Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Sorry, I know this is way off topic, but I decided to read through the Travellers SH ENWorld thread instead of the PDF file, so I could also get the reader comments...

Yeah, I had some odd readers back then... (I kid, I kid )

EDIT: 1,000 posts! And a majority not mine... Thanks to all my readers who have kept this SH active since its inception.

* * * * *

Chapter 376

The interrogation of Nulin “Fish” Wiejeron was quick and to the point.

When Cal dispelled his baleful polymorph, the others instantly ready for any attack or attempt at escape, the lean-figured assassin merely shrugged and sat down upon the altar. Even as they divested of his weapons and other accessories, he began to speak. “I realize that you can kill me at any moment,” he said. “And that you are on a… tight timeline. So I will be concise. I offer you any information about the Cagewrights and their plans that you require, without reservation, in exchange for my life and freedom.”

“You think we would let one of the Thirteen just walk out of here, free as a bird?” Dannel asked roughly.

Wiejeron nodded at the comment. “From what I understand of you heroic types, the ‘greater good’ is the driving principle in this instance. I make no apologies for what I am, but is giving me the justice I no doubt deserve worth the destruction of your world?”

There was a heavy pause.

“You would just sell out your allies, not to mention your ‘grand scheme’, just like that?” Cal asked.

Wiejeron shrugged. “In my case, the principle of ‘self-preservation’ trumps that of the greater good, in this instance that of my confederates. From what I’ve seen, you’ve killed most of them anyway, and I do not doubt that you will prove capable of handling Dyr’ryd as well. As for the Tree… well, that is a tale of a different sort entirely, and one which I will expound upon, should you grant me the assurance I seek. Sworn to by that one,” he added, nodding to Arun.

Wiejeron just sat there, looking as relaxed as if he were at a casual gathering rather than a trial for his life, while the companions shared a number of meaningful looks in the space around him.

“If we sink to dealing with them, then how are we better than they are?” Arun finally said. The dwarf looked troubled.

Benzan had drawn his sword, and now stood back a short distance, with an expression like a thunderhead. “Leave me alone with him for a few minutes, and we will see what can be learned.”

“Torture won’t work on this one,” Cal said plainly. While the others had been talking, he’d watched Dana, standing behind their prisoner. She’d quietly used her powers in an attempt to charm the assassin, but he wasn’t surprised when she looked at him and shook her head. Wiejeron’s expression had merely flickered for a moment, and he did not turn around.

“Perhaps I can convince him,” Dannel said, stepping forward. Cal realized that the elf was going to try the same thing Dana just had. Wiejeron, he saw, had looked up and even smiled at the elf disarmingly… great, just broadcast what you are planning, so he can focus his mental defenses, the gnome thought. Dannel drew upon his bardic powers, filling the air with the haunting notes of a melodic song designed to catch up the will of the target and bend it to his own. But once again, the spell failed.

“Let’s just ‘ave ‘is ‘ead and be on with it,” Hodge said.

“No,” Arun said. He’d drawn his holy avenger and now stepped forward. Wiejeron did not flinch, but something flashed in his eyes as the dwarf lifted the weapon to a point about an inch away from the assassin’s throat. “You know us well, rogue, and I do not doubt that to your mind, those traits you catalogued are tallied among our weaknesses. But we are here, victorious, while your companions lie dead in the tunnel out there. So hear my words, and pay heed. You will reveal your secrets, and by my honor, this blade, and the name of my god Moradin the Soul Forger, you will be permitted to depart, upon pain of death should you ever return to this part of the Realms henceforth, or take any action whatsoever against those people under my protection. I do not doubt that you are a master at the art of falsehoods and deceit. I warn you, however, that should I detect a lie, this blade will separate the head that speaks it from your miserable carcass.”

Cal quietly cast detect thoughts.

Wiejeron nodded. “Fair enough.”

The interview proceeded quickly, with the assassin’s testimony broken only sporadically by questions, mostly from Cal. Wiejeron gave his revelations without spurious comments or unnecessary elaboration, and they learned much, some of which they had already known something about, but which now took shape in ugly detail.

