Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

RE Graz'zt: I used the version of the Prince depicted in the BoVD as a base, but tweaked him a bit. He seemed rather pansy for one of the six most powerful Demon Princes, to be honest... although as we'll see, his circumstances have changed dramatically since the Travelers last encountered him. The Heart of Axion is a greater artifact that will be detailed in later chapters. The demon "interludes" will recur in between the chapters focusing on the heroes.

I've also set up something special for when the Heroes hit the epic levels... but we'll get to that in good time.

* * * * *

Chapter 463

Cauldron.

The volcano city had narrowly escaped being transformed into a gate-town, the conduit for a fiendish invasion of Abeir-Toril. Although it had survived the corrupt plots of the Cagewrights and their dark master, the city had been permanently transformed by its ordeal. The map of the city had been reshaped by the tremors that had accompanied the Ritual of Planar Junction. A considerable segment of the caldera rim had collapsed outward, opening a gap in the volcano’s rim that allowed the central lake to drain out in a dramatic cascade that had formed a new river that plummeted down the side of the mountain in a series of spectacular waterfalls. Whole districts were just… gone, including such familiar sites as the Temple of Kelemvor. Other areas had suffered widespread destruction, such that as many as half of the city’s buildings were unsafe for habitation without considerable repairs and reconstruction. The city now resembled a giant “C” when seen from above, with the gap containing the new river gorge where the first waterfall plummeted down almost five hundred feet to spray against the mountainside below on the first stage of its journey to the lowlands.

The crisis that had swept over Cauldron was still a very recent memory, but the city was now a beehive of activity as its residents returned and set about the work of rebuilding. Many of its residents had perished in the catastrophe, and others had elected not to return, seeking new opportunities in less tumultuous lands. But most had returned, and they were joined by others; newcomers from Almraiven or the lands adjoining the Lake of Steam to the east. Shield dwarves came from the mountains to the northeast, knowing that their skills would be much in demand, and even an embassy of tall moon elves from the northern Mir could be seen in the city, meeting with city leaders to negotiate their aid to the reconstruction efforts. The new mayor, Ankhin Taskerhill, was putting in long hours meeting with these and other delegations, and already was winning renown as a tireless advocate for the people of Cauldron and the future of their city.

Balander Calloran materialized in the courtyard of the Temple of Helm. The place was familiar despite the new work done on the stables the scaffolds that covered the entire front of the temple sanctuary. The courtyard was quiet, but Cal could hear the din of construction work from all over the city, the constant noise of hammers, saws, and working men and women.

Crossing to the temple, Cal encountered an acolyte who wore both the mantle of Helm and the sigil of Arun’s Hammers. The undercleric reported that “Lord Goldenshield” and the High Priestess had both traveled to Almraiven two days previously, by means of the group’s flying carpet. Cal asked about Lok, and the young cleric said that he believed the genasi to be helping with the construction of the Victory Bridge, in the southeastern part of the city.

As he made his way through the city streets, Cal smiled slightly at the reverence infused by the young man in Beorna’s new title; the templar had resisted being granted this new authority and responsibility, but ultimately she deferred to her superiors and reluctantly accepted the role that she had been granted. Arun had told him that she’d already begun the process of nominating Jenya Urikas for sainthood, a considerable honor within the church of the Vigilant One, Cal knew. She would have no trouble gaining testimonials from the people of Cauldron, Cal thought.

As he made his way through the city Cal took in the faces of the people he passed, gauging their mood and commitment to their work. These people had suffered a lot, he knew, but from what he saw they were dedicated to restoring the city they called home, and with it their own damaged lives.

The wind shifted slightly, bringing a hint of moisture and another, familiar scent, to his nostrils.

“Hello, Mole,” he said.

The air beside him shimmered, and Cal’s niece materialized, to the surprise of a nearby vendor who nearly dropped a basket full of apples. “I would have had you, if not for the breeze changing,” she said with a wide grin.

“How did you know I was in town?” Cal asked.

“Oh, I’ve got my little birds that tell me things, now and again.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you’ve already got half the town under your… supervision.”

Mole shrugged. “It’s pretty chaotic. There’s no thieves guild, not at the moment; there were a few Last Laugh remnants who tried to organize something but I persuaded them that the last thing Cauldron needed now was more of their hijinx.”

“Persuaded?”

“Well, you know,” Mole said, flashing a wide grin.

