryn before the city fell. He had dueled, cuckolded and disgraced so many nobles that it was a wonder he survived to see the city fall. Despite several solid tries, the minions of the Fire-Axe had failed to slay him and his surviving students. In fact, Rodrigo had decorated the entryway to the courtyard of his school with the heads of three ogres, five bugbears, eight goblins and one hill giant. Beside the heads written is blood were scrawled the words “Open for business. All challengers welcome. ”
"Hold my beer," Kat whispered, smiling to herself.
She watched from the eaves of a nearby rooftop until darkness fell and, one by one, the six students tired from their endless dueling and drifted off to sleep, tucking themselves into bedrolls laid out around the periphery of the courtyard. Finally, when only one remained awake on watch, Kat quietly stole down to the ground and over the wall of the yard. Silent as death, she drifted over to one of the sleeping students and deftly plucked his dagger from its belt sheath. Then she waited until the student on guard was facing away from her, at which point she flicked the dagger and sent it precisely into the base of the young man's skull. He collapsed with a gurgle and Kat melted back into the shadows.
It wasn't long before one of the other students awoke to relieve himself and noticed his dead comrade. He shouted in alarm, waking the others. There was confusion at first, but that quickly turned to shouts of accusation as the murder weapon was discovered to belong to one of their own. One of the students challenged the accused to a duel as Rodrigo stood by and observed in indifference. The two students drew their blades and fought until one lay dead on the ground...the accused as fate would have it. Afterwards, sleep seemed to elude the remaining students. Two finally returned to their bedrolls, but at opposite ends of the courtyard. Kat waited a bit longer before tossing another dagger from the darkness and taking one of the sleepers in the throat with it. The three students who remained awake saw this and shouted the alarm once more. Kat risked one more dagger-throw, but her aim was slightly off and she only managed to wound one of the swordsmen as they rushed towards her hiding spot. She remedied the situation a moment later with one last throw. The student fell in a pool of his own blood as Kat leaped over the wall and vanished into the ruins, leaving Rodrigo with half of the pupils he'd had that morning.
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The clarion sound of a trumpet blast woke Lemmy from where he'd been dosing on the upper floor of the burned out house the Knot had been squatting in. He cracked open his bleary eyes, still trying to shake off the effects of the hog piss that passed for bugbear beer. Two figures stood in the room. One was a tall, human-like creature with long, feathery wings and a gentle inner radiance that made him difficult to look directly at. He gripped a huge warhammer in both hands. His companion was lithe and beautiful, with skin the color of marble. He hovered upon powerful, white wings and radiated a sense of serenity. He held a gleaming golden trumpet, but as Lemmy watched, it rapidly transformed into a mighty greatsword.
"Villains," the one with the hammer intoned, "know that now thou shalt answer for thy wickedness. Our brother, the mighty Ara Mathra hath tasked Maul and Clarion with thy destruction."
Before Lemmy could respond or react, the angel closed the distance to him and swung his hammer into the dwarf's gut, sending him flying into the opposite wall. Roger, who'd been sleeping nearby, rose from his pallet in a fury, drawing his sword as he charged. Clarion stepped into his path, but the anti-paladin swung his blade and smote the archon with unholy power. At the same time, Lemmy managed to rise up on his elbows and send a blast of metal shards into the oncoming Maul. Clarion recoiled from Roger's blow, golden blood trickling to the floor. His face grim, he opened his mouth and spoke one word, but the force behind it struck both Lemmy and Roger completely blind, as well as Grumblejack, who'd lumbered into the room at the sounds of the melee. The trumpet archon then followed by conjuring a frigid spear of ice that impaled both the dwarf and the anti-paladin. Though Grumblejack could not see, his ears still worked just fine and he honed in on the sound of Clarion's voice. Summoning the power of his fiendish heritage, he infused his sword with dark energy and swung blindly. He was rewarded with a groan of pain from the archon, followed by the sound of a body striking the floor.
A flash of light blossomed in the center of the room as Kelvin appeared with Tardaesha and Dakota in tow. The three vampires had been resting in the cellar, snug in their coffins when the sounds of battle from above had so rudely awakened them. They arrived to find their mortal companions stumbling around blindly while a burly angel with a large hammer swung madly in all directions. Another angel lay dead on the ground, apparently impaled through the chest. As the vampires took in the scene, Lemmy managed to lever himself up on one elbow and blast the angel, but the brute shrugged off the brunt of the attack and smacked the dwarf across the forehead with a back-handed swing of his hammer. Lemmy sagged to the floor, bleeding profusely but still breathing...barely. As Grumblejack stumbled towards the sounds of melee, Maul whirled and drove the head of his hammer solidly into the ogre's chest. Wheezing, Grumblejack fell backwards and crashed heavily into one of the badly burned support pillars. What was left of the ceiling above sagged dangerously.
"Time to end this, sister," Tardaesha announced.
Dakota grinned, baring her enlarged canines, then drew her bow and loosed three arrows. All three struck Maul and he reeled. Before he could recover, Tardaesha rushed in and smote him down, the wounds smoking with brimstone as he fell to the floor.
"We seem to be accumulating more vendettas against us," Kelvin said as he moved to check on his fallen friends.
"Let them keep coming!" Dakota laughed. "This is a lesson these self-righteous bastards have had coming for a long time."
Kelvin nodded but remained silent. He didn't disagree, but he wondered if a day would soon come when he and his family were going to be on the receiving end of that lesson.
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Later that evening, when Kat returned and breathlessly told her tale of her encounter at the fencing school, the others were less than impressed.
"Two angels!" Dakota pointed to the bodies on the floor. "Two! And you expect us to get excited about a few rich brats with swords?"
"Now, now," Kelvin chided. "It sounds like Kat did well for herself. Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. These may indeed be some dangerous rabble that need putting down. The least we can do is go and have a look."
The companions followed Katarina back to the Balleryn school to find all of the remaining students and Rodrigo awake and alert. Dakota casually put an arrow through the throat of one student as she approached. The young man fell, gurgling, and Roger stepped over his still-twitching body, headed directly towards Rodrigo. The swordmaster raised his rapier in mock salute.
"And what do we say to the god of Death, my students?" Rodrigo shouted.
"Not today!" they answered in unison.
Rodrigo lunged at Roger and managed to drive the point of his blade through the gaps of the bigger man's pauldrons and into his shoulder. The students cheered and made to rush forward as one, but then a fiery explosion detonated into their midst, burning the flesh from their bones in an instant. Rodrigo turned, mouth gaping at the charred corpses of his pupils, but then Kelvin hurled a spear of ice at him, impaling him through the belly. As he staggered about, refusing to die, Grumblejack stepped forward and decapitated him with one swing. In the silence that followed, all eyes turned to Kat.
"Don't worry, little sister," Dakota smiled, "we would never let the big, mean boys hurt you!"
The others laughed boisterously and slapped Kat on the back, continuing to taunt and jibe her all the way back home. She hated them all.
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Over the next several days, the companions of the Ninth Knot continued to pick up more rumors from the rank and file killers among The Fire-Axe’s troops:
“I hear there's some soldiers left nearby in Smallward! Anyone want to go eat ‘em?”
“The Duke's not the only one who's missing. We didn't catch the Cardinal either. He's gotta be somewhere around here.”
“I heard there was still fighting over at the prison in Cliffward. We should round up some killers and check it out. ” “Good idea…after we finish this last barrel of beer. ” “We've got three barrels of beer. ” “ After we finish the last THREE barrels of beer!”
“They say one of the noble houses in Angleton ain't been looted yet. We should check it out!”
All of them seemed intriguing, though certainly some would just be the idle speculations of bored soldiers, but the tedium of simply waiting around and doing nothing was more than enough to send the Knot out into the city in search of adventure. The Cathedral of Iomedae Beneficent seemed the most logical place to start looking for the missing cardinal. The church was one of the four great Cathedrals in Talingarde (the other three were in Matharyn, Ghastenhall and Valtae-rna). The bugbear raiders were just superstitious enough that the Cathedral had largely been left alone. Rumors of good outsider guardians also helped to ensure that it was one of the least ransacked places in all of Daveryn. The structure was certainly impressive. It presented a great gothic edifice; every inch covered in intricate decoration that celebrated an endless procession of saints and heroes of the faith. Familiar aphorisms written in both common and celestial adorned the stonework. Saying such as:
“There is no darkness so deep, that a single candle cannot defeat it. ”
“The suns sees and blesses us all with light and life. ”
“The sun may set and winter may come; but always there will be another dawn and summer will return triumphant. ”
Great flying buttresses, stained glass windows and a mighty facade completed the cathedral. It was truly a place of awe and reverence for the exaltation of Iomedae.
As the villains pushed open the facade and walked into the cathedral, their first impression was one of amazement. It looked as if the place had weathered the sack of Daveryn completely unaffected. It hadn’t been dusted in a few days certainly, but otherwise, a congregation could have filed in and started their prayers without a moment's pause. There was loot there, to be sure. The golden fixtures and sacramental vessels were still neatly positioned on the central altar. Unlike most Iomedaen temples with their silver items, these were older artifacts and largely made of gold. Grumblejack recovered from his momentary awe and marched directly up to the altar, which he easily upended with one massive hand. He raked all of the gold into a large sack, then relieved himself on a bas-relief carving of the Bright Lady herself. Then he began a prayer of desecration, claiming the holy site in the name of Asmodeus.
“Hello,” Kat murmured as she sifted among the debris the ogre had left in his wake. “What have we here?”
She knelt down to peer at the floor beneath with the altar had been. She pushed down on the end of one flagstone, and a small latch popped up. Pulling it lifted the entire stone easily, revealing a flight of stone stairs descending into the reliquary below.
“Whomever is down there,” Kelvin called, “you have one chance to reveal yourself. Do not make us come looking for you.”
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps from the darkness, and then an old man dressed in dirty clergy robes climbed the steep stairs, hands raised above his head.
“Who are you?” Kelvin asked.
“I am Ignatius, Cardinal of Daveryn,” the old man stated, drawing himself up.
“People have been looking for you,” Kelvin smiled. “You picked a good hiding spot.”
“Do with me what you will,” the old man said. “I will not help you in your unholy efforts.”
“Very well,” Kelvin said.
Baring his fangs, he seized the old man in an iron grip and sank them into his throat. In a matter of moments he’d drained the priest dry and let his pale form drop to the floor.
“Well how am I supposed to torture and interrogate him now?” Dakota whined.
“Don’t worry,” Kelvin smiled. “When he rises again tomorrow, he’ll tell us anything we want to know.”
__________________________________________________________________
The rumor of one of the noble houses still unlooted drew the attention of the companions next. When they arrived in the small farming district of Angleton, they discovered the rumor was true. A band of bugbears stood a fair distance away from it, eyeing it warily.
“What’s going on here?” Kelvin demanded as they approached.
“Nuthin,’” one of the brutes grunted. “The old lady is still holed up in there.”
“One old woman?” Kelvin asked. “Why haven’t you rooted her out yet?”
“‘Cause she’s got guards,” the bugbear sneered. “We sent four of our killers in yesterday, and they was all cutdown by crossbows afore they got twenty feet!”
“I see,” Kelvin nodded. “Best you not risk any more of your men. We’ll handle it from here.”
Dakota touched the iron circlet on her brow, and her form and gear shifted to that of a disheveled woman dressed in rags and grime. She began walking slowly towards the manor house, glancing back over her shoulder in fear every now and again. When she was still a hundred feet from the manor, a voice called out from an upper window.
“Come no further! You are trespassing on private property! Turn back now or face the consequences!”
“Please!” Dakota pleaded. “I’m with child and starving! The bugbears are right behind me!”
“You have been warned!” called the guardsman.
With a feral snarl, Dakota began running towards the house. A chorus of bowstrings twanged from the roof and upper windows of the manor, and a swarm of bolts arced towards her. She dodged left and right, moving in a serpentine pattern. Still, four of the shafts found their mark, though they bounced harmlessly off of her supernaturally hardened flesh. She reached the front door, but then realized her mistake. The house was a private dwelling. As a vampire she could not cross such a threshold without an invitation.
“Grumblejack!” Dakota called. “I need you!”
With a mighty roar and the beat of leathery wings, the big ogre landed beside her and slammed one huge fist into the door. It splintered inwards, where a dozen armed men awaited in the foyer.
“Stop!” a commanding, female voice came from the top of the stairs.
A lovely, dark-haired middle-aged woman stood there, glaring down at both her men and at the invaders.
“I have fifty veteran soldiers at my disposal,” she proclaimed, “and by the gods, we will fight to the death if you charge this manor, but if you can promise to be civil and not steal the silverware, you can come in and we can discuss terms.”
“Is that an invitation?” Dakota asked, grinning.
“Do you lead that rabble out there?” the woman asked.
“We do,” Dak nodded.
“Most excellent,” the woman replied.“I am the Baroness Vanya of Veryn, rightful duchess of Daveryn, deposed by damned Darian usurpers. Who might you be?”
“We are the Nessian Knot,” Dakota said, “and before much longer, all of Talingarde will be under our sway.”
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Baroness Vanya explained to the Knot that her family once ruled the Duchy of Daveryn, but they lost their rights when they supported Barca over Darius in the last war of succession. When the Palace fell, she committed none of her personal forces towards saving the city or Duke Martin (whom she regarded as an idiot). Instead, she tried to flee the city and half her guards perished at the hands of goblin wolf-riders. The survivors fled back to her fortified manor house and there they had remained since. The redoubt was well provisioned and ready for a prolonged siege. She was certain the King of Talingarde must be on his way, and her goal had been to discretely remain in her manor until he arrived. This passive plan of inaction grated upon the baroness. She despised the House of Darius and detested the fact that she must rely upon those righteous fools for rescue. She was certain she could cut a deal with the Fire-Axe if only she could reason with someone in authority.
“And now here you are,” she smiled at her guests.
“Yes,” Kelvin smiled in return, showing just the barest hint of his fangs, “and what is it exactly that you are offering us in return for your life?”
“Information,” she replied calmly.
“I could get that from your corpse,” Kelvin said.
Vanya blinked once and then cleared her throat.
“I see from your heraldry that you are followers of Asmodeus,” she said. “Will you allow me to show you something?”
She led her guests down into her securely locked basement, and there, tucked away in a hidden corner, stood an shrine. The stone altar was a massive stone block adorned with the unmistakeable iconography of hell. Leering devils cavorted with mortals across its surface. Written upon the altar in infernal was the phrase, “By blood and devotion to thee, O Lord of Hell, are we preserved forever.”
Kelvin nodded in approval.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “So you are one of the devout?”
“How do you think I’ve maintained my beauty and youth for over eighty years?” Vanya smiled coyly.
“In that case,” said Kelvin, “I believe you can be trusted…for now…and perhaps we can come to some sort of accord. Now, what can you tell us about the prison…?”
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Rumors of a fledgling resistance movement buzzed around the city. Several bugbear soldiers had been found murdered in blind alleys by something other than fellow bugbears. An ogre head was found impaled on a wrought-iron spike. Several servants of the Fire-Axe had gone mysteriously missing. Some began muttering that maybe Daveryn wasn’t as subdued as it appeared. As it so happened, Baroness Vanya had heard those same rumors, and had even managed to ferret out a likely hiding spot in the sewers of Argentyle. When the Fire-Axe asked the Nessian Knot to investigate, they did so enthusiastically. When they found the so-called resistance, it turned out to consist of a few dozen soldiers of the watch, led the last surviving watch captain, Rikkon Harbold. Captain Harbold was a mean, cussed, ugly, scarred mountain of a man who was rarely seen without his trade-mark cigar. Though he looked and talked like a villain, there were actually very few men in all of Talingarde more dedicated to the cause of justice and law. It didn’t save him nor his men. The Knot hit them with an infernal fury. Those whom Kelvin’s fireballs did not kill were summarily dealt with by the blades of Tardaesha, Roger and Grumblejack, Dak’s arrows or Katarina’s knives. The Captain himself went down beneath a barrage of Lemmy’s stones.
