Tao wrinkles her nose. She can still hear both Benholms and her dwarven friend running off into the distance behind her. I’ve got to cut off the fear effect, she thinks. What would do it? She casts magic circle against evil, hoping that the fear is caused by some sort of domination effect. It’s possible she’s correct; as soon as she charges forward to attack and Kellharin falls within the radius of the circle, the gasping screams behind her abruptly cut off.
Across the pillared hall, Nolin, Kiri and Splinder screech to a panting halt. The unreasoning fear that possessed them has suddenly disappeared, and they can hear the sounds of the battle hundreds of feet away. “By Moradin’s tangled beard,” mutters Splinder.
“What WAS that?” asks Tipic, Kiri’s pseudodragon. “That thing’s really scary!”
“I know, sweetling,” answers Kiri as she scratches him fondly on the neck. “Let’s go deal with it.” She turns to run the other way, and Nolin follows on fiery phoenix wings.
Galthia now knows what he needs to do in order to win the fight. He completely gives up on actually hurting Kellharin, and instead focuses all of his attacks on the dwarf’s shield. On the third hit, the githzerai’s fist smashes right through the enchanted metal. With a wrench, he rips the magical shield in two, and launches an attack on the breast plate of Kellharin’s heavy dwarven armor. Spells flash and sear around him as Agar and Shara try to penetrate Kellharin’s resistance. Next to him, Mara, Malachite and Tao surround the dwarf as best they can, weapons rising and falling as they try to beat their way through the heavy armor. Kellharin utters a horrible word, and both Raevynn and Malachite fall back with their eyes bleeding. The dwarf follows his attack with another series of blows, perhaps trying to drop Malachite once and for all.
At the other end of the hall, Velendo looks up at a huge ebon portal twenty feet tall. Hieroglyphic-like carvings line the wall around it. The metal of the door is completely black, a darkness that seems to eat the faint light that reaches it. Velendo checks; the Ebon Door itself isn’t evil, although its guardian Kellharin certainly is. To Velendo’s true seeing, the door doesn’t appear magical at first. Then he realizes that this is because the magic is so pervasive that it already surrounds him. What IS this thing? Velendo wonders. He debates for a moment, then places a sovereign wall directly in front of the door, flush against the wall. That ought to stop it, whatever it is, he thinks to himself. He’s distraught to see the pulsing black energy streaming from the stone instead.
I see, I think. It’s pouring its power right into the stone. Right into the cavern itself. And Kellharin is picking up the energy from the rock. My wall isn’t going to even slow it down. He turns and runs back the way he came.
By the time he returns, Kellharin has badly injured several of his combatants, but none of them have fallen. The dwarf’s armor is roughly ripped open, but his sledgehammer is dripping with blood. Malachite has Karthos raised, his eyes blinking rapidly, and it’s possible that this blow may be all that’s needed to finish off the undead guardian. Through the true sight, Velendo can see the black energy flowing, and thinks as hard as he can, and decides to take a chance.
“Hang on a minute. Kellharin, why shouldn’t we kill you?”
The dwarf swivels his ancient head towards Velendo. “You can’t kill me.”
“Hah!” exults Karthos. “Malachite, swing!” Instead, Malachite lowers the weapon slightly, and waits for Velendo to finish.
“Yeah, yeah, so you said. But if we could? What happens?”
“You can’t. It won’t let you.” His deep, croaking laughter spirals crazily upwards. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Don’t you think I’ve asked, and pleaded, and ordered? No. I am here while the door is here, and I am eternal. I don’t know why you want the door open, but you will fail.” As if in emphasis, his armor makes a small screeching noise as it begins to repair itself. Already, he looks healthier.
“But why…” Nolin starts, suddenly aware that he missed something while he was fleeing. “Have you been trying to kill us before today?”
“No.”
Nolin turns to the others. “That utter bastard! He calls himself Kellharin, he points us towards this guy, hoping that we’d teleport in and…”
Malachite lowers his protesting sword completely. “We almost did. And I’m not convinced that we shouldn’t.”
