Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

The story is finished (save for the usual pre-post editing). Now we begin the end-game; I think you'll find more than a few twists and unexpected developments forthcoming. I'll keep up 3 posts a week until the complete story has been posted. I am also cleaning it up for publication on my Web site as a free PDF.

* * * * *


Chapter 596

Malad slowly drifted to the ground, his bare feet touching the cold iron floor. The crushed bulkhead lay a few feet away, twisted into an almost unrecognizable mound of ruined metal.

The tiefling sorcerer did not have to search for his Master.

The Prince of Shadows, the former Argent Lord, the demon known as Graz’zt and a hundred other names on a thousand different worlds, lay insensate in the arms of his massive throne. His huge corrosive greatsword lay propped awkwardly against the step at the foot of the throne, and his long limbs were draped almost casually over the chair’s protroduing arms, as if he’d been tossed into it. The demon’s head lay tilted far to the side in what would have been an extremely uncomfortable position, if he could feel discomfort. But it was immediately obvious that Graz’zt was feeling nothing whatsoever. His good eye was shut, and within the bare socket of his right, the Heart of Axion slumbered too, a dull gray orb deep within its nest.

Malad approached the seat of his Lord. The iron floor felt like ice beneath his feet. That was one difference that gave the lie to this place, which at the same time was so familiar and yet so alien to him. It would never be the same, he knew, no matter whether Graz’zt succeeded in his gambit here, no matter how far he went in trying to recreate what had been lost.

“My Lord, your enemies are upon you.”

The unconscious demon did not react. The effort of his twin casting, the strain of unleashing a pair of incredibly potent epic spells within the space of a minute, had drained him. Piled upon that incredible effort, the struggle against his son, while it had ended in victory, had pushed the demon beyond his limits. It had been Malad who had placed him here, in this chair, and he had not stirred from this position since then. It might be hours before he recovered, or years, Malad knew.

The sorcerer stood before the throne. Even with Graz’zt incapacitated, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to kneel, to prostrate himself before the being that he’d served since he was old enough to discern the nature of reality. A part of him that had always been there whispered that a chance was being offered here; Graz’zt would never be as vulnerable as he was now. Perhaps a new Prince could be raised in this very room…

From deep within the Heart of Axion came a flicker of light.

Malad’s expression tightened. He started forward, but suddenly froze in mid-movement as Synesyx flowed down over his legs, the scales clasping tightly to his muscled limbs. The sorcerer frowned and focused, but he could not move. Graz’zt was almost close enough to reach out and touch, but instead of leaning forward, the tiefling drew himself up and relaxed. The armor loosened enough for him to stand easily, but did not withdraw from its grip upon his lower body.

Malad closed his eyes, and made an offer.

The scales fell away, forming a loose skirt that flowed around Malad’s legs as he came forward and knelt at the demon’s feet. Reaching out, he touched Graz’zt’s hand. The perfect skin felt cool beneath his touch. Malad took the hand, and lowered his head, settling the six long fingers upon it.

Synesyx stirred, but did not interfere.

Malad began to speak, muttering dark syllables that seemed to twist and refract, although his voice was not really loud enough to echo off the adjacent walls. The words he spoke were not the arcane speech of magic, but rather more ancient and sinister syllables that had been borne ages ago in the deepest pits of the Abyss. They formed the basis of a ritual that Malad had only seen enacted twice, but which had burned into his memory like a brand. He had thought that he might someday participate in it, but never in the role that he was currently enacting.

But he did not pause, the words growing stronger, fueling the connection between himself and the Prince. The fingers upon his skull began to tighten, the long black nails digging into his skin. Wisps of black energy began to form around those points of connection, and still Malad spoke on, repeating the cadence of corrupted sounds, drawing deep upon the ancient heritage of the dark lords of the Pit.

Graz’zt stirred.

Malad’s face twisted into a snarled rictus of utter agony. Yet still the words trailed from his lips, each syllable torn from between clenched lips.

Synesyx tightened around Malad’s body again, but this time it was to keep the sorcerer from collapsing.