Later that evening, when they reported their success to the Fire-Axe, he had equally good news in return. It seemed that Cardinal Ignatius had risen from his grave, and had been very forthcoming in his new incarnation. According to him the High Inquisitor, Lord Solomon Tyrath, had been charged with the defense of the Castle Matharyn and the Old Palace while the king was away on campaign. Lord Tyrath was a powerful individual who scared the Cardinal to death. He also reported that Markadian V had a surprise ally. He had been in communication with a powerful outsider of living flame named Brigit of the Brijidine. Brigit, a queen of fire beneath the mountains, was revered as a goddess amongst the Iraen. By convincing her of the eminent threat of Asmodean followers, Markadian hoped to gain the Iraen's aid in the coming war. Already an Iraen delegation awaited within the Adarium. Ignatius also had information regarding the king’s second in command, the masterful elven general Vastenus Barca. Vastenus impressed the Cardinal much. He was clearly one of the great tactical geniuses of this age. Lastly the Cardinal revealed that the king took the security of his daughter Bellinda very seriously. So seriously, that he had paid an immense sum of money to have a golem of solid mithral constructed to defend the Adarium. There were other lesser golems in the Adarium but all together they paled before that monster. Kelvin let his new spawn know that his master was pleased, and then promptly gifted the Cardinal to the Fire-Axe to do with as he pleased
"This should do the trick," Kelvin said, as he placed the ducal crown upon his head. "Now let's see about finding your owner."
The young wizard closed his eyes and focused his mind as he cast out with his magic. At first his inner vision was clouded, almost as if something was intentionally blocking his spell. He pushed harder and the mist parted, revealing a middle-aged man clad in ratty and tattered noble garb, hunched and shivering in a darkened cellar.
"Got him!" Kelvin said, his eyes snapping open. "No sense wasting any more time. Gather round."
The others stood in a circle around Kelvin, hands linked as he began to cast. A bright light gathered around them until it was a blinding nimbus. There was a moment of disorientation, and then the glow faded. They still stood in a circle, but they were no longer inside the city hall. Instead, they were in a low cellar, surrounding the man Kelvin had seen in his vision...Duke Martin of Daveryn.
"Polydorus sends his regards," Tardaesha smirked as she drew her sword and slashed the cringing man viciously down his right arm.
"Now, now," Kelvin chided. "We need him alive."
"Done," Kat said as she drew a sap from her belt and smashed it into the back of the Duke's skull.
He reeled drunkenly but still did not go down.
"Let me show you how it's done, little girl," Roger sighed.
He turned his greatsword so the flat of the blade faced the Duke, and then swung it mightily into his face. Duke Martin went down as if deboned.
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The Fire-Axe was beyond pleased at the live-capture of the Duke and ordered a great feast be held in the Nessian Knot's honor. He offered slaves to them for their own personal use, but Dakota had only one request...to be present during the Duke's "interrogation."
The Duke was very forthcoming under Dakota's tender ministrations, especially when she threatened to keep him alive until she delivered her baby, so that she could feed him to it one morsel at a time. He quickly spilled his guts, babbling and yammering hysterically. According to Martin, most of his army had marched south to join the Grand Army of Talingarde that was assembling under the king. He wasn't sure of its exact size, but felt it must be 20,000 soldiers and knights at least. The King himself was leading that army and nothing could take him from the side of his men...with one exception. The King wore an amulet around his neck. If his beloved daughter, the beautiful princess Bellinda, was ever threatened by an evil so grave that his trusted veteran knights could not deal with it, they would summon the King and he would rush to the Adarium via the amulet. Distracting the King in such a way would not mean the end of the army's might, however. His second in command was General Vastenus Barca, a veteran soldier and considered by some to be a military genius.
After that information was pried out of him, the bugbears celebrated in earnest. More of Daveryn burned and Sakkarot had the Duke roasted in a large open pit. The Fire-Axe and his lieutenants then proceeded to eat Duke Martin.
“His city and his power are now mine! ” proclaimed the Fire-Axe to his assembled throng of monsters.
They roared back in bestial and brutal delight. The frenzied celebration lasted long into the night.
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Katarina was bored, and that was a potentially volatile and dangerous situation for those around her. She wasn't sure what they were still doing in Daveryn. The Duke had been found and dealt with. Sure there were still some pockets of resistance, but there were more than enough bugbears and other monsters to deal with them. She and her companions were meant for greater things. Kelvin kept telling her to be patient, and that Thorn would contact them soon with their next mission, but Kat was not good at being patient, and the curiosity of her nick-name was getting the best of her. She had taken to hanging around the bugbear camps, listening for any interesting rumors that might provide her some distraction. One such evening, she got lucky.
"Don't go near the Ballerina School o' sword fighting," one of the big brutes said to his gathered brethren. "No wait, that's not it. The Balleryn school in Glassboro. Yeah that's it. Those fops are dangerous with those little swishy pokes of theirs."
That was all the incentive Kat needed.
Glassboro had been an artisan's district, and the Balleryn School, little more than an open courtyard really, had been one of its barely-tolerated ventures. The headmaster was not from Talingarde. Rodrigo Garza Diego Guillermo Valentino Estanza de Garradora (usually Rodrigo sufficed) was definitely a foreigner. He was a swarthy man of uncertain accent who occasionally broke out in a rapid fire language no one on the island understood. Regardless, the short, dark and handsome foreigner had managed to establish himself as one of the premier sword masters for hire in just a few years, and gathered together a band of dedicated bravos desperate to prove themselves to their master. Rodrigo was, by any reasonable standard, insane. He made time enough for only three things in life: dueling, drinking and wooing. Yet, that wasn't what made Rodrigo insane. His madness came from his bravery. Where some men claimed to be fearless, Rodrigo was very nearly so. He believed himself the greatest swordsman in the world and would eagerly take any challenge to that title. He never refused a duel (even though dueling was patently illegal in Talingarde) and was all too eager to prove his prowess with a blade to anyone who happened by. Rodrigo was amongst the most hated men in Daveryn before the city fell. He had dueled, cuckolded and disgraced so many nobles that it was a wonder he survived to see the city fall. Despite several solid tries, the minions of the Fire-Axe had failed to slay him and his surviving students. In fact, Rodrigo had decorated the entryway to the courtyard of his school with the heads of three ogres, five bugbears, eight goblins and one hill giant. Beside the heads written is blood were scrawled the words “Open for business. All challengers welcome. ”
"Hold my beer," Kat whispered, smiling to herself.
She watched from the eaves of a nearby rooftop until darkness fell and, one by one, the six students tired from their endless dueling and drifted off to sleep, tucking themselves into bedrolls laid out around the periphery of the courtyard. Finally, when only one remained awake on watch, Kat quietly stole down to the ground and over the wall of the yard. Silent as death, she drifted over to one of the sleeping students and deftly plucked his dagger from its belt sheath. Then she waited until the student on guard was facing away from her, at which point she flicked the dagger and sent it precisely into the base of the young man's skull. He collapsed with a gurgle and Kat melted back into the shadows.
It wasn't long before one of the other students awoke to relieve himself and noticed his dead comrade. He shouted in alarm, waking the others. There was confusion at first, but that quickly turned to shouts of accusation as the murder weapon was discovered to belong to one of their own. One of the students challenged the accused to a duel as Rodrigo stood by and observed in indifference. The two students drew their blades and fought until one lay dead on the ground...the accused as fate would have it. Afterwards, sleep seemed to elude the remaining students. Two finally returned to their bedrolls, but at opposite ends of the courtyard. Kat waited a bit longer before tossing another dagger from the darkness and taking one of the sleepers in the throat with it. The three students who remained awake saw this and shouted the alarm once more. Kat risked one more dagger-throw, but her aim was slightly off and she only managed to wound one of the swordsmen as they rushed towards her hiding spot. She remedied the situation a moment later with one last throw. The student fell in a pool of his own blood as Kat leaped over the wall and vanished into the ruins, leaving Rodrigo with half of the pupils he'd had that morning.
________________________________________________________________
The clarion sound of a trumpet blast woke Lemmy from where he'd been dosing on the upper floor of the burned out house the Knot had been squatting in. He cracked open his bleary eyes, still trying to shake off the effects of the hog piss that passed for bugbear beer. Two figures stood in the room. One was a tall, human-like creature with long, feathery wings and a gentle inner radiance that made him difficult to look directly at. He gripped a huge warhammer in both hands. His companion was lithe and beautiful, with skin the color of marble. He hovered upon powerful, white wings and radiated a sense of serenity. He held a gleaming golden trumpet, but as Lemmy watched, it rapidly transformed into a mighty greatsword.
"Villains," the one with the hammer intoned, "know that now thou shalt answer for thy wickedness. Our brother, the mighty Ara Mathra hath tasked Maul and Clarion with thy destruction."
Before Lemmy could respond or react, the angel closed the distance to him and swung his hammer into the dwarf's gut, sending him flying into the opposite wall. Roger, who'd been sleeping nearby, rose from his pallet in a fury, drawing his sword as he charged. Clarion stepped into his path, but the anti-paladin swung his blade and smote the archon with unholy power. At the same time, Lemmy managed to rise up on his elbows and send a blast of metal shards into the oncoming Maul. Clarion recoiled from Roger's blow, golden blood trickling to the floor. His face grim, he opened his mouth and spoke one word, but the force behind it struck both Lemmy and Roger completely blind, as well as Grumblejack, who'd lumbered into the room at the sounds of the melee. The trumpet archon then followed by conjuring a frigid spear of ice that impaled both the dwarf and the anti-paladin. Though Grumblejack could not see, his ears still worked just fine and he honed in on the sound of Clarion's voice. Summoning the power of his fiendish heritage, he infused his sword with dark energy and swung blindly. He was rewarded with a groan of pain from the archon, followed by the sound of a body striking the floor.
A flash of light blossomed in the center of the room as Kelvin appeared with Tardaesha and Dakota in tow. The three vampires had been resting in the cellar, snug in their coffins when the sounds of battle from above had so rudely awakened them. They arrived to find their mortal companions stumbling around blindly while a burly angel with a large hammer swung madly in all directions. Another angel lay dead on the ground, apparently impaled through the chest. As the vampires took in the scene, Lemmy managed to lever himself up on one elbow and blast the angel, but the brute shrugged off the brunt of the attack and smacked the dwarf across the forehead with a back-handed swing of his hammer. Lemmy sagged to the floor, bleeding profusely but still breathing...barely. As Grumblejack stumbled towards the sounds of melee, Maul whirled and drove the head of his hammer solidly into the ogre's chest. Wheezing, Grumblejack fell backwards and crashed heavily into one of the badly burned support pillars. What was left of the ceiling above sagged dangerously.
"Time to end this, sister," Tardaesha announced.
Dakota grinned, baring her enlarged canines, then drew her bow and loosed three arrows. All three struck Maul and he reeled. Before he could recover, Tardaesha rushed in and smote him down, the wounds smoking with brimstone as he fell to the floor.
"We seem to be accumulating more vendettas against us," Kelvin said as he moved to check on his fallen friends.
"Let them keep coming!" Dakota laughed. "This is a lesson these self-righteous bastards have had coming for a long time."
Kelvin nodded but remained silent. He didn't disagree, but he wondered if a day would soon come when he and his family were going to be on the receiving end of that lesson.
_________________________________________________________________
Later that evening, when Kat returned and breathlessly told her tale of her encounter at the fencing school, the others were less than impressed.
"Two angels!" Dakota pointed to the bodies on the floor. "Two! And you expect us to get excited about a few rich brats with swords?"
"Now, now," Kelvin chided. "It sounds like Kat did well for herself. Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. These may indeed be some dangerous rabble that need putting down. The least we can do is go and have a look."
The companions followed Katarina back to the Balleryn school to find all of the remaining students and Rodrigo awake and alert. Dakota casually put an arrow through the throat of one student as she approached. The young man fell, gurgling, and Roger stepped over his still-twitching body, headed directly towards Rodrigo. The swordmaster raised his rapier in mock salute.
"And what do we say to the god of Death, my students?" Rodrigo shouted.
"Not today!" they answered in unison.
Rodrigo lunged at Roger and managed to drive the point of his blade through the gaps of the bigger man's pauldrons and into his shoulder. The students cheered and made to rush forward as one, but then a fiery explosion detonated into their midst, burning the flesh from their bones in an instant. Rodrigo turned, mouth gaping at the charred corpses of his pupils, but then Kelvin hurled a spear of ice at him, impaling him through the belly. As he staggered about, refusing to die, Grumblejack stepped forward and decapitated him with one swing. In the silence that followed, all eyes turned to Kat.
"Don't worry, little sister," Dakota smiled, "we would never let the big, mean boys hurt you!"
The others laughed boisterously and slapped Kat on the back, continuing to taunt and jibe her all the way back home. She hated them all.
_________________________________________________________________
Over the next several days, the companions of the Ninth Knot continued to pick up more rumors from the rank and file killers among The Fire-Axe’s troops:
“I hear there's some soldiers left nearby in Smallward! Anyone want to go eat ‘em?”
“The Duke's not the only one who's missing. We didn't catch the Cardinal either. He's gotta be somewhere around here.”
“I heard there was still fighting over at the prison in Cliffward. We should round up some killers and check it out. ” “Good idea…after we finish this last barrel of beer. ” “We've got three barrels of beer. ” “ After we finish the last THREE barrels of beer!”
“They say one of the noble houses in Angleton ain't been looted yet. We should check it out!”
All of them seemed intriguing, though certainly some would just be the idle speculations of bored soldiers, but the tedium of simply waiting around and doing nothing was more than enough to send the Knot out into the city in search of adventure. The Cathedral of Iomedae Beneficent seemed the most logical place to start looking for the missing cardinal. The church was one of the four great Cathedrals in Talingarde (the other three were in Matharyn, Ghastenhall and Valtae-rna). The bugbear raiders were just superstitious enough that the Cathedral had largely been left alone. Rumors of good outsider guardians also helped to ensure that it was one of the least ransacked places in all of Daveryn. The structure was certainly impressive. It presented a great gothic edifice; every inch covered in intricate decoration that celebrated an endless procession of saints and heroes of the faith. Familiar aphorisms written in both common and celestial adorned the stonework. Saying such as:
“There is no darkness so deep, that a single candle cannot defeat it. ”
“The suns sees and blesses us all with light and life. ”
“The sun may set and winter may come; but always there will be another dawn and summer will return triumphant. ”
Great flying buttresses, stained glass windows and a mighty facade completed the cathedral. It was truly a place of awe and reverence for the exaltation of Iomedae.
As the villains pushed open the facade and walked into the cathedral, their first impression was one of amazement. It looked as if the place had weathered the sack of Daveryn completely unaffected. It hadn’t been dusted in a few days certainly, but otherwise, a congregation could have filed in and started their prayers without a moment's pause. There was loot there, to be sure. The golden fixtures and sacramental vessels were still neatly positioned on the central altar. Unlike most Iomedaen temples with their silver items, these were older artifacts and largely made of gold. Grumblejack recovered from his momentary awe and marched directly up to the altar, which he easily upended with one massive hand. He raked all of the gold into a large sack, then relieved himself on a bas-relief carving of the Bright Lady herself. Then he began a prayer of desecration, claiming the holy site in the name of Asmodeus.
