Broccli_Head
Explorer
Double Aaaarrggghh!
Now I want to look and see what happens in the module!
Now I want to look and see what happens in the module!
Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 37
Light spilled out over them, as the door swung open.
The southern end of the Malachite Fortress was a single huge chamber, easily sixty feet across. Four thick stone pillars supported the ceiling a good twenty feet above. From their summits dangled four iron cages, each containing a captive fire beetle that shed a steady red glow that left deep shadows in numerous places about the edges of the room. To their left, tall double doors likely connected with the rest of the fortress, in the direction of the rooms they’d explored earlier, while on the opposite wall another, single door provided an additional exit. The southern end of the room, to their right, formed a platform raised five feet above the floor of the rest of the chamber, accessed by a broad stone staircase in the center of the room. Though they could not see the entire span of the platform from the entry, as they entered they could hear laughter coming from that direction, a deep, throaty sound that somehow seemed cold and menacing. That laugh was followed by a voice that made the laugh seem friendly by comparison.
“Ah, you drive a hard bargain, Pyllrak! But as always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you, in the end.”
Arun moved quickly forward, forcing Zenna to hurry to keep up. The double doors to their left were guarded by a pair of armored hobgoblin sentries who quickly turned toward them and raised their javelins warily. Once they saw that the newcomers were friends, not foes, they turned their attention back to the events transpiring at the summit of the stone steps. Arun barely paid them any heed, striding forward with the others close behind. As Zenna hurried along behind, Endercott pushed roughly past her, his javelin already up in a threatening posture, if not ready to cast. She couldn’t see the half-elves, of course, but she hoped that they were adjusting with her, moving ahead into the room.
No plan survives contact with the enemy, she thought grimly, remembering something that Mole’s uncle had told her once before, during one of his tales of the adventures he and his companions had had in their travels across the western regions of Faerûn. She glanced to her left, and saw that the two guards guarding the door had grown suspicious, although they had not yet moved from their vantage.
Arun stopped at the foot of the stairs, and as Zenna came up behind him she got her first good look at Kazmojen’s slave bazaar.
The stairs culminated in a flat open space between two of the thick malachite pillars. A short distance beyond, near the far wall, a shorter pillar of black stone was driven into the ground. Attached to that pillar by heavy iron manacles were three wretched clumps that had to be the missing children.
Standing between them and the captives, however, at the top of the stairs, stood a squat, muscled monstrosity clad in black plate armor that could only be the half-dwarf Kazmojen. In one hand he held a dwarven urgrosh, that bastard combination of axe and spear, and in the other, he held a short length of chain that was secured to a neck-manacle holding the fourth child-slave, a young boy. The slaver was speaking with another dwarf, or at least part-dwarf, a man with skin the color of old ashes, clad in a simple robe with a fiery red beard that jutted from his face like a bed of needlethorns. To Zenna’s eyes, there was something just... wrong with him, and suddenly she felt very cold inside as she realized that what she recognized was the same corruption that existed within herself. The bearded man, Pyllrak, clutched a small white coffer and smiled as Kazmojen yanked the chain and held the struggling boy up for examination.
Her eyes wide in horror, Zenna’s attention was drawn to the side by a deep growl. There, slinking out of the shadows behind one of the pillars a few paces behind Kazmojen, appeared a terror beyond even that presented by the warped appearance of the evil dwarves.
It had the look of a great hound, at first, but only for the first moment’s glance. Then one could make out the snarling, skeletal face, with bulging jaws and fiery red pinpricks for eyes. And instead of fur, long, wickedly barbed quills covered its body like a porcupine, shaking violently with every movement of the creature.
The creature’s growls had alerted Kazmojen to their presence, and he released the chain, dropping the boy to the ground with a metallic clatter. “What is the meaning of this interruption?” he asked. They couldn’t see his face, covered by the visor of his helm and lost in shadows, but the impatience was clear in his tone.
“We’ve come for those children, slaver,” Arun growled, hefting his hammer.
