Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

... Murderous, Rampaging Flumph?

Which is my way of saying I HATE it when you do that. lol. Whoever called you the Cliffhanger King had it right, thats for sure. Keep up the great writing LB.

Heh, could be worse; I could be one of those authors that only updates once a month or so.

* * * * *

Chapter 494

In the shadows, the Chosen waited.

The only illumination was the coals in the braziers set in a half-circle around the dais, their ruddy light shining off the glossy black sheen of the chamber’s walls. The light was insufficient to reveal details, only suggesting at the considerable size of the room. Thick stone pillars supported the ceiling above, which was utterly lost in darkness, giving the illusion of a vast endless space.

The light also reflected on the faces of the occupants that crowded the chamber. There were dozens of them, humanoid, but with monstrous visages and sightless white orbs for eyes that glowed redly in the glow of the braziers. The light also had some odd effect upon the mostly-naked creatures, for it seemed to shine through their skin, as though their flesh was translucent, infusing them with a carcerian nimbus that added an additional fierceness to their appearance. Their hides were marked, criss-crossed with scars and piercings that looked to have some sort of ritual significance. All were armed, mostly with heavy axes of black metal, although some bore small swords, metal bludgeons, or curved knives tucked into the wiry leather harnesses they wore across their bodies.

The creatures all faced the dais, where the Chosen sat upon a plain stone bier, shrouded in a long cowled robe of heavy gray fibre.

“Bring the petitioners forward,” came a voice from within the cowl, thick and gravelly but decidedly feminine.

The cloaked figure rose as the gathering of creatures parted to reveal several wide-eyed humans, some still struggling against the unyielding grip of their captors. There were five of them in all. The last one was unconscious, his left eye a bloody mess, dragged easily by the strong humanoid warrior who’d taken him.

The humans stared up at the cloaked figure in obvious terror. Her identity was lost within the darkness of the cowl, but a small gray stone floated around her head, animated in its lazy orbit by some foreign magic. She lifted an arm, the robe falling away to reveal a slender, feminine hand that was so transparent to be almost invisible, like the appendage of a ghost.

“Wha… what do you want with us?” one of the young humans managed to squeak.

“I am the Chosen of the Cha-Sabratoth’ka,” she intoned, pointing at them with an eerily indistinct finger. “In your tongue, surfacers, that means, ‘the children of the ordeal.’ For many years we have wandered the underworld. All hands are raised against us, for we exist outside of the bounds of mere mortal folk. We have been through the fire and through the flensing, and the weak have been pared away like the dust. Those that remain have become strong, but we continue always the trial, to pare away those that are not worthy.”

The humans could only look up at her, fixed by the potency of her power and the iron hands of those holding them.

“At last, after passage of the tests set for us, we were guided to this place, the Cairn of the Fade. Here, and in the halls above, we found the true purpose of our search, the gateway to the evermore, that beyond this world of ordeal and suffering… release… truth… deliverance.”

“Oom bar sabrat,” the gathered creatures chanted as one, causing the men to flinch at the cold potency of that united sound.

“At first we feared that gift, the touch of the Fade. But then, it was revealed, that this was not another ordeal, but rather the final test. The Fade has taken some of us, and those that remain must prepare for the last transition into Beyond. Ours is the ordeal. Oom bar sabrat.”

“Oom bar sabrat,” the collective echoed.

The cloaked figure looked down at the humans cowering before her. “When we learned of the proximity of your surfacer settlement to the Cairn of the Fade, our final purpose was revealed. We will bring the Fade to all… such is our purpose, why we have been left in this mortal realm of suffering, while our brothers and sisters have gone ahead into Beyond to prepare the way. Your people will be first, and you few will have the honor of being the first pilgrims to chart the way for those that must follow.”

“Bring forward the vessel,” she commanded.

A scarred creature of the same race as those others gathered came up upon the dais from behind, bearing an oblong container that resembled a minature keg, perhaps two feet long and a foot thick. The bearer’s hide was mangled with carvings, piercings, and fetishes that were too patterned to be anything but deliberate, but it was not evident how a living being could have suffered so much damage without going insane.