“Hello,” Kat murmured as she sifted among the debris the ogre had left in his wake. “What have we here?”
She knelt down to peer at the floor beneath with the altar had been. She pushed down on the end of one flagstone, and a small latch popped up. Pulling it lifted the entire stone easily, revealing a flight of stone stairs descending into the reliquary below.
“Whomever is down there,” Kelvin called, “you have one chance to reveal yourself. Do not make us come looking for you.”
There was the sound of shuffling footsteps from the darkness, and then an old man dressed in dirty clergy robes climbed the steep stairs, hands raised above his head.
“Who are you?” Kelvin asked.
“I am Ignatius, Cardinal of Daveryn,” the old man stated, drawing himself up.
“People have been looking for you,” Kelvin smiled. “You picked a good hiding spot.”
“Do with me what you will,” the old man said. “I will not help you in your unholy efforts.”
“Very well,” Kelvin said.
Baring his fangs, he seized the old man in an iron grip and sank them into his throat. In a matter of moments he’d drained the priest dry and let his pale form drop to the floor.
“Well how am I supposed to torture and interrogate him now?” Dakota whined.
“Don’t worry,” Kelvin smiled. “When he rises again tomorrow, he’ll tell us anything we want to know.”
__________________________________________________________________
The rumor of one of the noble houses still unlooted drew the attention of the companions next. When they arrived in the small farming district of Angleton, they discovered the rumor was true. A band of bugbears stood a fair distance away from it, eyeing it warily.
“What’s going on here?” Kelvin demanded as they approached.
“Nuthin,’” one of the brutes grunted. “The old lady is still holed up in there.”
“One old woman?” Kelvin asked. “Why haven’t you rooted her out yet?”
“‘Cause she’s got guards,” the bugbear sneered. “We sent four of our killers in yesterday, and they was all cutdown by crossbows afore they got twenty feet!”
“I see,” Kelvin nodded. “Best you not risk any more of your men. We’ll handle it from here.”
Dakota touched the iron circlet on her brow, and her form and gear shifted to that of a disheveled woman dressed in rags and grime. She began walking slowly towards the manor house, glancing back over her shoulder in fear every now and again. When she was still a hundred feet from the manor, a voice called out from an upper window.
“Come no further! You are trespassing on private property! Turn back now or face the consequences!”
“Please!” Dakota pleaded. “I’m with child and starving! The bugbears are right behind me!”
“You have been warned!” called the guardsman.
With a feral snarl, Dakota began running towards the house. A chorus of bowstrings twanged from the roof and upper windows of the manor, and a swarm of bolts arced towards her. She dodged left and right, moving in a serpentine pattern. Still, four of the shafts found their mark, though they bounced harmlessly off of her supernaturally hardened flesh. She reached the front door, but then realized her mistake. The house was a private dwelling. As a vampire she could not cross such a threshold without an invitation.
“Grumblejack!” Dakota called. “I need you!”
With a mighty roar and the beat of leathery wings, the big ogre landed beside her and slammed one huge fist into the door. It splintered inwards, where a dozen armed men awaited in the foyer.
“Stop!” a commanding, female voice came from the top of the stairs.
A lovely, dark-haired middle-aged woman stood there, glaring down at both her men and at the invaders.
“I have fifty veteran soldiers at my disposal,” she proclaimed, “and by the gods, we will fight to the death if you charge this manor, but if you can promise to be civil and not steal the silverware, you can come in and we can discuss terms.”
“Is that an invitation?” Dakota asked, grinning.
“Do you lead that rabble out there?” the woman asked.
“We do,” Dak nodded.
“Most excellent,” the woman replied.“I am the Baroness Vanya of Veryn, rightful duchess of Daveryn, deposed by damned Darian usurpers. Who might you be?”
“We are the Nessian Knot,” Dakota said, “and before much longer, all of Talingarde will be under our sway.”
_________________________________________________________________
Baroness Vanya explained to the Knot that her family once ruled the Duchy of Daveryn, but they lost their rights when they supported Barca over Darius in the last war of succession. When the Palace fell, she committed none of her personal forces towards saving the city or Duke Martin (whom she regarded as an idiot). Instead, she tried to flee the city and half her guards perished at the hands of goblin wolf-riders. The survivors fled back to her fortified manor house and there they had remained since. The redoubt was well provisioned and ready for a prolonged siege. She was certain the King of Talingarde must be on his way, and her goal had been to discretely remain in her manor until he arrived. This passive plan of inaction grated upon the baroness. She despised the House of Darius and detested the fact that she must rely upon those righteous fools for rescue. She was certain she could cut a deal with the Fire-Axe if only she could reason with someone in authority.
“And now here you are,” she smiled at her guests.
“Yes,” Kelvin smiled in return, showing just the barest hint of his fangs, “and what is it exactly that you are offering us in return for your life?”
“Information,” she replied calmly.
“I could get that from your corpse,” Kelvin said.
Vanya blinked once and then cleared her throat.
“I see from your heraldry that you are followers of Asmodeus,” she said. “Will you allow me to show you something?”
She led her guests down into her securely locked basement, and there, tucked away in a hidden corner, stood an shrine. The stone altar was a massive stone block adorned with the unmistakeable iconography of hell. Leering devils cavorted with mortals across its surface. Written upon the altar in infernal was the phrase, “By blood and devotion to thee, O Lord of Hell, are we preserved forever.”
Kelvin nodded in approval.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “So you are one of the devout?”
“How do you think I’ve maintained my beauty and youth for over eighty years?” Vanya smiled coyly.
“In that case,” said Kelvin, “I believe you can be trusted…for now…and perhaps we can come to some sort of accord. Now, what can you tell us about the prison…?”
_________________________________________________________________
Rumors of a fledgling resistance movement buzzed around the city. Several bugbear soldiers had been found murdered in blind alleys by something other than fellow bugbears. An ogre head was found impaled on a wrought-iron spike. Several servants of the Fire-Axe had gone mysteriously missing. Some began muttering that maybe Daveryn wasn’t as subdued as it appeared. As it so happened, Baroness Vanya had heard those same rumors, and had even managed to ferret out a likely hiding spot in the sewers of Argentyle. When the Fire-Axe asked the Nessian Knot to investigate, they did so enthusiastically. When they found the so-called resistance, it turned out to consist of a few dozen soldiers of the watch, led the last surviving watch captain, Rikkon Harbold. Captain Harbold was a mean, cussed, ugly, scarred mountain of a man who was rarely seen without his trade-mark cigar. Though he looked and talked like a villain, there were actually very few men in all of Talingarde more dedicated to the cause of justice and law. It didn’t save him nor his men. The Knot hit them with an infernal fury. Those whom Kelvin’s fireballs did not kill were summarily dealt with by the blades of Tardaesha, Roger and Grumblejack, Dak’s arrows or Katarina’s knives. The Captain himself went down beneath a barrage of Lemmy’s stones.
Later that evening, when they reported their success to the Fire-Axe, he had equally good news in return. It seemed that Cardinal Ignatius had risen from his grave, and had been very forthcoming in his new incarnation. According to him the High Inquisitor, Lord Solomon Tyrath, had been charged with the defense of the Castle Matharyn and the Old Palace while the king was away on campaign. Lord Tyrath was a powerful individual who scared the Cardinal to death. He also reported that Markadian V had a surprise ally. He had been in communication with a powerful outsider of living flame named Brigit of the Brijidine. Brigit, a queen of fire beneath the mountains, was revered as a goddess amongst the Iraen. By convincing her of the eminent threat of Asmodean followers, Markadian hoped to gain the Iraen's aid in the coming war. Already an Iraen delegation awaited within the Adarium. Ignatius also had information regarding the king’s second in command, the masterful elven general Vastenus Barca. Vastenus impressed the Cardinal much. He was clearly one of the great tactical geniuses of this age. Lastly the Cardinal revealed that the king took the security of his daughter Bellinda very seriously. So seriously, that he had paid an immense sum of money to have a golem of solid mithral constructed to defend the Adarium. There were other lesser golems in the Adarium but all together they paled before that monster. Kelvin let his new spawn know that his master was pleased, and then promptly gifted the Cardinal to the Fire-Axe to do with as he pleased
carborundum
Adventurer
Hey JD, I've a vampire in my group now. The dominate spam is somewhere between funny and irritating, and I was wondering how you guys had worked that out. Also my player wants to basically wander around with a big hat, gloves and a great big coat - how strictly did you do the whole sunlight thing?
We're invading the Vale this week! Cheers!
We're invading the Vale this week! Cheers!
JollyDoc
Explorer
The three vamps in our group have used Dominate effectively, but mostly in role-playing scenarios, and it hasn't been overpowered. It has mainly helped them do things like gain information or access to a private dwelling.
The vampires venture out strictly at night. I would personally not allow just heavy clothes to nerf that requirement, especially since there are magic items and spells available to vampires to attenuate the daylight sensitivity. One other issue we've discussed is whether or not NPC's can tell the difference between the appearance of a vampire and a human. The circlets of disguise offset this, but otherwise I ruled that if an NPC has Knowledge: Religion they get to make a Perception check vs the PC's Disguise.
The vampires venture out strictly at night. I would personally not allow just heavy clothes to nerf that requirement, especially since there are magic items and spells available to vampires to attenuate the daylight sensitivity. One other issue we've discussed is whether or not NPC's can tell the difference between the appearance of a vampire and a human. The circlets of disguise offset this, but otherwise I ruled that if an NPC has Knowledge: Religion they get to make a Perception check vs the PC's Disguise.
fludogg
First Post
Shroud of the Daywalker
Aura moderate necromancy; CL 9th
Slot none; Price 18,000 gp; Weight 1 lb.
DESCRIPTION
This funeral shroud at first glance appears to be made of the finest
silk no doubt in some dark color such as black, burgundy
or deepest blue. However upon closer inspection, it reeks of
death and corruption.
When worn by the living, this shroud makes the wearer seem to be
undead. Nonintelligent undead cannot detect the wearer as if
cloaked by hide from undead. Even intelligent undead may fail
to notice you unless they succeed at a DC 11 Will save.
When worn by a vampire, however, this shroud has a very different
effect. The darkness woven into the cloak shrouds the vampire
and allows them to move about during the day. Instead
of taking damage from sunlight, they are only dazzled in areas
of bright sunlight or within the radius of a daylight spell.
This magic item does not free a vampire from its need to sleep
however. A vampire who spends hours awake during the day
must make up those hours by sleeping in their coffin at night.
Regardless whether living or dead, once per day, as standard action,
the wearer may call forth the darkness within the shroud
to make them invisible for up to nine minutes.
CONSTRUCTION
Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, darkness, hide from undead,
invisibility; Cost 9,000 gp
JollyDoc
Explorer
On The Wings of Eagles - 16 Pharast, 4718 - 9 Gozran, 4718
Tandengate Prison in Cliffward was an old castle perched precariously on a cliff overlooking the sea. It had a reputation for being a brutal jail, only slightly better than Branderscar. Now it was in poor shape for a fortification, and yet its warden and twelve prison guards still held the walls. They crouched atop the battlements guarding their posts and praying to Iomedae that reinforcements would come. Their prayers were answered…but not in the way they had hoped.
“Reinforcements arriving!” the soldier at the head of small contingent approaching the prison called out. “We’ve got a prisoner transfer as well!”
He nodded over his shoulder at the massive, winged ogre that shambled along in shackles in the middle of the group.
“Wait for the warden!” came the reply from the battlements.
Slowly the large portcullis ground upwards and the warden, Sir Arnon McAnders, flanked by a dozen guards, stepped out to meet his relief.
“Where are you taking this…thing?” Sir Arnon asked, gesturing towards the ogre.
“Prisoner transfer,” the soldier repeated. “Caught him outside the city walls on our way in.”
“Is this all of you?” Sir Anon asked, disappointment on his face. “We can barely feed the prisoners we got. We’d hoped there would be more of you so we could get out of this place.”
“How many prisoners do you still have?” asked the soldier.
“About a hundred,” the warden replied. “Most of them close to starving to death.”
“That’s a shame,” said the soldier. “We’ll help in any way we can, but first would you mind if our priest blessed you and your men?”
“You have a priest with you?” Sir Arnon asked, incredulous. “Of course we’ll accept your blessing!”
The soldier turned and gestured towards another man dressed in the battle vestments of the Iomedaen clergy. The cleric stepped forward, bowed his head and began an incantation. As he spoke, his hands folded before him, no one saw the tiny ball of flame that appeared in his palm. As he finished his ‘prayer,’ he casually flicked one wrist, tossing the flame into the midst of the guards. They watched it arc over their heads, awe and wonder on their faces as they beheld a physical manifestation of the Bright Lady’s blessing. Then it exploded and the screaming began as they were engulfed in fire. Simultaneously, Grumblejack burst his bonds and seized one of the guards who had escaped the brunt of the blast by the throat.
“Watch out, he’s loose!” shouted one of the soldiers.
Twisting his massive hands, Grumblejack broke the man’s neck with an audible snap. Another survivor collapsed to the ground, his throat slit as Katarina materialized from the shadows behind him. The last guard standing managed to draw his sword and rush forward, but Kat flicked a dagger from her sleeve and threw it into his back before he took two steps.
“Wha…what…?” Sir Arnon stammered, looking uncomprehendingly at the carnage all around him.
“Shhh,” Tardaesha soothed, her disguise melting away. “Just look into my eyes and all will be well.”
Sir Arnon couldn’t help himself. He stared into her deep, crimson eyes and his will was lost.
“Now,” Tardaesha continued, “tell us about these poor, lost souls you have locked up inside.”
___________________________________________________________
After defeating the warden and his men, the Knot discovered a whole wing of ragged, poorly fed prisoners. These men ranged from mere thieves to murderers and rapists, and they were all more than happy to swear whatever oaths and allegiances their rescuers demanded in order to gain their freedom. Chained in an isolation cell deep within the prison was a strange looking foreigner covered in exotic tattoos. Among his markings was a fresh brand of a runic “F.”
“Bound for Branderscar, were you?” Tardaesha asked.
The man looked up at her sullenly.
“Whom did you try to assassinate?” Tardaesha went on. “Anyone of note?”
“Markadian,” the man replied in heavily accented Common.
“Oh ho!” Tardaesha exclaimed. “The King himself! You have high aspirations! Did you take this endeavor on by yourself, or were you hired?”
It was at that moment that the man noticed the symbol of Asmodeus hanging from Tardaesha’s neck, and his eyes went wide.
“Did Thorn send you to mete out justice for my failure?” he asked.
“Thorn??” Tardaesha gasped. “How do you…? Wait…who are you, exactly? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“I am Ifran al-Janbiya, The Wisdom of the Knife. I am the last of the Third Knot,” he replied.
Tardaesha smiled.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ifran. This is your lucky day! I am Tardaesha Dannister, of the Ninth Knot. We have not come seeking your death. Instead, I offer you redemption. Tell me what befell you and the other members of your knot.”
“I and my companions were brought here by Cardinal Thorn to assassinate King Markadian V, Ifran said. “Unfortunately, we ran afoul of a paladin leading a small band, and were defeated.”
“A paladin by the name of Sir Richard, no doubt,” Tardaesha nodded.