“You’re too late,” Kazmojen replied. “These are no longer for sale.” He nodded to the fiery-bearded dwarf, who glared at them through narrowed eyes that gleamed with a sickly yellow light.
Zenna glanced over her shoulder, and saw that one of the hobgoblins had opened the double doors, and two other guards were coming through to join the two already here. She bit her lip, sensing that this was about to turn ugly real fast.
“Enough chatter!” Endercott cried. “Die, bastard!” The mercenary hefted and hurled his javelin at Kazmojen in a sudden motion. The cast was true, but the dwarf almost casually lifted his urgrosh, deflecting the missile with the heavy axe-blade that tipped one end of the ungainly weapon.
“Attack!” Zenna cried, knowing that the advantage of surprise was already lost. She spun and fired her crossbow at the hobgoblins, but her shot missed wide and harmlessly shattered against the stone wall of the chamber. A moment later, though, one staggered and crumpled, clutching at the feathered end of a bolt jutting from its side.
Mole, hiding in the shadows by the nearby pillar, had added her voice to the fray.
The howler let out an unholy screech and bounded forward toward the stairs, but before it could charge a long javelin appeared out of thin air and caught it hard in the joint where its head met its shoulder. Fario materialized at the base of the stairs even as the abyssal creature cried out in pain, caught off guard by the half-elf’s sneak attack. Even as Fario’s missile struck an arrow shot out from a few paces distant toward Kazmojen, but was deflected by the slaver’s heavy armor of layered steel. Fellian appeared behind his companion, cursing as he reached for another arrow.
Arun let out a bellowing cry, and hurled one of his light hammers up the stairs at the same moment that the slaver hefted his urgrosh and roared a challenge. The howler bit down on the javelin and tore it from the bloody wound in its neck, while the hobgoblin guards on the far side of the room hefted their own javelins or drew their swords. The companions reached for weapons or reloaded their bows.
A raging battle was poised to explode.
Then the air above the stairs shimmered, and everything changed.
Light spilled out over them, as the door swung open.
The southern end of the Malachite Fortress was a single huge chamber, easily sixty feet across. Four thick stone pillars supported the ceiling a good twenty feet above. From their summits dangled four iron cages, each containing a captive fire beetle that shed a steady red glow that left deep shadows in numerous places about the edges of the room. To their left, tall double doors likely connected with the rest of the fortress, in the direction of the rooms they’d explored earlier, while on the opposite wall another, single door provided an additional exit. The southern end of the room, to their right, formed a platform raised five feet above the floor of the rest of the chamber, accessed by a broad stone staircase in the center of the room. Though they could not see the entire span of the platform from the entry, as they entered they could hear laughter coming from that direction, a deep, throaty sound that somehow seemed cold and menacing. That laugh was followed by a voice that made the laugh seem friendly by comparison.
“Ah, you drive a hard bargain, Pyllrak! But as always, it’s a pleasure doing business with you, in the end.”
Arun moved quickly forward, forcing Zenna to hurry to keep up. The double doors to their left were guarded by a pair of armored hobgoblin sentries who quickly turned toward them and raised their javelins warily. Once they saw that the newcomers were friends, not foes, they turned their attention back to the events transpiring at the summit of the stone steps. Arun barely paid them any heed, striding forward with the others close behind. As Zenna hurried along behind, Endercott pushed roughly past her, his javelin already up in a threatening posture, if not ready to cast. She couldn’t see the half-elves, of course, but she hoped that they were adjusting with her, moving ahead into the room.
No plan survives contact with the enemy, she thought grimly, remembering something that Mole’s uncle had told her once before, during one of his tales of the adventures he and his companions had had in their travels across the western regions of Faerûn. She glanced to her left, and saw that the two guards guarding the door had grown suspicious, although they had not yet moved from their vantage.
Arun stopped at the foot of the stairs, and as Zenna came up behind him she got her first good look at Kazmojen’s slave bazaar.
