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Lazybones's Keep on the Shadowfell/Thunderspire Labyrinth
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4882391" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 70</p><p></p><p></p><p>They found Gezzelhaupt’s body where it had fallen, mangled almost beyond recognition by the rolling ball of force that had been conjured up by their completion of the ritual. Dozens of puncture wounds covered his body, including several that made his face an unrecognizable mess. One of his arms had been cut free of his body at the elbow, and they never did find it, carrying the rest of him hastily out of the way of the black globe before it could return on its circuit around the length of the rectangular hall. </p><p></p><p>They gathered with the remains in one of the anterooms off that hall. With the Guardian defeated, the corrupt effects that had been summoned by the ritual had faded, although the black sphere continued its course, rumbling as it passed the open doors leading to the central hall. </p><p></p><p>Mara flexed her right hand; she’d kept doing that, as if to remind herself that she still had it. While her arm had been painfully strained by being yanked around by the dragon, and her shoulder had been dislocated, miraculously the limb itself was intact, with no broken bones. Gral had cleaned the dozen or so gashes the dragon’s teeth had made, and wrapped the entire forearm in a fresh linen bandage. She’s shifted her sword to her other hip; if it came down to it, she could use it effectively with either hand, one legacy of her uncle’s training. </p><p></p><p>But nothing in that training had prepared her for this. </p><p></p><p>Carzen and Vhael were arguing, not far away. Gral stood silent between them, but there was no doubt whose side he was on. She felt detached, even her hatred for Vhael overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of what they’d just been through. Beetle’s voice at her side drew her attention out of her musings, and she looked down to see the halfling there, holding a sword in his hands. </p><p></p><p>“Hey, I found this,” he said, offering it to her. </p><p></p><p>She knew the blade; half the size of hers, it was standard light infantry issue in the Nentir Vale, and she recognized the maker’s mark of Fallcrest just above the crossguard. Gezzelhaupt’s sword, not that it had done him any good in the end. Still, she took it, almost reflexively sliding it through her belt. Somehow it made her feel more confident to have her usual two blades at hand as she stepped forward to the dragonborn and his companions. </p><p></p><p>“There’s only so much abuse a body can take and fight on,” Carzen was saying, keeping his voice pitched low, his words clipped and controlled, but no less earnest for that. </p><p></p><p>“The ritual fluxes and gathers,” Gral said. “The spirits said that the doors would remain open but briefly.”</p><p></p><p>“There is no shame in knowing when you have reached your limit,” Carzen began. He looked about to say more, but Vhael’s eyes had shifted toward Mara as she approached, and they all turned to face her. For a moment Mara felt the force of those combined stares like a weight, but after all that she’d faced in recent days, gathering herself under that attention was not a difficult challenge. </p><p></p><p>“It would appear that we are once more in your debt,” the dragonborn said. He looked as though he’d rolled around atop a heap of daggers; cuts and gashes, some still trailing faint courses of blood, covered his body. One of his nostrils was deeply notched, and one eye was surrounded by swollen flesh, almost obstructing its vision. Old bandages and new formed a chaotic pattern across the scaled flesh that wasn’t protected by armor, which was a large portion of the whole, given the damage his gear had sustained. </p><p></p><p>A sudden surge of anger filled Mara, filling her with its intensity. “I don’t want your gratitude,” she barked. </p><p></p><p>Vhael did not shrink from her anger. “I am no stranger to hatred, but if I am to face it, I should know the reason for it.”</p><p></p><p>“The reason? My reason is not unique, ‘general’. Oh, yes, I am sure you know it well. How many hundreds, how many thousands have you left behind, bereft? How many lost everything they had, because of you?”</p><p></p><p>Gral started to interject, but Vhael forestalled him with a hand. “Ibarion,” he said, the single word hitting like a mallet. </p><p></p><p>“Ibarion,” Mara echoed, that word filled with pain. </p><p></p><p>“I take full responsibility for what happened there,” Vhael said. “The decision not to march to the relief of the militia of the town was mine. My army was not yet ready; had I initiated the march in time to intervene, they would have arrived disorganized, unprepared. It would have only led to a worse outcome.”</p><p></p><p>“Worse outcome?” Mara responded. “Worse outcome!”</p><p></p><p>Carzen looked around nervously. “Perhaps a bit less shouting…”</p><p></p><p>“That ‘outcome’ was a massacre. You were entrusted with protection of those people. The militia held out for days, almost a week, even as the enemy grew stronger and stronger. By the time that you finally arrived, the militia had been decimated. The walls breached. Four out of every five within the walls were dead. The militia trusted you, waited for you. The great general K’rol Vhael, he wouldn’t leave an entire town to be destroyed. Wouldn’t leave brave men to be killed.”</p><p></p><p>“You were there?” Carzen asked.