“I suspect I probably don’t,” Cal said, but he smiled as he said it.

“You just missed Arun and Beorna.”

“I heard; I’ve just come from the Temple of Helm.”

“Helm and Moradin, now. Beorna and Arun are going to reconsecrate it to both gods, once all the rebuilding is finished.”

“That’s not all that surprising, I suppose.”

“Want to join the pool? Me and some of the others have bets on when the two of them get married.”

“Dwarven culture is a bit different in such things. It may take years.”

“Words are good, but gold talks.”

Cal shook his head. “How are other matters?”

“Lok’s been helping a lot with the rebuilding, especially with the bridge project. Dannel’s left the city; he decided he needed to make a visit home. From what I could sense, the prospect raised some mixed feelings.”

“He’s been through a lot, lately.”

“What about Dana?”

“She’s gone to Sigil. We’re still looking for information… about Benzan.”

Mole nodded, her demeanor shifting to become more serious. “How long, do you think, until we head out again?”

“It’s tough to say, right now. There’s too many variables, too many things we don’t know.”

“Well, let me know when… hey, there’s Lok! Lok!”

The genasi was coming down Lava Avenue toward them, and when he saw them he immediately hastened his place. He was clad in plain working garments rather than his heavy armor, but he carried his battleaxe at his side as though he thought he might have use for it. Behind him they could see the pilings of what would become the Victory Bridge, connecting the city across the new gorge. Work had progressed swiftly; in addition to Lok’s expertise with stonework Cal knew that magic had been used to expedite the construction.

“Looks like he’s got something on his mind,” Mole said, as the genasi approached.

“What is it, Lok?” Cal asked, as their friend reached them.

“I am glad you are here,” Lok said. “I just received a sending from Gaera. I need to return to the North, at once.”

Cal and Mole shared a look. Even before they heard the details, they had traveled and experienced enough to know the sound of Trouble when they heard it.

 

[Solarious]

Adding an artifact and revamping his abilities. This sounds promising.

And a surprise for the Epic battlefield? Will I like it? Well, depends on the surprise.

I'm sorta surprised that Jenya wasn't Ressurected or something, but Borena becomming High Priestess is a nice touch.

And Trouble (with a capital T) is always good news. Right?

 

[Lazybones]

I'm sorta surprised that Jenya wasn't Ressurected or something, but Borena becomming High Priestess is a nice touch.

As I recall, due to Jenya being disintegrated within a burning building, they couldn't find enough of her ashes afterward for a resurrection. True resurrection is always an option (but phenomenally rare, even in Faerun), but for story purposes, consider that Jenya's content at the right hand of Helm and probably won't be coming back.

* * * * *

Chapter 464

“I’d forgotten how cold it gets here,” Cal said, shivering as a frigid gust tore at his cloak, causing it to flutter out behind him.

“It is winter,” Lok said simply, already walking across the barren field, snow crunching beneath his heavy boots.

Cal looked around as he followed the warrior. Mole was nowhere to be seen, but that was no surprise; she would be somewhere nearby. His gaze rose to the tower that was Lok’s destination. Eyes watched from there, he knew; the dwarves of the North had learned vigilance, and had they been foes they already would have heavy crossbow bolts sticking from them, no doubt.

A lot had changed since their first visit to this rocky shelf, situated on the shoulder of the mountain that the dwarves knew as the Maker’s Anvil. Only a few days’ travel from the shield dwarf stronghold at Caer Dulthain, this was the site where Lok had been found by one of those surface warriors, nearly forty years ago, now. It had been a battlefield, then, strewn with the corpses of orcs and dwarves. Now it was an outpost that served a dual role. It warded the northern edge of the shield dwarves’ land from the fierce orc and ogre tribes that dwelled beyond the Anvil. But it also served as a gateway between two very different worlds; the surface realm of the shield dwarves and the community of the urdunnir, far below them in the depths of the Underdark. On their first visit, they’d entered the Underdark via a deep shaft concealed within a narrow cleft in the mountain located here. Now, the tower here warded the shaft, which had been equipped with a winch assembly and a miner’s cage to facilitate traffic between the two dwarven realms. It would have been easier to teleport directly into the tower, or better yet, into the urdunnir halls, but the former locale was warded against such magic, and the latter was inadvisable, as the strange energies of the Underdark interfered with the efficacy of teleportation and made magical means of transportation there very dangerous.

