Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
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Lazybones
Adventurer
My Neverwinter Nights groups often ask that question, I think. If I had a nickel for every time a battle ended with everyone either unconscious or in single-digit HP...Solarious said:One wonders how does the party ever survive it's repeated run-ins with total catastrophy, either seperately or together.![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
IMO, that just makes victory that much sweeter. Not that Dannel would necessarily agree right now.
* * * * *
Chapter 483
Ellene fell back before the assault of the mohrgs, dodging their probing tentacles and the punishing blows from their fists. The potions she’d consumed at the start of the battle had bolstered her strength and stamina, but she was still mortal, a living and breathing creature with the weaknesses that these adversaries lacked. Thus far the only thing keeping her fighting was the lingering effects of those draughts, instinct, and the magical suit of elven chain that she wore. That suit had been in her family for seven generations, a legacy passed down to her through her grandmother, who had been a fighter of incredible skill.
Now, it looked as though it would be finally lost, torn apart by undead in the depths of a cursed wood. She was tough, and had already resisted the paralyzing effects of two mohrg bites, but as she heard the sounds of Dalan and Longfang being torn to pieces by the mohrgs, despair thick in her throat, she knew that there was only one way that this battle could end.
But she fought on, as her grandmother had at the Battle of Kevlan Grove. The relief party had found Alyana Aleastralas lying among the bodies of twenty-six orcs. The same Alyana who’d initially had to find a private tutor to learn the talents of the blade, as the martial orders had refused to accept the slight woman, barely four and a half feet tall, for training. All of the slain orcs had borne wounds caused by her slender sword, Moonstream. The sword had gone to another of her descendents, but Alyana’s armor had been passed down to her. That was the armor she wore now, an elegant but functional suit of elven chainmail that Ellene had worn for seventeen years now. Ellene, whose gifts had impressed everyone in a family already blessed with an impressive history, was now the inheritor of the tradition of honor and skill created by her grandmother.
She was one with the twin blades, blocking and countering without conscious thought. That would have killed her, had she even given an instant to considering Dalan’s fate, and the fate of the others around her. The mohrgs kept pressing her, kept hitting her, but she kept hitting back. The one in front of her finally went down, her sword—Left Sword, as she called it—smashing its skull. But three others rushed forward to take its place, and she saw with horror that their claws were red with fresh blood.
She fell back, against the fallen log that Dannel had used as a perch, and which now offered at least some cover from being flanked.
Dannel saw Ellene being threatened, and how the elf woman fought back against odds that should have meant her death at once. A part of him longed to duplicate the insane sacrifices of the others, leaping into the melee to save friends in jeopardy. But Dannel had fought in too many battles, was too experienced not to recognize that the leaps of Ellene, Eldren, and Jannae into the melee, while motivated by bravery and self-sacrifice, were foolish from a tactical standpoint. His wings could place him anywhere on the battlefield in an instant, where he could unleash Alakast against these undead in defense of anyone he chose. But it would only take one nip from a mohrg’s “tongue” to take him out of the battle, permanently. And while he could wield the staff with skill, that was nothing in comparison to the damage he could wreak with even a borrowed longbow.
All these thoughts darted through his mind as he continued firing arrows in a steady stream, the missiles slicing through the air with a hum punctuated by a solid thwack as each arrow hit its target. The song of the bow filled the arcane archer, and his quiver produced each arrow that he requested in a steady stream. He went through all of the magical shafts provided by the elf wizards and priests, the arrows unleashing splashes of acid or frozen blasts of cold upon impact. When those were gone he switched to normal missiles, which were infused with the power of the song, adding to their efficacy, transforming the elf-forged shafts into deadly lances of destruction that hit with the force of a ballista shot.
He tracked the last shambler, pouring arrows into its back that vanished into the mass of its form and passed through, tearing huge chunks of rotting vegetable matter out as they went. He could not stop the thing from pulverizing Eldren, nor the mohrgs that eagerly leapt onto the fallen elf. But there was another who could, and did.
Jannae landed lightly at the base of the tree, tumbling into a somersault that culminated back in a standing position, absorbing some of what still had to be an incredibly painful jolt to her legs. She used the momentum to leap forward, her sword slicing from its scabbard. The shambler swept a huge limb at her, but she ducked under the powerful but clumsy stroke, coming up into a wild swing that nevertheless got the first mohrg’s attention. It leapt off of Eldren and came at her, punching her solidly in the shoulder, driving her back a step. Its tongue lashed at her face, but she had protected herself from evil, and that divine reinforcement allowed her to resist its paralytic touch.
The second mohrg paused for a moment over the helpless ranger, intent upon delivering a coup de grace to finish this foe before moving on to the next. But before it could strike, an avian cry drew its attention back up a moment before Yaela’s eagle flew into its face, lashing with its claws. The attack did nothing to harm the undead creature, but it distracted it for a moment. Displeased at being diverted from its victim, the mohrg lashed the eagle with its tongue. As the bird stiffened and began to fell, the undead monster slammed it aside, knocking it away to land broken a few paces distant.
Turning back to its prey, the mohrg lifted a fist to crush the dying ranger’s skull.
The first arrow struck it solidly in the temple, cracking the bone and staggering the undead monstrosity. The mohrg looked up just in time to see Dannel release his second shot, which flew as true to carom off the mohrg’s shoulder, shattering the clavicle and half-tearing its right arm joint away. The mohrg, knowing it could not get at the elf archer, instead focused on killing the helpless one at its feet. But as it drove down its left fist, another arrow struck its humerus, shattering it. The powerful blow became a weak swipe that barely glanced off of the ranger’s chest.