He spoke of Dyr’ryd, the shator abomination who nominally led the organization. It was Shebeleth Regidin, however, who had been the motivating force behind the creation of the Soulcages and the fell artifact that would open the portal between worlds, the Tree of Shackled Souls. The companions had already learned about the fell Ritual of Planar Joining, the dark rite that would open the permanent gateway to Carceri using the souls of those unfortunate individuals known as the Shackleborn, descendants of a cohort of demodands who’d come to Faerûn in humanoid guise a millennium past. But Wiejeron’s simple, casual explanation of the process that had led up to the current situation filled them all with a sense of horror and dread. Hundreds of people had already given their lives to the project, without any apparent concern on the part of the Cagewrights of what atrocities had to be wrought in the path to their destination.

Arun interrupted to turn the conversation to the termination of the ritual. With the holy sword hovering a few inches from his face, Wiejeron revealed that the destruction of the tree in the midst of the ritual would create a backlash of energy that would create a full-force eruption of the volcano, and the destruction of not only Cauldron, but a good part of the entire region. He spoke of the process without any apparent feeling for the thousands of refugees from Cauldron who would likely die in the cataclysm, or the tens of thousands that would be affected by the quakes, falling ash, and environmental devastation wrought by such an outcome as far away as Almraiven to the west, and the city-states along the Lake of Steam to the east. Intent upon the need for control over their own creation, Regidin had tasked Freija Doorgan with the creation of a fail-safe, a shutdown mechanism for the artifact, but Wiejeron had not been party to the details of that arrangement.

“Freija and I weren’t on the best of terms,” he admitted.

“Hard to believe she could resist your charms,” Dana returned dryly. Wiejeron shrugged and offered a slight smile.

“An intricate plan,” Cal said. “Brilliant, if twisted.”

“It fits with what we’ve learned,” Dannel added. “But there is one more bit of information that is lacking.”

The elf stepped forward. “I cannot believe that this plot reflects solely the initiative of a cabal of mad plotters, no matter how talented all of you are. Your tale speaks of a figure in the shadows, pulling the strings that tie all of this together. Nidrama implied as much, though she would not come out and admit it. What I wish to know is, who or what do the Cagewrights serve?”

Wiejeron lowered his head for a moment, and let out a deep sigh.

“Answer,” Arun said.

The assassin’s head came up, and there was a bleak look in his eyes. “Adimarchus,” he said. “We serve Adimarchus.”

Cal and the other Travelers betrayed no knowledge of the name, but Arun, Dannel, and Mole reacted quite differently. “Adimarchus!” Dannel exclaimed. “We’d thought him long-destroyed!”

“It would appear not,” Cal said. “This individual is a Power of some sort, I assume?”

Wiejeron nodded. “A rebellious angel, fallen into the Abyss, long before the Age of Man became a dream in the minds of the gods. He is not gone, but held prisoner in the depths of Carceri.”

“So your plans involved the release of your patron,” Cal said.

“It was on our long-term list of things to do,” the assassin admitted.

“We will deal with Adimarchus when the time comes,” Arun said. “The ritual advances to conclusion as we speak, and the opening of the portal may be nigh. We cannot dally here further.”

“I hold you to your word, then,” the assassin said.

“We don’t know yet if you were telling the truth,” Dana said.

“Ask your paladin if he detected any falsehoods. In any case, I have fulfilled my obligation, betrayed my cohorts and my master, and feel the need to relocate far, far from this locale.”

“I have one more question,” Benzan interrupted, the first words he’d contributed since the opening of the interrogation.

“I will answer as best I can.”

“When you put my daughter, my Izandra, in one of those cages, and shackled her to your ****ing artifact,” he said, his voice rising to a shout, “did you experience even the remotest instant of remorse for what you were doing?”

Wiejeron shrugged.

Without warning, the tiefling lunged past Lok and Hodge, thrusting with his magical longsword at the assassin’s face.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

If I was playing Arun, this would have caused a problem in the inter-party relationship! Although as a reader, I just love it !!!