The heavy stone door, set deep into a lintel with murder holes all around, drew open as Lok approached it. Cal saw a cowled figure that he suspected was Gaera Silverheart, the priestess of Berronar Truesilver whom they had met on their first visit to this region, when they had come to free Caer Dulthain of the grasp of a powerful ghour demon. It was not a pleasant thought, for that encounter had marked the beginning of Delem’s ordeal, and had catapulted them into a trial that would end in their first confrontation with the Demon Prince Graz’zt.

“Are you just going to stand there and freeze?” Mole’s voice came from ahead.

Cal shook of his musings and followed his friends into the citadel. He felt like he was walking into a cave as the huge stone blocks of the entry surrounded him; the walls were easily eight feet thick, testimony to the permanence of dwarvish architecture. A shield dwarf in steel plate and with a huge brown beard stood watch at the interior of the door, a double-edged battleaxe ready against his shoulder. The interior of the tower appeared to be comprised of a single chamber almost twenty feet across. A balcony ringed the tower about fifteen feet up, where light filtered in through narrow slits that pierced the thick walls. Cal could see that the arrow slits were protected by iron shutters that could be used to seal them from within; from what he knew of the dwarves that practicality was rooted more in concerns of defense than from protection from the weather. Or at least the tower seemed as cold as it was outside; the break from the frigid wind offset by the cooling effect of the massive stone cylinder. There was a curving staircase that led up to the balcony and the higher levels of the tower, and another that descended to the entrance to the shaft leading to the urdunnir settlement far below.

“Welcome, archmage,” Gaera said with a nod of respect, drawing him into the conversation that the priestess had been having with Lok. Cal had not heard that initial exchange, consumed more in his own musings, but he quickly got the gist of the matter.

“What is the nature of the threat?” Lok asked.

“I am not entirely certain,” the priestess admitted. “The urdunnir elders became quite agitated about two days ago, culminating in their request that I contact you at once, earlier today. They say that a powerful urdun’a—a spirit of the world—has awakened and threatens the People.”

“A ‘spirit of the world’… what is that, some kind of elemental?” Mole asked.

“I do not know,” the priestess explained. “Berronar was unable to provide more clarity, and my own detection spells revealed nothing out of the ordinary. I asked them if they wanted me to ask Koruth to send warriors to help their defenses, but they only insisted on your presence. I got the impression that whatever it is that threatens, it’s not something that can be fought with axe and hammer.”

”Well, an axe they may have to settle for,” Lok said. “Come, let us go, then.” He started toward the downward stair, but hesitated, turning back to Cal.

“I am sorry, my friend, but you know my errand in Waterdeep demands that I return at once,” Cal said. “The Blackstaff’s schedule is such that I may not get another opportunity for several tendays.”

Lok nodded. “I understand. When the time comes for us to act, I will be at your call.”

“Don’t worry, Uncle Cal,” Mole said, materializing suddenly and causing Gaera to start slightly in surprise. “I’ll keep an eye on things here. With a Calloran on the job, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Lok and Cal shared a look. “Good luck,” the gnome said to his friend.

“And you.” Without further ceremony, the genasi turned and descended the staircase, his heavy boots scraping the stone, his armor and weapons clattering slightly against his body with each step. Gaera and Mole followed quickly behind.

Cal waited until they were gone, and then turned to depart. With a nod to the guard, he strode out into the snow. Even as the heavy portal closed behind him, he summoned his magic, and was gone.

 

[Solarious]

How could I have forgotten? *doh* If you were to put a very small pile of dust inside a burning tavern falling apart around your ears, what are the chances that you would find any of it again?

Anticipating an explaination of what exactly this 'Trouble' is.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 465

The story of the urdunnir upon—or more precisely, beneath—Faerûn was replete with tragedy. If anything, this made the tale of Udon Oryx more tragic, both for the potential of what might have been, and for the darkness that he brought upon his people.

The Thunder Blessing, the gift of Moradin, had been extended to all of the Soul Forger’s children. It even reached the urdunnir in their homes far beneath the stones. One of the sets of twins born of the Blessing were two males named Udon and Urok. They were very different; Udon was strong and hale, while Urok, while slight of build, was possessed of agile limbs and a quick mind evident even in his earliest years. The bond between the two twins was uncanny, a trait shared by many of the matched pairs born of that generation of dwarves in the annum of Moradin’s gift. Their parents observed that often one would sense what the other was feeling, even when the two children were not in the same room.