“I swore an oath to see Markadiandead,” Ifran continued, “and that oath still binds me.”
“And you may yet see it fulfilled,” Tardaesha smiled again. “For now, though, you will lead this band of rabble, and you shall answer only to me. Welcome to the Ninth Knot, Ifran.”
_________________________________________________________________
Tardaesha had Ifran and the prisoners report to the manor of the baroness and await further orders. As a gift, she drained and killed Sir Arnon, then told Ifran to bury him in a shallow grave.
“He will rise again tomorrow night,” she explained. “One of my spawn, but under your command. Use him as you wish.”
Some of the prisoners informed the Knot before they left of a hidden thieves guild within the sewers beneath the city. Kelvin ordered Ifran to make contact with their leader an offer an alliance in exchange for not wiping them out utterly.
Another month passed in Daveryn, then one day, with no warning, Tiadora returned. She was not alone. Flocking and flying around her were all nine of her erinyes retinue, clad in full infernal regalia.
“Greetings, Ninth Knot,” Tiadora said. “The Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, your master and mine, sends his greetings. Have you enjoyed your stay in beautiful Daveryn? I hear you've been quite the tourists, traveling across the whole span of this metropolis. Tell me, have the locals been friendly?”
“They have been very…accommodating,” Kelvin replied carefully.
Tiadora nodded, then continued on.
“Victory over Talingarde and the culmination of your vengeance draws near, and yet still there is one final errand that must be done. It is time for King Markadian V, called the Brave, to die. You shall be our chosen assassins. Even now the king moves towards Daveryn at the head of an army, easily numbering twenty thousand strong. He is surrounded day and night by his mightiest and most loyal knights. Attacking him at his camp is folly. But the king does have a weakness. He has not marched to war with his beloved daughter, the princess Bellinda, heir and last scion of House Darius. She is watched over by a relatively small honor guard at the Adarium, the palace of House Darius, near the capital city of Matharyn. Perhaps it would be within your purview to infiltrate and slay Bellinda, but that is not our aim. The princess is merely a teenage girl and of little consequence by herself. Instead, it is your mission to endanger the princess. Everywhere the king of Talingarde goes, he bears with him a magical pendant. If ever his daughter is endangered, the talisman signals her peril. With but a word, he can return to the Adarium. He will teleport into his sanctum beneath the palace, eager to save his daughter. Your mission is first to proffer the gravest peril, and when it strikes the Adarium, you are to be in that sanctum awaiting the king's return. As he appears, destroy him. In one swift stroke, you will decapitate the House of Darius. With his death and the death of Bellinda, there will be no ruler of Talingarde. The Fire-Axe will defeat the army here in the ruins of Daveryn and then Talingarde will be ours. But what peril could be so calamitous that the king's most trusted servants would call Markadian away from his campaign to save the kingdom? It can be no simple threat. It must be a threat of legend. Thorn has pondered this problem long and decided there is only one threat in all of Talingarde of worthy stature – the elder wyrm Chargammon the Black. You must find a way to gain Chargammon's service and have him attack the Adarium and slay Bellinda. Chargammon's sunken throne is easy enough to find but it is a fool's errand to enter unbidden. Chargammon slays all who enter without his warrant. And he gives his warrant to no one. Still, Thorn has confidence that you will find a way. This is your mission. Gain the dragon's assistance and then kill the king. There is one more trifling matter. After the king is slain and his palace lies in ruins, Thorn bids you find a book. Perhaps it will be in the sanctum or perhaps in the king's personal chambers. It is the Liber Darian – a large bound volume containing the chronicles of the House of Darius. Fetch it and then break this seal. And then your labors will be done and you shall be rewarded for them. You must sense that this may well be your last mission for the Cardinal. Soon the armies of Talingarde will be broken and their leadership will be shattered. Thorn has always known that Talingarde stands because of four pillars. The first pillar was the Watch Wall Balentyne keeping the northern border secure. It burned by your hand. The second pillar was the Order of St. Macarius. You extinguished their flame. This third pillar is the Knights of the Alerion. They march to their doom against the Fire-Axe. And now the final pillar will fall by your hand – the House of Darius. Of all of Thorn's servants no one has done more than you to see the triumph to its conclusion.
Do not think this will be forgotten when the rewards are given. You will be princes of the realm. The great game enters its last phase. Soon Talingarde will be ours.”
The members of the Ninth Knot glanced at one another uneasily. Finally, Kelvin cleared his throat.
“How are we going to stop Chargammon from simply killing us?”
“ Thorn has confidence you'll think of something,” Tiadora shrugged.
“That's it?” Tardaesha snapped. “We'll think of something? Is Cardinal Thorn trying to kill us?”
“Of course not,” Tiadora waved her hand dismissively. “If the master wanted you dead, you' d be dead. Cardinal Thorn leaves nothing to chance. He didn't tell you how to infiltrate Balentyne and you managed. He didn't tell you how to acquire the Daemon's Gift and you managed. You should be flattered. I deliver many commands of the master to his servants. He trusts you enough to leave you room for your own discretion.”
“Isn't the army that's coming to Daveryn far mightier than the Fire-Axe's horde,” Roger asked. “What's the plan for defeating them?”
“I am not privy to all of Thorn's secret machinations,” Tiadora sighed, “only what he chooses to tell me. However, from what I can gather, our master has something special planned for the forces of Talingarde.”
“How soon must this mission be done?” Kelvin asked.
“As with every mission Thorn gives you, sooner is always better,” Tiadora replied. “However, the army marches across the length of Talingarde. It will likely not be here for a month or two. You have that much time to ensure that it arrives here without the king to command it.”
“Wait,” Dakota interrupted. “We took down three of the four pillars? Do the rest of the Cardinal's minions just suck?”
“Perhaps it is true that you have risen to be Thorn's most elite servants,” Tiadora glared at the vampiress, “but do not overestimate your importance. You may have infiltrated and thrown open the watch wall, but it was only because of the Fire-Axe's army that the wall was broken. You may have recovered the Daemon's Gift but it was only distributed because of Brother Thrain and his dupes. You have been aided every step of the way along your missions. Never forget that.”
Dakota was about to snap back, but Kelvin quickly stepped in.
“What do we know about the Princess Bellinda?”
“What is there to know?” Tiadora shrugged. “She's a nineteen year old girl who has scarcely been out of the Adarium in all her young life. I hear she's quite beautiful. A pity she's going to get fed to a dragon.”
“Are there really no other members of the House of Darius?” Kelvin asked
“There are cousins and relatives by marriage, Tiadora said, “but King Markadian and the Princess Bellinda are the last two surviving direct descendants of the Victor. With their death, the House of Darius will be effectively destroyed.”
“Dragons usually have big piles of treasure hidden somewhere,” Tardaesha said. “After Chargammon eats Bellinda is there any reason why we can't slay the dragon and claim his wealth for ourselves?”
“You plan to betray the great wyrm Chargammon?” Tiadora’s eyes widened. “You are either the bravest souls I have ever met or the most foolish. Chargammon is more than 1,200 years old. He is incredibly wary and fearsome. Betraying him is fantastically dangerous. In fact, I would be cautious of the dragon betraying you. The beast is wicked and honorless or so I hear. But, if you do manage to slay him, his hoard is yours if you can find it.”
“ Should we then keep our plan secret from Chargammon?” Kelvin asked.
“You should tell the wyrm as little as possible,” Tiadora agreed. “However, the ancient beast is a genius and will already know much of what you intend. And I would be wary of lying to Chargammon unless you want to be eaten. Still, do not mention the Cardinal or your ultimate aims. Merely tell him the truth – that you crave vengeance against the House of Darius. Say nothing more.”
“Any advice for dealing with the dragon?” Roger asked.
“Be polite,” Tiadora smiled. “Do not call the dragon by name. Instead, refer to him as something flattering like “Your Magnificence.” Dragons have fantastic egos. You could do worse than to play to this.
“Will the Cardinal help us bribe the dragon?” Lemmy asked, his eyes glittering with greed.
“Bribery?” Tiadora was incredulous. “Old Chargammon is already wealthier than all your dreams of avarice. It is unlikely he will aid our cause for mere coin. Still, a present to soothe his ego might be wise. No, no – money will not be enough. He will require some service. Do whatever must be done to gain the dragon's aid.”
“This Chargammon sounds dangerous,” Roger said. “Surely, there is some other way to threaten the Princess.”
“Unlikely,” Tiadora shook her head. “The Princess is not alone. Trusted knights and priests of Iomedae guard her and see to her safety. These retainers will not raise the alarm unless faced by a truly impressive and overwhelming threat. Chargammon fits the bill like nothing else can. Even if you slip in and slay the princess, the king will simply be told of the tragedy. No, we need him to rush to her aid. And that takes a threat like Chargammon. The Cardinal has long researched this and sees no other way. I would trust his judgment if I were you. Now, if there is nothing else, may fortune favor you, my lords, and know that the Dark Father watches your every deed.”
And with that, she and her retinue vanished.
_______________________________________________________________
“That…sounds insane,” Kelvin said skeptically.
“Yes, but that doesn’t meant it won’t work,” Dakota laughed.
“She does have a valid point,” Tardaesha chimed in.
“So let me get this straight,” Katarina leaned forward in her chair. “From the letter we found in the wizard’s tower, you think that one of Chargammon’s children has been captured by giant eagles. Now you think that we should go and find these eagles, rescue a dragon, assuming he’s still alive, and then somehow convince him to make an introduction for us to his dad. Does that about sum it up?”
Lemmy grumbled something unintelligible into his beard.
“You got that right,” Roger shook his head.
“I don’t hear any better ideas,” Dakota snapped at them. “What’s the worst that could happen? If the dragon’s already dead, at least we still get to pluck the wings off a few big birds.”
“Famous last words,” Kat muttered.
“I think it’s worth a look,” Kelvin said. “Dakota’s right. We really don’t have any other viable options.”
________________________________________________________________
Discovering the location of the eagles’ aerie was simple enough after reading through more of Polydorus’s manuscripts. It supposedly lay in the Ansgarian Mountains, quite near to the Horn of Abaddon. The following evening, Kelvin teleported the Knot to the forest just south of the Horn, and then they began climbing on foot. The Aerie itself was a great cavern built in a hollow mountain peak. The entrance was a round natural fissure in the side of the mountain. The cave floor was rough and full of stalagmites and debris. Two ledges forty feet high surrounded the main cavern and this was where the great courtiers of the Stormborn King perched and squawked their petitions to their sovereign lord. The Courtiers were of extraordinary size even for giant eagles. In the center of the aerie was the Throne of the Storm-born King, a natural column of stone that rose sixty feet and was the preferred roost of the Lord of Eagles. He often sat upon the rise, listening to the calls and cries of his many Courtiers, rarely answering, often considering. However his private nest, at the back of the cavern, was where he roosted with the Knot arrived, for at the base of that perch lay a massive, black-scaled dragon, bound by cunningly worked mithral chains which even included a muzzle.
“Who are you to trespass in my demense without invitation?” the Stormborn King called out in a voice that mimicked his namesake.
“We’re takin’ that dragon,” Lemmy called back “else we’re’ killin’ all of ya’!”
At the same time, Tardaesha shouted at the dragon in its native tongue.
“We are here to free you, friend! Fear not!”
The Stormborn King spreads his wings wide, and as he did, dark clouds laced with lightning gathered in the air above him. His eyes flashed brilliant blue as a thunderbolt lanced down and struck Tardaesha. She jittered and twitched maniacally, smoke rising from her hair. At the same moment, the eagle courtiers all took flight. They flew about the aerie like a great swarm of bats, swooping in low and raking at the companions with their talons before arcing back up into the air. The storm aura surrounding their lord continued to rain down lightning upon the heads of the intruders. The Knot hacked and slashed at the birds when they drew too near, taking down several that were too slow to get out of reach in time.
Meanwhile, Kelvin, who’d rendered himself invisible once they’d entered the aerie, used a dimension door spell to appear beside the shackled dragon.
“I will set you free,” he whispered in the dragon’s ear, “if you agree to listen to my offer and treat with us once your are loosed.”
The dragon narrowed his eyes, but nodded his head once in agreement. Kelvin cast another spell and a thin beam of green light from his finger touched the chains, turning them instantly to dust. Jeratheon flexed his wings once, then spread them wide as he rose to his feet.
“Fools!” he laughed as he launched himself into the air and soared towards the exit.
He was over half-way there when Grumblejack flew into his path. Before the dragon could evade, the big ogre swung his sword flat-side out…hard. It struck Jeratheon in the middle of his forehead and the already wounded drake crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap, out cold.
One by one, the eagles kept falling. Then four of them erupted into flames as Kelvin, no longer concerned with stealth, threw a fireball into their midst. Only one remained. At that moment, the Stormborn King opened his beak and a great gout of lightning spewed forth, directed at Kelvin. In that same instant, the great eagle’s body turned to pure electricity and rode the bolt, reappearing next to Kelvin in a heartbeat. As he reared back to rend the little wizard limb from limb, Kelvin threw up both hands, conjuring a sphere of protective force around him. Enraged, the Stormborn King flew back into the air. Grumblejack slew the last of the courtiers, then Knick-Knack gathered him and Tardaesha close. There was a flash of light, and then the trio appeared in mid-air next to the eagle lord. The winds surrounding him were so fierce, however, that the little cacodaemon was blown away, tumbling end over end. Tardaesha struck quickly, landing threw vicious blows on the Stormborn King. Grumblejack moved in, but the bird whirled on him and seized the ogre in his talons. Wounded and bleeding heavily, the Stormborn King raised Grumblejack towards his beak, preparing to tear out the ogre’s heart. His arms pinned, Grumblejack was unable to bring his greatsword to bear, but at the last instant, just as the huge beak poised to strike, he opened his own tusked jaws and clamped down on the Stormborn King’s neck. The eagle writhed and thrashed madly, but Grumblejack did not let go. He clung there like a bulldog, shaking his head violently until he managed to rip out the great bird’s throat.
_______________________________________________________________
After Jeratheon was securely rebound, Dakota revived him.
“Are you willing to speak with us now?” Kelvin asked. “The consequences or your refusal would be…dire.”
“Do you know who I am?” the dragon asked in a deep, resonant growl.“I am Jeratheon Knights-bane, the son of the great wyrm Chargammon. Free me now and I will ask my sire to spare you when he arrives. He is doubtless on his way now!”
“I find that hard to believe,” Kelvin smiled. “We know you’ve been captive here for quite some time. If your sire were coming for you, he would have been here by now.”
“Free me!” Jeratheon shouted. “I have a great hoard of treasure in my cave! All of it is yours if you will but free me.”
“If we wanted your treasure,” Kelvin explained calmly, “we could simply kill you and then use your corpse to divine its location.”
“Then free me and I will pledge thee my service,” Jeratheon grumbled. “I will serve as your faithful mount carrying you amidst the clouds.”
“You’re not that trustworthy,” Kelvin replied.
“But hold that thought,” Tardaesha interjected.
“Then what is it you want!?” Jeratheon roared.
“Simple, really,” Kelvin shrugged. “We want an audience with your father.”
For a moment the dragon was silent.
“You wish to speak with my sire?” he asked finally. “Why? You must know he'll destroy you. He kills everyone who dares enter his lair.”
“That is not your concern,” Kelvin said. “If he does, then we are no longer your problem.”
“So be it,” Jeratheon agreed. “If that is the price of my freedom, then I would be happy to introduce you to my father.”