Finally, the flow of sounds failed. Wisps of black smoke rose from the shrunken body of the tiefling. Malad slumped to the ground, leaving streaks of flesh affixed to the demon’s long fingers. He was naked.

Graz’zt’s left eye opened.

The Prince smiled.

 

[Richard Rawen]

The story is finished (save for the usual pre-post editing). Now we begin the end-game; I think you'll find more than a few twists and unexpected developments forthcoming. I'll keep up 3 posts a week until the complete story has been posted. I am also cleaning it up for publication on my Web site as a free PDF.

That is So Cool! I cannot wait to give the PDF to my son, he'll be without net access while he works on the farm this summer and that will give him some great reading, Thanks!

Oh, and congrats on your finishing this Epic... mayhap someday I will be able to purchase a published story of yours? For that matter I believe one of the other authors on these boards had a special issue PDF of their SH that they sold ... I'd get in on that if you did one!

Finally, the flow of sounds failed. Wisps of black smoke rose from the shrunken body of the tiefling. Malad slumped to the ground, leaving streaks of flesh affixed to the demon’s long fingers. He was naked.

Graz’zt’s left eye opened.

The Prince smiled.

Sheesh, since when do the bad guys get such Total Dedication? Ah well, it would be boring for the Heroes to waltz in and chop an unconscious demon prince to bits lol.

 

[CrusadeDave]

The Prince smiled.

As do all the readers, anxiously waiting for the climax.

And the return of Benzan and Dana.

I haven't posted for a bit, but to reiterate, this is an AMAZING tale. Keep up the great job, although I do wish the tale could continue indefinately, all good tales must end.

 

[Sollir Furryfoot]

The true shame is that the heroes really won't ever know what cool villains both Arthux and Malad were

 

[Lazybones]

Oh, and congrats on your finishing this Epic... mayhap someday I will be able to purchase a published story of yours? For that matter I believe one of the other authors on these boards had a special issue PDF of their SH that they sold ... I'd get in on that if you did one!

Due to copyright issues (since my story relies heavily on WotC and Paizo IP), I can't offer it for sale; it's strictly a fanfic. But I appreciate the sentiment!

And the return of Benzan and Dana.

You don't have long to wait! We'll see what they're up to on Friday (with a cliffhanger, natch!).

* * * * *

Chapter 597

The companions emerged from the final spiral staircase onto a scene of horror and wonder.

The chamber at the top of the Skull had been completely transformed. Only the presence of the burning pillar on the far side of the room identified this as the same place where they had completed the Test of the Smoking Eye, the same place where they defeated the demon prince Adimarchus.

The chamber now resembled a great hall, with huge thirty-foot pillars buttressing the vaulted iron ceiling above. Dark and sinister forms had been carved into the pillars, which separated huge windows of stained glass that depicted intricate scenes of vice and depravity. Those panes were utterly dark; the originals had opened onto the unholy skies of Azzagrat, but these were backed only by layers of thick stone and iron.

To either side recessed alcoves appeared to open onto further galleries. This was an optical illusion; the Skull simply did not have the physical capacity of the Argent Palace. But it gave the chamber the impression of being much larger than it actually was.

The room was not empty. To the left, a row of six massive figures stood, giants with thick wings spreading out from their backs, visages wreathed in smoke, and massive weapons in their hands—a whip in the left, and a burning sword in the right. These were Graz’zt’s generals, six of the mightiest of the balors, the Fingers of the Dark Lord’s Fist. They were so realistic that for a second several of the companions lifted weapons and spells to defend themselves… before the ruddy red glow of the pillar revealed them for what they were, representations formed in iron, copies frozen in poses of respect to the Great Throne.

Of those six lords of demonkind represented in metal, two had been in Zelatar when the Disaster had struck, and had been vaporized along with much of the city. Another had been slain seventeen seconds later, when a gate to one of Graz’zt vassal worlds had opened, and sixty cornugons had stormed through. One had actually been missing for years; it was believed that it had been trapped by mortals upon one of the Primes where Graz’zt had been struggling for dominance. The last two balors, true to their kind, had turned coat the moment the magnitude of the Disaster had become known, switching allegiance to two of the Prince’s many rivals.