The mohrg looked up hatefully, in time to take the final arrow between its eyes.
Ellene’s arms felt leaden, and her body felt cold, as though she’d been doused in ice water. She’d taken more of the stabbing bites than she could remember, yet somehow she fought on. Every movement sent stabbing pains through her from the broken ribs in her left side, from a mohrg punch that had hit with devastating force, and her jaw bled from another punch that had knocked out several of her teeth. Thankfully the wounds were growing as numb as the rest of her, and she knew that she wouldn’t have to worry about the pain for much longer.
She’d finished a second mohrg, and Aymie and Lyson above had destroyed a third with their supporting archery, but there were still four more pressing at her. The fallen log offered enough cover so that only three could really come at her at once, but that was small solace; those three could inflict more than enough damage.
She somehow brought Right Sword up and deflected a punch aimed at her head. But before she could draw the weapon back into a defensive position, or offer a counter, another mohrg smashed her forearm with enough force to dent the bracer, driving it back hard into the log. Ellene heard, rather than felt, the snap, and in her attenuated perceptions it was the tumbling of the sword that caught her focus, as the blade slowly fell to the ground a few feet away.
The mohrgs pressed in. She grinned, though with her shattered jaw it looked more like a mad scowl.
“Cub on den!” she spat bloodily, jabbing Left Sword into the first mohrg’s face. To her surprise, the undead’s skull exploded, and the creature toppled forward to land at her feet.
The second mohrg stabbed her with its tongue. Again she fought off the paralysis. But it followed with a solid blow to her chest that drove her back against the log, her breath stolen from her lungs by the force of the impact. She tried to bring up Left Sword, but her arm felt like a lead weight, like the ones that Master O’dan had commanded her to strap to her arms for days, forcing her muscles to thicken and develop. She screamed, and barely lifting the blade to horizontal drove Left Sword with the force of her body into the mohrg.
The blow was pathetically weak, but the mohrg just seemed to come apart, shards of bone exploding from its torso. The creature sagged and collapsed, Ellene almost going down with it. There was another one behind it, but it too was on its last legs, half of its skull missing, its “guts” dangling from the wreckage of its rib cage. It tried to hit her, but only managed to fall over as its leg crumpled under it.
Looking down, Ellene saw the feathers of an arrow buried in the loam, finally understanding what was happening. She looked up and saw Dannel, outlined faintly against the faint light filtering down from above, arrows knifing down all around her, each striking a target, shattering undead bones. The sound of the arrows was loud in her ears, and for a moment she thought she heard a faint melody as the shafts whizzed past.
She smiled, and toppled forward, Left Sword falling from her grasp as she collapsed into unconsciousness.
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 484
Diffuse rays of golden light filtered down through the forest upon the elves from Aldair Kelalei, as they made their way into the ruins of Bryth’an Torgul. They were six, now, leaving Dalan and Yaela behind to mark their latest confrontation with the baelorn’s minions. Dalan had been torn to pieces by the mohrgs, along with Longfang, but they hadn’t been sure of Yaela when they’d pulled her out under the remains of the slain shambler. She’d looked peaceful, without any obvious wounds, but when they’d lifted her they’d found a sharpened stub of a branch that had slid through her back into a lung when the mass of the dead creature had fallen on her. A freak wound, ill fortune, and another death. They’d left behind Yaela’s eagle, which had survived its own encounter with the mohrgs, but which had simply watched them from a high branch as they departed the fateful clearing.
Their healing wands and potions had restored the survivors to health, but all of the elves bore haunted looks with them as they completed the final stage of their journey. Dannel had considered the wisdom of proceeding, but none of them raised the possibility of retreat, at least not out loud. Their encounters on this trip had reinforced the gravity of the danger facing the elves of the Wealdath, and all of them remained committed to doing what they could to defeat that threat.
The quiet beauty of the morning in the forest seemed to mock them. It seemed as though nothing dangerous could exist in this place, but they knew better, continued hyperalert to the slightest stirring around them.
Ruined structures of old gray stone rose up out of the forest around them, almost invisible until they were almost adjacent. The forest had reclaimed them over the centuries, until only the odd artificiality of their shape distinguished them from the natural curve of the land and the dense growth.
Eldren seemed to know where he was going, leading them down a narrow path that wound deeper into the ruins.
Dannel paused at one point to summon a minor magical spell. The result was immediately, he staggered back, dropping his bow as he clutched his head.
“Dannel! What is it?” Ellene asked, appearing at his side to help him. Her words were slightly slurred by the wreckage of her jaw; multiple cure light wounds had healed most of her wounds, but that spell alone could not fully repair the damage done to her face by the mohrgs. The others quickly gathered on him, alert for any sign of ambush or assault.
“I… I’m okay,” he said, as the effects of the spell—lost immediately upon casting—faded. “That was foolish,” he said. “I tried to detect for magic, but it’s everywhere, here… overwhelming.”
“We’re close,” Eldren said, unnecessarily. “Use whatever wards and protections you have, now.” He took his own advice by consuming another barkskin potion, then led them forward once again.
“The baelnorn… what can we expect?” Ellene asked.
“The elves that become undead guardians were among the most powerful spellcasters of our history,” Jannae said. “High priests, hierophants, archmages. The potency of their magic is greater than almost any elf living today.”
“And with the mythal at its command, that power may be even greater,” Dannel said.
“How can we deal with the artifact?” one of the other elves, Lyson, asked.
“Focus on the lich,” Eldren said. “Once we take out the guardian, then we’ll deal with the mythal.”
Dannel, having touched that power directly, had his own doubts about that, but he said nothing.