“Then we have an accord,” Kelvin nodded.
The mage reached over and plucked out a loose scale from the dragon’s hide.
“Ouch!” Jeratheon whined. “What are you doing?”
“Just a bit of insurance,” Kelvin said. “If you are thinking of betraying us, bear in mind that with this I can use my magic to find you anywhere on the planet.”
_____________________________________________________________________
Tardaesha found it amusing to have her minion reanimate the corpse of the Stormborn King. She and the other non-flying members of the Knot then mounted the horrific zombie bird and took flight, following Jeratheon on the long journey to his sire’s domain. The great wyrm Chargammon made his lair upon a small inhospitable rocky island off the western coast of Talingarde. The isle was surrounded by hull-ripping reefs save for one side. It was rarely named on maps and usually just marked “here there be monsters”. The weather was harsh. The skies were oppressively grey and the wind howled relentlessly. Rain was frequent and driving, furiously pounding the island. Every few years a powerful cyclone emerged from the great open ocean and battered the ragged island further, scraping clean the jagged, chipped grey stone. The isle was dominated by three jagged short mountains that rose from of the sea. Lashed by wave and wind, little grew on the island. The grim bare rock had little soil. Terrestrial plants, when they appeared at all, were small, scrubby and battered.
As the companions and their escort approached the jagged sea cliffs that rose up on either side of the once-usable harbor, they could see a half-dozen or more reptilian creatures clinging there.
“Friends of yours?” Kelvin called to Jeratheon.
“My…cousins,” the dragon grumbled. “Weak, pathetic river drakes.”
As the drakes watched them approach one hissed at Jeratheon, “Why do you return, shamed one? Are ye not banished from thy sire's sight?”
Jeratheon roared in answer to the jab.
“Banished? We quarreled once decades ago. I was but a hatchling then. I have returned great and powerful!”
“And who are your smooth-skin friends?” asked another drake. “Have you brought them for supper?”
The drakes eyed the companions hungrily, as if they were slabs of sirloin.
Roger calmly drew Helbrand from its scabbard and rested its flaming blade upon his shoulder.
“They are guests of my father,” Jeratheon snapped. “Now let us pass or risk both his ire and mine.”
The drakes hissed and spat, but drew aside to let the trespassers through.
Jeratheon led them on, towards the interior of the island, until they reached a large open field ,almost like a bowl, sheltered on three sides by stark grey peaks. Where most of the island was bare of vegetation, there great masses of thorny vines and creepers formed large tangled briars. In spots, a few strange and vividly colored flowers bloomed. The entire garden reeked of the sickly sweet smell of decay. The odor of rotting fish and blooming flowers commingled to create a strange, almost other worldly aroma. Nothing about that place was familiar or comforting. It was like stepping onto another world – primeval and inimical. Jeratheon back-winged and landed, the giant, zombie Storm Lord right behind him. Oddly, it was Lemmy who first slipped off the back of the dead bird, and began wandering, almost aimlessly, towards the middle of the garden.
“Lemmy?” Roger called after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a thick vine, almost like a tentacle, came whipping up out of the green vegetation. It wrapped around the big half-orc’s upper body and yanked him off of the bird.
“We must flee!” Jeratheon roared, and then he went galloping across the clearing, heading for a large cave on the far side.
“Damn it to Hells!” Kelvin cursed.
He’d been expecting some sort of treachery, but when it had come, he’d still be caught unawares. Reaching out, he seized the back of Lemmy’s tunic in one hand and Roger’s arm in the other. He cast a spell, and the three of them vanished and reappeared at the cave mouth in front of the dragon.
“Stay put!” Kelvin shouted into Lemmy’s face, his red eyes holding the dwarf’s gaze.
“Stay put,” Lemmy nodded slackly.
Tardaesha leaped off the back of the Storm Lord and slashed at the still-flailing vine. She heard a shout and a grunt of pain behind her. When she turned, she saw that a second vine had seized Grumblejack and had the ogre pinned to the ground, slowly crushing the life out of him. Grumblejack had dropped his sword when he fell, but he still bit and chewed at the vine with his sharpened tusks. With a few more deft strokes, Tardaesha chopped her vine to pieces. She turned and rushed towards her fallen friend, hacking at the tendril that held him. The vine immediately released the ogre and turned upon her. She dodged and whirled, avoiding its grasping embrace, her sword swinging madly until finally she’d managed to slice off enough pieces of it for it to no longer be a threat. She paused to catch her breath as Grumblejack rose to his feet and recovered his weapon. Then she turned to look towards the cave, where Jeratheon stood facing Roger and Kelvin. She needed to have a word with that dragon.
Tandengate Prison in Cliffward was an old castle perched precariously on a cliff overlooking the sea. It had a reputation for being a brutal jail, only slightly better than Branderscar. Now it was in poor shape for a fortification, and yet its warden and twelve prison guards still held the walls. They crouched atop the battlements guarding their posts and praying to Iomedae that reinforcements would come. Their prayers were answered…but not in the way they had hoped.
“Reinforcements arriving!” the soldier at the head of small contingent approaching the prison called out. “We’ve got a prisoner transfer as well!”
He nodded over his shoulder at the massive, winged ogre that shambled along in shackles in the middle of the group.
“Wait for the warden!” came the reply from the battlements.
Slowly the large portcullis ground upwards and the warden, Sir Arnon McAnders, flanked by a dozen guards, stepped out to meet his relief.
“Where are you taking this…thing?” Sir Arnon asked, gesturing towards the ogre.
“Prisoner transfer,” the soldier repeated. “Caught him outside the city walls on our way in.”
“Is this all of you?” Sir Anon asked, disappointment on his face. “We can barely feed the prisoners we got. We’d hoped there would be more of you so we could get out of this place.”
“How many prisoners do you still have?” asked the soldier.
“About a hundred,” the warden replied. “Most of them close to starving to death.”
“That’s a shame,” said the soldier. “We’ll help in any way we can, but first would you mind if our priest blessed you and your men?”
“You have a priest with you?” Sir Arnon asked, incredulous. “Of course we’ll accept your blessing!”
The soldier turned and gestured towards another man dressed in the battle vestments of the Iomedaen clergy. The cleric stepped forward, bowed his head and began an incantation. As he spoke, his hands folded before him, no one saw the tiny ball of flame that appeared in his palm. As he finished his ‘prayer,’ he casually flicked one wrist, tossing the flame into the midst of the guards. They watched it arc over their heads, awe and wonder on their faces as they beheld a physical manifestation of the Bright Lady’s blessing. Then it exploded and the screaming began as they were engulfed in fire. Simultaneously, Grumblejack burst his bonds and seized one of the guards who had escaped the brunt of the blast by the throat.
“Watch out, he’s loose!” shouted one of the soldiers.
Twisting his massive hands, Grumblejack broke the man’s neck with an audible snap. Another survivor collapsed to the ground, his throat slit as Katarina materialized from the shadows behind him. The last guard standing managed to draw his sword and rush forward, but Kat flicked a dagger from her sleeve and threw it into his back before he took two steps.
“Wha…what…?” Sir Arnon stammered, looking uncomprehendingly at the carnage all around him.
“Shhh,” Tardaesha soothed, her disguise melting away. “Just look into my eyes and all will be well.”
Sir Arnon couldn’t help himself. He stared into her deep, crimson eyes and his will was lost.
“Now,” Tardaesha continued, “tell us about these poor, lost souls you have locked up inside.”
___________________________________________________________
After defeating the warden and his men, the Knot discovered a whole wing of ragged, poorly fed prisoners. These men ranged from mere thieves to murderers and rapists, and they were all more than happy to swear whatever oaths and allegiances their rescuers demanded in order to gain their freedom. Chained in an isolation cell deep within the prison was a strange looking foreigner covered in exotic tattoos. Among his markings was a fresh brand of a runic “F.”
“Bound for Branderscar, were you?” Tardaesha asked.
The man looked up at her sullenly.
“Whom did you try to assassinate?” Tardaesha went on. “Anyone of note?”
“Markadian,” the man replied in heavily accented Common.
“Oh ho!” Tardaesha exclaimed. “The King himself! You have high aspirations! Did you take this endeavor on by yourself, or were you hired?”
It was at that moment that the man noticed the symbol of Asmodeus hanging from Tardaesha’s neck, and his eyes went wide.
“Did Thorn send you to mete out justice for my failure?” he asked.
“Thorn??” Tardaesha gasped. “How do you…? Wait…who are you, exactly? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“I am Ifran al-Janbiya, The Wisdom of the Knife. I am the last of the Third Knot,” he replied.
Tardaesha smiled.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ifran. This is your lucky day! I am Tardaesha Dannister, of the Ninth Knot. We have not come seeking your death. Instead, I offer you redemption. Tell me what befell you and the other members of your knot.”
“I and my companions were brought here by Cardinal Thorn to assassinate King Markadian V, Ifran said. “Unfortunately, we ran afoul of a paladin leading a small band, and were defeated.”
“A paladin by the name of Sir Richard, no doubt,” Tardaesha nodded.
“I swore an oath to see Markadiandead,” Ifran continued, “and that oath still binds me.”
“And you may yet see it fulfilled,” Tardaesha smiled again. “For now, though, you will lead this band of rabble, and you shall answer only to me. Welcome to the Ninth Knot, Ifran.”
_________________________________________________________________
Tardaesha had Ifran and the prisoners report to the manor of the baroness and await further orders. As a gift, she drained and killed Sir Arnon, then told Ifran to bury him in a shallow grave.
“He will rise again tomorrow night,” she explained. “One of my spawn, but under your command. Use him as you wish.”
Some of the prisoners informed the Knot before they left of a hidden thieves guild within the sewers beneath the city. Kelvin ordered Ifran to make contact with their leader an offer an alliance in exchange for not wiping them out utterly.
Another month passed in Daveryn, then one day, with no warning, Tiadora returned. She was not alone. Flocking and flying around her were all nine of her erinyes retinue, clad in full infernal regalia.
“Greetings, Ninth Knot,” Tiadora said. “The Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, your master and mine, sends his greetings. Have you enjoyed your stay in beautiful Daveryn? I hear you've been quite the tourists, traveling across the whole span of this metropolis. Tell me, have the locals been friendly?”
“They have been very…accommodating,” Kelvin replied carefully.
Tiadora nodded, then continued on.
“Victory over Talingarde and the culmination of your vengeance draws near, and yet still there is one final errand that must be done. It is time for King Markadian V, called the Brave, to die. You shall be our chosen assassins. Even now the king moves towards Daveryn at the head of an army, easily numbering twenty thousand strong. He is surrounded day and night by his mightiest and most loyal knights. Attacking him at his camp is folly. But the king does have a weakness. He has not marched to war with his beloved daughter, the princess Bellinda, heir and last scion of House Darius. She is watched over by a relatively small honor guard at the Adarium, the palace of House Darius, near the capital city of Matharyn. Perhaps it would be within your purview to infiltrate and slay Bellinda, but that is not our aim. The princess is merely a teenage girl and of little consequence by herself. Instead, it is your mission to endanger the princess. Everywhere the king of Talingarde goes, he bears with him a magical pendant. If ever his daughter is endangered, the talisman signals her peril. With but a word, he can return to the Adarium. He will teleport into his sanctum beneath the palace, eager to save his daughter. Your mission is first to proffer the gravest peril, and when it strikes the Adarium, you are to be in that sanctum awaiting the king's return. As he appears, destroy him. In one swift stroke, you will decapitate the House of Darius. With his death and the death of Bellinda, there will be no ruler of Talingarde. The Fire-Axe will defeat the army here in the ruins of Daveryn and then Talingarde will be ours. But what peril could be so calamitous that the king's most trusted servants would call Markadian away from his campaign to save the kingdom? It can be no simple threat. It must be a threat of legend. Thorn has pondered this problem long and decided there is only one threat in all of Talingarde of worthy stature – the elder wyrm Chargammon the Black. You must find a way to gain Chargammon's service and have him attack the Adarium and slay Bellinda. Chargammon's sunken throne is easy enough to find but it is a fool's errand to enter unbidden. Chargammon slays all who enter without his warrant. And he gives his warrant to no one. Still, Thorn has confidence that you will find a way. This is your mission. Gain the dragon's assistance and then kill the king. There is one more trifling matter. After the king is slain and his palace lies in ruins, Thorn bids you find a book. Perhaps it will be in the sanctum or perhaps in the king's personal chambers. It is the Liber Darian – a large bound volume containing the chronicles of the House of Darius. Fetch it and then break this seal. And then your labors will be done and you shall be rewarded for them. You must sense that this may well be your last mission for the Cardinal. Soon the armies of Talingarde will be broken and their leadership will be shattered. Thorn has always known that Talingarde stands because of four pillars. The first pillar was the Watch Wall Balentyne keeping the northern border secure. It burned by your hand. The second pillar was the Order of St. Macarius. You extinguished their flame. This third pillar is the Knights of the Alerion. They march to their doom against the Fire-Axe. And now the final pillar will fall by your hand – the House of Darius. Of all of Thorn's servants no one has done more than you to see the triumph to its conclusion.
Do not think this will be forgotten when the rewards are given. You will be princes of the realm. The great game enters its last phase. Soon Talingarde will be ours.”
The members of the Ninth Knot glanced at one another uneasily. Finally, Kelvin cleared his throat.
“How are we going to stop Chargammon from simply killing us?”
“ Thorn has confidence you'll think of something,” Tiadora shrugged.
“That's it?” Tardaesha snapped. “We'll think of something? Is Cardinal Thorn trying to kill us?”
“Of course not,” Tiadora waved her hand dismissively. “If the master wanted you dead, you' d be dead. Cardinal Thorn leaves nothing to chance. He didn't tell you how to infiltrate Balentyne and you managed. He didn't tell you how to acquire the Daemon's Gift and you managed. You should be flattered. I deliver many commands of the master to his servants. He trusts you enough to leave you room for your own discretion.”
“Isn't the army that's coming to Daveryn far mightier than the Fire-Axe's horde,” Roger asked. “What's the plan for defeating them?”
“I am not privy to all of Thorn's secret machinations,” Tiadora sighed, “only what he chooses to tell me. However, from what I can gather, our master has something special planned for the forces of Talingarde.”
“How soon must this mission be done?” Kelvin asked.
“As with every mission Thorn gives you, sooner is always better,” Tiadora replied. “However, the army marches across the length of Talingarde. It will likely not be here for a month or two. You have that much time to ensure that it arrives here without the king to command it.”
“Wait,” Dakota interrupted. “We took down three of the four pillars? Do the rest of the Cardinal's minions just suck?”
“Perhaps it is true that you have risen to be Thorn's most elite servants,” Tiadora glared at the vampiress, “but do not overestimate your importance. You may have infiltrated and thrown open the watch wall, but it was only because of the Fire-Axe's army that the wall was broken. You may have recovered the Daemon's Gift but it was only distributed because of Brother Thrain and his dupes. You have been aided every step of the way along your missions. Never forget that.”
Dakota was about to snap back, but Kelvin quickly stepped in.
“What do we know about the Princess Bellinda?”
“What is there to know?” Tiadora shrugged. “She's a nineteen year old girl who has scarcely been out of the Adarium in all her young life. I hear she's quite beautiful. A pity she's going to get fed to a dragon.”
“Are there really no other members of the House of Darius?” Kelvin asked
“There are cousins and relatives by marriage, Tiadora said, “but King Markadian and the Princess Bellinda are the last two surviving direct descendants of the Victor. With their death, the House of Darius will be effectively destroyed.”
