Broccli_Head
Explorer
Black Bard said:Great work, Lazy!!!
Wonderful battle... I'm enjoying Zenna's passage into priesthood... Very good!!!
I just wonder if we will see an "ape-paladin" in the future...
Or an ape-elf!
Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Or an ape-elf!
Unusual day for the cliffhanger, but that's your usual high quality. 
You know, I must be slow. I just figured out where Zenna is headed. She's on her way to being a Mystic Theurge. And while that class isn't one of my favorites, it certainly makes sense for a devotee of Azuth. Now we get to see if I'm just slow about recognizing it or if I'm totally off base.
Guess we'll have to wait until Monday, anyway.
You know, I must be slow. I just figured out where Zenna is headed. She's on her way to being a Mystic Theurge. And while that class isn't one of my favorites, it certainly makes sense for a devotee of Azuth. Now we get to see if I'm just slow about recognizing it or if I'm totally off base.
Guess we'll have to wait until Monday, anyway.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Indeed, when I first saw this class on the WotC website, I shook my head in amazement. I was one of those who posted in the early review threads here that the class was clearly and significantly overpowered. I've since given it some deliberation, and concluded that the only way to be certain is a playtest (as it were) in the course of writing my 3.5 tale. Given that Zenna is an ECL+1 race (and the only one in the group, this time out), it should be particularly interesting to see how her progression develops.wolff96 said:Unusual day for the cliffhanger, but that's your usual high quality.
You know, I must be slow. I just figured out where Zenna is headed. She's on her way to being a Mystic Theurge. And while that class isn't one of my favorites, it certainly makes sense for a devotee of Azuth. Now we get to see if I'm just slow about recognizing it or if I'm totally off base.
Not so! I happened to bring my disk home with me before my trip, and this post required only a few quick edits to prepare:
* * * * *
Chapter 59
After Arun related what he’d seen to the others, none of them were particularly interested in going outside, so they barricaded the door with the heavy table and continued their search. It appeared that the bandits had gathered their collected loot here after the attack, and posted the head of the fallen cleric as a trophy of their victory. True to his name, they found that the bandit leader had torn the tongue of the priest from his head. Illewyn was barely functioning, still consumed by her grief, so Dannel wrapped the head in a blanket and placed it in an out-of-the-way spot for them to return later for burial.
They left the remaining treasure for now, aside from a few small items that found their way into Mole’s new magical backpack, and resumed their search. They didn’t find any sign of the bandit woman that had fled from them earlier, but they did come across a window that had been forced open, its shutters clattering against the frame from the force of the wind.
“I hope for her sake that those... things weren’t still out there,” Mole said.
“She earned her fate when she chose to join in the assault upon this place,” Arun said grimly, and they pressed on.
The rest of the roadhouse was quiet and dark. The storm outside continued unabated, and the wind picked up as the night drew on, crashing insistently against the shuttered windows. They found several lamps that had not been broken by the bandits, which they used to aid in their search. Other than Sarcem’s head, they had not as yet found any other sign of the inn’s staff and patrons.
“This storm doesn’t bode well for Cauldron,” Illewyn commented idly, the first words she’d said since they had found Sarcem’s head. The cleric’s eyes were red, and she moved with the listless steps of one who had not slept in days. “We have to find those wands...”
There was a brief scare when Dannel opened a door that led onto a central courtyard in the interior of the inn. Dark forms were visible in the landscaped garden, and they quickly turned toward the door, deep growls indicating their intent, white teeth flashing in the light of their lamps. The elf was quicker, though, slamming the door an instant before the first heavy body collided into it.
“Looks like Tongueater left a few of his friends behind,” the elf noted. Looking through a nearby window, Zenna was unable to see anything remarkable in the small garden except for the five hill baboons, so they left the creatures to their rage and continued their search.
An hour later, they finally found the rest of Sarcem, in the cellar under the kitchen. The decapitated cleric’s body lay in a bloody heap, surrounded by signs of battle. Apparently a last stand of sorts had occurred here. The cleric was still clad in his banded mail, the shiny metal plates now marked with blood and dirt, and his mace was lying on the floor, half-covered by his fallen frame. Mole checked the corpse, and shook her head, confirming what the others already knew they would find.
The wands were gone.