The bearer held forth the container prominently as he came forward. The red light from the coals glimmered on golden runes inlaid into the thick wood, but they were meaningless to the humans, who were not familiar with the gnomish language. But the obvious veneration given by the creatures and their leader to the device were enough to instill a great fear in them, and they quailed within the grasp of their captors.

The robed female produced a small silver cup from under her robe, and extended it to the small spigot on the side of the container. She touched the rune marker with her other hand, and whispered something, a command, perhaps, although it was barely audible and not in a language that any of those present spoke. That knowledge had been difficult to come by for the Chosen, as well, but she was a being of great resourcefulness and cunning, and after much effort the little keg had yielded its secrets.

A small trickle of liquid issued from the container into the cup. It only took a second to fill it; the female quickly muttered another word to stop it, and the mutilated acolyte withdrew, remaining on the edge of the dais with his burden.

“You will now take into yourselves the gift of the Fade,” she said, moving closer to the first young human with the silver cup extended. As she came, the two creatures holding him released him, although they remained close at hand, offering little chance of escape.

Still, the prisoner lashed out immediately, striking the female’s hand and knocking the silver cup flying.

“Worm!” she hissed. “You refuse the blessing we would bestow upon you? You are not worthy!” And she reached up and drew down her cowl. Her servants had twisted the other prisoners, turning them away, leaving only the single man to face her. He tried to break free, but the rough hands drove at his body, offering no escape.

He tried to lunge ahead, across the dais, but as he stepped forward he caught sight of the woman looking down at him. Her features were not at all like the crude visages of the other creatures, the outlines of her form smooth and even sultry. But her flesh was still nearly transparent, and the red light of the braziers revealed that her skin bore a texture to it, rough like scales.

And her hair… it moved, animated by a living force… no, not hair…

The young man’s mouth fell open to scream, but he never got a chance.

When the other prisoners were turned back toward the dais, the female’s cowl was back in place, and their erstwhile companion stood frozen in mid-lunge, a statue perfectly captured in grainy gray stone.

The medusa gestured, and the acolyte came forward again, bearing the keg. Another of the creatures had recovered the cup, bowing deeply as he placed it once more into her hand.

“Now… let us see if the rest of you are worthy,” she said.

 

[Solarious]

So... a medusa Cult that revolves around the Fading sickness that plauged and ultimately depopulated the gnomish fortress? I can see that these dwarves have their work cut out for them.

In the meantime, I'll be waiting for news about the fate of Cauldron, and wither they all disappear into thin air, or these delusional idiots get what's comming to them.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

OK, that wasting disease could bring considerable trouble - not for the heros, but for Cauldron as we know it.

Heh, could be worse; I could be one of those authors that only updates once a month or so.

Please don't joke about that... What else would I do at work?

 

[])ar]{VVolf]

Playing Cauldron Now...

Hey, I am new here, do you have any tips for this setting?

Thanks!

])ar]{VVolf

 

[Lazybones]

Hey, I am new here, do you have any tips for this setting?

Thanks!

])ar]{VVolf

Welcome to the story!

First off, it's my opinion that this series of modules, while excellent, is absolutely lethal. I'd recommend either 5-6 PCs or have PCs be a level higher than that recommended (I noticed that the Shackled City hardcover added an extra module early in the series, so I guess Paizo recognized the same thing). There are lots of places where parties can be overwhelmed real, real quick (I'm thinking of the dragons, but also the kuo-tua shrine in "Zenith Trajectory", and any of the bad guys who cast blasphemy... and there are a lot!). Also, I'd be sure to allow PCs downtime between the modules, especially as they hit that sweet spot of power, 8-12th level. One of the reasons my fictional heroes were so overwhelmed is because I didn't put in much quiet time between situations, so there was little chance to prepare new spells or make magic items.