“Dragons usually have big piles of treasure hidden somewhere,” Tardaesha said. “After Chargammon eats Bellinda is there any reason why we can't slay the dragon and claim his wealth for ourselves?”
“You plan to betray the great wyrm Chargammon?” Tiadora’s eyes widened. “You are either the bravest souls I have ever met or the most foolish. Chargammon is more than 1,200 years old. He is incredibly wary and fearsome. Betraying him is fantastically dangerous. In fact, I would be cautious of the dragon betraying you. The beast is wicked and honorless or so I hear. But, if you do manage to slay him, his hoard is yours if you can find it.”
“ Should we then keep our plan secret from Chargammon?” Kelvin asked.
“You should tell the wyrm as little as possible,” Tiadora agreed. “However, the ancient beast is a genius and will already know much of what you intend. And I would be wary of lying to Chargammon unless you want to be eaten. Still, do not mention the Cardinal or your ultimate aims. Merely tell him the truth – that you crave vengeance against the House of Darius. Say nothing more.”
“Any advice for dealing with the dragon?” Roger asked.
“Be polite,” Tiadora smiled. “Do not call the dragon by name. Instead, refer to him as something flattering like “Your Magnificence.” Dragons have fantastic egos. You could do worse than to play to this.
“Will the Cardinal help us bribe the dragon?” Lemmy asked, his eyes glittering with greed.
“Bribery?” Tiadora was incredulous. “Old Chargammon is already wealthier than all your dreams of avarice. It is unlikely he will aid our cause for mere coin. Still, a present to soothe his ego might be wise. No, no – money will not be enough. He will require some service. Do whatever must be done to gain the dragon's aid.”
“This Chargammon sounds dangerous,” Roger said. “Surely, there is some other way to threaten the Princess.”
“Unlikely,” Tiadora shook her head. “The Princess is not alone. Trusted knights and priests of Iomedae guard her and see to her safety. These retainers will not raise the alarm unless faced by a truly impressive and overwhelming threat. Chargammon fits the bill like nothing else can. Even if you slip in and slay the princess, the king will simply be told of the tragedy. No, we need him to rush to her aid. And that takes a threat like Chargammon. The Cardinal has long researched this and sees no other way. I would trust his judgment if I were you. Now, if there is nothing else, may fortune favor you, my lords, and know that the Dark Father watches your every deed.”
And with that, she and her retinue vanished.
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“That…sounds insane,” Kelvin said skeptically.
“Yes, but that doesn’t meant it won’t work,” Dakota laughed.
“She does have a valid point,” Tardaesha chimed in.
“So let me get this straight,” Katarina leaned forward in her chair. “From the letter we found in the wizard’s tower, you think that one of Chargammon’s children has been captured by giant eagles. Now you think that we should go and find these eagles, rescue a dragon, assuming he’s still alive, and then somehow convince him to make an introduction for us to his dad. Does that about sum it up?”
Lemmy grumbled something unintelligible into his beard.
“You got that right,” Roger shook his head.
“I don’t hear any better ideas,” Dakota snapped at them. “What’s the worst that could happen? If the dragon’s already dead, at least we still get to pluck the wings off a few big birds.”
“Famous last words,” Kat muttered.
“I think it’s worth a look,” Kelvin said. “Dakota’s right. We really don’t have any other viable options.”
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Discovering the location of the eagles’ aerie was simple enough after reading through more of Polydorus’s manuscripts. It supposedly lay in the Ansgarian Mountains, quite near to the Horn of Abaddon. The following evening, Kelvin teleported the Knot to the forest just south of the Horn, and then they began climbing on foot. The Aerie itself was a great cavern built in a hollow mountain peak. The entrance was a round natural fissure in the side of the mountain. The cave floor was rough and full of stalagmites and debris. Two ledges forty feet high surrounded the main cavern and this was where the great courtiers of the Stormborn King perched and squawked their petitions to their sovereign lord. The Courtiers were of extraordinary size even for giant eagles. In the center of the aerie was the Throne of the Storm-born King, a natural column of stone that rose sixty feet and was the preferred roost of the Lord of Eagles. He often sat upon the rise, listening to the calls and cries of his many Courtiers, rarely answering, often considering. However his private nest, at the back of the cavern, was where he roosted with the Knot arrived, for at the base of that perch lay a massive, black-scaled dragon, bound by cunningly worked mithral chains which even included a muzzle.
“Who are you to trespass in my demense without invitation?” the Stormborn King called out in a voice that mimicked his namesake.
“We’re takin’ that dragon,” Lemmy called back “else we’re’ killin’ all of ya’!”
At the same time, Tardaesha shouted at the dragon in its native tongue.
“We are here to free you, friend! Fear not!”
The Stormborn King spreads his wings wide, and as he did, dark clouds laced with lightning gathered in the air above him. His eyes flashed brilliant blue as a thunderbolt lanced down and struck Tardaesha. She jittered and twitched maniacally, smoke rising from her hair. At the same moment, the eagle courtiers all took flight. They flew about the aerie like a great swarm of bats, swooping in low and raking at the companions with their talons before arcing back up into the air. The storm aura surrounding their lord continued to rain down lightning upon the heads of the intruders. The Knot hacked and slashed at the birds when they drew too near, taking down several that were too slow to get out of reach in time.
Meanwhile, Kelvin, who’d rendered himself invisible once they’d entered the aerie, used a dimension door spell to appear beside the shackled dragon.
“I will set you free,” he whispered in the dragon’s ear, “if you agree to listen to my offer and treat with us once your are loosed.”
The dragon narrowed his eyes, but nodded his head once in agreement. Kelvin cast another spell and a thin beam of green light from his finger touched the chains, turning them instantly to dust. Jeratheon flexed his wings once, then spread them wide as he rose to his feet.
“Fools!” he laughed as he launched himself into the air and soared towards the exit.
He was over half-way there when Grumblejack flew into his path. Before the dragon could evade, the big ogre swung his sword flat-side out…hard. It struck Jeratheon in the middle of his forehead and the already wounded drake crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap, out cold.
One by one, the eagles kept falling. Then four of them erupted into flames as Kelvin, no longer concerned with stealth, threw a fireball into their midst. Only one remained. At that moment, the Stormborn King opened his beak and a great gout of lightning spewed forth, directed at Kelvin. In that same instant, the great eagle’s body turned to pure electricity and rode the bolt, reappearing next to Kelvin in a heartbeat. As he reared back to rend the little wizard limb from limb, Kelvin threw up both hands, conjuring a sphere of protective force around him. Enraged, the Stormborn King flew back into the air. Grumblejack slew the last of the courtiers, then Knick-Knack gathered him and Tardaesha close. There was a flash of light, and then the trio appeared in mid-air next to the eagle lord. The winds surrounding him were so fierce, however, that the little cacodaemon was blown away, tumbling end over end. Tardaesha struck quickly, landing threw vicious blows on the Stormborn King. Grumblejack moved in, but the bird whirled on him and seized the ogre in his talons. Wounded and bleeding heavily, the Stormborn King raised Grumblejack towards his beak, preparing to tear out the ogre’s heart. His arms pinned, Grumblejack was unable to bring his greatsword to bear, but at the last instant, just as the huge beak poised to strike, he opened his own tusked jaws and clamped down on the Stormborn King’s neck. The eagle writhed and thrashed madly, but Grumblejack did not let go. He clung there like a bulldog, shaking his head violently until he managed to rip out the great bird’s throat.
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After Jeratheon was securely rebound, Dakota revived him.
“Are you willing to speak with us now?” Kelvin asked. “The consequences or your refusal would be…dire.”
“Do you know who I am?” the dragon asked in a deep, resonant growl.“I am Jeratheon Knights-bane, the son of the great wyrm Chargammon. Free me now and I will ask my sire to spare you when he arrives. He is doubtless on his way now!”
“I find that hard to believe,” Kelvin smiled. “We know you’ve been captive here for quite some time. If your sire were coming for you, he would have been here by now.”
“Free me!” Jeratheon shouted. “I have a great hoard of treasure in my cave! All of it is yours if you will but free me.”
“If we wanted your treasure,” Kelvin explained calmly, “we could simply kill you and then use your corpse to divine its location.”
“Then free me and I will pledge thee my service,” Jeratheon grumbled. “I will serve as your faithful mount carrying you amidst the clouds.”
“You’re not that trustworthy,” Kelvin replied.
“But hold that thought,” Tardaesha interjected.
“Then what is it you want!?” Jeratheon roared.
“Simple, really,” Kelvin shrugged. “We want an audience with your father.”
For a moment the dragon was silent.
“You wish to speak with my sire?” he asked finally. “Why? You must know he'll destroy you. He kills everyone who dares enter his lair.”
“That is not your concern,” Kelvin said. “If he does, then we are no longer your problem.”
“So be it,” Jeratheon agreed. “If that is the price of my freedom, then I would be happy to introduce you to my father.”
“Then we have an accord,” Kelvin nodded.
The mage reached over and plucked out a loose scale from the dragon’s hide.
“Ouch!” Jeratheon whined. “What are you doing?”
“Just a bit of insurance,” Kelvin said. “If you are thinking of betraying us, bear in mind that with this I can use my magic to find you anywhere on the planet.”
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Tardaesha found it amusing to have her minion reanimate the corpse of the Stormborn King. She and the other non-flying members of the Knot then mounted the horrific zombie bird and took flight, following Jeratheon on the long journey to his sire’s domain. The great wyrm Chargammon made his lair upon a small inhospitable rocky island off the western coast of Talingarde. The isle was surrounded by hull-ripping reefs save for one side. It was rarely named on maps and usually just marked “here there be monsters”. The weather was harsh. The skies were oppressively grey and the wind howled relentlessly. Rain was frequent and driving, furiously pounding the island. Every few years a powerful cyclone emerged from the great open ocean and battered the ragged island further, scraping clean the jagged, chipped grey stone. The isle was dominated by three jagged short mountains that rose from of the sea. Lashed by wave and wind, little grew on the island. The grim bare rock had little soil. Terrestrial plants, when they appeared at all, were small, scrubby and battered.
As the companions and their escort approached the jagged sea cliffs that rose up on either side of the once-usable harbor, they could see a half-dozen or more reptilian creatures clinging there.
“Friends of yours?” Kelvin called to Jeratheon.
“My…cousins,” the dragon grumbled. “Weak, pathetic river drakes.”
As the drakes watched them approach one hissed at Jeratheon, “Why do you return, shamed one? Are ye not banished from thy sire's sight?”
Jeratheon roared in answer to the jab.
“Banished? We quarreled once decades ago. I was but a hatchling then. I have returned great and powerful!”
“And who are your smooth-skin friends?” asked another drake. “Have you brought them for supper?”
The drakes eyed the companions hungrily, as if they were slabs of sirloin.
Roger calmly drew Helbrand from its scabbard and rested its flaming blade upon his shoulder.
“They are guests of my father,” Jeratheon snapped. “Now let us pass or risk both his ire and mine.”
The drakes hissed and spat, but drew aside to let the trespassers through.
Jeratheon led them on, towards the interior of the island, until they reached a large open field ,almost like a bowl, sheltered on three sides by stark grey peaks. Where most of the island was bare of vegetation, there great masses of thorny vines and creepers formed large tangled briars. In spots, a few strange and vividly colored flowers bloomed. The entire garden reeked of the sickly sweet smell of decay. The odor of rotting fish and blooming flowers commingled to create a strange, almost other worldly aroma. Nothing about that place was familiar or comforting. It was like stepping onto another world – primeval and inimical. Jeratheon back-winged and landed, the giant, zombie Storm Lord right behind him. Oddly, it was Lemmy who first slipped off the back of the dead bird, and began wandering, almost aimlessly, towards the middle of the garden.
“Lemmy?” Roger called after him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a thick vine, almost like a tentacle, came whipping up out of the green vegetation. It wrapped around the big half-orc’s upper body and yanked him off of the bird.
“We must flee!” Jeratheon roared, and then he went galloping across the clearing, heading for a large cave on the far side.
“Damn it to Hells!” Kelvin cursed.
He’d been expecting some sort of treachery, but when it had come, he’d still be caught unawares. Reaching out, he seized the back of Lemmy’s tunic in one hand and Roger’s arm in the other. He cast a spell, and the three of them vanished and reappeared at the cave mouth in front of the dragon.
“Stay put!” Kelvin shouted into Lemmy’s face, his red eyes holding the dwarf’s gaze.
“Stay put,” Lemmy nodded slackly.
Tardaesha leaped off the back of the Storm Lord and slashed at the still-flailing vine. She heard a shout and a grunt of pain behind her. When she turned, she saw that a second vine had seized Grumblejack and had the ogre pinned to the ground, slowly crushing the life out of him. Grumblejack had dropped his sword when he fell, but he still bit and chewed at the vine with his sharpened tusks. With a few more deft strokes, Tardaesha chopped her vine to pieces. She turned and rushed towards her fallen friend, hacking at the tendril that held him. The vine immediately released the ogre and turned upon her. She dodged and whirled, avoiding its grasping embrace, her sword swinging madly until finally she’d managed to slice off enough pieces of it for it to no longer be a threat. She paused to catch her breath as Grumblejack rose to his feet and recovered his weapon. Then she turned to look towards the cave, where Jeratheon stood facing Roger and Kelvin. She needed to have a word with that dragon.
JollyDoc
Explorer
9 Gozran, 4718 - 10 Gozran, 4718 - Dragons Of Winter Night
“And just where were you off to in such a hurry?” Tardaesha asked, her red eyes flashing with anger.
“I told you all to run,” Jeratheon shrugged. “My father apparently added some new guardians since last I visited.”
“Let’s hope, for your sake,” Tardaesha snapped, “that was the last little surprise that we run into.”
Jeratheon snorted noncommittaly then turned and headed deeper into the cave mouth.
It quickly became clear that the members of the Knot were not the first to come looking Chargammon. Over the years, the great wyrm had been visited by knights eager to prove their valor, treasure hunters seeking his hoard, and scholars desiring his secrets. They yet remained in the cold, wet caverns. Their bones littered the floor. Many of the carcasses were half-melted. The dragon's acid breath had obviously softened the victims' skeletons and their living tissues had flowed like molten metal. What remained had dried and rehardened, forming weird sculptures of bleached and fleshless bone. The dragon had adorned his domain with those many grisly trophies. Even more, there were broken weapons and melted armor. There was a mastodon skeleton in one of the side caverns that had been cut neatly in half by a wave of acid taller than a man. In truth, these weren’t meant to scare off visitors. Chargammon was certain that if intruders had made it that far into his lair, a few bones wouldn’t dissuade them from going further. Rather, the sculptures were what Chargammon considered beautiful. The bones were a monument to his power. Nothing was there by chance. He had adorned his foyer with undeniable proof of his might. Chargammon was making a statement – by coming here, trespassers had chosen to join the dead.
Finally, the companions arrived at the expansive grotto that was Chargammon's lair. It was a gigantic flooded cavern adorned only with scattered human and whale bones and murky water.
“I warn you again,” Jeratheon spoke softly, his body visibly trembling, “mind your tongues here, unless you want to have them burned out of your skulls!”
Kelvin shot a warning glance at Lemmy, who lifted his hands innocently.
Jeratheon cleared his throat.
“Father! I have returned!” he shouted.