Illewyn slumped to her knees beside the body. She had no more tears left to cry, but her body sagged with the force of her grief. She reached out and touched the cleric’s bloody hand, while Dannel covered the body with a spare cloak.
“Goodbye, my friend.”
Mole was already searching the rest of the chamber, and had gravitated toward a narrow corridor that led off from the main cellar. “Look here,” she said, holding up her lamp as she started down the corridor.
“Careful,” Zenna said, moving to join her friend. “Stay together.”
The hall progressed for some twenty feet or so. Two doors stood open on their left, with a third ahead at the end of the passage. Even before they drew near they could see what had drawn Mole’s attention, for before the final door lay the bodies of three humans, dressed in similar fashion to the rogues that they’d faced earlier.
“It’s cold,” Mole said, with a shiver.
Zenna nodded. Warily, they continued down the corridor. Arun had joined them, while Dannel, half-supporting Illewyn, brought up the rear.
As they drew closer to the door, they could see that its construction was... strange. It looked almost as though the heavy planks had somehow melted, flowing outward from the center of the door to overlap the edges of the threshold into which the portal was set.
“That’s not going to be easy to get open,” Mole said.
“Why do we even care?” Dannel’s voice came, from further back down the corridor.
“They obviously wanted to know what was behind it,” Zenna said, gesturing at the three bodies lying on the floor. “This is strange... I cannot imagine that the owners of the roadhouse would have put a trap here, where anyone from above could wander down into it.”
“What makes you think it was a trap?” the elf asked.
“Look at the bodies,” Zenna said. And indeed, while a few minor cuts and scrapes could be seen on the corpses, there were no apparent injuries serious enough to have killed them. Their faces were pale, almost white, frozen in expressions of surprise and fear.
“I’ll get it open,” Arun said, starting forward.
“Wait,” Mole said, quickly stepping in front of him. “This is my job, remember? As I recall, you don’t really have much of a way with traps.”
The dwarf grumbled, but didn’t challenge her. Mole fixed him with a raised eyebrow until she was sure that he wasn’t going to stop her, then she turned and started for the door.
“Be careful, Mole,” Zenna said.
Mole shot her a glance back that was dismissive, but as she turned back to the portal her face took on a look of intense concentration. Her breath formed a cloud before her as she neared the bodies. As she passed the open door to her left, she paused, holding up the lantern.
“There’s writing here,” she told them. “It says, ‘No open flames beyond this point.’”
“Maybe a gas trap,” Dannel suggested.
“They don’t look like they were burned,” Zenna replied. “Frozen, perhaps.”
“Maybe you’d better leave the lamp, Mole,” Dannel suggested. The gnome nodded, placing the lamp on the floor, before continuing to the door.
“There’s some sort of brownish gunk on the door and the walls near it,” she reported. “It... ahhh!”
“Mole!”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 60
“Mole!” Zenna cried. The gnome groaned and shook, her face becoming pale as she staggered back from the door. Arun was there in an instant to meet her, and he scooped her up and carried her back to where the others waited. She was a bit groggy, but still conscious, and she continued to shiver even as the others tended to her.
“What happened?” Zenna asked. “Are you all right?”
“Cold...” Mole said. “It felt like... it felt like the heat was being drained right out of my body...”
“This will help you,” Dannel said, drawing out his unusually-shaped wand and humming the melody that triggered its power. The blue glow from the device suffused into the body of the gnome, and some of the color returned to her pale features.
“Thanks,” she said, with a smile.
“We were more fortunate than those,” Arun said, with a gesture toward the slain rogues.
“We still need to get past that door,” Mole said.
“It’s too risky,” Zenna said. “We can’t even get near the door, without being affected by the cold. The next time, one of us might not be so fortunate.”
“It’s bearable, if you don’t get too close,” Mole said. “If we use a battering ram, I bet we could remove the door without being hurt.”
“A good idea,” Dannel said. “But what then, after it’s destroyed? The cold will still affect you as you move through the doorway. And we don’t know if the effect fills the room beyond.”
Illewyn came forward. She had spent the bulk of the encounter lurking in the background, but now something of her previous strength was reflected in her voice. “I can use the power of Helm to shelter one of us from the cold,” she said. “The power is not without limits, but it should allow someone to move through and investigate.”