Back to the adventure:

* * * * *

Chapter 495

“Grimlocks,” Hodge said, the word coming out as a curse. He followed that with several other juicy epithets, directed at their enemies, the rain, the mucky slickness of the pipe, and the universe in general.

“Silence yourself,” Umbar said, from ahead of the former miner. “The creatures have phenomenal hearing, and will detect us coming.”

“I doubt that they will miss us, regardless,” Beorna noted, as the four armored dwarves clanked their way down the sloping shaft of the pipe. For humans, the pipe would have been incredibly difficult to traverse, but even for the squat dwarves, used to tight underground spaces, the descent was far from easy. The water draining from the street above drove down at them, making each step treacherous, and the surrounding walls were slick with layered muck and filth that had accumulated over time. Arun was in the lead, and he used his shield and right arm as wedges to steady his progress as he made his way forward. They bore no light sources, as Arun’s sword was in its scabbard and the four needed no external illumination with their darkvision in any case.

The pipe continued straight for about sixty yards. Occasionally small drains opened onto it, a foot in diameter or less. They kept a close eye also for hidden doors or other possible digressions, but saw nothing. Arun paused frequently to seek out hints of Taint, but likewise his divinations proved empty.

Finally they came to an oddity, a break in the pipe. The water collected here in a frothing pool about four paces across that drained into the continuation of the pipe on its far side. The break had obviously been opened by the recent quakes, and they could see that a wide crevice, two feet above the level of the water, appeared to extend for some distance into darkness to their right.

Arun tried to move toward the crevice, but he stumbled and nearly slipped into the pool. Beorna’s steadying hand was upon him in an instant, drawing him back.

“Careful,” she said.

“Take my shield for a moment,” he said, divesting himself of the bulky object before extending himself again toward the crevice. This time he made it, grasping onto the tenuous edges of the crevice and pulling himself up into it.

“It goes back quite a ways,” he told the others. “It was probably opened by the quakes, but there are definite signs that it’s been cleared and widened. It looks like another passage, extending further below the city.”

“Well, let’s get this over with, then,” Hodge said from back in the pipe.

Arun took his shield back from Beorna, and working together they were all able to make the transition into the new corridor. This tunnel was even tighter than the pipe, despite the effort that had gone into widening it, but it was drier, and they quickly were able to descend for about another fifty or sixty yards before the tunnel widened and opened onto a chamber of worked stone.

This room clearly predated the earthquakes, but it likewise showed signs of recent damage. The place was maybe thirty feet square. The tunnel they’d negotiated entered onto a wall that was flanked by a pair of massive stone hearths, now quiet and dark with debris. Additional rubble cluttered the floor, possibly from furniture, for the ceiling appeared to be mostly intact, with just a few small cracks. A small, low rough-hewn passage exited to their right, and directly ahead of them on the far side of the room gaped an empty round doorway with a thick stone threshold. Wooden shards of what might have once been the door were scattered across the floor on both sides of that opening; they could see what looked like an even larger room beyond.

Arun looked around, a strong suspicion dawning in his mind. While the others checked for any traces of their quarry, he crossed to the round doorway, bending to examine the curving lintel. The rune he found there confirmed what he’d expected to find.

“Jzadirune,” he said. “We’re in Jzadirune.”

Hodge and Beorna both understood the significance of that name, having heard the tales of Arun’s first journey to this place. But Umbar shook his head. “What does that mean?”

Arun opened his mouth to speak, but he did not get a chance to immediately elaborate, for a round object flashed past his eyes, and the room was filled with an explosion of blinding light and surging heat. The flare blinded him, but he could hear the sounds of scurrying feet approaching from the larger room, accompanied by an inhuman croaking noise from many throats. Drawing his sword, he lifted his shield in time to take the first heavy blow that clanged solidly against the bulwark, driving him back.

 

[Solarious]

Perhaps the adventurers should have made it a priority to clear out Jzadirune when they had the leisure and the time. It seems that this oversight will now make this band of dwarves pay dearly.