The forest cover began to thin out somewhat, and more sunlight was visible ahead in a broad clearing populated by several clusters of ruined stone interspersed with occasional ancient trees. Brush covered everything in a dense carpet, except along a pathway that may have once been a roadway of smooth paving stones. Now, that avenue was a tangle of weeds and fragments of ancient stones, frequently interrupted by gaping holes that had been claimed by weeds and dense knots of thornbushes.
The center of the clearing was dominated by a pair of low mounds, compact hills grown over with brush and waist-high brown grass. Between them sat a more cohesive structure, a ruin that still had partially-intact walls grown over with vines and clinging brush. There was enough of the building left to hint at what it might have once been, a beauty of flowing, curved walls and aspiring vaults. Pieces of broken stone lay about, carved in intricate patterns that reflected an exceptional craftsmanship even after millennia of exposure and neglect.
As they drew nearer, they could see that a stone arch over the entry to the ancient building remained intact. The stone had been fashioned to resemble an arbor, complete with intricate carvings of roses that had been worn down by the passage of time. A strong smell hung over the place, the stench of death and decay.
Jannae lingered back with Dannel as Eldren led them slowly toward the structure.
“I understand your concern,” she whispered. “If Eldren and I should fall… there is a potent device in my pouch, a blanket formed of a weave as light as spiderwebs. There is also a scroll, an incantation in the old dialect. I do not know if you can read it, but if it comes to it…”
She was interrupted by a cry from Eldren, followed by the twang of a bowstring. They turned to see the lich standing in the entry of the structure, its arms uplifted, its eyes closed. Apparently oblivious to them, its lips moved in a silent invocation. Dannel saw the arrows fired at it veer suddenly upward as they entered the building; clearly some sort of magical ward protected the undead spellcaster.
“Come on!” Eldren said, drawing his sword and rushing forward. The others followed, but Dannel hesitated as he heard a crackling sound, and turned to see a twisting thicket erupt out of the ground in a wide ring around the ruin, encompassing the southern of the two hills within its radius. The wall of thorns rose to at least fifteen feet high, and was so thick that Dannel could not see anything beyond it.
Trapped! he thought.
He had barely started running again when a massive roar filled the clearing. “What now?” he hissed, stumbling and nearly going down. Jannae, a few paces ahead, had fallen, and she clung to the ground. The other elves were likewise affected, abandoning their charge in an effort just to stay on their feet.
Only the lich appeared unaffected, secure within the walls of his shelter. As the tremors eased, Dannel bent to help Jannae, who quickly regained her footing.
“That doesn’t bode well,” she began, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of something behind him.
Dannel turned in time to see the “hill” rise up, tearing itself free of the ground. A sick smell of rot washed over them, a dozen times stronger than before, the foulness of a slaughterhouse floor left abandoned on a hot day. As the elves watched, the top of the mound split into a gaping, jagged maw, and long tentacles appeared from within the bulk of the thing, lashing out at the invaders.
Diffuse rays of golden light filtered down through the forest upon the elves from Aldair Kelalei, as they made their way into the ruins of Bryth’an Torgul. They were six, now, leaving Dalan and Yaela behind to mark their latest confrontation with the baelorn’s minions. Dalan had been torn to pieces by the mohrgs, along with Longfang, but they hadn’t been sure of Yaela when they’d pulled her out under the remains of the slain shambler. She’d looked peaceful, without any obvious wounds, but when they’d lifted her they’d found a sharpened stub of a branch that had slid through her back into a lung when the mass of the dead creature had fallen on her. A freak wound, ill fortune, and another death. They’d left behind Yaela’s eagle, which had survived its own encounter with the mohrgs, but which had simply watched them from a high branch as they departed the fateful clearing.
Their healing wands and potions had restored the survivors to health, but all of the elves bore haunted looks with them as they completed the final stage of their journey. Dannel had considered the wisdom of proceeding, but none of them raised the possibility of retreat, at least not out loud. Their encounters on this trip had reinforced the gravity of the danger facing the elves of the Wealdath, and all of them remained committed to doing what they could to defeat that threat.
The quiet beauty of the morning in the forest seemed to mock them. It seemed as though nothing dangerous could exist in this place, but they knew better, continued hyperalert to the slightest stirring around them.
Ruined structures of old gray stone rose up out of the forest around them, almost invisible until they were almost adjacent. The forest had reclaimed them over the centuries, until only the odd artificiality of their shape distinguished them from the natural curve of the land and the dense growth.
Eldren seemed to know where he was going, leading them down a narrow path that wound deeper into the ruins.
Dannel paused at one point to summon a minor magical spell. The result was immediately, he staggered back, dropping his bow as he clutched his head.
“Dannel! What is it?” Ellene asked, appearing at his side to help him. Her words were slightly slurred by the wreckage of her jaw; multiple cure light wounds had healed most of her wounds, but that spell alone could not fully repair the damage done to her face by the mohrgs. The others quickly gathered on him, alert for any sign of ambush or assault.
“I… I’m okay,” he said, as the effects of the spell—lost immediately upon casting—faded. “That was foolish,” he said. “I tried to detect for magic, but it’s everywhere, here… overwhelming.”
“We’re close,” Eldren said, unnecessarily. “Use whatever wards and protections you have, now.” He took his own advice by consuming another barkskin potion, then led them forward once again.
“The baelnorn… what can we expect?” Ellene asked.
“The elves that become undead guardians were among the most powerful spellcasters of our history,” Jannae said. “High priests, hierophants, archmages. The potency of their magic is greater than almost any elf living today.”
“And with the mythal at its command, that power may be even greater,” Dannel said.