“That might have been good to know, cleric, before Mole there risked herself,” Arun said dryly.
Illewyn’s expression said that the remark cut, but Zenna interjected, “We couldn’t have known what would happen... and what’s done is done. Let’s see if we can put Mole’s plan into action.” After a pause, she added, reluctantly, “It should be me who goes, once the door is removed. My... I have an inherent resistance to cold already, which should help protect me if the spell is insufficient.”
Arun looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t offer further comment.
They moved quickly, now that they had a plan. For a battering ram they dismantled one of the heavy tables from the common room above, lashing together a number of planks to form a compact shaft of wood almost a foot across and just over ten feet long. Arun found a heavy metal pot that they used to cap the ram. The whole was unwieldy and crude, but it would effectively transfer their combined strength against the door from a distance. Working together they dragged this unwieldy device back downstairs, and moved it into position. Dannel and Arun grabbed onto it from opposite sides, while Mole held on at the end, her meager weight serving as a counterbalance to keep the iron-tipped head up.
The door shivered as they rushed forward, slamming the ram heavily into it. Dannel and Arun’s breaths frosted in the air as they entered the cold end of the passageway, but the ram gave them sufficient distance to avoid taking damage from the brown mold. They repeated the action several times, until finally the warped boards began to snap. From there it was only a few more well-placed strikes until the entire door collapsed inward, revealing a dark chamber beyond.
The two men drew back, dropping the ram to the ground. “Blast, that’s cold!” Arun complained, rubbing his hands together vigorously.
“All right,” Zenna said. “Cast your spell upon me, Illewyn.”
“Bah,” Arun interjected. “I should be the one. If there’s trouble back there, I’m better equipped to handle it.”
“If I see anything, I’ll come right back, I promise,” Zenna said. “If there is anything in there, it would have to go through the cold zone to get to us.”
Arun harrumphed, but didn’t say more as Illewyn cast her spell upon the tiefling. But even as Zenna felt the magical effect settle about her, Arun turned and charged down the passageway. He let out a growl as he passed through the open doorway, then he was through. Shaking her head, Zenna followed.
“Dwarves,” she heard Mole say, behind her.
Zenna felt the cold descend about her as she neared the doorway, but steeled herself and strode through. The brown mold seemed larger than it had, and in her imagination she thought it almost pulsed as she passed before it, as if eager to drink the heat from her body. But the spell protected her, and she made it past the area of the growth, shivering but otherwise all right.
The room was unremarkable, its walls formed of rough-hewn stone. A round shaft that was probably a well was the only thing of note, the opening partially obscured by several ill-fitting boards. Zenna’s darkvision allowed her to see quite clearly, and she made out the squat form of something lying behind the edge of the well, its identity not quite clear from this distance. Arun had seen it as well; he was already heading in that direction.
“Is everything all right in there?” Mole asked from back down the corridor.
“Fine,” Zenna replied, moving to join Arun.
The dwarf reached it even as Zenna got a good look at the object—or rather the creature, for the recumbent form was that of a woman, apparently unconscious. Her skin was dark, blending in with the packed earth of the floor, while her hair starkly contrasted with long strands of pure white falling about her head and shoulders. Her hair partially obscured her features, but Zenna could see enough to indicate that the woman had at least some elvish blood in her heritage.
Arun sucked in a surprised breath. “Drow!” he hissed.
Almost reflexively, his hammer came up.
“Mole!” Zenna cried. The gnome groaned and shook, her face becoming pale as she staggered back from the door. Arun was there in an instant to meet her, and he scooped her up and carried her back to where the others waited. She was a bit groggy, but still conscious, and she continued to shiver even as the others tended to her.
“What happened?” Zenna asked. “Are you all right?”
“Cold...” Mole said. “It felt like... it felt like the heat was being drained right out of my body...”
“This will help you,” Dannel said, drawing out his unusually-shaped wand and humming the melody that triggered its power. The blue glow from the device suffused into the body of the gnome, and some of the color returned to her pale features.
“Thanks,” she said, with a smile.
“We were more fortunate than those,” Arun said, with a gesture toward the slain rogues.
“We still need to get past that door,” Mole said.
“It’s too risky,” Zenna said. “We can’t even get near the door, without being affected by the cold. The next time, one of us might not be so fortunate.”