On the other side of the hall, another row of creatures recreated in iron paid homage. These statues were less distinct: twenty mariliths, their features only vaguely represented in the metal. These effigies too represented the fallen, either in the Disaster or in the desperate struggles that had followed, when Graz’zt’s legions had been fallen upon by eager foes from every quarter. Few of those had even survived long enough to betray their allegiance.

There was a last group slightly behind the throne, to the side. They represented only a small fraction of Graz’zt’s fabled harem, but their features were precise, their faces perfectly captured in the cold iron. They were the only fully distinct features in the chamber; everything else was slightly off, warped or imperfect. All of those depicted had been destroyed within the first second of the Disaster.

The throne itself was empty, although there was a shriveled husk of something on the floor beside it.

“He’s here,” the Voice said, moving into the room, the celestial’s sword hovering in the air before it.

“Spread out,” Lok whispered, walking slowly forward, his axe at the ready. The others followed behind, their eyes and their magic peering into every corner, every shadow.

“Show yourself, demon!” Arun shouted, his voice echoing in the sepulchrave emptiness of the hall. “Or do you fear suffering the same fate as Adimarchus?”

“I am here,” came a voice from everywhere, echoing throughout the chamber, and inside their heads. All eyes turned to the throne, where the air rippled, and a tall figure stepped through the distortion to face them.

It was the Prince, his wrecked face revealed, his wavy-bladed greatsword dripping acid in his hand. The gray shine of the Heart of Axion shone from the cavernous socket of his ruined eye, and a suit of silvery scales rippled over his muscled torso; Synesyx had found a new Master.

“I have long waited for this confrontation,” the demon said. “At last the architects of my downfall are within my grasp. Along with a new set of champions, who cheated me out of enjoying the torments of my favorite rival.”

“You brought your fate upon yourself,” Lok said. “All we wanted was our friend.”

“And you lost him as well, in the end,” Graz’zt said. “For nothing that is Mine shall I relinquish, even unto its utter destruction.”

“Looks like you lost a big chunk of your fa…” Mole piped up, only to trail off as the demon’s one eye fixed upon her.

“Your rule is at an end, demon,” the Herald’s Voice said. “Occipitus rejects you.”

“Occiptus is mine. As are you.” His gaze shifted slightly, to Cal. “Your thoughts already betray your despair. Do not place hope in your missing companion; the priestess of Selûne has already fallen into a snare that I laid, with your little demonspawn boy as bait.”

“You’re forgetting something, fiend,” Beorna said, lifting Aludrial’s Shard. “We’ve already taken down one Prince, in this very room. One more won’t be that much of a bother.”

“We will finish the job that Delem began,” Lok said, with finality.

“Yeah! Ah… you’re toast, Grazzy!” Mole added.

The Prince chuckled. “Mortals. You are always so amusing.”

“Delem was mortal,” Cal said. “And yet he destroyed the world that you’d created. Centuries of effort, torn down in an instant.”

“Millenia,” Graz’zt responded. “And that is how long I will extend my torments of each of you.”

“Might as well get started then,” Dannel said, lifting his bow and firing his readied arrow in a single fluid motion.

The missile streaked across the room toward the Prince, its path perfectly aligned to intersect with the demon’s remaining eye. But Graz’zt spoke a word of power, the Heart of Axion flared, and a surge of dark energy erupted outward from the fiend. Dannel’s arrow hit that wave and froze; the missile hung in midair for a split second before it shivered and evaporated. The spellsurge hit the companions like a wave, knocking each of them down.

Graz’zt seemed to hover within a black halo of roaring energy that swirled around him like a breaking tide. “THE HOUR OF YOUR UNDOING IS AT HAND!” he said, each word filling the chamber, echoing off the walls and building until they formed a crescendo that drove all else, including conscious thought, fleeing before them.

 

[Fimmtiu]

“Millenia,” Graz’zt responded. “And that is how long I will extend my torments of each of you.”

“Might as well get started then,” Dannel said, lifting his bow and firing his readied arrow in a single fluid motion.

Best moment of the campaign.