Best part about it that the Fading targets charisma, and all dwarves get a penalty to it!

 

[Lazybones]

Best part about it that the Fading targets charisma, and all dwarves get a penalty to it!

Yeah, but with Arun and a pair of clerics in the party, disease isn't that big a deal, even if by some miracle they were to fail a fortitude save. Of more dire consequence is the fate of the town of soft humans above. Although, as we'll see today, the grimlocks aren't exactly pushovers.

* * * * *

Chapter 496

Hodge had actually gotten a momentary warning of the ambush. He’d been standing by the rough-hewn northern passage, most of his attention on Arun and that heap of self-righteous cleric, when he heard a skittering noise from the tunnel opening. He’d started to turn, reaching for his magical waraxe, when the explosion in the center of the room blinded him. Fortunately he’d been looking away; he blinked a few times, the bright stars clearing from his vision. He smelled something acrid, a stench like burning rags, and looked down to see that his beard was on fire.

The hurled oversized flask that had narrowly missed Arun had struck the ground in the center of the room, almost at Umbar’s feet. The force of the explosion had knocked the dwarf backward, but even though white flames licked at the entire front side of his torso, the remnants of the explosive mixture coating his armor from his helmet down to his greaves, the cleric was quick to recover. Beorna, who’d been partially shielded from the blast by the cleric’s body, moved to help him, but she had to turn and draw out her sword as a horde of grimlocks erupted from the small side passage, bearing black axes that they quickly put to use as they engaged the dwarves.

Arun, likewise, found himself hard pressed by another group that swarmed through the small round doorway to assault him. The grimlocks were raging, launching violent all-out attacks upon the dwarves, but they also moved with cunning, setting up flanking positions that allowed them to slip devastating sneak attacks through the dwarves’ defenses. Arun’s potent armor protected him from the first few blows, but he found out firsthand the hazards of letting himself get surrounded as an axe crushed into his hip from behind, sending a white-hot wedge of pain through his limb. He gritted his teeth and blinked his eyes furiously as he tried to clear his vision enough to clearly distinguish the enemies swarming around him. His first stroke had gone utterly wild, cleaving only empty air, and he heard the mocking chatter of the grimlocks, confident that this foe would be easily overcome.

Unfortunately for them, they were gravely mistaken in that assessment.

Umbar pulled himself up in time to stagger as a grimlock hurled himself bodily into the cleric, trying to bear him down to where he could be hacked to pieces. The priest of Moradin was menaced by only this one foe at the moment, as Hodge and Beorna had blocked the others, who crowded around them in a blur of vicious cuts and counterattacks. Blood sprayed across the room as Hodge took one grimlock’s arm off at the shoulder, but he fell back a moment later as another stabbed the finely-edged length of a drow shortsword into a crease in the armor plates covering his torso. Beorna, likewise, had been surrounded by four of the creatures, but her adamantine sword was already wreaking havoc among them, the deadly black blade exploding a grimlock’s chest and then cleaving into the jaw of the next, sending teeth and bits of bone across the chamber in a gory spread.

“Taste Moradin’s justice, foul creature!” Umbar said, thrusting the grimlock off of him and the driving the head of his magical warhammer solidly into its face. The blow would have shattered the skull of a common man, but the grimlocks were fiercely durable, honed by the trials of the Underdark into machines of violence and destruction. The grimlock, absorbed in its rage, snarled, spraying blood from its shattered nose and jaw as it hacked at the cleric with its axe. The adamantine weapon clanged hard into the dwarf’s armor, failing to pentrate the layered plate but nevertheless inflicting pain as the impact of the blow drove through Umbar’s body.

The cleric, of course, merely grunted and kept fighting.