“It’s bearable, if you don’t get too close,” Mole said. “If we use a battering ram, I bet we could remove the door without being hurt.”
“A good idea,” Dannel said. “But what then, after it’s destroyed? The cold will still affect you as you move through the doorway. And we don’t know if the effect fills the room beyond.”
Illewyn came forward. She had spent the bulk of the encounter lurking in the background, but now something of her previous strength was reflected in her voice. “I can use the power of Helm to shelter one of us from the cold,” she said. “The power is not without limits, but it should allow someone to move through and investigate.”
“That might have been good to know, cleric, before Mole there risked herself,” Arun said dryly.
Illewyn’s expression said that the remark cut, but Zenna interjected, “We couldn’t have known what would happen... and what’s done is done. Let’s see if we can put Mole’s plan into action.” After a pause, she added, reluctantly, “It should be me who goes, once the door is removed. My... I have an inherent resistance to cold already, which should help protect me if the spell is insufficient.”
Arun looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t offer further comment.
They moved quickly, now that they had a plan. For a battering ram they dismantled one of the heavy tables from the common room above, lashing together a number of planks to form a compact shaft of wood almost a foot across and just over ten feet long. Arun found a heavy metal pot that they used to cap the ram. The whole was unwieldy and crude, but it would effectively transfer their combined strength against the door from a distance. Working together they dragged this unwieldy device back downstairs, and moved it into position. Dannel and Arun grabbed onto it from opposite sides, while Mole held on at the end, her meager weight serving as a counterbalance to keep the iron-tipped head up.
The door shivered as they rushed forward, slamming the ram heavily into it. Dannel and Arun’s breaths frosted in the air as they entered the cold end of the passageway, but the ram gave them sufficient distance to avoid taking damage from the brown mold. They repeated the action several times, until finally the warped boards began to snap. From there it was only a few more well-placed strikes until the entire door collapsed inward, revealing a dark chamber beyond.
The two men drew back, dropping the ram to the ground. “Blast, that’s cold!” Arun complained, rubbing his hands together vigorously.
“All right,” Zenna said. “Cast your spell upon me, Illewyn.”
“Bah,” Arun interjected. “I should be the one. If there’s trouble back there, I’m better equipped to handle it.”
“If I see anything, I’ll come right back, I promise,” Zenna said. “If there is anything in there, it would have to go through the cold zone to get to us.”
Arun harrumphed, but didn’t say more as Illewyn cast her spell upon the tiefling. But even as Zenna felt the magical effect settle about her, Arun turned and charged down the passageway. He let out a growl as he passed through the open doorway, then he was through. Shaking her head, Zenna followed.
“Dwarves,” she heard Mole say, behind her.
Zenna felt the cold descend about her as she neared the doorway, but steeled herself and strode through. The brown mold seemed larger than it had, and in her imagination she thought it almost pulsed as she passed before it, as if eager to drink the heat from her body. But the spell protected her, and she made it past the area of the growth, shivering but otherwise all right.
The room was unremarkable, its walls formed of rough-hewn stone. A round shaft that was probably a well was the only thing of note, the opening partially obscured by several ill-fitting boards. Zenna’s darkvision allowed her to see quite clearly, and she made out the squat form of something lying behind the edge of the well, its identity not quite clear from this distance. Arun had seen it as well; he was already heading in that direction.
“Is everything all right in there?” Mole asked from back down the corridor.
“Fine,” Zenna replied, moving to join Arun.
The dwarf reached it even as Zenna got a good look at the object—or rather the creature, for the recumbent form was that of a woman, apparently unconscious. Her skin was dark, blending in with the packed earth of the floor, while her hair starkly contrasted with long strands of pure white falling about her head and shoulders. Her hair partially obscured her features, but Zenna could see enough to indicate that the woman had at least some elvish blood in her heritage.
Arun sucked in a surprised breath. “Drow!” he hissed.
Almost reflexively, his hammer came up.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Lazybones said:
dead or alive?
Perhaps a prisoner?
I guess we'll never know as Arun crushes her skull.
The really funny part about Arun, busker, is that I'm currently playing a Dwarven Beserker (Barbarian) that has nearly the same attitude -- once a fight has started.