But life in the Underdark was as cold and unforgiving as the deep tunnels themselves. As the twins neared their fifth birthday, a pestilence swept through the urdunnir community, a wasting disease that stole vitality and sapped the very life from the bones. The disease resisted the calls of the urdunnir priests to the Keeper of Secrets. Most of the dwarves, with their adamant constitutions, overcame the sickness, but the weakest succumbed, with over a dozen claimed by the illness. One of those who fell was Urok. The child’s parents were consumed with grief, and did not fully observe the change in their remaining son, Udon. But something subtle happened to the surviving child; it was as if the disease had claimed a part of him as well.

In a strange way, the disease helped prepare the urdunnir for what would come, for only three years later, the duergar penetrated the Shield Wall through dark treachery and foul arts, sundering the urdunnir community, slaying those who resisted, and enslaving the remainder. Among those killed were Udon’s parents; his father at the Shield Wall, and his mother in a dark corridor, dragged away by sneering duergar warriors, never to return.

Many of the children of the urdunnir did not survive the dark raid or its aftermath. The duergar were interested in securing slaves for their dark project, designed to restore the fallen dragon-god Tiamat to life. Children were a burden, and only those that could be of use to the enslavers were kept alive. Udon survived into adulthood for two reasons. First, he was already stronger in his youth than many of his kin four or five years older. Secondly, he found that he could curry favor with their masters by informing upon his own people. Over the decades in captivity the dwarf did what he had to in order to survive. Several of his people died at the hand of duergar torturers due to the words he whispered to the overseers, but his heart was dead, and he embraced the darkness that had enfolded his people. He scorned the hope that some of his kin clung to as the years went on, and scoffed at promises of deliverance and of a messenger that the Keeper would send them, to shatter their chains and release them from their bondage.

Freedom was long in coming, and many of the urdunnir perished in those long years. But ultimately it was one of theirs who released them, an exile who returned with powerful allies and divine mandate to confront the duergar leaders and their malefic ally, the dragon-god. Lok led his people back to their abandoned community, and led them in rebuilding their homes and their lives.

While many of the urdunnir viewed the genasi as a hero, and to some almost a god himself, Lok’s leadership was not hailed universally within the urdunnir community. Some resented Lok’s efforts to build a bridge between the urdunnir and the shield dwarves who lived closer to the surface. Some of the younger urdunnir left their homeland to travel among the outsiders, sharing their talents and learning new skills. These sojourners returned with strange ideas and alien philosophies, and in some cases with words about different gods, challenging the monolithic dedication to the Keeper, Dumathoin, the god of the chosen people who had dwelled within his deep halls. The faith of many of the urdunnir had been weakened by their long ordeal, and many of those who could channel the Keeper’s power had been slain by the duergar, who had not wanted clerics stirring up their captives against them.

Udon had long since left the faith of his people behind. As the years after the Return passed, the misguided urdunnir again found his place in seeking personal advantage at the expense of his peers. It was perhaps not surprising that he fell into the lure of a competing message, a new faith that had taken hold of a small but growing segment of his kin.

Six years after the Return, almost to the day that commemorated Lok’s defeat of the duergar, Udon swore oaths to the cult of Abbathor in a secret chamber deep within the urdunnir settlement.

For a time the secret cult of greed flourished, hidden within the bowels of the urdunnir community, preying upon the deep dwarves and their surface kin, exploiting the cracks in the new arrangements to advance the personal ambitions of the evil group’s followers. But greed often turns in upon itself, and in time the cult’s activities became known to those in power. It was Lok himself whose axe sundered the mask of the cult leader (and the skull beneath), bringing low the corruption that had long festered within the dwarven community. Udon escaped and fled into exile, traveling deeper into the dark expanses of the Underdark.

The intervening decade passed swiftly. While Lok fought to rebuild the lives of his people, Udon drifted, his anger and desires for revenge and power driving him, giving him the edge that he needed to survive. He eventually ended up at the drow city of Asran Vok, where he served as a mercenary to one of the lesser Houses. As an un-caste alien warrior his life was of little value, but Udon had long practiced the art of staying alive, and he quickly gained what passed for influence in that place of malice and deception.