For several minutes, there was only silence. Then the water in the grotto erupted into an enormous geyser. Chargammon was truly a monster of legend. He was gigantic – just shy of fifty feet long. His frame was light for his size and still the beast crested more than forty five tons in weight. His wet skin was glossy black and everywhere a litany of scars and small wounds revealed centuries of foolish dragon hunters trying to slay this horror. His eyes burned red as hellfire and there was an almost palpable evil aura about him. The only light in his cavern came from a half-dozen green ever-burning torches set on heavy iron sconces. They did little but cast the grotto into shadow and cause rippling green reflections of both fire and water to play across Chargammon's massive form. Both Grumblejack and Lemmy found themselves taking involuntary steps backwards as the full weight of the dragon’s menace fell upon them.
“Have your lives proven so worthless, sub-creatures, that you have come here to offer them to me?” Chargammon asked in a rumbling hiss.
“Wait a moment,” he paused, sniffing the air. “You stink of my son. You must be the fools who inflicted the worthless coward on me once more.”
Jeratheon, who had still been skulking in the tunnel behind, slowly slinked into the room.
“To do such a deed,” Chargammon continued, “you must want something. Speak! Why do you seek audience with the great Chargammon?”
“Mighy Chargammon,” Roger stepped forward, “you are a legend among legends. The atrocities you have inflicted upon the world are without peer! Thus, who better to come to mind when one plans on nothing less than toppling the king of Talingarde himself?!”
Chargammon’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Roger took this as a sign that he should continue.
“We have knowledge that King Markadian, currently in the field with what remains of his army after we unleashed the Tears of Achlys upon it, has one weakness which could lead to his downfall: his love for his young, virginal daughter, Princess Bellinda. He has left her at home, under minimal guard, in the Adarium at Matheryn. If there was a sufficient threat to her, hypothetically something like a dragon attack, then the king would return to try and rescue her. When that happened, my brothers-in-arms and I would be waiting. It is for this that we have come to beseech your assistance.”
““Why should I bother?” Chargammon asked. “Within my lair I am all powerful! None threaten me. If I slay the princess and the king survives, surely he will seek vengeance against me. Why rile such a hornet's nest How do I know this is not some trick? How can I be sure you do not foolishly try to lure me forth?”
“Oh magnificent and mighty one,” Kelvin interjected, “chiefest of calamities, master of all dragons, lord of all the world – how could anyone threaten your greatness?”
“A fair point,” Chargammon agreed. “You make a fine case, but you must think me a fool if you think I'll attack the Adarium for nothing.”
“Well,” Lemmy piped up, momentarily forgetting Kelvin’s warning, “we did save yer boy.”
“My son?” Chargammon laughed. “My pathetic worthless worm of a son?”
He reached out casually with one massive forelimb and slapped the younger dragon, sending him sprawling.
“He is worse than nothing!”
Jeratheon hissed back but another growl from his sire silenced him.
““No, before I slay your princess, you must answer my errand with an errand of blood of your own. I too have an enemy who has long pained me. I too have a rival I would see destroyed.”
“Here we go,” Kat muttered, rolling her eyes.
“South of here almost two hundred and fifty miles,” Chargammon continued, “where the Ansgarian Mountains and the Caer Bryr ends is the isle of the pathetic reprobate, the dragon Eiramanthus. It is sometimes named the Straya Avarna on maps. Eiramanthus is a copper wyrm who has long thwarted my plans and mocked my efforts. He thinks himself superior to me because he is beloved by so many. He believes that he is my rival! Hah! He is a bloated, decadent fool! He sits on his island and laughs at me, while he copulates with his three non-dragon concubine-whores. You come groveling to me for aid? First you will aid me! I want him broken and decapitated. I want him purged from this world. You will burn every book, shatter every statue, slaughter every consort and lay waste to his entire island. I want it made into a desolation! I want every passing ship to marvel at its ruin! Do this for me and I will aid you. Now go. And if Eiramanthus still lives, return to me only if you wish to die”
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There was little discussion to be had. Chargammon had made his demand and then promptly vanished back into his grotto, leaving his ‘guests’ and his son to ponder their next step. It would not be hard to find the island of Eiramanthus, based on Chargammon’s description, so it would just be a matter of traveling there, dealing with the concubines of an ancient dragon, then the dragon himself, and burn everything to the ground. Simple enough.
Kelvin decided that teleportation would be their best bet. He gathered his companions around him, focused his mind on the coordinates, and cast his spell. They arrived at the fringe of the Caer Bryr a moment later, overlooking the sea. A mist-shrouded island could just be seen in the distance, but dawn was approaching. The vampires would need to rest while the others kept watch. Nightfall would be soon enough to begin their raid.
As the sun faded below the horizon, the Nessian Knot set out across the water, flying low to avoid detection. An intricate barrier of stone, crystal and coralline reefs lay just beneath the surface of the sea that surrounded the isle. The reef teemed with alien sea life. Strange fish in a wild riot of color danced amongst the reefs, sharing the sea with stranger beasts unseen before upon this world. The reefs made any approach by ship very dangerous. There was a narrow safe passage through this labyrinth at the south end of the island, but without an expert sailor and more than a little luck a ship was likely to wreck upon those jagged rocks. This proved no impediment for the Knot, and they soared over the reef and into a large beach-enclosed lagoon. They had no sooner alighted upon the sand, when the water lapping the shore began to churn as a creature surfaced. She was mermaid-like, with the torso and head of a long-haired woman and the lower half of a sleek killer whale. She held a short spear, but did not seem aggressive, merely wary.
“The island is closed,” she said in a soft musical voice “and the reefs are dangerous. Turn back or imperil your lives.”
“You must be one of the dragon’s whores,” Lemmy snarled.
“I am Setia Swims-The-Sea-Of-Stars,” she said, anger in her voice, “and you are not welcome here!”
“And I am Dakota Dannister, vampiress extraordinaire,” Dak grinned, baring her fangs, “and I’m welcome any damn where I please.”
She raised her bow and, as Setia’s eyes widened in alarm, put an arrow through the agathion’s shoulder. Setia grunted and clutched at the shaft, but her gaze flashed with rage rather than pain.
“You were warned,” she hissed.
She clenched her fist and a shockwave of power rippled out in all directions. The companions of the Knot found themselves buffeted by a crackling blast of frigid cold and electricity. Grumblejack, whose fiendish nature granted him some small amount of protection against such energies, waded forward against the blast. When he reached Setia he swung his huge sword and sent her slamming back into the water. Tardaesha appeared at his side. Vampires were naturally immune to cold, and electricity found it difficult to conduct through their already-dead nerve endings. She thrust her own sword into Setia’s belly as she struggled to rise. Suddenly the water behind her began to boil as an enormous humanoid shape formed completely of liquid rose from the depths.
“Mistress,” it’s gurgling voice rumbled, “you are in danger.”
It raised one battering-ram-like fist and drove it into Grumblejack’s chest, driving the ogre back several paces.
“And you will not be able to save her,” Kelvin replied.
He waved one hand in a complicated pattern and the elemental simply disappeared, banished back to its home plane. Still, its appearance had given Setia a momentary chance to regroup. She flung out a hand and a conical blast of ice and snow lashed out, buffeting the companions. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort. Grumblejack and Tardaesha returned their attention to her and fell upon her in a flurry of steel and violence.
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While the others waited behind on the beach, Tardaesha took to the air, the leathery wings thad had grown beneath her arms since her transformation allowing her to fly like an enormous bat. She loved the feel of the salty night air on her face, and she took a moment to appreciate the unearthly beauty of the island below her, bathed in moonlight. She passed over a serene forest glen with a large, elder cherry blossom standing at its center. Further inland she soared above a beautiful pagoda with the exterior elaborately adorned in frescoes of green stone. They depicted strange scenes of multi-armed gods and bold inhuman heroes engaged in battle against wicked animal-headed demons.
The tiered tower rose four stories and was capped by an elaborately eaved roof that ended in a point. Thousands of wind chimes hung from the eaves and filled the air with an enchanting but arrthymic music. Still further on, beyond a crystalline garden, a three-level tower of white stone rose into the sky, pristine and regal. Tardaesha had seen enough. She wheeled on the thermals and winged her way back to her companions.
“I’m sure the clearing and the pagoda are where the dragon houses his other two concubines,” Kelvin stated when Tardaesha had informed them of what she had seen.
“Not bad accommodations…for whore houses,” Lemmy snorted.
Dakota raised an eyebrow.
“You have something against whores?” she asked.
“Present company excluded,” the dwarf grumbled.
“The clearing is closest,” Kelvin said. “Let’s get there while we still have the cover of darkness.”
They travelled quickly through the night, moving like living (and unliving) shadows. The forest glen was even more lovely than it had looked from the air. Even at night, strange little brightly colored birds and insects nested and crawled upon the unfamiliar flora. Diminutive creatures could be seen cavorting amongst the many flowering plants, twinkling like miniature stars in the verdant garden. As the companions stepped out into the clearing, a figure seemed to emerge from the tree at its center. The strangely beautiful woman was composed completely of blossoms, bark, and antler-like branches. The little sprite-like creatures flitted and flew all about her, whispering in her ears in high-pitched, musical voices.
“My little friends tell me that they can sense evil upon you,” the woman said. “I am Sakura Yoshimune, and such as you are not welcome here.”
“People keep telling us that,” Dakota sighed, “and I’ll tell you like I told your mer-whale friend, I’m welcome wherever I please.”
“I can sense that there are those among you who have passed from mortal existence,” Sakura continued. “This is an abomination.”
“We already kill fish-lady,” Grumblejack grinned, “now you no have so much competition for dragon’s attention.”
Sakura’s face hardened. She touched a gorget that hung around her neck, and as her fingers depressed one its crimson gems, a blast of energy swept over the companions, knocking them all from their feet. Tardaesha quickly scrambled up and charged towards the kami woman.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she sneered as she raised her sword. “We were just going to kill you and move on, but now I’m going to burn this whole place to the ground!”
She swung, slashing through Sakura’s bark-like skin. Red sap trickled slowly from the ragged wound. She tried to back away but Roger blocked her path. The big half-orc hacked at her, unholy power rippling through his blade. Desperate, Sakura stepped back towards a nearby tree…and simply vanished into it.
“Clever girl,” Kelvin said.
He turned in a slow circle, his finger tracing through the air. When he had turned one complete rotation, a ring of fire sprang up around the glen, the flames licking at the grass and overhanging branches of the trees. The sprits shrieked in fear and dismay, and flitted madly about, unable to escape the crushing heat.
“Come out, my lady!” Kelvin called. “Come out or watch your home burn!”
As the fire began to spread, Roger hefted his hell-spawned blade and began hacking at the trees. Sakura felt the pain of her children. She felt it down to her own roots. These monsters would pay for this transgression! Calling upon her own powerful magic, she caused time to come to a complete stop for everyone and everything in the vicinity except for her. She stepped out of her tree and into the clearing. As she felt the flow of time begin to speed up again, she hurled another spell at the living members of the trespassers: Kat, Lemmy and Roger. The three of them were overcome by waves of exhaustion, too weak even to raise their weapons. The vampires, however, were not affected by such trivial things.
“Now, Dakota!” Kelvin commanded.
Dak nodded and cast a spell. A thin stream of emerald light lanced from her finger to strike Sakura. There was no physical effect, but Sakura knew what had happened immediately: it was a dimensional anchor. She could no longer retreat nor travel through her trees. And just like that, her enemies converged upon her. She summoned her magic again, hurling a death curse at the massive ogre. He stumbled, but then kept coming. They reached her, surrounded her. She fought with all of her might, but physical combat was not her forte. She was quickly overcome. As she fell to the ground and breathed her last, she heard Kelvin’s final pronouncement.
“Let it burn.”
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The pagoda Tardaesha had spotted on her reconnaissance fly over was the next stop for the Knot. They assumed it was the home of Eiramanthus’s final consort, and they wanted to make certain that the dragon would have no one to call upon for assistance when they finally bearded him in his lair. There were no windows on the structure, and the only doors were on the lowest tier at ground level.
“We have a problem,” Kelvin said as the companions gathered in front of the twin portals.
“Other than the obvious one, where we are looking for a dragon after killing his three girlfriends?” Roger asked.
“Yes,” Kelvin smirked. “Something more immediate. Technically speaking, this is a private dwelling.”
“So?” Lemmy asked.
“So,” Tardaesha replied, comprehension dawning on her, “Dakota, Kelvin and I cannot enter without an express invitation.”
Lemmy rolled his eyes, and Kat just shook her head.
“I told you no good would come of this,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Dakota smiled. “Just open those doors. I’ll get us an invite.”
The doors opened upon what appeared to be a large, open barracks. Torchlight from wall sconces spilled out into the night as Roger threw the doors open wide. In the gloom beyond, some two dozen individuals were gathered, eating, talking, laughing, and even singing. As one, however, they fell silent, and all eyes turned towards the entrance. They were large creatures, male and female, and appeared heavy and solid, with chiseled, angular features that make them look almost like statues brought to life.
“Oreads,” Kelvin said. “Elemental half-breeds.”
“I am Brarex Azerion,” a large male stepped forward dressed in leathers and carrying a wicked looking double-bladed sword. “I am Captain of the Guard of the Crystalline Garden. The Consort in Red warned us of your coming. You will depart this place immediately.”
“You there,” Dakota, still standing outside the open doors, pointed at a woman carrying a stout glaive. “Why don’t you invite us in?”
The woman stared at Dakota and her hypnotic crimson eyes.
“Won’t you and your companions please come in?” she said flatly.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Kelvin smiled.
Kelvin proceeded to blanket the entire interior of the barracks in a storm of sleet and snow. There were sorcerers among the oreads, and they responded with a barrage of fireballs, but by then most of the companions had already rushed inside. The guardians were at a disadvantage, as it was easy for the individual members of the Knot to get among them and strike with surgical precision. An oread priest was finally able to dispel the sleet storm, but it was already too late. Most of their phalanx fighters were down, and when the sorcerers were exposed, Dakota shot them dead at point blank range. Katarina and Lemmy took out their handful of scouts while Roger and Tardaesha dispatched the last of the fighters, and then cornered Brarex himself. The captain fought like a man possessed until the bitter end.
“And just where were you off to in such a hurry?” Tardaesha asked, her red eyes flashing with anger.
“I told you all to run,” Jeratheon shrugged. “My father apparently added some new guardians since last I visited.”
“Let’s hope, for your sake,” Tardaesha snapped, “that was the last little surprise that we run into.”
Jeratheon snorted noncommittaly then turned and headed deeper into the cave mouth.
It quickly became clear that the members of the Knot were not the first to come looking Chargammon. Over the years, the great wyrm had been visited by knights eager to prove their valor, treasure hunters seeking his hoard, and scholars desiring his secrets. They yet remained in the cold, wet caverns. Their bones littered the floor. Many of the carcasses were half-melted. The dragon's acid breath had obviously softened the victims' skeletons and their living tissues had flowed like molten metal. What remained had dried and rehardened, forming weird sculptures of bleached and fleshless bone. The dragon had adorned his domain with those many grisly trophies. Even more, there were broken weapons and melted armor. There was a mastodon skeleton in one of the side caverns that had been cut neatly in half by a wave of acid taller than a man. In truth, these weren’t meant to scare off visitors. Chargammon was certain that if intruders had made it that far into his lair, a few bones wouldn’t dissuade them from going further. Rather, the sculptures were what Chargammon considered beautiful. The bones were a monument to his power. Nothing was there by chance. He had adorned his foyer with undeniable proof of his might. Chargammon was making a statement – by coming here, trespassers had chosen to join the dead.