 

[Lazybones]

I have been working on the compilation of The Shackled City. It's 1,658 pages at the moment... At the moment I have kept it in the same format as the SH; i.e. block paragraphs separated by a line. I may trim the breaks to save space, but I really do find it easier to read in this format (plus I'm not looking forward to editing out the breaks, even with a macro). I am planning on a no-nonsense version that is easy on the eyes; if anybody has any suggestions for fonts, etc. please feel free to weigh in.

But first, we have a Friday cliffhanger to attend to...

* * * * *

Chapter 598

Benzan clutched his pathetic little knife, and stood his ground before the impenetrable barrier of the cliff behind him. “All right, who wants to die first?” he snarled, sweeping the weapon menacingly before him, his gesture of defiance undermined somewhat as he staggered under a sharp new wave of pain from the puncture in his side.

“Oh, bravo,” the succubus chuckled. She gestured, and the bar-lgura came at him, lunging at him to snap him up in its long arms.

Benzan screamed and leapt, accepting the agony that his body inflicted upon him for the movement. The ape-demon, surprised, tried to intercept him, but the tiefling got within its reach, the hook-knife jabbing up and catching it on the corner of its jaw. As he darted under its right elbow he yanked hard on the weapon. It must have caught on something tender, for the demon roared in pain and twisted around after him.

The tiefling tried to slip the knife free as he got around the bar-lgura, but the point was snagged on the hard bone of its lower jaw, and he had to let go to avoid a backswing from a muscled arm. It hit him anyway, the demon’s forearm slapping him so hard across the back that he nearly fell flat on his face. But that impact probably helped him avoid being pinned by the hound, which slammed hard into him a moment later. The hound’s neck contorted as it snapped its head around at a violent angle, and as it flew past it locked its jaws onto Benzan’s left hand. The two foes spun for a moment, connected by that bloody link, and then the hound’s jaws came together in a meaty crunch, and Benzan and the hound fell back.

Benzan tried to rise, but his head felt woozy, his movements lethargic as a red haze began to fall over his vision. He looked down and saw that his left hand was missing three fingers.

His world returned to clarity a moment later as a new, intense pain exploded in his chest, driving away the welome fog of semiconsciousness. He looked up to see the succubus grinning ferally at him, then he looked down to see the ruin of his chest. The blow from the demon’s whip had taken a strip of flesh six inches long across his left breast, including his nipple, leaving torn muscles that oozed bright red blood.

“Such passion,” she said, the way that a starving man might comment about a haunch of roasted beef placed before him.

The bar-lgura—spitting out the hook-knife—and the hound demon circled him, wary of any more tricks.

For Benzan, it was too much. He slumped back to his knees, unable to even summon concern as the succubus drew back her whip for another strike.

“Get your filthy hands off of him,” a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

“Well, well,” the succubus said.

That voice had a power for the tiefling; he had heard it thousands of times since his capture, whispering promises of hope deep within the hidden recesses of his mind that Graz’zt’s minions had sought to extinguish. He turned, painfully, to see Dana, beautiful and terrible with the soft glow of layered magical wards about her, framed in the shifting chaos of a gate that had opened directly in front of the cliff wall.

“Pleased you could join us at last, Dana Ilgarten,” the succubus crooned. Benzan turned back, and saw what he’d sensed before confirmed. His time of captivity had given him some insight into the thoughts of the demons that served Graz’zt; he realized that the succubus’s words were not bravado; she had not been surprised by Dana’s appearance, and if nothing else, she was… pleased.

“Dana, no,” he croaked, turning back to his wife. “It’s a trap…”

Dana did not shift her attention from the demoness, her face a barely constrained map of determination warring with fury. The bar-lgura grunted and leapt at her, but she shifted her gaze upon it, imploding it.

“A bit of overkill,” the succubus commented.

“I am just giving you a chance to see what I am going to do to you,” the priestess said.

Nonplussed by the fate of its comrade, the fiendish hound crouched and leapt at Dana from the opposite side. Its leap suddenly arrested in midair, and it hung there a moment, snarling and thrashing, before it flew across the clearing, landing in an iron bush that collapsed in an eruption of sharp thorns and jagged-edged branches. Laertes Leonidas appeared as his invisibility faded, the werelion’s claws bloody.