The irony is that the Barbarian is a lot more level-headed and careful to think things through than our paladin friend.
You have to admit how much fun Arun is to watch, though, even if you think his kick-in-the-door style is a bit foolish.
The irony is that the Barbarian is a lot more level-headed and careful to think things through than our paladin friend.
You have to admit how much fun Arun is to watch, though, even if you think his kick-in-the-door style is a bit foolish.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Heh, well it's clear that Arun is the most provocative character, at least thus far; he draws the most critical comments, while at the same time running away with the "favorite character" award.
I've left him largely undeveloped as a character thus far, but we'll learn more about his background (and why he's the way he is) as we move ahead in the series. The next module ("Zenith Trajectory") focuses intently upon the question of honor, and dwarvish honor in particular.
But for now it's time for today's post, which we'll call, "Revelations."
* * * * *
Chapter 61
Zenna saw the dwarf’s movement, and quickly stepped in to intervene. “No!” she hissed, blocking him from the unconscious woman.
The dwarf’s look could have etched stone. “You don’t know what you’re about, woman. Drow are dangerous, even when injured, and their hearts as black as...”
“As those of tieflings?” Zenna interrupted. In a flurry she drew back her cowl, and tugged the magical hat from her head. For a moment her visage flickered, and then her true face was revealed.
“You?” the dwarf asked in surprise. “You possess the blood of fiends...” For a moment his face betrayed a rare conflict of feelings, as he tried to sort out the implications of this revelation. Finally, his expression darkened. “Why did you not reveal this before, woman?”
Zenna sighed tiredly. “Have you never been judged for what you are on the outside, Arun? Is it how we look, or our heritage, that defines what we are... or our actions, our hearts, the truth that lies inside?”
The dwarf frowned, and turned slightly away from her.
“Arun... I am what I always was. I did not intend to deceive you. Concealing what I am has... it’s become second nature, I suppose. Most people are quick to rush to judgment, when they see the signs of my heritage. My father was luckier; he could pass as human, though there was always something ‘wrong’ with him that people could sense. But he did a lot of good, as well, and he ended up joining the Harpers. It didn’t make him a better father, but I suppose it means something in the larger scheme of the world...”
She trailed off, unable to think of anything else she could say.
Mole’s voice came to them again from the corridor. “Are you still all right in there?”
Zenna looked at Arun. “Are we all right, paladin?”
Arun fixed her with a hard stare, but finally nodded. “Aye,” he said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the drow’s all right!”
Zenna nodded. “Well, it looks like she wasn’t with the bandits, anyway.” She turned back toward the open doorway. “We’re fine!” Zenna shouted back to the others. “We’ve found someone... she’s hurt.”
“Do you want me to come through?” Illewyn asked.
“Wait a moment,” Zenna returned. Returning her attention to Arun, she said, “Let me see what I can do. If she turns me into a newt or something, you have my permission to give her a good bashing.”
Ignoring the dwarf’s scowl, she knelt beside the unconscious woman. Her body heaved slightly with her breath, but she’d suffered several injuries—likely from the blades of the raiders—and her skin was chill to the touch. Zenna knew that Arun had the power to heal her, but doubted that the dwarf would be quick to help, out of pride if nothing else. She could call to Illewyn, but the cleric had already sacrificed her magical protection against the cold to help her; going through the doorway and the brown mold would be dangerous.
With a sigh, she reluctantly reached into her pocket for the holy symbol. Without consciously thinking about it, she turned her body slightly to conceal the motion from Arun. The amulet was cold in her hand, just a piece of carved metal...
But as she stared at it, the device seemed to grow larger in her vision, and she felt her thoughts drawing inward, focusing in a way similar to the meditation techniques she’d been training in as a child. Somewhere deep in that place was her magic, the tendrils of energy that formed the Weave, accessed by the words and gestures that she stored in her mind. This was different, somehow, but again Zenna felt that same vague sense of commonality.
Blue fire blazed in her hand, wisps of soft light that dissolved into the skin of the injured woman. In response the woman stirred, her mouth opening as she drew a deep breath into her body. She heard the creak of metal as Arun shifted, no doubt readying himself to pound the drow into paste if she made any threatening gestures. Zenna could see her wounds closing, and she thought she could feel the woman’s body grow warmer, as the healing touch of the magic—her magic—banished the cold that had gripped her.