</p><p></p><p>“No. My father insisted that my mother leave with the other families, once the raiders were seen approaching. He stayed, along with the other members of the militia, to protect their lands and property. He was a trader, not a soldier, like the other craftsmen, merchants, and farmers that made up the militia. They stayed, knowing that the Duke would send aid. Believing a lie.”</p><p></p><p>“The general did what he could with what he had,” Gral said. “Trederan was trying to provoke us at Ibarion, draw us out to fight before we were ready, before the levies from the east could bolster our forces. Ibarion’s defense was not in vain. The raiders were caught; Trederan’s army was destroyed, the rebellious baron hanged. If Vhael had let his army get trapped prematurely at Ibarion, nothing would have been gained, and many more towns would have suffered the fate of Ibarion. We avenged those lost…”</p><p></p><p>“I don’t care about vengeance,” Mara hissed. “I cared about my father. My mother died barely two months later, of the pestilence that followed in the wake of the war.” </p><p></p><p>Silence followed for a long moment. Mara’s revelation seemed to have deflated her; her shoulders sagged as the force of her anger bled away from her body. But it still burned in her eyes as she watched Vhael. </p><p></p><p>Jaron appeared from the corridor. Sensing the tension in the room, he cleared his throat; attention shifted to him. “The doors open onto a passage, not too long. They end in another set of doors, big ones, rimned with red light around the edges. I didn’t get too close, but I heard sounds, chanting, sounded like, sent chills down my spine. </p><p></p><p>“The ritual approaches completion,” Gral said. “We don’t have much time.”</p><p></p><p>Vhael turned back to Mara. “I can say nothing to ease your pain, young woman. Evadron wrote that in war, there are no good decisions, only choices less bad than others. War is an ugly thing; the soldier practices an ugly trade. But that is all that I am, all I have ever been.” The warlord drew in a heavy breath, held it a moment before releasing it through his damaged nostrils. A fresh trail of blood emerged with the exhalation and trailed down the front of his face. “Perhaps it would have been better to march on Ibarion with what we had, no matter the odds. There is rarely a day that passes that I do not think of that day. The decision was mine, and I made it. That is all that can be said.”</p><p></p><p>Turning to the others, he said, “It is time to finish this.” He headed back to the double doors, waiting a few seconds until the rolling sphere had passed, then vanished into the blackened hall. Gral followed, then Jaron, with Beetle hurrying after. </p><p></p><p>Carzen remained a moment, looking at Mara. He opened his mouth to say something; closed it. Something unreadable flashed across his expression. Finally he shook his head. “Damn it all to hell and back,” he said, turning to follow the others, leaving Mara standing there alone.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 4882391, member: 143"] Chapter 70 They found Gezzelhaupt’s body where it had fallen, mangled almost beyond recognition by the rolling ball of force that had been conjured up by their completion of the ritual. Dozens of puncture wounds covered his body, including several that made his face an unrecognizable mess. One of his arms had been cut free of his body at the elbow, and they never did find it, carrying the rest of him hastily out of the way of the black globe before it could return on its circuit around the length of the rectangular hall. They gathered with the remains in one of the anterooms off that hall. With the Guardian defeated, the corrupt effects that had been summoned by the ritual had faded, although the black sphere continued its course, rumbling as it passed the open doors leading to the central hall. Mara flexed her right hand; she’d kept doing that, as if to remind herself that she still had it. While her arm had been painfully strained by being yanked around by the dragon, and her shoulder had been dislocated, miraculously the limb itself was intact, with no broken bones. Gral had cleaned the dozen or so gashes the dragon’s teeth had made, and wrapped the entire forearm in a fresh linen bandage. She’s shifted her sword to her other hip; if it came down to it, she could use it effectively with either hand, one legacy of her uncle’s training. But nothing in that training had prepared her for this. Carzen and Vhael were arguing, not far away. Gral stood silent between them, but there was no doubt whose side he was on. She felt detached, even her hatred for Vhael overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of what they’d just been through. Beetle’s voice at her side drew her attention out of her musings, and she looked down to see the halfling there, holding a sword in his hands. “Hey, I found this,” he said, offering it to her. She knew the blade; half the size of hers, it was standard light infantry issue in the Nentir Vale, and she recognized the maker’s mark of Fallcrest just above the crossguard. Gezzelhaupt’s sword, not that it had done him any good in the end. Still, she took it, almost reflexively sliding it through her belt. Somehow it made her feel more confident to have her usual two blades at hand as she stepped forward to the dragonborn and his companions. “There’s only so much abuse a body can take and fight on,” Carzen was saying, keeping his voice pitched low, his words clipped and controlled, but