“How can we deal with the artifact?” one of the other elves, Lyson, asked.
“Focus on the lich,” Eldren said. “Once we take out the guardian, then we’ll deal with the mythal.”
Dannel, having touched that power directly, had his own doubts about that, but he said nothing.
The forest cover began to thin out somewhat, and more sunlight was visible ahead in a broad clearing populated by several clusters of ruined stone interspersed with occasional ancient trees. Brush covered everything in a dense carpet, except along a pathway that may have once been a roadway of smooth paving stones. Now, that avenue was a tangle of weeds and fragments of ancient stones, frequently interrupted by gaping holes that had been claimed by weeds and dense knots of thornbushes.
The center of the clearing was dominated by a pair of low mounds, compact hills grown over with brush and waist-high brown grass. Between them sat a more cohesive structure, a ruin that still had partially-intact walls grown over with vines and clinging brush. There was enough of the building left to hint at what it might have once been, a beauty of flowing, curved walls and aspiring vaults. Pieces of broken stone lay about, carved in intricate patterns that reflected an exceptional craftsmanship even after millennia of exposure and neglect.
As they drew nearer, they could see that a stone arch over the entry to the ancient building remained intact. The stone had been fashioned to resemble an arbor, complete with intricate carvings of roses that had been worn down by the passage of time. A strong smell hung over the place, the stench of death and decay.
Jannae lingered back with Dannel as Eldren led them slowly toward the structure.
“I understand your concern,” she whispered. “If Eldren and I should fall… there is a potent device in my pouch, a blanket formed of a weave as light as spiderwebs. There is also a scroll, an incantation in the old dialect. I do not know if you can read it, but if it comes to it…”
She was interrupted by a cry from Eldren, followed by the twang of a bowstring. They turned to see the lich standing in the entry of the structure, its arms uplifted, its eyes closed. Apparently oblivious to them, its lips moved in a silent invocation. Dannel saw the arrows fired at it veer suddenly upward as they entered the building; clearly some sort of magical ward protected the undead spellcaster.
“Come on!” Eldren said, drawing his sword and rushing forward. The others followed, but Dannel hesitated as he heard a crackling sound, and turned to see a twisting thicket erupt out of the ground in a wide ring around the ruin, encompassing the southern of the two hills within its radius. The wall of thorns rose to at least fifteen feet high, and was so thick that Dannel could not see anything beyond it.
Trapped! he thought.
He had barely started running again when a massive roar filled the clearing. “What now?” he hissed, stumbling and nearly going down. Jannae, a few paces ahead, had fallen, and she clung to the ground. The other elves were likewise affected, abandoning their charge in an effort just to stay on their feet.
Only the lich appeared unaffected, secure within the walls of his shelter. As the tremors eased, Dannel bent to help Jannae, who quickly regained her footing.
“That doesn’t bode well,” she began, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of something behind him.
Dannel turned in time to see the “hill” rise up, tearing itself free of the ground. A sick smell of rot washed over them, a dozen times stronger than before, the foulness of a slaughterhouse floor left abandoned on a hot day. As the elves watched, the top of the mound split into a gaping, jagged maw, and long tentacles appeared from within the bulk of the thing, lashing out at the invaders.
Lazybones
Adventurer
And you shall have one!HugeOgre said:
* * * * *
Chapter 485
As the gargantuan ghoul tendriculos rose up out of the ground, revealing the full insane scale of its form to the elves, Dannel surrounded himself with the magic of his song. Empowered by the expeditious retreat spell, he did exactly that, grabbing Jannae and running swiftly toward the far side of the ruin. One of the tendriculos’s tendrils smacked the ground where the two elves had been standing a heartbeat before, but they were able to make their escape from its reach before it could fully mobilize itself from its entrenched position.
Of course, they could not go very far, given the constraints of the lich’s conjured wall of thorns.
With their main adversary apparently protected against their arrows, Ellene, Aymie and Lyson turned their bows toward this new threat. The elves held their ground and unleashed a potent barrage, but their arrows simply vanished within the incredible bulk of the creature.
Eldren, on recovering his feet, focused upon the lich. Charging into the arch that marked the entry of the ruin, he slammed hard into an invisible barrier, and fell back. He cautiously stepped forward and probed the obstacle; while his sword passed through, his hand was blocked by what felt like an utterly smooth, impermeable wall of force.
The lich lowered its arms, and met Eldren’s gaze with its own undying stare.
A scream sounded behind the ranger.
Eldren snarled, and turned back to his companions.
The tendriculos moved ponderously, its own bulk hindering its movements. But its long tendrils gave it an incredible reach, demonstrated as it lashed out and caught up Lyson by the ankles. The elf screamed as the creature lifted it into the air, but the sound died as the fell power of its undead touch froze his muscles. The ghoul tendriculos lifted the stiffened ranger up above its huge body, and dropped him into its waiting jaws. The elf just disappeared within, vanishing with finality.
“Lyson!” Aymie screamed, unable to do anything to stop it, except to fit a pair of arrows to her bow and fire both into the body of the undead-plant combination. The missiles tore into its body like all the others, but the elves could see that the injuries that it was suffering were quickly closing, healing as the monster regenerated.
“It is vulnerable to blunt weapons!” Eldren shouted, his extensive woodlore including knowledge of such creatures, although he’d never before faced one that was a ghoul as well as a plant. Such things were… impossible, he would have said, but here they were dealing with the raw power of an out-of-control mythal, and lore that had been ages lost when his great-grandparents had lived.
Mayhap that knowledge, that power, was better lost.