 

[Jon Potter]

If I was playing Arun, this would have caused a problem in the inter-party relationship!

No kidding!

Rule #7 in the Manual of Player Harmony: "Never cause the Paladin to break his word."

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Rule #7 in the Manual of Player Harmony: "Never cause the Paladin to break his word."

Well, not just a paladin. I think all honorable/lawful characters that hold true to their word would feel the same! Although I don't think Lazybones has posted their alignments, Lok would probably feel very much the same way!

This can actually be really frustrating for real PCs. I once had to switch to a different character, because the other players were making playing a good paladin impossible. Well, I came back with an Indiana Jones type of character that would not have had any qualms about what Benzan just did!

I just hope the infighting won't affect too bad an effect on the party. Arun could take the Fish to have him raised or resed.

 

[Lazybones]

Yeah, I've never posted the character alignments, although I suspect readers have a pretty good idea where everyone falls. And Benzan's actions do provoke a response, as we'll learn today:

* * * * *

Chapter 377

“Benzan!” Cal yelled, even as the tiefling unleashed a deadly thrust with his keen sword at their prisoner. Wiejeron had clearly been expecting an attack, however, for even as the point darted toward his eye he threw himself backward across the slab. He could not avoid a long cut across his jaw as Benzan lunged after him, but then he flipped backward, rolling into a smooth crouch. He spoke words of magic, and even as Arun tried to grab him, he vanished from view.

“Stop him!” Dana said, even as Cal added, “Damn it, Benzan!”

The companions fanned out around the altar, with the spellcasters inside a ring formed by the warriors. But the assassin seemed bent more on escape than combat, at least until Cal gestured and conjured from webs of shadow a black-tinged wall of ice that blocked the corridor about twenty feet down the tunnel. Benzan followed with a glitterdustt that filled the passage and a portion of the room with a blinding fog of flickering motes, but the spell did not reveal the outline of the invisible assassin.

“Is he still here?” Lok asked, scanning alertly for any sign of the Cagewright.

“Give me a moment to sort out the auras in this place,” Cal said, focusing upon his detect magic spell.

“You broke your word,” came a deep voice, pitched to echo off the smooth volcanic walls of the chamber, making it hard to determine their source. Cal, however, was a gnome, with ears specifically adapted to discerning fine gradations in sound, and he quietly focused his concentration in a far corner of the room, near the open lava pits. “So much for the honor of a paladin.”

“Show yourself, and I’ll give you the gift of a quick death,” Benzan snarled, sweeping his sword in wide, blind arcs that had little chance of revealing the canny assassin’s position.

Arun’s expression betrayed a barely-contained fury, but he did nothing to intervene as his companions swept the room. Hodge, intent on detecting a telltale sound that would reveal their foe’s location, did not notice when his dagger slid from its scabbard at his belt and vanished into thin air behind him.

Dana, however, suddenly turned, firing a ray of searing light that knifed through the air maybe a foot in front of the dwarf’s face. Hodge cursed in surprise and staggered back, and so he didn’t see the beam suddenly flare out as it struck something solid. Wiejeron’s only response was a muffled curse, quickly controlled as he tried to shift away to another location.

But Mole had been waiting for one of her companions to reveal Wiejeron’s location, and even as Dana fired her spell she threw a small cloth parcel to the ground at Hodge’s feet. The bag broke open with the impact, dislodging a small cloud of brown dust—finely ground coffee from the gnome’s extensive stores in her bag of holding. Most of the grounds quickly settled to the ground, or stuck in Hodge’s leggings, but a thin film of dust hung in the air about a foot off the ground, quickly moving away toward the far side of the room. Lok moved to intercept the assassin, but as he lifted his axe to strike Wierjeron suddenly shifted and darted smoothly past him, driving his stolen dagger deep into the crease where Lok’s heavily armored leg met his torso. The blade slid with precision under a plate and through the chain links beneath, opening a serious wound. The blow was designed to cripple him, and Wiejeron was quick to dart away, leaving little opportunity to counter.