The stairs culminated in a flat open space between two of the thick malachite pillars. A short distance beyond, near the far wall, a shorter pillar of black stone was driven into the ground. Attached to that pillar by heavy iron manacles were three wretched clumps that had to be the missing children.
Standing between them and the captives, however, at the top of the stairs, stood a squat, muscled monstrosity clad in black plate armor that could only be the half-dwarf Kazmojen. In one hand he held a dwarven urgrosh, that bastard combination of axe and spear, and in the other, he held a short length of chain that was secured to a neck-manacle holding the fourth child-slave, a young boy. The slaver was speaking with another dwarf, or at least part-dwarf, a man with skin the color of old ashes, clad in a simple robe with a fiery red beard that jutted from his face like a bed of needlethorns. To Zenna’s eyes, there was something just... wrong with him, and suddenly she felt very cold inside as she realized that what she recognized was the same corruption that existed within herself. The bearded man, Pyllrak, clutched a small white coffer and smiled as Kazmojen yanked the chain and held the struggling boy up for examination.
Her eyes wide in horror, Zenna’s attention was drawn to the side by a deep growl. There, slinking out of the shadows behind one of the pillars a few paces behind Kazmojen, appeared a terror beyond even that presented by the warped appearance of the evil dwarves.
It had the look of a great hound, at first, but only for the first moment’s glance. Then one could make out the snarling, skeletal face, with bulging jaws and fiery red pinpricks for eyes. And instead of fur, long, wickedly barbed quills covered its body like a porcupine, shaking violently with every movement of the creature.
The creature’s growls had alerted Kazmojen to their presence, and he released the chain, dropping the boy to the ground with a metallic clatter. “What is the meaning of this interruption?” he asked. They couldn’t see his face, covered by the visor of his helm and lost in shadows, but the impatience was clear in his tone.
“We’ve come for those children, slaver,” Arun growled, hefting his hammer.
“You’re too late,” Kazmojen replied. “These are no longer for sale.” He nodded to the fiery-bearded dwarf, who glared at them through narrowed eyes that gleamed with a sickly yellow light.
Zenna glanced over her shoulder, and saw that one of the hobgoblins had opened the double doors, and two other guards were coming through to join the two already here. She bit her lip, sensing that this was about to turn ugly real fast.
“Enough chatter!” Endercott cried. “Die, bastard!” The mercenary hefted and hurled his javelin at Kazmojen in a sudden motion. The cast was true, but the dwarf almost casually lifted his urgrosh, deflecting the missile with the heavy axe-blade that tipped one end of the ungainly weapon.
“Attack!” Zenna cried, knowing that the advantage of surprise was already lost. She spun and fired her crossbow at the hobgoblins, but her shot missed wide and harmlessly shattered against the stone wall of the chamber. A moment later, though, one staggered and crumpled, clutching at the feathered end of a bolt jutting from its side.
Mole, hiding in the shadows by the nearby pillar, had added her voice to the fray.
The howler let out an unholy screech and bounded forward toward the stairs, but before it could charge a long javelin appeared out of thin air and caught it hard in the joint where its head met its shoulder. Fario materialized at the base of the stairs even as the abyssal creature cried out in pain, caught off guard by the half-elf’s sneak attack. Even as Fario’s missile struck an arrow shot out from a few paces distant toward Kazmojen, but was deflected by the slaver’s heavy armor of layered steel. Fellian appeared behind his companion, cursing as he reached for another arrow.
Arun let out a bellowing cry, and hurled one of his light hammers up the stairs at the same moment that the slaver hefted his urgrosh and roared a challenge. The howler bit down on the javelin and tore it from the bloody wound in its neck, while the hobgoblin guards on the far side of the room hefted their own javelins or drew their swords. The companions reached for weapons or reloaded their bows.
A raging battle was poised to explode.
Then the air above the stairs shimmered, and everything changed.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Lazybones said:
That must be when the "You-know-what" arrives.
rhymes with o...r? Can't wait to see!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 38
The eyes of everyone in the room, friend and foe alike, were drawn upward as the distortion in the air solidified and took form, and a... thing appeared in the chamber.
