Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4787632" data-attributes="member: 143">Heh, if you think Carzen's got troubles, keep reading... <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />* * * * * Chapter 33Like Carzen, Jaron was starting to have second thoughts about his current venture. He looked down into a vast open blackness, a chasm that promised only a long and terrified plummet should he enter it.  For the tenth time he cursed himself for letting his attention wander, then turned his attention back to the stone to which he clung.  His position was precarious at best.  The halfling clung to the underside of a stone bridge that swept across the chasm in a graceful arc.  The stones that formed the bridge were ancient, and covered with tiny cracks and crevices that made adequate handholds, especially for canny halfling fingers.  Jaron had been climbing since he was a boy, and in different circumstances, this would have been an easy crossing, maybe even fun. Say under a bright sky on a clear day, above a slow-moving river, instead of over a dark chasm far under the earth, next to a citadel filled with evil dwarves all too eager to do nasty things to him if he was discovered. Berating himself for his distraction, the halfling returned to his crossing.  At least he could see, although the goggles that Rendil had provided for him and Beetle made it difficult to make out small details.  That was fine on a climb like this, when he had to rely on touch more than vision.  His feet were bare, his boots carefully stashed in his pack along with only the most essential of his gear.  Everything else had been left behind on the far side of the chasm.   He reached another relatively safe spot, where one of the supporting struts of the bridge provided a junction where he could hold on with just his feet.  Hanging almost upside-down, he paused to drive a piton into a gap where two of the massive stones that formed the bridge were joined.  Moving slowly, careful not to threaten his grip, he reached down to the harness he wore over his clothes, and drew out first a piton, then the tiny padded hammer.  The pad on the end of the hammer muted the sound, and the nearly constant wind through the chasm likely absorbed the rest within a few paces, but even so Jaron thought it sounded unnaturally loud, certain to draw attention from above. But no shouts rose from atop the bridge or from the adjacent citadel, no crossbow bolts shot out of the darkness to put an end to his infiltration.  He wrapped the rope trailing behind him around the hooked end of the piton, and started to shift forward toward the next part of the climb.  He judged he was about halfway across, but still couldn’t see the far side of the chasm, and the bridge blocked his view of the odd witch-lights that shone high along the walls of the place.  The Horned Hold looked malevolent, and when he and Beetle had first arrived, sneaking along the approaches, he’d almost frozen in fear.  The citadel extended across both faces of the chasm, its thick towers joined by two bridges.  If what Rendil had told them was true, the slaves were held within the far one, his current destination.  He only got a moment’s warning, a slight tug on the rope.  He desperately shot back to the junction, and set his feet before it grew taut.  Fortunately the piton held, although his heart froze in his chest as he thought of Beetle tumbling away into the chasm. But as he looked down, he saw his cousin swinging on the end of the rope, streaking across the chasm on the end of the line that ended first at the piton, and then around Jaron’s waist.  The rope whipsawed as its burden swung, and for a moment Jaron feared it would slip free.  But he’d wrapped it well, and the piton held in place as Beetle reached the bottom of his swing and started up.  Jaron wasn’t sure, but he thought his cousin’s mouth was open in a silent shout of joy and wonder. He shook his head.  Of course it was. Beetle’s rising arc ended at the far wall of the chasm, almost as he came to a stop in his ascent.  For a moment Jaron thought he would fall back—there was only so much abuse the piton could take—but then Beetle got a grip on the rocks.  With the magical vision of the goggles the rock face looked like a vague gray blur, with only his cousin distinct.  He watched as Beetle found a jutting rock spur and looped the rope around it several times, waving to Jaron once he was done. Jaron shook his head.  Well, at least this was faster.  After checking the piton again, and securing a second just in case, he shifted to the rope, locking his legs around it and then pulling himself to where Beetle waited.  It took about five minutes, by which time he’d swallowed his anger; it wouldn’t have done any good with his cousin anyway.  Beetle was waiting for him, sitting atop the rock spur with his back to the cliff face.  He was smiling, but even he knew better than to say anything, this close to the citadel above. Jaron glanced back at the rope.  It was a risk, but he judged that it would have been even worse to drop it, given the possibility of their needing to make a hasty retreat back.  He glanced up and saw what looked like a battlement maybe twenty feet above.  The cliffs here were rugged, an easy climb.  