The story might have ended here, with the dwarf living out the rest of his years as a thrall to the dark elves. But his accomplishments and covert dealings led him to the service of a powerful drow wizard named Ebbar Thora. Thora might have been an archmage in the colleges of magic in Waterdeep or another of the great cities of the surface world, but in the drow city his status was defined more by his gender and his low caste—his House was not one of the greater—than by his considerable talent. This embittered him, and it allowed one such as Udon to get close enough to take advantage.

The wizard’s most prized possession was a collection of ancient tablets that contained potent spells of elemental summoning. Most of the tablets contained magical writings of a clerical, not arcane, nature, and Thora had long been maneuvering to use the tablets to gain advantage with the priestesses of Lolth. The effort was probably doomed from the start, for the servants of the Spider Queen were not generally aligned to being manipulated by a male, no matter what magical tricks he knew. But in any case Thora’s plans never came to fruition, for Udon, upon realizing the potential of the wizard’s cache, had struck him down from behind and stolen the entire collection.

He had to flee the city for his life, of course, but he’d made preparations for that contingency as well. Nor was his flight random, for when he’d made his decision to steal the tablets, he’d also set upon a destination.

In his travels, Udon had learned a great deal. One bit of lore he’d stolen from its original owner was the secret of a great underground cavern, located several leagues from the drow city. From what he’d learned, the place was a nexus, a rare site where the elemental planes overlapped with the Prime. He made his way there, his urdunnir abilities allowing him to escape both the drow parties sent to hunt him down as well as the other predators of the Underdark. Finally, he reached his destination, the elemental nexus.

The dwarf felt a bit of humility as he entered the cavern; a feeling foreign to the selfish creature. He encountered several xorn, creatures drawn to the node, but was able to bluff his way past them into the inner reaches of the cavern. Here, the stone itself seemed to possess life, swelling and twisting as the very makeup of the place shifted before his eyes.

Udon did not dawdle long. Even his own nature, so at touch with the powers inherent in this place, would not preserve him long from the shifting tides of elemental energy at work in the nexus. Setting up wards to protect himself, he used the stolen tablets to work a calling of incredible potency, further amplified by the power present in the cavern.

The working of the spell took hours. Udon did not call a mere elemental, even one of the potent elder entities that could tear down castles and crush dozens of warriors beneath their massive fists. No, he called a being like himself; one of the sentient elemental lords, an organism seeped in malevolence and shadow. Its truename was unpronounceable by mortal tongues, but it could be called Terror, for that was what it brought with it into the Prime Material.

Udon was not intimidated by it; his spell of calling had bound it with invisible tendrils of compulsion; it could not harm him. It filled the cavern, an amorphous thing of stone that flowed like a frozen wave risen up from the ocean floor. Dark pools of utter black served it as eyes, and they shone with hatred as they focused upon the mortal dwarf.

Why have you called me to this ugly place, it said, its voice an echo in Udon’s mind.

The dwarf smiled. Destruction, he thought.

He wasn’t certain, but he thought he felt a tremor of pleasure pass through the entity. Yes, they understood each other… He gave his instructions, sensing the Terror’s resentment grow at being shackled, but knowing it could not resist the impetus of the magic that bound him here. It would not remain long… but long enough, plenty, for the mission he gave it.

For destruction.

The end shall be done, the Terror said to him. Yours shall be the first.

Udon felt a cold sliver of fear. You are bound to my will! he shrieked in his mind. You cannot harm me!

The end shall be done, it repeated. The urdunnir spun as he sensed the truth in its words, in time to see four xorn rise up from the ground around him, surging at him with their claws outstretched.

Despite being caught off guard, he destroyed two of the elemental creatures before he fell, his lifeblood pouring from deep gashes torn in his flesh. The last thing he sensed was the Terror, looming over him, eager to devour what his failing body would issue.

And so it began.

 

[Solarious]

A corrupt elemental prince! And with dozens of lesser elemental servitors...

Oh, this will be more than just fun.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 466

Mole wandered the halls of the urdunnir settlement. She was battling an enemy more treacherous that dragons or wizards or fiends… boredom. It had been at least two hours since she, Lok, and Gaera had come down from the tower above. The lift had been interesting, especially when she’d leaned out over the edge, looking down the shaft which vanished into darkness that sounded (from the echoes of the wind currents) like it continued for miles below. Lok had simply stood stoically in the middle of the lift, saying nothing for the entire descent, while Gaera had paid her little heed, her own worried features focused on the genasi.