But Lok was a master fighter, and little opportunity was enough. Even as Wiejeron slipped around the genasi, Lok spun around, shifting his weight to his uninjured side as he spun around, his axe humming as it sliced the air. Droplets of blood exploded out of the air as the thundering blade cut leather—they’d divested him of his shadowed silent chain shirt—and flesh. Even then the Cagewright quickly adjusted, accepting the momentum of the blow and tumbling forward to regain his footing. The maneuver left an ugly red splotch on the ground where his injured back had pressed against the ground momentarily, and that was enough for Dannel to deliver a nearly-blind arrow that stabbed through his arm, the bloody head and feathered end hovering in mid-air about six inches apart.

“Damn you all to the hells!” Wiejeron exclaimed, leaping toward Dana. The mystic wanderer darted back, but not fast enough to avoid the knife that grazed her ribs. She wasn’t hurt too badly, and the attack opened Wiejeron to a final counter, as Benzan ran him through with his sword. As he died his greater invisibility faded, revealing a bloody corpse with a frozen look of rage lingering on his features.

“That was stupid,” Cal said.

Benzan shot a final dark look at the body and turned around to see Arun standing before him, his sword held up so that its point hovered a few inches from the tiefling’s chest.

“I’m not the sort of man who appreciates threats,” the tiefling growled. “I’m not bound by your narrow moralism, paladin, so spare me your sermon about honor.”

Arun did not waver. “I’ll not defend the likes of that,” he said, with barely a nod to the dead man. “And I understand that you are distraught about your daughter.”

“But mark me, for I will only say this once. You are not the only one who has lost here; I considered Zenna to be one of my closest friends, and I felt the pain caused by this man’s words. But we will not prevail here as eight individuals. The Cagewrights, for all their selfish evil and stupid infighting, still functioned together well enough as a unit to unleash this storm of destruction upon our world. I will not stand beside a man whom I cannot trust to be there when I need his strength, nor would I offer my aid to one to whom I could not offer all of the fight that I possess. His fate—“ Arun again indicated the corpse—“was ours to decide… but your action threatened us all, and through that the thousands who yet depend upon our victory over the Cagewrights.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and sheathing his sword, crossed over to the exit where the glitterdust was already fading into nothingness. Hodge followed him, and after a moment, Lok and Dannel followed.

“Well, for once I didn’t have to say it,” Cal said, sheathing one of his wands and moving to join the others.

Benzan turned to Dana. “I was wrong,” he said quietly, so that only she could hear. “But I’m not sad that bastard’s dead.”

“I know, honey,” she said, taking his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder as they followed after the others.

 

[Krafus]

Yay, finals are done, I can read story hours again...

I really enjoyed all the recent battles. But I think Arun let Benzan off too lightly concerning Wiejeron.

 

[wolff96]

Way too lightly.

Man, this module is nasty.

 

[Mimic]

What else could he do?

Arun realises that time is running short, he knows that he needs Benzan and his friends to help defeat the Cagewrights and to do anything other than give him a verbal smackdown would create even more of a rift in the group.

Really what is more important at this time, his honor or the lives of thousands of people?

Also considering that they are in the middle of enemy territory, why would he waste tme, energy and resources fighting his own party?

So for the greater good he gives him a warning and moves on... now I sure he and Benzan would have quite the little chat after they save the day.

Of course that's assuming they actually save the day...

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 378

The wall of ice, already melting with the heat of the nearby lava pools, disintegrated completely in a few minutes, leaving the passage clear. The corridor remained empty save for the wreckage of the earlier battle. They quickly returned to the bend in the tunnel where the ambush had begun. The sides of the passageway were scorched black from the multiple flame strikes that had been unleashed here, and the corpses of the slain Cagewrights, hastily looted and covered with loose cloaks, formed dark mounds that they gave a wide berth. The stench of death hung heavily over the tunnel, even in the relatively short time since the battle.

“Well, do we retrace our steps, take down this wall, or press on?” Dannel asked.