Hodge paused a moment to slap at the gob of burning… whatever that had splattered his beard from the explosive contents of the grimlock flask. Hot wisps of flame had spread across the unruly mass of whiskers that the dwarf had cultivated like a wild forest, but he could not spare more time to deal with the growing calamity as three grimlocks pressed him intently, spreading out to take him from left, right, and ahead. He could feel blood running down his side and leg from the nasty stab wound one had put into his torso, but that too was a lesser concern to the deadly axes that continued to batter at his magical armor. He wasn’t as experienced a fighter as Arun and Beorna—the cleric was still an unknown quantity—but he was veteran enough to know that these were no common foes. He had a gnawing suspicion that only their heavy armor had kept them up as long as they had, and as he saw the one whose arm he’d taken off stagger back up, grasping its axe with its other hand, he knew that these guys would have to be literally taken apart.

Well, so be it. Grimacing, the dwarf planted his feet—a decisive gesture for one who’d taken the path of a defender—and started laying about him with his axe, accompanying the assault with a steady stream of dwarven profanity.

A few feet away, Beorna thrust her sword deep into the body of the grimlock whose jaw she’d mangled a few moments earlier. The creature fell, blood exploding in a fountain from the grievous wound, but even as she turned toward the next of the two still attacking her, the mortally injured grimlock seized at her legs with desperate strength. That alone would not have been near enough to threaten her, but the one behind her detected the stratagem and hurled itself at her, latching onto her shoulders and dragging her down with its full weight. The templar could not adjust her footing with the grimlock literally holding onto her legs with a death grip, and she collapsed back onto the one holding her from behind. That creature paid a price as the heavily armored dwarf woman crushed its chest with her considerable weight, but it continued to clutch at her, seizing her helmet and yanking it free. Her last foe, the one she’d been about to strike, had been waiting for that opportunity, and it stepped forward, its axe lifted above its head in both hands, ready to separate her head from her troublesome body.

Arun staggered under the impact of another blow that had penetrated his defenses. He swept his sword up against his attacker, and connected, but the angle had been poor and the grimlock spun away from the impact, a deep gash in its side gushing bright red blood.

As he lifted his sword to strike again, one of the grimlocks behind him leapt and seized the limb, trying to force the deadly sword from his grasp. The creature was strong. Not as strong as Arun, especially with the paladin’s magical belt, but it had allies, and Arun was still somewhat disoriented by the aftereffects of the explosion and its accompanying flare. A battleaxe clanged hard off his helmet, dazing him, so that he did not immediately see the grimlock who darted in, a long knife poised as it targeted the vision slit in Arun’s helmet, intending to finish the job begun by the bright flash of light upon the dwarf’s vision.

 

[Brogarn]

First off, let me say thanks for the entertainment. I've spent the last week or so reading your entire story hour off and on. I had a few technical complaints, but they're petty. Things like saying "even as" or "before that" twice in the same sentence. You tend to do that a lot, especially in a combat scene. The combat definitely flowed though and was very entertaining. Early on, you also had something drip down Arun's beard... which he doesn't have. You've also had him scratch the stubble on his clean shaven face. I'm not so nitpicky as to quote it all though. These were just things that stuck out in my mind as I was reading through the entire compilation.

Secondly, I agree with the sentiment that the story drastically changed when you brought in your other heros. Awesome characters (and one of the most exciting entrances ever, even though I didn't know the characters) and the party needed help, but it definitely changed the story significantly (I have yet to read your other story hour not knowing about it until I saw it referenced here. I wanted to finish this up before heading there. Unfortunately, now it's like reading the second book in a trilogy before the first with the way things ended up). I think killing off Zenna, while a great twist, was still the catalyst for making this story about your other heroes as opposed to the ones we started off with. Reason being is that early on, Zenna was our primary "narrator" of the story. We saw most things through her eyes. And while she annoyed the hell out of me at times (like any 19 year old girl would, so well done there...), killing her off killed off your original story.

Anyways, I hope you take these as mere critiques and not flames. I really liked the story overall and have really enjoyed the individual characters. It would be nice for them to own more often like they did with Hookface but you seem to have some grudge about min maxed players to take out somewhere. I just keep reading and hoping that my favorites don't permanently bite the dust (Cal, Mole and Lok. Please don't take that as a challenge.) I also hope saying that I have "favorites" is as good as a compliment as I mean it to be.