She’d looked forward to the meeting with the urdunnir elders, but she’d been disappointed when Lok told her that she could not sit in on the council, which by custom was restricted only to the People. Gaera, as a fellow dwarf, and a recognized ally, got a pass, it seemed, but a gnome… a guest! at that, was not allowed…

Exploring the urdunnir settlement was interesting… for all of about ten minutes. The tunnels and chambers were all so uniform, and the people equally drab. Their main interest seemed to be work, and most of that involved painstaking shaping of metal or stone objects, at a pace that sometimes made it appear that the worker had fallen asleep. Or so it seemed to Mole, who might have been surprised at the way she appeared to the urdunnir, who saw her as a flighty spirit who danced through their midst and was gone in a flash, before he appearance could even fully register upon their senses. That was when they detected her at all; stealth had become such a habit to her that she blended with the shadows almost subconsciously, even when she wasn’t using the power of her ring to become entirely invisible.

She finally found herself in a side tunnel that appeared to be unpopulated, at least until she emerged with surprising abruptness into a small square room much like all the other small square rooms she’d explored thus far. While the urdunnir work areas had been dimly lit by small stone disks that shed a pale gray light as faint as a candle’s flame, this corridor had been unlit. The urdunnir, like all dwarves, possessed darkvision, and so Gaera had lent her a small candle that was enchanted with an everburning flame. Drawing out the taper from her pocket, she had pressed on down this side tunnel, wondering if the darkness hid anything interesting. With her excellent vision she needed no further illumination, but in that weak light she did not immediately realize that this room was occupied until she was almost in the middle of the place.

That figure was an elder urdunnir, ancient if the maze of canyons and ridges etched into his face was any reliable guide. His skin, beard, eyes and tunic were a uniform gray, causing him to blend into the surrounding stone, explaining her initial failure to detect him. In fact, at first she thought him to be a statue, until his eyes shifted ever so slightly, following her movements.

“Hey,” she said. “I thought all you elders were at the council meeting.”

The dwarf betrayed no reaction at first. She finally was wondering if he spoke Common, or if he was senile, when he rumbled, “I am not so old as all that, little daughter.”

It was an odd thing to say, but inwardly she shrugged; the urdunnir were a weird people with odd customs. “I’m a friend of Lok’s,” she said, moving around the perimeter of the room, looking for anything distinctive. The place seemed to be pretty much exactly what it appeared; a small dead-end chamber.

“You are like quicksilver,” the old dwarf said. “You travel the world, slipping through the cracks, undetectable, unstoppable.”

Mole grinned, taking the comment as praise. “Well, I am pretty fast,” she said, casually twisting with her next step into a cartwheel that brought her left foot around in a circle above her head and then back again to the ground without breaking pace.

“And yet, you often act without thought. Action follows stimulus; there is no consideration in between.”

Mole’s smile disappeared. Had she just been insulted? What did this old dwarf really know about her, anyway? They’d just met.

The dwarf slowly drew his hand out from his cloak, and opened his palm to reveal a small stone. “Take this from me, if you can.”

Ah. So the fogey wanted to play a game, eh?

“I don’t really think you want to…” she began, turning toward the wall, running her hand along the stone. In mid-sentence she twisted and kicked off, flying across the room like a bolt shot by a crossbow. The dwarf hadn’t moved; it was like taking candy from a…

There was a sudden twist, and she found herself lying on her back a few feet away. There was a vague pain, nothing too bad, but mostly surprise.

She snapped her body and sprang up to her feet. The dwarf was still sitting there, the stone unchanged in his palm. “What did you do?” she asked. “Are you a wizard?”

The dwarf laughed. “Come, try again, little daughter. And this time, think as you act.”

Time passed, and Mole found herself being repeatedly humiliated by the aged dwarf. Her cheeks burned and her backside was feeling particularly sore, but the dwarf did not seem to take pleasure at her misfortunes, instead urging her to react, directing her with subtle hints and clues. For all his aged appearance, he appeared able to move at the speed of light when he desired, changing position so quickly that she didn’t even see a blur in between. She quickly realized that she had no chance of outmaneuvering him; she had to outthink him, discern where he was going to be, figure out how her adversary thought and use that against him.