“I suggest we go forward,” Cal said, indicating the secret passage where the Cagewrights had waited to ambush them. “We should find the Tree of Shackled Souls first, and remove any lingering defenses that the Cagewrights have established.”

“Including this Dyr’ryd fellow,” Dana added. “From what Wiejeron said, I do not like the sound of him.”

“I think they’re all mad, to some degree,” the gnome replied. It’s likely a byproduct of their interactions with Carceri, and their bond to this Adimarchus.”

“Yeah, his digs were nuts,” Hodge said, with a shudder.

“Occipitus,” Dannel clarified. “An abyssal demiplane, the former home of the fallen angel-turned-demon. We left one of our companions there, a cleric of Helm, who believed that he could rehabilitate the place.”

“Well, if this Adimarchus gets out, he might try to return there,” Cal said. “You might want to warn your friend.”

“Enough chatter, we have something to do here,” Benzan said, slipping through the ruined doorway into the far passage. The others followed behind, stepping around the covered bodies of Freija Doorgan and Shebeleth Regidin.

“We should dispose of these corpses more permanently,” Mole suggested as they passed. “Keep them from being raised.”

“A good suggestion,” Cal said. “Before we depart, we’ll drop them all into the lava.”

The tunnel, which had the look of a natural lava shaft worked to make it more passable, continued straight for about thirty feet before it gradually began to bend to the right. Right around the start of the bend, however, they encountered a set of stone double doors on the left side of the corridor.

“Tunnel ends at another set of doors up ahead, maybe forty feet further down,” Benzan said, emerging from the shadows ahead of them.

“They’re warm to the touch,” Mole—or rather, Mole’s voice; the gnome was invisible again—said from in front of the doors.

“Careful,” Cal said, nodding to Arun and Lok, who took up positions opposite each other at the doors. While the others prepared weapons and spells, the two warriors pushed the heavy portals open.

They were greeted with a wave of heat and orange light from a broad pool of lava, maybe thirty feet across, directly beyond the doors. A path of evenly spaced stones led across the obstacle, beyond which they could see a large chamber. The larger room was adorned in an unusual décor, with woven mats covering much of the floor space, and brightly colored paper screens laid out around the perimeter along the walls. There were a few pieces of furniture in their line of view, including a cot and an armoire, but overall the effect was very Spartan.

“Bodies, hanging from the ceiling,” Dannel said, pointing across the room toward the shadowy far edge.

“I detect no evil, other than the Taint which infuses all of this place,” Arun reported.

“I don’t like the looks of this,” Cal said, indicating the conveniently-placed stepping stones.

“Ah, it’s not so hard,” Mole said, and before the others could intervene she was darting across the steps, popping into visibility briefly at the far side of the lava pool to take a bow before sliding the ring back onto her finger.

“Gnomes,” Hodge muttered meaningfully.

“Come on, let’s not get split up,” Arun said, starting across the stone bridge. The flat slabs were close enough so that moving across the gap wasn’t that great a hazard, and soon they were reunited on the far side.

The cavern looked to be part living space, part training hall. The “bodies” that Dannel had spotted turned out to be training dummies suspended by long chains from the ceiling forty feet above. In addition to the paper screens they found several weapon racks, which held a diverse collection of exotic weapons of the sort used by monks. Lok pronounced the weapons to be of masterwork quality, and soon produced a kama that possessed an odd, almost translucent blade. Dannel investigated the armoire and reported that it contained a selection of expensive men’s clothing. There were no apparent threats or exits, however.

“Looks like quarters for our monk, and perhaps for the assassin as well,” Cal said.

“Well, they won’t be needing it any more,” Benzan said. “Let’s get going.”

“Hold a moment,” Cal said, humming a melody to summon his bardic magic.

“Like the paladin said, we don’t have a lot of time,” the tiefling impatiently said.

“If we have to come back and search this room again because we missed something, we’ll waste more of it,” Cal said, as slowly turned, scanning each segment of the room in turn. “This will only take a minute.”

But it was only a few seconds before he pointed at the cot. “There. Strong magical auras.”