Despite Eldren’s knowledge, the fact was that nearly all of the elves’ weapons inflicted slashing or piercing damage. Eldren improvised, leaping forward as one of the tendrils lashed out at his back, narrowly avoiding a hit and coming up into a roll that brought him within range of the creature’s body. Striking with the flat of his blade, he managed to smack it solidly, crushing the vegetable matter that made up its leathery hide, sending a quiver through the creature’s ample body. Sensitive as it was to such blows, the tendriculos immediately focused its attention upon the ranger, slamming him with both tentacles and rolling forward until it had almost toppled onto him, the huge maw coming around with the rotation of its body, until it could seize the ranger with a single huge bite.
Dannel was running forward, Alakast coming into his hand as he ran, his still-effective spell adding speed to his movements, his boots seeming to barely touch the ground with each preternaturally long stride. Ellene had drawn out her own blades, but Aymie looked uncertain, her skills with her sword inferior to her efficacy with the bow.
“Keep firing, overwhelm its regeneration!” Dannel shouted at them, at all of them, for he knew that Jannae was coming up behind him, and knew that her own sword would be of little use against the massive creature. He spared a glance back at the ruin, wondering why there had been no more magical assault from that quarter. But the arch was empty, the baelnorn gone.
That respite was welcome, but it still left them facing the undead horror.
Eldren slammed the flat of his blade down on the tendriculos’s maw as he darted back, the massive opening closing on open air with a grinding snap. The ranger tried to evade, to gain a new position from which to strike, but one of the tendrils slapped him on the leg, knocking him off-balance. The creature took advantage, and wrapped the other tendril around his neck, jerking him back into the waiting opening where Lyson had vanished moments ago. The elf struggled and kicked, somehow summoning the fortitude to resist the paralytic touch of the creature, but he could not avoid being hurled into that dark gap.
Dannel was there an instant later, too late to stop it, but able to lash out with a heavy blow that smacked solidly into its side. The tendriculos, arrows sprouting from its body as Aymie kept up her fire, shifted to face him. He dodged a tentacle that nearly caught him in the forehead like a bullwhip, but a second twined around his left ankle, pulling him roughly down. It started to lift him, but before it could add the arcane archer to its list of swallowed foes Ellene was there, hacking at the dense vines with her swords. Right Sword cut deep into the tendril, which loosened enough to deposit the elf roughly upon the ground.
Jannae arrived a few moments later, eschewing a martial attack for a simple touch attack, unleashing a cure moderate wounds into the monster. The blue glow burned at its hide like fire, and it slammed a tendril across her side, knocking her sprawling—and, unfortunately, overcoming her resistance, paralyzing her.
Dannel, pulling himself back up to his feet, launched an all-out attack at the creature, trying to draw it toward him, and away from the helpless priestess. “We have to get Eldren and Lyson out of there!” Ellene said, hacking at the body of the tendriculos, although the wide gashes she opened began almost immediately to close.
“I know!” Dannel replied. His blows with Alakast were doing damage, but he lacked the sheer destructive power of Lok or Arun. Either of the warriors would have made short work of this foe, the elf thought… but they were not here, so he had to make the best of what he had at hand.
A tendril came sweeping down at him. He saw it coming, and leapt aside… but the creature’s maw was coming down again, its huge bulk shifting forward to engulf the elf. He darted out of the way of that bite, but the creature’s momentum carried it into him nevertheless, knocking him roughly back. The elf spun and slammed his staff hard into the monster’s body, its sick green hide turning gray as the blow destroyed its tissues.
Ellene had dragged Jannae out from under the path of the surging monster, and now rushed in again, her swords at the ready. Aymie continued to fire her bow in a staccato rhythm, the shafts sinking into its body, forcing it to maintain the energy of regenerating the punctures in its body.
Dannel lifted his magical staff again, but a tendril came around and snared the weapon, twisting around the long shaft and one of the arms that held it. The elf felt the sickly chill of paralysis creep into his body through the touch, but gritting his teeth he was able to resist that numbing flow. But even though he retained control over his muscles, he was unable to keep from being lifted off his feet by the creature’s incredible strength. For an instant he was hurtling through the air, high above the battlefield, the landscape rushing past his vision in a blur.
And then he was descending, straight toward the open maw that gaped wide to accept him.
Solarious
Explorer
Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't elves immune to the paralysis of ghouls, leafy or otherwise?
Of course, this one is probably a ghast, whom paralysis elves are not immune to. Isn't that right, Lazy?
Thus, the entire party was quickly devoured and digested in the approved manner and fashion. Elves, not being particularly filling, left the ruins to gulp down the rest of the elven community, depopulating the entire forest of the pesky tree-huggers. Peace and Good had won once more, and a happy ending was had by all.
The End.
Of course, this one is probably a ghast, whom paralysis elves are not immune to. Isn't that right, Lazy?
Thus, the entire party was quickly devoured and digested in the approved manner and fashion. Elves, not being particularly filling, left the ruins to gulp down the rest of the elven community, depopulating the entire forest of the pesky tree-huggers. Peace and Good had won once more, and a happy ending was had by all.
The End.
Lazybones
Adventurer
True on the ghoul paralysis; consider it a ghast then (even nastier).Solarious said:Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't elves immune to the paralysis of ghouls, leafy or otherwise?
Of course, this one is probably a ghast, whom paralysis elves are not immune to. Isn't that right, Lazy?
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 486
Dannel only had an instant to react. Calling upon his magic, he summoned a feather fall. His descent slowed, although he was only a few strides from the huge opening of the tendriculos’s “mouth”. The undead plant’s maw snapped shut prematurely, sending a gust of air sick with the stench of rot up at the elf. But his respite was momentary, as the creature reared up, lifting the upper half of its body to meet the descending elf, intent on engulfing this prey, one way or another.