She was coming close, she thought, finally; something new was opening up to her from these impromptu lessons. But as she pulled herself up—no more hopping to her feet, not after the last few failures—the dwarf rose and came to her, placing the stone on the ground before her.

“Your friend comes for you; our time is at an end. I hope that you will take to heart what I have tried to show you.”

Mole nodded. “I will,” she said earnestly. The dwarf turned and walked past her out of the room, but she forestalled him. “Wait! I don’t even know your name. I’m M…” she hesitated. “I’m Clarese, Clarese Calloran.”

The dwarf nodded. “Some have called me Lord Liggett, in the past.”

What an odd name, Mole thought, but she only nodded, offering the dwarf a respectful bow.

“Take the stone,” he told her. “You may have need of it someday.”

She bent to recover the gift. The stone was little more than a pebble, oddly smooth, and it felt cool in her hand. When she turned back, the old dwarf was gone.

She took her candle, which she’d laid aside during the… training, I guess it was, she thought. She left the room and looked down the corridor, and wasn’t really surprised that there was no sign of the dwarf. It fit with his odd personality, and the strange skills he had possessed. But she could hear a familiar clank in the distance, and then her name being called.

“I’m coming, Lok!” she cried, running down the passage back to the main halls of the urdunnir citadel.


* * * * *

Mole's just taken a new prestige class; I'll update the Rogues' Gallery thread in just a moment.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Yep, it might be that Lok is in a bit over his head. Lazybones, I love the additional info on the deep dwarfes.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Wow, I've just been to the Rouges Gallery http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=58100. Lok really is a tank! And Dana is powerful, too. Cal's potential is...debatable.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 467

A faint haze of dust hung in the air over the drow city of Asran Vok. Situated in a twisting cavern shaped roughly like a huge letter “S”, the city had been organized around a long avenue that ran roughly through the center of the place. The low valley in the center of the cavern was packed with fungi farms and ponds stocked regularly with fish, while the higher ridges that adjoined the cavern walls contained the fortified estates of the city’s great Houses. The northern terminus of the cavern contained the precincts of the Temple of Lolth, while the southern end contained a trading bazaar, warehouses, and a barracks where fifty drow warriors donated from all of the city’s Houses provided collective security for the trade center and monitoring of the primary access points where the city interfaced with the surrounding Underdark.

All of it, now, was in ruin.

The broad central avenue was a swath of destruction, littered with rubble that in some cases had been hurled from a hilltop estate torn from the sloping ridges and strewn across the valley floor, sometimes hundreds of feet distant. Drow bodies were littered here and then, interspersed liberally with the corpses of deep rothe, bugbear and orc slaves, duergar mercenaries, and other races that associated with the drow lords.

The gates of adamantine that had fronted the entry to the temple grounds where the Spider Queen’s servants held sway had been twisted and torn free of their moorings. One bent segment of that barrier still held the impaled corpse of a priestess, her face frozen in a look of utter terror, her tentacle rod lying forgotten a few dozen yards away. The temple itself looked to have been almost split in two, like an overripe melon dropped onto the hard pavement. A sickly stench of rot rose from within, accompanied by the skittering of vermin who were already eagerly devouring the products of this gory conquest.

But one thing was missing from this scene of carnage. All of the bodies were of the victims, all of the destruction belonged to the drow and their minions. There were not tracks, no trace of the engine of this devastation. It might have been an earthquake, except for the thoroughness of the obliteration that had been wrought here. Asran Vok had simply ceased to be. Later, the few survivors that had fled the Terror would return, amazed at the complete end of everything that they had known.

* * * * *

Lok’s expression was inscrutable as he entered the cavern. The place was dark and still, the faint sounds of water and wind reaching his ears, echoing softly to produce an impression of great solemnity and empty space. It was a cathedral, of sorts, like the tomb of a dead god.

The genasi shook himself of such dark thoughts. He hadn’t slept much since his meeting with the urdunnir elders, troubled by what they’d told him, and troubled by the path his own dreams had taken.

He became aware of light and sound. Gaera and Mole, coming up behind him. It was comforting to have friends here; although he’d first tried to insist on coming here alone, to face whatever it was that was threatening his people, inwardly he was glad that the two women had refused to remain behind. The urdunnir warders had likewise been confused at his directions, at his statement that he would go out beyond the Shield Wall to face the threat alone, but the elders had only nodded, accepting his decision as an inevitability that was clearly evident.