It hovered in the air above them all, floating in defiance of gravity, a sphere six feet in diameter, with a rough gray skin the color and texture of stone. As it spun in the air, they could see that it possessed a single great eye just above a gaping maw full of long, pointed teeth, with ten more smaller eyes dangling at the end of writhing stalks atop its body.
Zenna felt her gut clench and her blood freeze as she realized what it was. By the gods, a beholder, she thought. She could feel her body shaking, frozen in terror. She felt rather than saw Arun tense beside her, and for a moment she thought that her death was here, that the dwarf was going to attack regardless of the appearance of the eye tyrant. But Arun, born of a race that knew well the aberrations of the Underdark, understood all too well the nature of the newcomer, and stood his ground.
The creature spun in place, taking in the whole situation in a single broad sweep. As its central eye passed over the companions, their magical disguises faded, revealing their true faces, and Zenna felt a tingle pass through her body. What the creature was thinking as it looked at them was impossible to guess; the beholder was just too alien.
Kazmojen and his minions had been taken by surprise as well, but now it looked up at the beholder with what looked, at least outwardly, with calm control. “What do you want?” he asked.
The beholder shifted its attention upon the slaver, but Zenna saw that several of the eyestalks continued to monitor them. No one else moved.
“I have come for Terrem Kharatys,” the creature said, its voice strong and dripping with power. “That boy should not have been taken from Cauldron. I intend to see that he is safely returned to his orphanage. You can keep the others. They are of no consequence. Come, Terrem—you will be safe with me.”
A pouch appeared out of thin air a few paces above the beholder, falling to land with a clink of metal on the stone floor at Kazmojen’s feet. The erstwhile buyer, Pyllrat, said nothing, having drawn back from the scene with the beholder’s appearance, watching the developing scene intently. Kazmojen himself drew back a step as the beholder dropped toward him, its eyestalks twisting as the different eyes regarded him in turn. The howler offered a growl of challenge, causing several of the eyestalks to snap toward it, but Kazmojen let out a harsh whistle, and the beast drew back. Terrem, the boy captive, huddled miserably in his chains, unable to do anything to alter his fate.
A pale blue ray lanced out from one of the eyestalks, hitting the boy squarely, surrounding him with a soft glow. Terrem lifted into the air, rising with the beholder as the two ascended toward the ceiling high above.
Arun shook himself and stepped forward, pointing his warhammer at the beholder. “Now wait just a minute here!” he shouted at it. The beholder turned to regard the companions, but even as it did, the creature—along with the boy—shimmered again and vanished.
For a moment everyone just stood there, trying to grasp the implications of what they had just seen, or just reveling in the fact that they yet drew breath. But Kazmojen shattered that momentary reverie, when he stepped forward, his urgosh raised.
“The deal is done!” he said, his voice cold. “Now, you die.”
The eyes of everyone in the room, friend and foe alike, were drawn upward as the distortion in the air solidified and took form, and a... thing appeared in the chamber.
It hovered in the air above them all, floating in defiance of gravity, a sphere six feet in diameter, with a rough gray skin the color and texture of stone. As it spun in the air, they could see that it possessed a single great eye just above a gaping maw full of long, pointed teeth, with ten more smaller eyes dangling at the end of writhing stalks atop its body.
Zenna felt her gut clench and her blood freeze as she realized what it was. By the gods, a beholder, she thought. She could feel her body shaking, frozen in terror. She felt rather than saw Arun tense beside her, and for a moment she thought that her death was here, that the dwarf was going to attack regardless of the appearance of the eye tyrant. But Arun, born of a race that knew well the aberrations of the Underdark, understood all too well the nature of the newcomer, and stood his ground.
The creature spun in place, taking in the whole situation in a single broad sweep. As its central eye passed over the companions, their magical disguises faded, revealing their true faces, and Zenna felt a tingle pass through her body. What the creature was thinking as it looked at them was impossible to guess; the beholder was just too alien.