Her eyes opened.
“I am not dead,” she said, her voice a soft, melodic sound.
Zenna opened her mouth to speak, but Arun beat her to it.
“No, drow, and if you want to keep it that way, you’d better be quick to answer some questions.”
Despite the dwarf’s hostility, the woman nodded calmly, drawing herself up with Zenna’s help to a sitting position. “I will do what I can.” She looked around, taking them all in, the battered door, the dwarf’s armor with the sigil of Moradin clearly etched into its surface. Her eyes lingered slightly on Zenna’s face, and with a flush the wizardess realized that she hadn’t lifted her cowl or put her magical hat back on after her confrontation with Arun.
“What’s your name?” Zenna asked her.
“I am Shensen Tesseril. I maintain the shrine here, the small sanctuary to the Rider of the Winds.”
“Shaundakul,” Zenna said, and the woman nodded.
“What of the bandits?” she asked.
“Dead,” Arun said. “Or at least most of them,” he amended. “We got that half-monkey leader of theirs, though.”
The drow woman shivered noticeably, and not from the cold—although it was cold in here, Zenna realized, though the chill did not touch her through her magical protection. She took off her cloak and wrapped it around Shensen, who nodded gratefully.
“What of the cleric?”
“He didn’t make it, sadly,” Zenna said.
“That is a great sadness, the loss of a valiant man of faith, but not what I meant. I am referring to the woman... the human creature with the hair of fire and the markings of the Black Fist upon her. During the assault upon the Lucky Monkey, she gave commands to the were-creature and the other bandits.”
Zenna and Arun exchanged a look. “We saw no such cleric,” Zenna said.
“There was a fire dark and terrible burning within that one,” Shensen said. “In a way, she was more frightening than the monstrosity that slew the servant of Helm.”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Zenna asked.
Shensen told the story briefly, but with enough detail for them to get a clear understanding of what had happened. The attack had come the previous night, late enough so that many of the roadhouse’s guests were already in their rooms. The attackers were skilled and well-equipped, a fact that Zenna could certainly attest to, and they made short work of the staff and those few patrons able to defend themselves. Shensen had been in the small shrine to Shaundakul when the attack had begun, and was drawn to the fighting by the noise of shouts and broken glass. She arrived to find Sarcem, the High Priest of Helm, rallying some of the survivors. The defenders were forced to take refuge in the cellar as more bandits converged on their position, and it was there that Tongueater and his warriors finally overcame them. Even as the were-baboon struck down Sarcem, Shensen fled into the cold-storage room, recovering the box of brown mold kept there. Already wounded, and with several bandits in pursuit, she was able to release the mold over the door to the well chamber and seal it with a wood shape spell before the chilling effects of the mold overcame her. She was barely able to crawl away from the range of the mold before passing out.
“And that is how you found me,” she concluded. “Have I answered your questions satisfactorily, master dwarf?”
“You haven’t mentioned what you’re doing here, a drow, in the surface world,” Arun pointed out.
“I am only half-drow, but I make no apologies for what I am. Would you suggest that I am to blame for the color of my skin, or the practices of those who share my bloodline? Certainly we are rare here, here under the sun and stars... but not unheard of, certainly.... much like your own people, perhaps? In any case, I understand your wariness, but I ask that you not offer judgment before you have come to know me.”
Arun grunted noncommittally. Zenna thought that Shensen’s words were much like her own, and suspected that Arun was feeling a bit conflicted at being told off twice in quick succession. She managed to hide a faint smile at the thought.
“We’d better get you out of here,” Zenna said. “Our companions are in the outer corridor, but we need to find a way to get through the mold.”
Shensen took a deep breath and stood. “I feel weak, but perhaps can make it through one last time.”
Zenna gave the drow woman one of the potions they’d taken off of Tongueater; restored further by the healing power of the draught, they turned to brave the mold once more. The growth had expanded somewhat from the heat it had drained off of their bodies, but dashing through they were all able to make it back to where the others waited. After some introductions, they returned to the ground floor of the roadhouse.