Almost immediately the blankets covering the cot were thrown back, as Mole quickly examined the cot. “There’s a secret compartment in here,” the gnome reported. “Good catch, Uncle Cal.”

“Watch out for traps,” Benzan suggested.

Because Mole was still invisible, the others couldn’t see her roll her eyes at the tiefling. But a moment later the gnome appeared holding a number of objects, the most obvious of which was a six-foot staff of wood so pale that it looked almost like ivory.

“Got a scroll, this vestment-thing, and the staff,” she said. “You want to take a look at it, Uncle Cal?”

“Yes, but later, when we have more time. Benzan, if you would store the staff in your magical quiver?”

“Fine. But let’s get moving.”

They retraced their steps and made their way back down the tunnel to the doors at the end. Again after a cursory examination for traps Arun and Lok shouldered them open to reveal another large chamber beyond. This one was dark save for the light shed by their magical weapons and Cal’s light spell. That light revealed ugly red walls, either painted or some natural property of the stone here. The place was dominated by a huge mound of cushions, a veritable mountain nearly thirty feet across and six feet high at the center. The cushions and the floor alike were covered with a layer of gooey gray slime, hinting at the resident of this chamber.

“Demodand gunk,” Mole said, looking around. To their right a deep alcove almost twenty feet deep held a stone desk sized for an individual ten feet tall, and to their left the gnome quickly identified another of the heavy curtains colored and textured to look like another wall to the casual glance.

“Couple of urns, back here,” Mole reported, pulling back the curtain.

“If there aren’t any bad guys, we’ll worry about them later,” Cal said.

“Apparently you don’t know your niece very well,” Dannel said dryly. “I’d wager that one of those urns is being opened as we speak.”

A moment later, a voice from the curtained nook reported, “Gold and platinum… a few thousand. Looks like there was a lot more here, not too long ago.”

Dannel looked at Cal, who shrugged. “Curiosity’s a family trait,” he admitted.

“Probably used most of their wealth to finance their operation,” Lok said. “Mercenaries like those haraknin don’t come cheap.”

“Nor does the creation of an artifact,” Dana said, her face shrinking in disgust as she pulled her boots from a thick patch of clinging slime.

“This could be another dead end, but spread out, take a quick look,” Cal suggested. “There may be another secret door, or we may have missed something in one of the earlier rooms.”

“There’s still that conjured wall back at the ambush site,” Dannel reminded them. “I am sure it was created to hide something.”

But they didn’t get a chance to go back to Freija’s barrier, not yet, in any case. Benzan found a secret door in the back wall of the chamber near the edge of the heap of slime-encrusted cushions. Lok was able to discern its function, and pushed open the relatively large slab, roughly seven feet square, that sank back on a recessed stone pivot into another short tunnel. This one only ran for about fifteen feet before ending in another secret door, its function more obvious from the inside. Again Lok applied his strength, and the cumbersome portal dragged slowly open.

Beyond lay a vast chamber, dwarfing anything they’d encountered in the Cagewright complex thus far. The place was a great bubble in the mountain, a hemisphere maybe a hundred feet across. Rivulets of molten lava flowed slowly across the floor, shedding enough light to see, but leaving much of the room deep in shadow.

And in the center of the room stood the objective of their quest.

The Tree of Shackled Souls was a warped, twisted metal monstrosity, rising on a trunk fully six feet across before spreading into a dense network of branches dominated by thirteen thick primary boles that each culminated in a dangling black metal cage… the soulcages described by Dannel and the others. The Tree was wreathed in a furious nimbus of unnatural violet light interwoven with tendrils of semi-substantial black energy. Strands of that weave twisted outward from the tree to vanish into the cavern walls above. The artifact was at the center of a web of power unleashed by the Ritual of Planar Junction, and none of the adventurers needed much insight to sense that something Very Bad was happening in this place.

Benzan had moved forward quickly, ignoring the cautions offered by the others, trying to get a good look at the motionless lumps that lay at the base of each of the cages.

“So much evil,” Arun said, staring up at the Tree in grim horror. His fingers tightened on the grip of his holy sword until they were white within the shell of his gauntlet.