Kazmojen and his minions had been taken by surprise as well, but now it looked up at the beholder with what looked, at least outwardly, with calm control. “What do you want?” he asked.
The beholder shifted its attention upon the slaver, but Zenna saw that several of the eyestalks continued to monitor them. No one else moved.
“I have come for Terrem Kharatys,” the creature said, its voice strong and dripping with power. “That boy should not have been taken from Cauldron. I intend to see that he is safely returned to his orphanage. You can keep the others. They are of no consequence. Come, Terrem—you will be safe with me.”
A pouch appeared out of thin air a few paces above the beholder, falling to land with a clink of metal on the stone floor at Kazmojen’s feet. The erstwhile buyer, Pyllrat, said nothing, having drawn back from the scene with the beholder’s appearance, watching the developing scene intently. Kazmojen himself drew back a step as the beholder dropped toward him, its eyestalks twisting as the different eyes regarded him in turn. The howler offered a growl of challenge, causing several of the eyestalks to snap toward it, but Kazmojen let out a harsh whistle, and the beast drew back. Terrem, the boy captive, huddled miserably in his chains, unable to do anything to alter his fate.
A pale blue ray lanced out from one of the eyestalks, hitting the boy squarely, surrounding him with a soft glow. Terrem lifted into the air, rising with the beholder as the two ascended toward the ceiling high above.
Arun shook himself and stepped forward, pointing his warhammer at the beholder. “Now wait just a minute here!” he shouted at it. The beholder turned to regard the companions, but even as it did, the creature—along with the boy—shimmered again and vanished.
For a moment everyone just stood there, trying to grasp the implications of what they had just seen, or just reveling in the fact that they yet drew breath. But Kazmojen shattered that momentary reverie, when he stepped forward, his urgosh raised.
“The deal is done!” he said, his voice cold. “Now, you die.”
Broccli_Head
Explorer
well...that was bizzare.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Well, that's how the module's author wrote itBroccli_Head said:
... Actually, it's refreshing for me to see a foe introduced early in a campaign that characters have no chance of defeating (then, at least). While I wrote my characters as smart enough (if just barely, in Arun's case) to not attack the beholder, I wonder how many parties in actual games assaulted the creature. Many parties seem to have the philosophy of "if it's in the dungeon, we're meant to kill it" (there's a thread in General discussing this very issue). One of my Neverwinter Nights groups is like this; getting them to retreat is almost impossible (I have had two separate sessions where everyone but one person was down, and the last survivor fled with <5 hp. In both cases, with several foes chasing him, he barely escaped, and returned to raise the others).But anyway. More story, and a cliffhanger:
* * * * *
Chapter 39
Arun did not hesitate. Hefting his hammer, and shouting a dwarven war-cry, he hurtled up the stairs. Kazmojen held his urgrosh before him, letting his foe come to him, letting the paladin exert his precious energy rushing up the staircase.
As the dwarf paladin drew within range, the half-dwarf hefted his weapon and brought down the axe-blade in a descending arc toward Arun’s weapon-arm, the side not protected by his heavy shield. The monstrous dwarf had incredible reach, his arms unnaturally long and flexible. Even charging and off-balance, Arun was able to adjust to partially deflect the blow, but the heavy blade clipped the edge of his shield and crunched heavily into his armored side. Kazmojen’s steel crushed through the pounded scales of Arun’s armor, already battered from what the paladin had gone through to get here, and Arun grunted in pain as the axe tore a gash in his side.
The paladin took the hit and continued forward, lifting his hammer and unleashing a powerful blow at the slaver’s chest. “By Moradin’s forge!” he cried, scoring a solid impact that drove Kazmojen a step backward despite his bulk and strength. The half-dwarf’s heavy armor absorbed much of the impact, but it was clear from his wheeze of pain that he’d felt the force of that blow.
“Not bad, brother dwarf, but not nearly good enough!” he returned, immediately launching another series of attacks at his adversary, slicing with the axe and stabbing with the spear-end of his urgrosh.