“And you brought a friend for us to enjoy as well,” the succubus commented. She had still made no move to attack or defend herself. “How nice.”

Dana hit the succubus with an implosion, but the power of the spell flared against an amulet that the demoness wore around her neck, and dissipated. The succubus smiled. The werelion started forward, but Dana stopped him with a raised hand.

“Tell Graz’zt that we’ll be back for him,” Dana said, coming forward to stand protectively beside Benzan.

“You can tell him yourself,” the demoness said, as she brought her hand up.

“No!” Benzan cried, but it was too late.

A beam hit him, enveloping him with a soft green glow that seemed to sink into his skin, permeating him. He looked up and saw that Dana had been hit by one as well. He had enough experience with magic to recognize a dimensional anchor, and as he looked behind his wife he saw the gate close as well, dissolving to reveal the cold implacable reality of the cliff wall behind.

Several female demons appeared in the sky above, half-fiends or succubi by the look of them, clutching wands.

A familiar hiss sounded around the perimeter of the clearing, as demons teleported in. Ten of them, all hezrou demons, fat and leering.

Another noise drew his gaze up. Atop the cliff, a familiar noise of eight massive legs scraping on metal.

The retriever appeared at the edge of the cliff, its beam-eyes pivoting in their sockets as they fixed upon the mortals below. The creature was flanked by another pair of fiends, massive thick-bodied humanoids the size of ogres, armed with longbows and greataxes. They had barbed arrows with heads the size of his fist drawn and ready to fire.

Turning back, Benzan met the cold stare of the succubus. “Did you think you could just creep away from the grasp of our Master, little tiefling? No… this is just the first task you will perform in the service of the Great Lord. And as a reward…”

Her gaze rose to meet Dana’s. “As a reward, you will get to watch the suffering of the woman you love, knowing that you betrayed her to us.”

The demons all started laughing, a sinister sound that filled the clearing, echoing off the cliff face until the distorted cackles surrounded them on every side, stealing hope like the thrust of a blade.

 

[CrusadeDave]

The demons all started laughing, a sinister sound that filled the clearing, echoing off the cliff face until the distorted cackles surrounded them on every side, stealing hope like the thrust of a blade.

Holy Word.

Next.

One last request from the peanut gallery: Any leveling up, or is Lok still at ECL 21, Arun, Dana, Cal at ECL20, Mole at 19, Beorna and Dannel at 18, and Laertes and Benzan where they last were? I thought there was an update at somepoint after they all gained Chosen templates, but maybe that was lost in the site corruption?

 

[Lazybones]

Holy Word.

Next.

We think alike, but I should note that I house-rule that a holy word can be automatically counterspelled by a blasphemy, as long as the combined CL of the blasphemers exceeds that of the holy... ah, worder. Same for word of chaos/dictum.

But we'll get to that on Wednesday.

One last request from the peanut gallery: Any leveling up, or is Lok still at ECL 21, Arun, Dana, Cal at ECL20, Mole at 19, Beorna and Dannel at 18, and Laertes and Benzan where they last were? I thought there was an update at somepoint after they all gained Chosen templates, but maybe that was lost in the site corruption?

Actually, they're one level up from that now, but I've been lax at updating the stats (I look at those huge blocks and quaver). But I have reposted the stats lost in the crash.

* * * * *

Chapter 599

The Voice was the first to recover, rising and spreading its white wings as it lifted off and dove straight for the Prince. Its sword rematerialized in front of it as the usually-calm face of the celestial took on a tinge of righteous rage against this embodiment of everything that it stood against, this most foul of demons. The archon moved with great speed, the sword singing as it clove the air, striking the demon in the chest.

Black energy roiled as the blade of holy energy intersected Graz’zt’s unholy aura. The archon was rebuffed, the backlash of power overcoming it, but it quickly recovered, its sword coming up again to strike.