Looking forward to more posts!

 

[monboesen]

It would be nice for them to own more often like they did with Hookface

I second that notion, simply because that is how most games I have played or DM'ed goes at times. It may not be often, but occasionally the players just do the right thing or the opposition is not really a challenge. Not so for your poor heroes for them every fight seems to overmatch them.

Secondly I still would like to see a full fledged spellcaster hero. Not a multiclassed one, not a theurge not a crazy demonworshipping one. Just a plain old straightclassed Mage, Sorcerer or Cleric at the same level as the other heroes and proberbly equipped too. Would make the heroes days a lot easier too

And yeah, looking forward for the next update.

 

[Lazybones]

First off, let me say thanks for the entertainment. I've spent the last week or so reading your entire story hour off and on. I had a few technical complaints, but they're petty. Things like saying "even as" or "before that" twice in the same sentence. You tend to do that a lot, especially in a combat scene. The combat definitely flowed though and was very entertaining. Early on, you also had something drip down Arun's beard... which he doesn't have. You've also had him scratch the stubble on his clean shaven face. I'm not so nitpicky as to quote it all though. These were just things that stuck out in my mind as I was reading through the entire compilation.

Thanks for the feedback. One problem is that I am lazy (thus the moniker ), and don't always do as much editing as perhaps I should. Part of it is the context; naturally I am not as incentivized to be as thorough in posting on a message board as I might be if I intended to market this material (not that it helped me sell my novels!). Generally I just write the story in fits (I usually squeeze it into breaks and slow spells at work), building up anywhere from 10-20 posts worth of material ahead of where I am currently posting. When it actually comes time to post a chapter I usually give it a quick pre-read for obvious errors before posting. I've actually noticed some of the things you mentioned when I go back and read old chapters on my PocketPC (I keep the whole thing in a Microsoft Reader file); if I could access ENWorld through my work firewall, I might be able to go back and edit old chapters. I can at home, of course, but that would cut into my NWN and BF2 time.

Maybe I should put a note on my computer at work: ARUN !=BEARD. But my supervisor might get suspicious.

Secondly, I agree with the sentiment that the story drastically changed when you brought in your other heros. Awesome characters (and one of the most exciting entrances ever, even though I didn't know the characters) and the party needed help, but it definitely changed the story significantly (I have yet to read your other story hour not knowing about it until I saw it referenced here. I wanted to finish this up before heading there. Unfortunately, now it's like reading the second book in a trilogy before the first with the way things ended up). I think killing off Zenna, while a great twist, was still the catalyst for making this story about your other heroes as opposed to the ones we started off with. Reason being is that early on, Zenna was our primary "narrator" of the story. We saw most things through her eyes. And while she annoyed the hell out of me at times (like any 19 year old girl would, so well done there...), killing her off killed off your original story.

Yeah... I've commented on this before in the thread, but basically I agree with you. When I started the story, I had no plans to kill any of the characters specifically (although killing off clerics of Helm just started to feel natural after a time ). When I devised the idea to kill off Zenna it was part of a desire to shake up the story, which had started to feel somewhat stale. Others had commented that they didn't feel like the main characters were in real jeopardy, which stole from some of the drama, and I felt her abduction/death really tied the heroes into the plot. That was before I had made the final decision for the old group from Travels to enter the story (although that was always in the back of my mind, given Zenna and Mole's pedigree).

Secondly I still would like to see a full fledged spellcaster hero. Not a multiclassed one, not a theurge not a crazy demonworshipping one. Just a plain old straightclassed Mage, Sorcerer or Cleric at the same level as the other heroes and proberbly equipped too.

Dana will get a chance to shine a little later; she's effectively an 18th level cleric since her PrCs stack with her cleric levels. I've been rereading Sepulchrave's story hour lately, which highlights the power of high-level pure casters, although it's unlikely that my suffering heroes will ever reach the potency of Mostin or Shomei.