no less earnest for that. “The ritual fluxes and gathers,” Gral said. “The spirits said that the doors would remain open but briefly.” “There is no shame in knowing when you have reached your limit,” Carzen began. He looked about to say more, but Vhael’s eyes had shifted toward Mara as she approached, and they all turned to face her. For a moment Mara felt the force of those combined stares like a weight, but after all that she’d faced in recent days, gathering herself under that attention was not a difficult challenge. “It would appear that we are once more in your debt,” the dragonborn said. He looked as though he’d rolled around atop a heap of daggers; cuts and gashes, some still trailing faint courses of blood, covered his body. One of his nostrils was deeply notched, and one eye was surrounded by swollen flesh, almost obstructing its vision. Old bandages and new formed a chaotic pattern across the scaled flesh that wasn’t protected by armor, which was a large portion of the whole, given the damage his gear had sustained. A sudden surge of anger filled Mara, filling her with its intensity. “I don’t want your gratitude,” she barked. Vhael did not shrink from her anger. “I am no stranger to hatred, but if I am to face it, I should know the reason for it.” “The reason? My reason is not unique, ‘general’. Oh, yes, I am sure you know it well. How many hundreds, how many thousands have you left behind, bereft? How many lost everything they had, because of you?” Gral started to interject, but Vhael forestalled him with a hand. “Ibarion,” he said, the single word hitting like a mallet. “Ibarion,” Mara echoed, that word filled with pain. “I take full responsibility for what happened there,” Vhael said. “The decision not to march to the relief of the militia of the town was mine. My army was not yet ready; had I initiated the march in time to intervene, they would have arrived disorganized, unprepared. It would have only led to a worse outcome.” “Worse outcome?” Mara responded. “Worse outcome!” Carzen looked around nervously. “Perhaps a bit less shouting…” “That ‘outcome’ was a massacre. You were entrusted with protection of those people. The militia held out for days, almost a week, even as the enemy grew stronger and stronger. By the time that you finally arrived, the militia had been decimated. The walls breached. Four out of every five within the walls were dead. The militia trusted you, waited for you. The great general K’rol Vhael, he wouldn’t leave an entire town to be destroyed. Wouldn’t leave brave men to be killed.” “You were there?” Carzen asked. “No. My father insisted that my mother leave with the other families, once the raiders were seen approaching. He stayed, along with the other members of the militia, to protect their lands and property. He was a trader, not a soldier, like the other craftsmen, merchants, and farmers that made up the militia. They stayed, knowing that the Duke would send aid. Believing a lie.” “The general did what he could with what he had,” Gral said. “Trederan was trying to provoke us at Ibarion, draw us out to fight before we were ready, before the levies from the east could bolster our forces. Ibarion’s defense was not in vain. The raiders were caught; Trederan’s army was destroyed, the rebellious baron hanged. If Vhael had let his army get trapped prematurely at Ibarion, nothing would have been gained, and many more towns would have suffered the fate of Ibarion. We avenged those lost…” “I don’t care about vengeance,” Mara hissed. “I cared about my father. My mother died barely two months later, of the pestilence that followed in the wake of the war.” Silence followed for a long moment. Mara’s revelation seemed to have deflated her; her shoulders sagged as the force of her anger bled away from her body. But it still burned in her eyes as she watched Vhael. Jaron appeared from the corridor. Sensing the tension in the room, he cleared his throat; attention shifted to him. “The doors open onto a passage, not too long. They end in another set of doors, big ones, rimned with red light around the edges. I didn’t get too close, but I heard sounds, chanting, sounded like, sent chills down my spine. “The ritual approaches completion,” Gral said. “We don’t have much time.” Vhael turned back to Mara. “I can say nothing to ease your pain, young woman. Evadron wrote that in war, there are no good decisions, only choices less bad than others. War is an ugly thing; the soldier practices an ugly trade. But that is all that I am, all I have ever been.” The warlord drew in a heavy breath, held it a moment before releasing it through his damaged nostrils. A fresh trail of blood emerged with the exhalation and trailed down the front of his face. “Perhaps it would have been better to march on Ibarion with what we had, no matter the odds. There is rarely a day that passes that I do not think of that day. The decision was mine, and I made it. That is all that can be said.” Turning to the others, he said, “It is time to finish this.” He headed back to the double doors, waiting a few seconds until the rolling sphere had passed, then vanished into the blackened hall. Gral followed, then Jaron, with Beetle hurrying after. Carzen remained a moment, looking at Mara. He opened his mouth to say something; closed it. Something unreadable flashed across his expression. Finally he shook his head. “Damn it all to hell and back,” he said, turning to follow the others, leaving Mara standing there alone. [/QUOTE]
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