But Graz’zt did not give it the chance. The demon lifted his massive sword in both hands, and with an exultant snarl it clove the blade downward, through the celestial’s body. The Voice did not even have a chance to scream as the great sword ended it, cutting a vertical slash through it from the center of its skull through the bottom of its torso. The two halves of the archon fell apart, landing in a heap of white cloth and red blood and flesh that continued to sizzle as the acid from the Prince’s sword continued to eat away at it.

“By the gods!” Dannel exclaimed, overwhelmed despite himself.

“Take him!” Arun urged, taking up his hammer and rushing forward. Beorna was already a step ahead of him, with Lok only a pace behind. As they ran, they picked up speed, as Cal’s haste spell lightened their steps.

The Prince smiled, lifted his sword, and waited for them.

Beorna had called upon the divine power of Helm while Graz’zt had addressed them earlier, and her booted feet seemed almost to fly across the floor as she charged. With divine strength flowing through her, she rushed straight at the Prince and smote him.

But the blow never landed. Whether through a moment of self-doubt that distracted her from her attack, a dark power inherent in the desultory glance from the Prince, or merely a slip on the slick trail of the Voice’s insides splattered across the floor, the templar fumbled her swing badly. Aludrial’s Shard hissed through empty air, the dark trails of the unholy aura barely stirred by its passage. Off-balance, Beorna stumbled and fell, the sword clattering loudly upon the ground.

“The champions of Good,” Graz’zt sneered.

“Burn in the Pit, fiend!” Arun shouted, slamming his holy warhammer solidly into the Prince’s side. The blow rang hard through the unholy aura and struck sparks as it clashed off of Synesyx. Had Graz’zt been a mortal, the blow would have caved in his torso and knocked him flying across the room.

The Prince merely grunted as he turned to face the paladin.

“My pretties might enjoy the embrace of such as you,” he said, smacking the dwarf in the chest with an open palm, and heaving.

Arun went flying, lifting into the air and traveling almost fifteen feet to slam hard into the iron figures of Graz’zt’s harem. Several statues were heavily damaged by the impact of the armored paladin, and an arm broken off of one of the female images went skittering across the floor. Arun was not seriously hurt, but as he started to pull himself free from the wreckage, he felt resistance on his arm.

Looking down, he saw that one of the arms of the statues had twisted around his own.

And with a creak of metal, he felt another solid grasp tighten on his right leg. Looking up, he saw a sculpted face turn slowly to face his.

Lok had to divert his charge to get around Beorna and Arun, but he swung around to come at the demon from the flank, his thundering axe ready to strike. His weapon lacked the holy powers of those wielded by the dwarves, but Beorna had aligned it as they neared this chamber, in the hopes that this would give him a chance at penetrating the Prince’s considerable damage resistance.

But while the genasi’s first swing was a strong one, the axe glanced harmlessly off the demon’s armored torso, inflicting little more than a light sting.

Arrows knifed across the room, but the first shots from Callendes and Dannel likewise seemed to have little or no effect upon the demon lord, bouncing off his body or vanishing within the unholy aura, leaving no mark upon him.

Umbar had hesitated during the initial rush, not from doubt, but rather to call upon the power of Moradin to fill him with righteous might. As the dwarf grew to over ten feet in height, he started forward, lifting a greatly-enlarged Alakast to strike down the demon lord.

Beorna, spitting a curse, grabbed the Shard as she rose to one knee, thrusting it up into the demon’s side. A white flare of light erupted from the weapon as its head drove through the unholy aura, penetrating the armor and the thick hide beneath. Graz’zt snarled and turned back to her; as her weapon tore free from the wound black ichor smoked upon the tip of the blade.

“You dare to strike me, bitch!” he snarled, whipping his own sword around. The greatsword slammed into the side of her head with enough force to both dent her helmet and knock it flying from her head. Staggered, blood oozing from a deep gash in her scalp, she nevertheless managed to bring up Aludrial’s Shard to meet a follow-up thrust that was aimed for her throat. The holy bastard sword clanged against the abyssal steel, and while she could not fully parry Graz’zt’s thrust, she did manage to avert the killing thrust. The Prince’s sword still drove through her shoulder, piercing both the front and rear plate of her armor. Beorna screamed, and was driven to the ground as the demon kicked her in the chest, knocking her off the blade.