There wasn’t anywhere for him to go; the spell did not give him control over the direction of his fall. The tendriculos’s maw opened wide again, four, six, eight feet across, leaving no option but the dark hole deep within the creature.
Dannel saw the jagged-edged opening clench, and as it started to snap shut, he set Alakast in its path.
The tendriculos’s powerful jaws closed on the staff, and Dannel’s descent abruptly stopped as the creature impaled itself on both ends of the weapon. One side of the staff sank two feet into its body, while the other caught on a dense ridge of muscular fiber that rimmed the interior of the maw, tearing half of the creature’s jaw construction from its moorings. The creature quivered and plunged forward, and Dannel, already gagging from the stench of the monster’s insides, could only hang on as it pitched around on its axis, falling for a full second before it came to a sudden and abrupt stop. Dannel was slammed against the insides of its mouth opening, a spongy mass of fibers that oozed greenish sludge. The stuff burned his hands, but the tendriculos had stopped moving, and he was able to get up. Alakast was still wedged into place in its jaws, supporting a narrow opening that he was able to crawl through.
Ellene was there to help him extract himself. It would take more work to recover his weapon, but for the moment, verifying that the creature was indeed dead—well, more dead—seemed more prudent.
“We need to cut into it, get Eldren and Lyson,” he began, but Ellene pointed to the side of the creature, where a long gash was visible in its bulbous body. Aymie was helping Eldren, who was covered in the acidic green goo, drag Lyson’s limp form through the gap.
“Eldren went at it from the inside while you were slamming at it from without,” Ellene said. Her words were barely understandable, her jaw a swollen red mess, but Dannel found her presence a welcome sight. The tendriculos did not appear to be regenerating further, so he glanced back at the ruin, and the empty arch.
“It did not attack us,” Ellene said. “Do you think it’s waiting in there for us?”
Dannel nodded. He wiped his face, pulling away some of the sticky green muck. Ellene handed him a clean rag, and he nodded in thanks. He felt spent, and for a moment he could not speak.
Eldren came over to him. If he was a mess, the ranger looked like death personified. The flesh of his face, neck, and hands bled freely where the acidic ooze inside the tendriculos had burned it. It was a miracle that he’d been able to resist its paralysis, Dannel thought, but then he saw the fire that burned in the elf’s eyes, the determination that had taken on an almost frightening intensity. He walked under his own power, Aymie having gone to help Jannae. Lyson remained where they’d laid him; that he was dead was obvious even before Dannel got a good look at his face.
“Once the paralysis wears off, we will proceed inside,” Eldren said.
Dannel found a sudden and irrational anger rise up inside him. “Nice of you to show such concern,” he snapped, glancing meaningfully at Jannae.
Eldren’s gaze looked like it could have frozen water. “Do not speak of what you know nothing. We are here to complete a task, and that gets first priority—above anything. Everyone here knows that. Lyson knew it, and Caylen, and Jovran, and Oloran, and Dalan, and Yaela. Think of the elves at Korul Ulgor, and think of the same at Aldair Kelalei, and throughout the wood.”
Dannel thought of the ranger leaping down to aid his companions against the shamblers, and the way he’d rushed to Jannae’s defense against the wraiths. “I spoke hastily,” he said. “I think we’re all near the limits of endurance.”
Eldren took a breath. “We will have to push that limit a little, cousin,” he said quietly. Turning, pain evident in every movement, he turned and walked back over to Aymie and Jannae, limping slightly.
They distributed the last of their healing—a few potions, a few cure light wounds from Jannae, once she’d recovered from the tendriculos’s paralysis. It was not enough to fully restore the injuries suffered in the battle, but it would have to be enough.
During their preparations nothing stirred from within the ruin.
The five elves gathered before the arch.
“Let’s finish this,” Eldren said, stepping forward into the ruin.
The transition through the arch was mostly symbolic; the walls of the ruin were irregular and rose barely to chest height at their tallest, so they did not feel that separated from the world outside. The stones that made up the floor near the entry were cracked and seeded with intrusive vegetation, but as they penetrated further inside their condition improved, though still worn by time and exposure. Runes and other designs had once been carved into the floor, it appeared, but now only faint outlines were left.
They continued through other remnants of rooms. At several points they had to detour around massive piles of fallen rubble, including columns up to five feet thick and thirty feet long, now reduced to broken slabs of white marble. Dannel began to think that through some trick of perception the interior of the place had to be bigger than its outward appearance; by his judgment they should have already exited out the rear.
And then they saw the portal up ahead.
It was another arch, but it made the one outside seem feeble by comparison. It was not unduly high, reaching an apex perhaps eight feet above the smooth stones of the floor, but it stretched at least fifteen feet across. The arch was formed of white stone, as pure as new-fallen snow, fashioned into a weave of twisting vines interwoven into a strand about two feet across. The arch stood unsupported, and architecturally should have collapsed under its own weight. They could see the chamber beyond it, yet another unremarkable ruined hall, but there was an odd haze between them, like a bit of heat-mirage rising off of sun-baked pavement.
Jannae reached down and unfastened the clasps on her pouch. Eldren glanced at her, and she nodded.
The elves stepped forward, through the arch. Dannel felt a tingle pass across his skin, followed by a sudden wave of nausea.
He looked around. They were through, and behind them there was the portal, filled with a haze through which he could see the ruins outside. But their immediate surroundings had changed.