Finally, the companions arrived at the expansive grotto that was Chargammon's lair. It was a gigantic flooded cavern adorned only with scattered human and whale bones and murky water.
“I warn you again,” Jeratheon spoke softly, his body visibly trembling, “mind your tongues here, unless you want to have them burned out of your skulls!”
Kelvin shot a warning glance at Lemmy, who lifted his hands innocently.
Jeratheon cleared his throat.
“Father! I have returned!” he shouted.
For several minutes, there was only silence. Then the water in the grotto erupted into an enormous geyser. Chargammon was truly a monster of legend. He was gigantic – just shy of fifty feet long. His frame was light for his size and still the beast crested more than forty five tons in weight. His wet skin was glossy black and everywhere a litany of scars and small wounds revealed centuries of foolish dragon hunters trying to slay this horror. His eyes burned red as hellfire and there was an almost palpable evil aura about him. The only light in his cavern came from a half-dozen green ever-burning torches set on heavy iron sconces. They did little but cast the grotto into shadow and cause rippling green reflections of both fire and water to play across Chargammon's massive form. Both Grumblejack and Lemmy found themselves taking involuntary steps backwards as the full weight of the dragon’s menace fell upon them.
“Have your lives proven so worthless, sub-creatures, that you have come here to offer them to me?” Chargammon asked in a rumbling hiss.
“Wait a moment,” he paused, sniffing the air. “You stink of my son. You must be the fools who inflicted the worthless coward on me once more.”
Jeratheon, who had still been skulking in the tunnel behind, slowly slinked into the room.
“To do such a deed,” Chargammon continued, “you must want something. Speak! Why do you seek audience with the great Chargammon?”
“Mighy Chargammon,” Roger stepped forward, “you are a legend among legends. The atrocities you have inflicted upon the world are without peer! Thus, who better to come to mind when one plans on nothing less than toppling the king of Talingarde himself?!”
Chargammon’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Roger took this as a sign that he should continue.
“We have knowledge that King Markadian, currently in the field with what remains of his army after we unleashed the Tears of Achlys upon it, has one weakness which could lead to his downfall: his love for his young, virginal daughter, Princess Bellinda. He has left her at home, under minimal guard, in the Adarium at Matheryn. If there was a sufficient threat to her, hypothetically something like a dragon attack, then the king would return to try and rescue her. When that happened, my brothers-in-arms and I would be waiting. It is for this that we have come to beseech your assistance.”
““Why should I bother?” Chargammon asked. “Within my lair I am all powerful! None threaten me. If I slay the princess and the king survives, surely he will seek vengeance against me. Why rile such a hornet's nest How do I know this is not some trick? How can I be sure you do not foolishly try to lure me forth?”
“Oh magnificent and mighty one,” Kelvin interjected, “chiefest of calamities, master of all dragons, lord of all the world – how could anyone threaten your greatness?”
“A fair point,” Chargammon agreed. “You make a fine case, but you must think me a fool if you think I'll attack the Adarium for nothing.”
“Well,” Lemmy piped up, momentarily forgetting Kelvin’s warning, “we did save yer boy.”
“My son?” Chargammon laughed. “My pathetic worthless worm of a son?”
He reached out casually with one massive forelimb and slapped the younger dragon, sending him sprawling.
“He is worse than nothing!”
Jeratheon hissed back but another growl from his sire silenced him.
““No, before I slay your princess, you must answer my errand with an errand of blood of your own. I too have an enemy who has long pained me. I too have a rival I would see destroyed.”
“Here we go,” Kat muttered, rolling her eyes.
“South of here almost two hundred and fifty miles,” Chargammon continued, “where the Ansgarian Mountains and the Caer Bryr ends is the isle of the pathetic reprobate, the dragon Eiramanthus. It is sometimes named the Straya Avarna on maps. Eiramanthus is a copper wyrm who has long thwarted my plans and mocked my efforts. He thinks himself superior to me because he is beloved by so many. He believes that he is my rival! Hah! He is a bloated, decadent fool! He sits on his island and laughs at me, while he copulates with his three non-dragon concubine-whores. You come groveling to me for aid? First you will aid me! I want him broken and decapitated. I want him purged from this world. You will burn every book, shatter every statue, slaughter every consort and lay waste to his entire island. I want it made into a desolation! I want every passing ship to marvel at its ruin! Do this for me and I will aid you. Now go. And if Eiramanthus still lives, return to me only if you wish to die”
___________________________________________________________________
There was little discussion to be had. Chargammon had made his demand and then promptly vanished back into his grotto, leaving his ‘guests’ and his son to ponder their next step. It would not be hard to find the island of Eiramanthus, based on Chargammon’s description, so it would just be a matter of traveling there, dealing with the concubines of an ancient dragon, then the dragon himself, and burn everything to the ground. Simple enough.
Kelvin decided that teleportation would be their best bet. He gathered his companions around him, focused his mind on the coordinates, and cast his spell. They arrived at the fringe of the Caer Bryr a moment later, overlooking the sea. A mist-shrouded island could just be seen in the distance, but dawn was approaching. The vampires would need to rest while the others kept watch. Nightfall would be soon enough to begin their raid.
As the sun faded below the horizon, the Nessian Knot set out across the water, flying low to avoid detection. An intricate barrier of stone, crystal and coralline reefs lay just beneath the surface of the sea that surrounded the isle. The reef teemed with alien sea life. Strange fish in a wild riot of color danced amongst the reefs, sharing the sea with stranger beasts unseen before upon this world. The reefs made any approach by ship very dangerous. There was a narrow safe passage through this labyrinth at the south end of the island, but without an expert sailor and more than a little luck a ship was likely to wreck upon those jagged rocks. This proved no impediment for the Knot, and they soared over the reef and into a large beach-enclosed lagoon. They had no sooner alighted upon the sand, when the water lapping the shore began to churn as a creature surfaced. She was mermaid-like, with the torso and head of a long-haired woman and the lower half of a sleek killer whale. She held a short spear, but did not seem aggressive, merely wary.
“The island is closed,” she said in a soft musical voice “and the reefs are dangerous. Turn back or imperil your lives.”
“You must be one of the dragon’s whores,” Lemmy snarled.
“I am Setia Swims-The-Sea-Of-Stars,” she said, anger in her voice, “and you are not welcome here!”
“And I am Dakota Dannister, vampiress extraordinaire,” Dak grinned, baring her fangs, “and I’m welcome any damn where I please.”
She raised her bow and, as Setia’s eyes widened in alarm, put an arrow through the agathion’s shoulder. Setia grunted and clutched at the shaft, but her gaze flashed with rage rather than pain.
“You were warned,” she hissed.
She clenched her fist and a shockwave of power rippled out in all directions. The companions of the Knot found themselves buffeted by a crackling blast of frigid cold and electricity. Grumblejack, whose fiendish nature granted him some small amount of protection against such energies, waded forward against the blast. When he reached Setia he swung his huge sword and sent her slamming back into the water. Tardaesha appeared at his side. Vampires were naturally immune to cold, and electricity found it difficult to conduct through their already-dead nerve endings. She thrust her own sword into Setia’s belly as she struggled to rise. Suddenly the water behind her began to boil as an enormous humanoid shape formed completely of liquid rose from the depths.
“Mistress,” it’s gurgling voice rumbled, “you are in danger.”
It raised one battering-ram-like fist and drove it into Grumblejack’s chest, driving the ogre back several paces.
“And you will not be able to save her,” Kelvin replied.
He waved one hand in a complicated pattern and the elemental simply disappeared, banished back to its home plane. Still, its appearance had given Setia a momentary chance to regroup. She flung out a hand and a conical blast of ice and snow lashed out, buffeting the companions. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort. Grumblejack and Tardaesha returned their attention to her and fell upon her in a flurry of steel and violence.
___________________________________________________________________
While the others waited behind on the beach, Tardaesha took to the air, the leathery wings thad had grown beneath her arms since her transformation allowing her to fly like an enormous bat. She loved the feel of the salty night air on her face, and she took a moment to appreciate the unearthly beauty of the island below her, bathed in moonlight. She passed over a serene forest glen with a large, elder cherry blossom standing at its center. Further inland she soared above a beautiful pagoda with the exterior elaborately adorned in frescoes of green stone. They depicted strange scenes of multi-armed gods and bold inhuman heroes engaged in battle against wicked animal-headed demons.
The tiered tower rose four stories and was capped by an elaborately eaved roof that ended in a point. Thousands of wind chimes hung from the eaves and filled the air with an enchanting but arrthymic music. Still further on, beyond a crystalline garden, a three-level tower of white stone rose into the sky, pristine and regal. Tardaesha had seen enough. She wheeled on the thermals and winged her way back to her companions.
“I’m sure the clearing and the pagoda are where the dragon houses his other two concubines,” Kelvin stated when Tardaesha had informed them of what she had seen.
“Not bad accommodations…for whore houses,” Lemmy snorted.
Dakota raised an eyebrow.
“You have something against whores?” she asked.
“Present company excluded,” the dwarf grumbled.
“The clearing is closest,” Kelvin said. “Let’s get there while we still have the cover of darkness.”
They travelled quickly through the night, moving like living (and unliving) shadows. The forest glen was even more lovely than it had looked from the air. Even at night, strange little brightly colored birds and insects nested and crawled upon the unfamiliar flora. Diminutive creatures could be seen cavorting amongst the many flowering plants, twinkling like miniature stars in the verdant garden. As the companions stepped out into the clearing, a figure seemed to emerge from the tree at its center. The strangely beautiful woman was composed completely of blossoms, bark, and antler-like branches. The little sprite-like creatures flitted and flew all about her, whispering in her ears in high-pitched, musical voices.
“My little friends tell me that they can sense evil upon you,” the woman said. “I am Sakura Yoshimune, and such as you are not welcome here.”
“People keep telling us that,” Dakota sighed, “and I’ll tell you like I told your mer-whale friend, I’m welcome wherever I please.”
“I can sense that there are those among you who have passed from mortal existence,” Sakura continued. “This is an abomination.”
“We already kill fish-lady,” Grumblejack grinned, “now you no have so much competition for dragon’s attention.”
Sakura’s face hardened. She touched a gorget that hung around her neck, and as her fingers depressed one its crimson gems, a blast of energy swept over the companions, knocking them all from their feet. Tardaesha quickly scrambled up and charged towards the kami woman.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she sneered as she raised her sword. “We were just going to kill you and move on, but now I’m going to burn this whole place to the ground!”
She swung, slashing through Sakura’s bark-like skin. Red sap trickled slowly from the ragged wound. She tried to back away but Roger blocked her path. The big half-orc hacked at her, unholy power rippling through his blade. Desperate, Sakura stepped back towards a nearby tree…and simply vanished into it.
“Clever girl,” Kelvin said.
He turned in a slow circle, his finger tracing through the air. When he had turned one complete rotation, a ring of fire sprang up around the glen, the flames licking at the grass and overhanging branches of the trees. The sprits shrieked in fear and dismay, and flitted madly about, unable to escape the crushing heat.
“Come out, my lady!” Kelvin called. “Come out or watch your home burn!”
As the fire began to spread, Roger hefted his hell-spawned blade and began hacking at the trees. Sakura felt the pain of her children. She felt it down to her own roots. These monsters would pay for this transgression! Calling upon her own powerful magic, she caused time to come to a complete stop for everyone and everything in the vicinity except for her. She stepped out of her tree and into the clearing. As she felt the flow of time begin to speed up again, she hurled another spell at the living members of the trespassers: Kat, Lemmy and Roger. The three of them were overcome by waves of exhaustion, too weak even to raise their weapons. The vampires, however, were not affected by such trivial things.
“Now, Dakota!” Kelvin commanded.
Dak nodded and cast a spell. A thin stream of emerald light lanced from her finger to strike Sakura. There was no physical effect, but Sakura knew what had happened immediately: it was a dimensional anchor. She could no longer retreat nor travel through her trees. And just like that, her enemies converged upon her. She summoned her magic again, hurling a death curse at the massive ogre. He stumbled, but then kept coming. They reached her, surrounded her. She fought with all of her might, but physical combat was not her forte. She was quickly overcome. As she fell to the ground and breathed her last, she heard Kelvin’s final pronouncement.
“Let it burn.”
_________________________________________________________________
The pagoda Tardaesha had spotted on her reconnaissance fly over was the next stop for the Knot. They assumed it was the home of Eiramanthus’s final consort, and they wanted to make certain that the dragon would have no one to call upon for assistance when they finally bearded him in his lair. There were no windows on the structure, and the only doors were on the lowest tier at ground level.
“We have a problem,” Kelvin said as the companions gathered in front of the twin portals.
“Other than the obvious one, where we are looking for a dragon after killing his three girlfriends?” Roger asked.
“Yes,” Kelvin smirked. “Something more immediate. Technically speaking, this is a private dwelling.”
“So?” Lemmy asked.
“So,” Tardaesha replied, comprehension dawning on her, “Dakota, Kelvin and I cannot enter without an express invitation.”
Lemmy rolled his eyes, and Kat just shook her head.
“I told you no good would come of this,” she muttered.
“Don’t worry,” Dakota smiled. “Just open those doors. I’ll get us an invite.”
The doors opened upon what appeared to be a large, open barracks. Torchlight from wall sconces spilled out into the night as Roger threw the doors open wide. In the gloom beyond, some two dozen individuals were gathered, eating, talking, laughing, and even singing. As one, however, they fell silent, and all eyes turned towards the entrance. They were large creatures, male and female, and appeared heavy and solid, with chiseled, angular features that make them look almost like statues brought to life.
“Oreads,” Kelvin said. “Elemental half-breeds.”
“I am Brarex Azerion,” a large male stepped forward dressed in leathers and carrying a wicked looking double-bladed sword. “I am Captain of the Guard of the Crystalline Garden. The Consort in Red warned us of your coming. You will depart this place immediately.”
“You there,” Dakota, still standing outside the open doors, pointed at a woman carrying a stout glaive. “Why don’t you invite us in?”
The woman stared at Dakota and her hypnotic crimson eyes.
“Won’t you and your companions please come in?” she said flatly.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Kelvin smiled.
Kelvin proceeded to blanket the entire interior of the barracks in a storm of sleet and snow. There were sorcerers among the oreads, and they responded with a barrage of fireballs, but by then most of the companions had already rushed inside. The guardians were at a disadvantage, as it was easy for the individual members of the Knot to get among them and strike with surgical precision. An oread priest was finally able to dispel the sleet storm, but it was already too late. Most of their phalanx fighters were down, and when the sorcerers were exposed, Dakota shot them dead at point blank range. Katarina and Lemmy took out their handful of scouts while Roger and Tardaesha dispatched the last of the fighters, and then cornered Brarex himself. The captain fought like a man possessed until the bitter end.
carborundum
Adventurer
Woah. Awesome!
*******
My guys are moving steadily forward, and have opened the gates of the Vale. The Watchers killed Grumblejack though, to which the Necromancer's player said,
"Tragic. How many hit dice was he?"
*******
My guys are moving steadily forward, and have opened the gates of the Vale. The Watchers killed Grumblejack though, to which the Necromancer's player said,
"Tragic. How many hit dice was he?"
Last edited:
JollyDoc
Explorer
Sounds familiar! Grumblejack is still alive and kicking in our campaign. Alas, his player has relocated out of state so he will be retiring before the grand finale.
carborundum
Adventurer
Did he have time to get it on with that totally hot ogre chick?
And seriously...do you remember how you ran the series of battles in Valtaerna?
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