“You can’t. I am the guardian of Tuz’Zud. Now and forever more. There are none after me. They….” Suddenly beneath the helm Kellharin’s voice turns, and twists, and takes on a familiar sneer. “You think you can defeat me, worms? I tire of being polite. You’d best succeed, or sleep very lightly!” The voice trails off into a series of congested giggles, and with a grunt Kellharin shakes his head. “Get. OUT!” The voice issuing from his mouth stops completely.
“What was that? Who was that, then?” There is a faint note of hysteria in Velendo’s voice.
“They try to control me. They know they can not. The Door will not let them. They must have fooled you into doing their work for them. That was one of the flesh-eaters. I know the taste of his mind, when he has tried to seize me before.”
“What’s behind the door?” asks Shara.
“A chasm to the lands below.” Kellharin’s voice takes on a slightly rhythmic pattern, as if reciting something he memorized long ago. “Tuz’Zud was built to protect the High Lands from those beneath. With the skill and blood of Moradin’s Folk, we crafted a portal that would keep out those who sought to pass. In every generation it would choose a champion and guardian, and the honor was passed down in the family from Uncle to Nephew. He who was chosen was married only to the Door, but it was a great honor.” The bitterness in his voice is caustic.
“So why are you left here?” Nolin looks attentive, noting it down for a forthcoming ballad.
“My family died of plague, and I had no other relatives who were suitable. The Ebon Door kept me alive, though. Oh, yes. While all of my friends died of old age around me, it would not let me go. I died, and it would not let me go!” His deep voice is raised in impotent fury. “Now I am a chainthrall of the Ebon door, and I will last as long as it stands. It won’t tolerate otherwise.”
“So where did the other dwarves go?” asks someone, quietly.
Kellharin’s voice is flat. ”I killed them. I stalked them through the city, and I broke their skulls with my hammer. The hammer that it makes strong.”
“But… why?”
“WHY? I knew that when they were gone, when they were all gone, it wouldn’t need me any more. But I was wrong.” The bonfire-colored eyes dim for a moment. “I was wrong. And I am still here, and they have left. Those that survived. And still I guard the door. It fears to be alone, you see, so it needs a companion. I live for it, so that it may stand.”
"How many did you kill?"
Kellharin shrugs his wide shoulders. "Two hundred? Two hundred and fifty? You can count their skulls, if you wish."
There’s a pause, and suddenly Kellharin looks up urgently, eyes flaring. “But the ghoul thought you could kill me. It must know what you are capable of! Which means…” It looks around the group, its eyes throwing odd shadows across the dusty floor. “Which means you might be able actually do it. You must! Kill me!” It spreads its arms out, bearing its rapidly healing chest.
There’s an embarrassed silence. Someone clears their throat. Feet are examined. Agar finally pipes up. “What happens to the Door if you die?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it opens. Perhaps it stays locked. It hardly matters.”
Splinder shrugs. “We can’t kill you.”
Kellharin rounds on him, sledgehammer lifted in one hand. “You MUST!” His voice drops, almost too low to hear. “Please.”
Velendo sighs. “We can’t. We don’t know what might happen to the door if we do, and it seems to be keeping back a ghoulish army – or something - that could easily advance through here.” He flexes his mind, and the sovereign wall covering the Ebon Door disappears.
Splinder considers. “What we will do is try to find someone who wants to take your place. It sounds like an honorable job. You guard the Ebon Portal, and you keep the city safe. This place could be great again, if it hasn’t been stained by death. I don’t think you’ll be here much longer.”
Nolin cuts in, a grin slicing across his face. “Of course! I can easily craft a ballad that would make any dwarf want to volunteer! We’ll find someone.”
“They will not be of my blood.” His voice is doubting, bitter, lost.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it. Guard the Portal. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
And within a few more seconds, Kellharin is once again alone. Alone with the Door.
To be Continued….