Thanks again for the posts!

* * * * *

Chapter 497

Arun felt a crushing pain in his wrist, and despite himself felt his holy blade wrenched from his hand by the grimlock behind him. He twisted to see the grimlock fall back, clutching the sword, and so the knife thrust from the one ahead of him failed to find the narrow opening in his visor, instead glancing off of the side of his helm.

Ignoring that attacker, Arun drove forward at the one who’d stolen his sword. The grimlock tried to withdraw, and Arun took a hit to his side from a grimlock axe that felt damned painful. But the paladin called upon the power of Moradin, and with a dwarvish cry of battle he smote the creature with a punch from his gauntleted fist. His fist crunched solidly into the creature’s face, and it staggered, dropping its stolen treasure.

Arun bent to recover it, taking multiple attacks of opportunity from the surrounding grimlocks as he did so. Every breath, now, was driving sharp needles of pain through his battered torso; he was tough, but the beating he was taking was phenomenal.

Beorna looked up into the face of the monster standing over her, unable to react quickly enough to stop it from a deadly blow to her head. But before it could strike, a ray of searing light blasted into its face. Its eyes were not susceptible to light, but the holy light ravaged its hide, filling its sensitive nostrils with the sweet stench of its own burning flesh. The beam distracted it only for a moment, but that was enough for Beorna, who swept her sword around with a desperate surge of strength, catching the grimlock in the kneecap. The preternaturally sharp sword tore through the limb, severing it, driving the creature to the ground.

The grimlock beneath her was still tearing at her, one of its hands clutched in her hair, the other wrapped around her body, its foul breath hot against her neck as it tried to seize her with its bent teeth. She slammed her head back against its face, which quieted it somewhat, but it refused to release its grip.

So, focusing her concentration, she called upon Helm to enlarge herself.

The grimlock’s squeals as her mass increased eightfold were quite rewarding. Her magical growth had put her within reach of the grimlocks that were assaulting Hodge, so she lashed out with her boot, delivering a heavy blow to the back of the neck of the nearest. Hodge took advantage of the distraction, bringing his already bloody axe down into the skull of the grimlock, crushing it in a spray of blood and brains.

“Get up from that one, ye blasted bugger!” he shouted. The dwarf had stood his ground against his enemies, laying about him with his oversized axe. This was the second he’d dropped, including the one whose arm he’d severed, and who had returned to the fray in time to take an uppercut that clove through six ribs and laid open its chest. That one lay on the ground, now, its struggles continuing even as the lake of blood around its torso grew inevitably.

But that still left two, and Hodge was winding down rapidly. His defensive stance had given him a second wind, but he knew from experience that the added burst of vigor would not last long, and his axe already felt like an anvil in his hand. The two remaining grimlocks had shifted to keep him flanked, and continued to press him with their axes, looking for a momentary opening for a devastating sneak attack that would put the dwarf down.

A retreat would have been timely, the dwarf thought, but there was nowhere to go, so Hodge just kept fighting, laying into the nearest with a tired sweep that still tore a foot-long gash in the creature’s gut.

Arun rose, drawing upon the power of Moradin until it felt like he would burst. Infused with Order’s Wrath, he laid about him with his sword, hewing at the gray-skinned monsters that ringed him in and pressed at him from every direction. Blood filled the air in a fine spray as his sword flashed brilliantly in his hand, each blow opening a deadly wound. The grimlocks should have fallen like stalks of wheat harvested by the scythe, but in their rage they remained standing with wounds that should have left them screaming upon the barren stones. Only outright death would forestall them, and Arun gave them that, the paladin himself lost within his own rage, caught in the intense flood of battle, ignoring the blows that continued to rain upon him, dealing out destruction.

Finally, only one foe stood before him. The dwarf, still half-blinded by sweat and blood that splattered his visor, lifted his sword in challenge, but the adversary raised his hand.

“Peace, warrior,” Umbar said. “This battle is won.”

Arun lowered his blade, took a heaving breath, and collapsed.