It was now closer to dawn than the preceding dusk. The companions pressed their search for a brief while, but they were all exhausted from the long travel and the ordeals they had faced here. Finally they decided to hole up and rest. They checked the shutters and doors one last time to be sure they were secure, set up a barricade near the staff quarters, set a schedule for watches, and collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I've left him largely undeveloped as a character thus far, but we'll learn more about his background (and why he's the way he is) as we move ahead in the series. The next module ("Zenith Trajectory") focuses intently upon the question of honor, and dwarvish honor in particular.
But for now it's time for today's post, which we'll call, "Revelations."
* * * * *
Chapter 61
Zenna saw the dwarf’s movement, and quickly stepped in to intervene. “No!” she hissed, blocking him from the unconscious woman.
The dwarf’s look could have etched stone. “You don’t know what you’re about, woman. Drow are dangerous, even when injured, and their hearts as black as...”
“As those of tieflings?” Zenna interrupted. In a flurry she drew back her cowl, and tugged the magical hat from her head. For a moment her visage flickered, and then her true face was revealed.
“You?” the dwarf asked in surprise. “You possess the blood of fiends...” For a moment his face betrayed a rare conflict of feelings, as he tried to sort out the implications of this revelation. Finally, his expression darkened. “Why did you not reveal this before, woman?”
Zenna sighed tiredly. “Have you never been judged for what you are on the outside, Arun? Is it how we look, or our heritage, that defines what we are... or our actions, our hearts, the truth that lies inside?”
The dwarf frowned, and turned slightly away from her.
“Arun... I am what I always was. I did not intend to deceive you. Concealing what I am has... it’s become second nature, I suppose. Most people are quick to rush to judgment, when they see the signs of my heritage. My father was luckier; he could pass as human, though there was always something ‘wrong’ with him that people could sense. But he did a lot of good, as well, and he ended up joining the Harpers. It didn’t make him a better father, but I suppose it means something in the larger scheme of the world...”
She trailed off, unable to think of anything else she could say.
Mole’s voice came to them again from the corridor. “Are you still all right in there?”
Zenna looked at Arun. “Are we all right, paladin?”
Arun fixed her with a hard stare, but finally nodded. “Aye,” he said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that the drow’s all right!”
Zenna nodded. “Well, it looks like she wasn’t with the bandits, anyway.” She turned back toward the open doorway. “We’re fine!” Zenna shouted back to the others. “We’ve found someone... she’s hurt.”
“Do you want me to come through?” Illewyn asked.
“Wait a moment,” Zenna returned. Returning her attention to Arun, she said, “Let me see what I can do. If she turns me into a newt or something, you have my permission to give her a good bashing.”
Ignoring the dwarf’s scowl, she knelt beside the unconscious woman. Her body heaved slightly with her breath, but she’d suffered several injuries—likely from the blades of the raiders—and her skin was chill to the touch. Zenna knew that Arun had the power to heal her, but doubted that the dwarf would be quick to help, out of pride if nothing else. She could call to Illewyn, but the cleric had already sacrificed her magical protection against the cold to help her; going through the doorway and the brown mold would be dangerous.
With a sigh, she reluctantly reached into her pocket for the holy symbol. Without consciously thinking about it, she turned her body slightly to conceal the motion from Arun. The amulet was cold in her hand, just a piece of carved metal...
But as she stared at it, the device seemed to grow larger in her vision, and she felt her thoughts drawing inward, focusing in a way similar to the meditation techniques she’d been training in as a child. Somewhere deep in that place was her magic, the tendrils of energy that formed the Weave, accessed by the words and gestures that she stored in her mind. This was different, somehow, but again Zenna felt that same vague sense of commonality.
Blue fire blazed in her hand, wisps of soft light that dissolved into the skin of the injured woman. In response the woman stirred, her mouth opening as she drew a deep breath into her body. She heard the creak of metal as Arun shifted, no doubt readying himself to pound the drow into paste if she made any threatening gestures. Zenna could see her wounds closing, and she thought she could feel the woman’s body grow warmer, as the healing touch of the magic—her magic—banished the cold that had gripped her.
Her eyes opened.
“I am not dead,” she said, her voice a soft, melodic sound.
Zenna opened her mouth to speak, but Arun beat her to it.
“No, drow, and if you want to keep it that way, you’d better be quick to answer some questions.”