“So you have come to the end at last,” came a deep, throaty voice from across the chamber. “The end!” echoed a higher-pitched, demented voice that broke off into a sinister cackle.

Shedding his invisibility, Dyr’ryd appeared on an island formed by several lava streams about forty feet ahead of them to the left. The massive, bloated shator looked down at the intruders into its realm with eyes that burned with unreadable emotion. The symbiant creature, Ryd, twisted its tiny limbs that jutted from the side of the demodand’s oblong skull. It was obvious that the fiend had not neglected his defenses, from the obvious shimmer of magical displacement that surrounded its massive form. It wore a metal gauntlet on one hand, which held a large polearm with a blue-steel blade that almost seemed to scream “powerful magic!”

“It is fitting that you should be witnesses, after all that has transpired,” the leader of the Cagewrights said. “The Ritual draws to a close… and with it, the melding of our worlds will be complete.”

“Complete,” Ryd echoed, with an evil grin.

 

[Lazybones]

Tonight, students, we have a demonstration of how important initiative is in high-level play.

* * * * *

Chapter 379

At the Tree of Shackled Souls, the demodand aberration Dyr’ryd confronted the Heroes of Cauldron. Divested of its most powerful allies, without even the ability to summon additional demodand minions due to the interference wrought by the Tree, the shator was nevertheless an imposing foe.

“You face an interesting dilemma,” the creature said. “You cannot stop the ritual now, the backlash would cause an eruption of the volcano, and…”

“Yes, we know,” Cal interrupted. “WASTE IT!” he shouted, punctuating his command by hurling a targeted dispel magic at the shator that dissolved its displacement and revealed it standing a few feet away.

Its plan to delay and deceive the intruders ruined, Dyr’ryd snarled and lifted its deadly guisarme Mindbite, calling upon its innate powers to unleash some nasty effect upon the adventurers. A canny and experienced adversary, mentally and physically ready for battle, the shator was flat footed for barely a second after the gnome’s shouted command.

But a lot happened in that second.

Dannel and Benzan were both ready, and drew and fired in the same instant even as the echoes of Cal’s words died in the cavern. They shifted their aim as Dyr’ryd’s displacement was broken, and both holy arrows slammed into the demodand’s baggy torso, vanishing into its corrupt flesh with small white flashes of light. The shator stumbled back a step, its body wrought with agonies as pure divine energy lanced through it. The parasitic Ryd screamed as a tiny bolt punctured its malformed body, a gift from Mole’s crossbow. The shator was a product of the dank pits of Carceri, and no stranger to pain, but Dannel and Benzan both maintained their barrage with an almost insane speed and accuracy, the elf filled with his magical song, the tiefling filled with rage at what had been done to his daughter.

Dana, meanwhile, reached over and touched Lok on the shoulder, filling him with the divine power of Selûne. The genasi, well-acquainted with the magic she empowered him with, instantly rose off the ground and flew like an arrow toward the demodand.

Both of Dyr’ryd’s mouths now exploded with cries and curses, as arrow after arrow slammed into it with the force of a trebuchet stone. The demodand could not focus its magic quickly enough to respond, but it saw the genasi coming, and with fury it lifted Mindbite to return some of the pain it had thus far withstood.

But even as it started its swing a last pair of white-fletched holy missiles buried themselves, a few inches apart, deep into its throat. The impacts threw off its aim, and the potent magical weapon sliced harmlessly above Lok as the genasi dove straight in, and at the last instant drove his magical axe with grim fatality into the shator’s ugly throat. A thunderous retort shook the cavern, and as Lok flew past, his momentum carrying him inexorably forward past his foe, the rest of the companions watched as the monstrous double-head that had carried two unique minds tumbled end over end, and landed with a sizzling splash in the bubbling rivulet of lava.

The body stood there upright a moment longer, as if unrecognizing the absence of its driving essence. But then, inevitably, the fat corpse of the fearsome demodand crumpled into a noxious heap on the uneven stone floor.