“A pity you are so unbelievably ugly,” the demon said, as Beorna, half-conscious, mewled in pain.

Ignoring Lok’s attacks, which continued to be ineffective, the demon turned to face the charging Umbar. The cleric, looming over the Prince, brought Alakast down in a potent blow that erupted in a white flash as it glanced off the demon’s head. But if Graz’zt was harmed by the attack, it wasn’t obvious to look at him.

“Have you slain many fiends with that staff, priest of Moradin?”

“I’m about to slay one more, demon!”

Umbar swung the staff in an all-out strike, but Graz’zt moved faster. The Prince brought up his sword, and with a powerful swing of his own he sundered Alakast. The staff released a sick crashing sound as the abyssal steel clove through it, driving through to smash into the base of Umbar’s breastplate. Umbar was knocked roughly back, stunned, his breath driven from his lungs by the force of the blow.

“I thought you dwarf priests were supposed to be tough.”

A dark green beam lanced out across the chamber, slicing past the stunned cleric toward the fiend. The ray looked like it would hit the Prince in the chest, but at the last instant it curved, vanishing into the Heart of Axion. Cal’s disintegrate had no effect.

“Spell absorption,” the gnome cursed. “Magical attacks won’t hurt him!”

“Well, we’d better find something that will!” Dannel said, firing another arrow that vanished harmlessly into the unholy aura.

Lok roared as he laid into the Prince from behind, unleashing a full attack at point blank range. Even Graz’zt could not merely shrug off such an assault, and as the second blow exploded with a thundering critical hit, the demon actually was driven a half-step forward.

“The mighty warrior,” Graz’zt said, turning his gaze toward the genasi. “What do you fear, Lok? What stirs the terrors that creep within your soul?”

Lok felt a surge of dire, unrelenting panic flow over him. The last time that Graz’zt had held him and his companions, he’d tormented them with images of their personal fears and doubts. Then, he’d experienced firsthand a drow attack on the home of his people, the urdunnir. An attack that had succeeded because he’d abandoned his people to help others. Now, what he saw in that moment of connection was far more dire; the West in flames, with demons pouring through gates to lay waste to the lands of Faerûn. Over it all, Graz’zt watched, reveling in the destruction that was his personal payback to the realm that had produced his most dire enemies.

And all because Lok had been too weak to stop him.

The genasi was a dedicated fighter, but he could not resist the power of the demon’s gaze. His axe fell from nerveless fingers, and he staggered back, his arms lifted to shield himself from that relentless stare. He fled, cowering in the alcove behind the Prince’s throne.

Graz’zt laughed. “Such bravery.”

Umbar rushed up and grabbed hold of the demon, snapping his enlarged fists around Graz’zt’s arms. The cleric’s strength had been augmented considerably by the righteous might of Moradin, but it seemed almost trivial for Graz’zt to shake himself free, and slam his sword up over his shoulder. The point of the blade pierced Umbar’s breastplate, the impact driving him back again. A fountain of blood erupted from the terrible wound as Graz’zt pulled his sword free, and the cleric fell hard to the ground with enough force to shake the hard iron surface.

He did not stir.

Graz’zt turned around. “You are pathetic. None of you fools are even a minor threat to such as me. Enjoy your last few instants of free thought, for soon, even your dreams shall belong to me.”

The demon lord laughed again, a terrible and deadly sound that promised worse to follow.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Ah, so many updates during my vacation - thanks very much Lazybones.

Graz’zt turned around. “You are pathetic. None of you fools are even a minor threat to such as me. Enjoy your last few instants of free thought, for soon, even your dreams shall belong to me.”

I think the current situation must be very frustrating for our heros - I think Graz'zt has a realistic view of the situation. If something doesn't happen soon, I fear it's going to be the end of our companions...

BTW, Lazybones, since this will likely conclude the adventures of the Travellers and the others, I would, should they survive the adventure, like to ask you for some kind of individual epilogue for the characters - not unlike those of NWN - where you could also elaborate on the prophecy for Lok, Cal and Benzan. Or did you have anything else in mind?