The others had not been idle while the two champions had engaged in their all-out struggle, but they found themselves hard-pressed and unable to come immediately to the aid of their friend. Fario started up the stairs immediately in the wake of the dwarf, drawing his sword as he went, but had to dodge quickly to the side as the howler leapt down into their midst, its terrible quills lashing out around it as it came, keening a deep, horrible wail that echoed through the chamber. The fiendish monstrosity lunged at the half-elf, its powerful jaws snapping at him, but it caught only empty air as the half-elf darted backward, twisting his body out of its path. Fario slashed at it as he retreated, but his sword merely glanced harmlessly off the long quills that flowed backward from its head. The howler turned to face him, even as Endercott and Ruphos rushed up the steps to his aid.
In the tumult of battle, no one noticed when Pyllrat, the slaver-trader, retreated from the battle into the shadow of the nearby pillar, and faded from view. Nor did they mark the quick opening and closing of one of the side doors, less than a minute later. There were too many other things going on for either side to worry about someone leaving the battle.
The three hobgoblin guards came forward, and with her companions engaged with deadly foes behind them, Zenna knew that she had to buy them some time. One of the humanoids hurled his javelin at Fellian, scoring a glancing hit that dug through the soft leather protecting his hip, drawing blood and a gasp of pain from the half-elf. Fellian fired back, but his shot failed to penetrate the hobgoblin’s banded mail. Grimacing as he yanked the javelin from his side, the cleric of Shaundakul dropped his bow and drew forth his sword.
Zenna focused her thoughts and drew upon the power of her magic. Her most powerful spells were all gone, cast during their excursion through Jzadirune and the Malachite Fortress, but she called upon a minor cantrip, straining inwardly to send its power out to the furthest extent of its range, just beyond the slightly-open double doors. Brows knitted in concentration, she directed the magic into the course she desired.
The noise was faint, at first, but it rapidly grew loud enough so that she could hear it clearly; the clank of armor, the tread of heavy boots, voices. A man’s voice, strong and commanding, “Over here, men! We’ll take care of the last of those hobgoblin scum!” It sounded like a good-sized group coming quickly closer... or at least Zenna hoped that it did, to the hobgoblins who were already turning back to the door, wary looks on their faces.
One of them barked a command, and another ran back to the doors, quickly drawing the open portal closed. There was no bar, but he slid his javelin through the two handles, forming an impromptu latch that would not stop a determined invader, but which might delay.
And with luck, delay any hobgoblin reinforcements, Zenna thought.
But that didn’t do anything about the other two warriors, who were charging toward her and Fellian, their swords drawn.
Arun was a seasoned warrior, veteran of the skirmishes that his people fought in the trackless Underdark, traveler across much of Faerûn, and survivor of the trials that they’d encountered under Cauldron. But he quickly realized that this foe was stronger, tougher, and more skilled than him. He’d managed another solid hit against the half-dwarf, but in turn could feel his reflexes slowing as blood continued to seep from the two cuts that had gotten through his defenses. Kazmojen, on the other hand, seemed to be getting stronger with each passing moment, as if the wounds that Arun was inflicting were somehow imparting energy rather than injury to him. The slaver had given up his initial strategy of using both ends of his weapon against the paladin, instead focusing on all-out blows with the axe. Arun knew that only one more of those powerful strokes had to land solidly, and he was finished.
But he refused to retreat, grinding his teeth and launching another attack. He brought his hammer around in a powerful sweep, holding his shield up to absorb the inevitable counter. But Kazmojen didn’t even bother to dodge, absorbing the impact to his side that should have crushed ribs and left his sprawling.
Should have, but didn’t.
“That’s your last chance, brother,” the slaver said, swinging his axe in a downward stroke that came in from the paladin’s unshielded right. Arun tried to lift the heavy shield to block, but his arms felt leaden, his reflexes slowed by the hurts he’d already taken. It was too late, he knew it even before the axe crushed into his shoulder, driving him down, driving a spike of pain through him.
I have failed you, Soul Forger, he thought, falling. Then everything went black.
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