If only it was so clear to him, Lok thought.

He’d dreamt of the Keeper, in that halfway-real place between wakefulness and sleep. Dumathoin had not spoken to him—not this time—but Lok had sensed that there was something there, that the dream-encounter was not just a product of his own imagination and memory. He had come far since that last encounter, since Dumathoin had spoken to him.

It is not yet time. You have accomplished much, but you are not ready…

Those words had come in the aftermath of their confrontation with the avatar of Tiamat, the dragon-god of Unther, brought back into the Prime by the plottings of the duergar and their deep-dragon ally. When he’d heard those words his physical body had been dead, lying empty on the cold stone in the duergar citadel. But Dumathoin had had other plans for him…

I send ye back into the world, my Lok, as a defender of the urdunnir and those others that need thy aid. I send you not as a missionary, for my star has already passed its zenith, and even now descends swiftly toward its nadir. But you, who have walked the many diverse pathways of the world, will not make the same mistakes that I made… That is my hope, my son.

Was now to be his time? the genasi thought, unlimbering his axe and laying it on the stone before him. The quiet cavern was a fitting place for the meeting, solemn, so far beneath the world in which he had lived his life.

“Mole, you should return to the settlement,” he said. He didn’t even try to convince Gaera; the woman had made her feelings on the issue quite clear earlier. The priestess did not agree with him coming here, but nor was she going to let him stand here alone. None of them understood what they faced here; Lok did not have any additional insight into that, but from what he’d learned from the elders, and from his own dreams, he knew that it was something ancient that had the power to strike down what he had accomplished with the urdunnir.

“In the words of another dwarf I once knew, go stuff yourself,” Mole said with a grin. “Besides, I want to see what it is.”

What is it? Lok thought. He stared into the darkness, but although his darkvision penetrated it, there was nothing there to be seen. The elders had spoken of a vibration in the stone, a tremor that spoke of a thing that was coming toward them, moving quickly and with purpose directly toward the heart of their community. Lok had not been able to feel it, but he knew his people well enough to sense the unease that suffused the inhabitants of the settlement. The urdunnir were a people in close harmony with the stone, and even when the warnings were subtle, they could sense wrongness, even when it could not be fully identified. The elders had been able to give him a direction and a time. The former intersected with this cavern, and the latter… well, the latter, Lok realized had just about run out.

He knelt, drawing off his gauntlet and pressing his fingertips against the cool stone of the floor.

“I don’t feel anything,” Mole said, imitating Lok’s motion. She dropped to the ground and pressed her ear against the stone, trying to improve the efficacy of the detection stratagem.

“Quiet,” Gaera said, her own voice a whisper. The priestess was clad in a breastplate of shining mithral, and with her heavy mace and shield, both of fine dwarf-forged steel, she looked more martial than she felt. She’d already laid several long-lasting wards upon them, including a potent invocation against evil that surrounded her, enveloping her two companions.

Lok did not respond to them; he focus was on the stone, and his senses. He had never possessed the urdunnir gifts that his mother and the other of his kin had as their birthright. But he was of the earth, and on some deeper level, he felt a bond with the stone, with places such as this…

Then he felt it. Alien, malevolent, surging through the crust of the world beneath them like a shark through the ocean.

And close. Very, very close.

Lok’s eyes popped open. His hand tightened on his axe, and he pushed himself to his feet.

The only other warning the others had was when a massive tremor shook the cavern, a pulse like an explosion that threw them all roughly from their feet. The two dwarves fell hard, but Mole landed on the ball of one hand and popped back to her feet instantly, where she bounced lightly against the bucking stone.

Since she was standing she saw it first.

It was as if the stone floor of the cavern had become water, and a massive tsunami was forming in its surface. The wave filled the cavern, the floor and walls coming together into a surge that rose almost to the ceiling of the place, forty, fifty, maybe even sixty feet above them. It was… huge wasn’t even close to enough to describe it. The time it took from when she saw it emerge from the rock to when it was looming above them could be measured in fractions of a single heartbeat. As it came, it became more distinct, with massive arms erupting from the wave, and black points of utter malevolence becoming visible in its top, its ‘head’, Mole supposed, although to give something like this humanlike traits seemed somehow wrong.

“We’re in trouble,” the part of her mind that could still think managed to say.

Then the wave broke over them.