Despite the dwarf’s hostility, the woman nodded calmly, drawing herself up with Zenna’s help to a sitting position. “I will do what I can.” She looked around, taking them all in, the battered door, the dwarf’s armor with the sigil of Moradin clearly etched into its surface. Her eyes lingered slightly on Zenna’s face, and with a flush the wizardess realized that she hadn’t lifted her cowl or put her magical hat back on after her confrontation with Arun.
“What’s your name?” Zenna asked her.
“I am Shensen Tesseril. I maintain the shrine here, the small sanctuary to the Rider of the Winds.”
“Shaundakul,” Zenna said, and the woman nodded.
“What of the bandits?” she asked.
“Dead,” Arun said. “Or at least most of them,” he amended. “We got that half-monkey leader of theirs, though.”
The drow woman shivered noticeably, and not from the cold—although it was cold in here, Zenna realized, though the chill did not touch her through her magical protection. She took off her cloak and wrapped it around Shensen, who nodded gratefully.
“What of the cleric?”
“He didn’t make it, sadly,” Zenna said.
“That is a great sadness, the loss of a valiant man of faith, but not what I meant. I am referring to the woman... the human creature with the hair of fire and the markings of the Black Fist upon her. During the assault upon the Lucky Monkey, she gave commands to the were-creature and the other bandits.”
Zenna and Arun exchanged a look. “We saw no such cleric,” Zenna said.
“There was a fire dark and terrible burning within that one,” Shensen said. “In a way, she was more frightening than the monstrosity that slew the servant of Helm.”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Zenna asked.
Shensen told the story briefly, but with enough detail for them to get a clear understanding of what had happened. The attack had come the previous night, late enough so that many of the roadhouse’s guests were already in their rooms. The attackers were skilled and well-equipped, a fact that Zenna could certainly attest to, and they made short work of the staff and those few patrons able to defend themselves. Shensen had been in the small shrine to Shaundakul when the attack had begun, and was drawn to the fighting by the noise of shouts and broken glass. She arrived to find Sarcem, the High Priest of Helm, rallying some of the survivors. The defenders were forced to take refuge in the cellar as more bandits converged on their position, and it was there that Tongueater and his warriors finally overcame them. Even as the were-baboon struck down Sarcem, Shensen fled into the cold-storage room, recovering the box of brown mold kept there. Already wounded, and with several bandits in pursuit, she was able to release the mold over the door to the well chamber and seal it with a wood shape spell before the chilling effects of the mold overcame her. She was barely able to crawl away from the range of the mold before passing out.
“And that is how you found me,” she concluded. “Have I answered your questions satisfactorily, master dwarf?”
“You haven’t mentioned what you’re doing here, a drow, in the surface world,” Arun pointed out.
“I am only half-drow, but I make no apologies for what I am. Would you suggest that I am to blame for the color of my skin, or the practices of those who share my bloodline? Certainly we are rare here, here under the sun and stars... but not unheard of, certainly.... much like your own people, perhaps? In any case, I understand your wariness, but I ask that you not offer judgment before you have come to know me.”
Arun grunted noncommittally. Zenna thought that Shensen’s words were much like her own, and suspected that Arun was feeling a bit conflicted at being told off twice in quick succession. She managed to hide a faint smile at the thought.
“We’d better get you out of here,” Zenna said. “Our companions are in the outer corridor, but we need to find a way to get through the mold.”
Shensen took a deep breath and stood. “I feel weak, but perhaps can make it through one last time.”
Zenna gave the drow woman one of the potions they’d taken off of Tongueater; restored further by the healing power of the draught, they turned to brave the mold once more. The growth had expanded somewhat from the heat it had drained off of their bodies, but dashing through they were all able to make it back to where the others waited. After some introductions, they returned to the ground floor of the roadhouse.
It was now closer to dawn than the preceding dusk. The companions pressed their search for a brief while, but they were all exhausted from the long travel and the ordeals they had faced here. Finally they decided to hole up and rest. They checked the shutters and doors one last time to be sure they were secure, set up a barricade near the staff quarters, set a schedule for watches, and collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Very cool! I hope that the half-drow woman stays with the party, but clearly she has other duties...
How did Dannel feel about her? Or is he more concerned about hiding that wound from the were-baboon!!!???
How did Dannel feel about her? Or is he more concerned about hiding that wound from the were-baboon!!!???
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