The walls were still cracked and uneven, of the same white marble and gray granite of the ruin outside. But the sky, the sun, the soft breeze of the day… all of that was gone, replaced by a neutral gray haze that surrounded the chamber like a translucent dome. Ahead of them broad stone steps led down into a sunken hall, its floor maybe seven or eight feet below their current level, and that was new too.
They walked forward slowly, silently, as if in a dream. Dannel felt a lurching twist that passed through his body… not like a wave of sickness per se, but more like a fundamental wrongness against which his body rebelled. The others felt it too, he could see.
The floor of the hall was covered by smashed pieces of stone of varying shapes and colors. It was as if a frieze on the ceiling had come collapsing down at some point… but above, there was only the gray dome. Amorphous forms on stunted pillars surrounded the hall at even intervals. Perhaps statues once, now all that was left was shattered remnants that might have been feet; it was impossible to tell. Eldren lifted his sword, indicating a wide doorway that lay between two of those figures, through which an odd light emanated.
They pressed on, trying to avoid the loose rock that crunched loudly beneath their boots, elven magic notwithstanding.
The doorway opened quickly onto a long chamber, maybe twenty feet across and twice that in depth. Enough remained of the intricate carvings on the walls to indicate that this room had once been beautiful. But they only noticed that in passing, for their attention was immediately drawn to the center of the room.
The mythal was a dagger-shaped wedge of crystal, about six feet long and a foot thick. It rested on a pair of white marble pillars about four feet off the ground, perpendicular to the doorway, which appeared to be the only way into or out of the chamber. The glow came from it, a yellowish light tainted by the ugly black smear that suffused the center of the crystal, at the top. That taint was projected by the light out upon the ceiling and upper half of the walls, shifting slightly to make it look like creeping black vines were crawling forward across the cracked ancient stone.
“It’s… beautiful… and horrible…” Eldren breathed. For a moment, they were overcome, and could only stand there, watching it.
Something buzzed in the back of Dannel’s mind. He tried to shake it, as it was distracting him from the awesome power of the artifact, but it kept at him, until he suddenly realized what was wrong.
The lich… where is the lich!
He felt rather than heard Jannae coming forward, her hands digging into her pouch. She moved slowly, as if she was underwater, pushing through a flooded grotto. He and Eldren turned at the same moment, looking at her, and so both saw the lich materialize behind her, its bony claw outstretched, rimed in a black aura that echoed the corruptive stain upon the mythal.
“Jannae!” Eldren yelled, willing his body forward, his sword coming up.
Too slowly, too late.
The elf priestess turned and saw the lich. The baelnorn laid its hand upon her face, its long fingers clasping hard upon her temples. Jannae screamed as the lich poured a harm spell into her, and her body contorted in obvious agony before it broke the connection, and she collapsed like child’s doll tossed casually away.
Dannel only had an instant to react. Calling upon his magic, he summoned a feather fall. His descent slowed, although he was only a few strides from the huge opening of the tendriculos’s “mouth”. The undead plant’s maw snapped shut prematurely, sending a gust of air sick with the stench of rot up at the elf. But his respite was momentary, as the creature reared up, lifting the upper half of its body to meet the descending elf, intent on engulfing this prey, one way or another.
There wasn’t anywhere for him to go; the spell did not give him control over the direction of his fall. The tendriculos’s maw opened wide again, four, six, eight feet across, leaving no option but the dark hole deep within the creature.
Dannel saw the jagged-edged opening clench, and as it started to snap shut, he set Alakast in its path.
The tendriculos’s powerful jaws closed on the staff, and Dannel’s descent abruptly stopped as the creature impaled itself on both ends of the weapon. One side of the staff sank two feet into its body, while the other caught on a dense ridge of muscular fiber that rimmed the interior of the maw, tearing half of the creature’s jaw construction from its moorings. The creature quivered and plunged forward, and Dannel, already gagging from the stench of the monster’s insides, could only hang on as it pitched around on its axis, falling for a full second before it came to a sudden and abrupt stop. Dannel was slammed against the insides of its mouth opening, a spongy mass of fibers that oozed greenish sludge. The stuff burned his hands, but the tendriculos had stopped moving, and he was able to get up. Alakast was still wedged into place in its jaws, supporting a narrow opening that he was able to crawl through.
Ellene was there to help him extract himself. It would take more work to recover his weapon, but for the moment, verifying that the creature was indeed dead—well, more dead—seemed more prudent.
“We need to cut into it, get Eldren and Lyson,” he began, but Ellene pointed to the side of the creature, where a long gash was visible in its bulbous body. Aymie was helping Eldren, who was covered in the acidic green goo, drag Lyson’s limp form through the gap.
“Eldren went at it from the inside while you were slamming at it from without,” Ellene said. Her words were barely understandable, her jaw a swollen red mess, but Dannel found her presence a welcome sight. The tendriculos did not appear to be regenerating further, so he glanced back at the ruin, and the empty arch.
“It did not attack us,” Ellene said. “Do you think it’s waiting in there for us?”
Dannel nodded. He wiped his face, pulling away some of the sticky green muck. Ellene handed him a clean rag, and he nodded in thanks. He felt spent, and for a moment he could not speak.
Eldren came over to him. If he was a mess, the ranger looked like death personified. The flesh of his face, neck, and hands bled freely where the acidic ooze inside the tendriculos had burned it. It was a miracle that he’d been able to resist its paralysis, Dannel thought, but then he saw the fire that burned in the elf’s eyes, the determination that had taken on an almost frightening intensity. He walked under his own power, Aymie having gone to help Jannae. Lyson remained where they’d laid him; that he was dead was obvious even before Dannel got a good look at his face.
“Once the paralysis wears off, we will proceed inside,” Eldren said.