Shrugging out of his harness, careful not to let the remaining pitons jingle off the rock face, he stashed the gear in a crack next to the spur that anchored the rope, taking only a short spare coil of rope with him.  With a gesture to Beetle to wait, he started crawling up.  He gained the battlement without incident, and carefully peered over.  Once again Rendil had been right; the dwarves did not keep a watch here.  There was a heavy iron-plated door to his left with a covered slit in the center.  To his right he could just make out a second, recessed door in a deep alcove on the far side of the battlement.  After another quick look around, he unrolled his rope and looped it quickly over one of the squat merlons that fronted the battlement, dropping the remaining length down for his cousin.  Beetle was beside him in a flash, and Jaron drew up the rope, coiling it into a tight wad before stashing it in the deeper darkness between the notches atop the battlement wall. He turned to see Beetle almost at the iron-plated door to the left.  He hissed a warning, but Beetle either didn’t hear, or pretended that he hadn’t.  Jaron ran over to him, catching his hand even as it reached out for the door’s handle. Neither of them spoke, for as they stood there, they heard a soft sound, muted through the door, but recognizable as coarse laughter.  Words followed, indecipherable, but it was easy enough to guess at the identity of their owners. Jaron pulled Beetle away, and headed toward the other door.  A quick scan of the stone floor around it suggested that this route was rarely traveled by the inhabitants of the Horned Hold.  The door was locked, but Beetle was able to manage that in just a few moments.  The click as the mechanism tripped seemed like the sound of a bell being struck to Jaron’s sensitive ears.  Beetle pulled the door open a crack, looked inside, and then slipped through. Jaron had no choice but to follow. The chamber beyond was utterly dark, and without their magical goggles the halflings would have been at a loss.  With those aids, they could see that the chamber was both of considerable size and in an advanced state of decay.  The place looked as though it had once been a shrine or chapel of some sort, although it was difficult to tell to which gods it had been sacred.  A massive statue missing one arm and a considerable portion of its head rose up above them; enough was left to suggest it had depicted some sort of horned creature.  Jaron let the door slide shut behind him. Beetle yanked on Jaron’s arm so suddenly that he nearly fell.  He barely kept his feet under him as he was pulled into a crack in a nearby pile of rubble.  He opened his mouth to say something, but caught sight of Beetle’s face, pressed close against his, and snapped it shut.  A moment later, he sensed the creature.  Even with the goggles, it was little more than a shadow as it passed by.  A strong stink filled Jaron’s nostrils, a stench of decay tinged with something fouler, which made his skin crawl.  He felt a cold sensation trickled down his spine.  The thing—whatever it was—lingered for a moment, and Jaron’s hand crawled to the hilt of his sword.  But then it moved on, probing at the door for a moment before it crept away, back into whatever part of the chamber had spawned it. Jaron waited a full minute more before he stuck his head out of the crevice.  There was no sign of the creature, but he knew it was here, somewhere in the room with them.  His gaze lingered on the door, on the way out.  Better by far not to push their luck, to flee now.  But instead he found himself making his way around the back of the room, toward the door he’d spotted on the far side of the room.  He willed himself to be small, hidden, his booted feet stepping between piles of loose stone as though each one was a deadly scorpion poised to sting at the slightest touch.  Behind him, Beetle echoed his movements precisely; his cousin was even better than him at remaining unseen.  Jaron scanned the rest of the room as he moved forward, but saw nothing, not even the slightest hint of movement in the piles of rubble that cluttered the far end of the chamber.  But there was something there; he could feel it, in the part of the mind where nightmares found purchase. He was still looking, waiting, as they reached the door.  This one was an even more formidable barrier than the first; solid iron, set into hinges as thick and heavy as a ogre’s elbow.  There was rust evident on those hinges, suggesting that this door would not be easily defeated.  But Beetle went to work on the lock, a bent piece of metal sticking out of his mouth as he adjusted two others with steady fingers.  The lock was high enough that he had to stand on his toes to reach it, but that didn’t stop the halfling, and it only took a few seconds longer than it had outside for Jaron to hear that familiar click. Unfortunately, something else had heard it as well.  Jaron saw the hint of movement in the shadows on the far side of the room. Then the creature stepped into view, a ragged, tainted echo of a human being that was now no longer anything close.  And this time, it wasn’t alone. “Quick!” Jaron hissed, as Beetle tried to pull the door open.  The corroded door resisted, and squeaked as Jaron added his effort, yanking desperately on the handle.  Behind him, five creatures of nightmare charged forward, claws extended, eager to rend warm flesh.</blockquote>

Verification