Dannel found a sudden and irrational anger rise up inside him. “Nice of you to show such concern,” he snapped, glancing meaningfully at Jannae.
Eldren’s gaze looked like it could have frozen water. “Do not speak of what you know nothing. We are here to complete a task, and that gets first priority—above anything. Everyone here knows that. Lyson knew it, and Caylen, and Jovran, and Oloran, and Dalan, and Yaela. Think of the elves at Korul Ulgor, and think of the same at Aldair Kelalei, and throughout the wood.”
Dannel thought of the ranger leaping down to aid his companions against the shamblers, and the way he’d rushed to Jannae’s defense against the wraiths. “I spoke hastily,” he said. “I think we’re all near the limits of endurance.”
Eldren took a breath. “We will have to push that limit a little, cousin,” he said quietly. Turning, pain evident in every movement, he turned and walked back over to Aymie and Jannae, limping slightly.
They distributed the last of their healing—a few potions, a few cure light wounds from Jannae, once she’d recovered from the tendriculos’s paralysis. It was not enough to fully restore the injuries suffered in the battle, but it would have to be enough.
During their preparations nothing stirred from within the ruin.
The five elves gathered before the arch.
“Let’s finish this,” Eldren said, stepping forward into the ruin.
The transition through the arch was mostly symbolic; the walls of the ruin were irregular and rose barely to chest height at their tallest, so they did not feel that separated from the world outside. The stones that made up the floor near the entry were cracked and seeded with intrusive vegetation, but as they penetrated further inside their condition improved, though still worn by time and exposure. Runes and other designs had once been carved into the floor, it appeared, but now only faint outlines were left.
They continued through other remnants of rooms. At several points they had to detour around massive piles of fallen rubble, including columns up to five feet thick and thirty feet long, now reduced to broken slabs of white marble. Dannel began to think that through some trick of perception the interior of the place had to be bigger than its outward appearance; by his judgment they should have already exited out the rear.
And then they saw the portal up ahead.
It was another arch, but it made the one outside seem feeble by comparison. It was not unduly high, reaching an apex perhaps eight feet above the smooth stones of the floor, but it stretched at least fifteen feet across. The arch was formed of white stone, as pure as new-fallen snow, fashioned into a weave of twisting vines interwoven into a strand about two feet across. The arch stood unsupported, and architecturally should have collapsed under its own weight. They could see the chamber beyond it, yet another unremarkable ruined hall, but there was an odd haze between them, like a bit of heat-mirage rising off of sun-baked pavement.
Jannae reached down and unfastened the clasps on her pouch. Eldren glanced at her, and she nodded.
The elves stepped forward, through the arch. Dannel felt a tingle pass across his skin, followed by a sudden wave of nausea.
He looked around. They were through, and behind them there was the portal, filled with a haze through which he could see the ruins outside. But their immediate surroundings had changed.
The walls were still cracked and uneven, of the same white marble and gray granite of the ruin outside. But the sky, the sun, the soft breeze of the day… all of that was gone, replaced by a neutral gray haze that surrounded the chamber like a translucent dome. Ahead of them broad stone steps led down into a sunken hall, its floor maybe seven or eight feet below their current level, and that was new too.
They walked forward slowly, silently, as if in a dream. Dannel felt a lurching twist that passed through his body… not like a wave of sickness per se, but more like a fundamental wrongness against which his body rebelled. The others felt it too, he could see.
The floor of the hall was covered by smashed pieces of stone of varying shapes and colors. It was as if a frieze on the ceiling had come collapsing down at some point… but above, there was only the gray dome. Amorphous forms on stunted pillars surrounded the hall at even intervals. Perhaps statues once, now all that was left was shattered remnants that might have been feet; it was impossible to tell. Eldren lifted his sword, indicating a wide doorway that lay between two of those figures, through which an odd light emanated.
They pressed on, trying to avoid the loose rock that crunched loudly beneath their boots, elven magic notwithstanding.
The doorway opened quickly onto a long chamber, maybe twenty feet across and twice that in depth. Enough remained of the intricate carvings on the walls to indicate that this room had once been beautiful. But they only noticed that in passing, for their attention was immediately drawn to the center of the room.
The mythal was a dagger-shaped wedge of crystal, about six feet long and a foot thick. It rested on a pair of white marble pillars about four feet off the ground, perpendicular to the doorway, which appeared to be the only way into or out of the chamber. The glow came from it, a yellowish light tainted by the ugly black smear that suffused the center of the crystal, at the top. That taint was projected by the light out upon the ceiling and upper half of the walls, shifting slightly to make it look like creeping black vines were crawling forward across the cracked ancient stone.
“It’s… beautiful… and horrible…” Eldren breathed. For a moment, they were overcome, and could only stand there, watching it.
Something buzzed in the back of Dannel’s mind. He tried to shake it, as it was distracting him from the awesome power of the artifact, but it kept at him, until he suddenly realized what was wrong.
The lich… where is the lich!
He felt rather than heard Jannae coming forward, her hands digging into her pouch. She moved slowly, as if she was underwater, pushing through a flooded grotto. He and Eldren turned at the same moment, looking at her, and so both saw the lich materialize behind her, its bony claw outstretched, rimed in a black aura that echoed the corruptive stain upon the mythal.
“Jannae!” Eldren yelled, willing his body forward, his sword coming up.
Too slowly, too late.
The elf priestess turned and saw the lich. The baelnorn laid its hand upon her face, its long fingers clasping hard upon her temples. Jannae screamed as the lich poured a harm spell into her, and her body contorted in obvious agony before it broke the connection, and she collapsed like child’s doll tossed casually away.
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