Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

And so we begin again...

* * * * *

The Shackled City
Book III: Zenith Trajectory


Chapter 84


“Blast it!” Zenna said, leaning back from the desk against the plushly padded cushions of the weathered oak chair.

“Difficulty?” Dannel asked, from his perch in the cozy windowbox across the room.

The two adventurers were in the comfortable surroundings of Esbar Tolerathkas’s study, in one of the more rarified neighborhoods of the city of Cauldron. The arcanist was not present, having departed on an extended visit to the city of Almraiven, but he’d allowed Zenna the use of his rented home during his absence, in exchange for keeping an eye on the place. Given the breadth of the man’s library, and the facilities in his workroom, Zenna considered herself much the better for the exchange, and had spent a lot of time here in the last tenday.

She glanced over at the elf, who was holding both his silver flute and a small notebook balanced expertly in his lap. Dannel’s relationship with the devotee of Azuth remained somewhat murky to her. Clearly the two were friends; and Dannel had all but told her that Esbar had set him to keep an eye on her. Whatever his motives, Dannel had proven himself repeatedly to be a boon companion, aiding them first against the brigands that had seized the Lucky Monkey, and again in the dark tunnels under the city where the cult led by Triel Eldurast had been based.

Zenna let out a sigh and pushed the parchment she’d been working on away. The scroll was covered with arcane formulas and notes in the quixotic language of magic, and while there was no actual spell scribed upon it, to one familiar with the Art it would hold an air of mystery and power.

“Just frustrated, I guess,” she said. “I feel like I’m stuck in a rut. I’ve mastered a number of spells... a great number, if you consider the power that Esbar’s meditative techniques have opend to me. But all fall within the lowest valences of magical power; for all my work, the more potent works may as well be in Netherese for all I can make of them.”

“They will come,” Dannel said simply. “Consider the progress you’ve made since arriving in Cauldron—how long has it been, a month, in total? I know mages who took years to get where you are now.”

Zenna nodded, but she didn’t look convinced, and her eyes stole back to the scroll.

“I don’t see why you are so preoccupied with power, anyway,” Dannel went on, closing his book and leaning back against the weathered wooden boards that framed the broad windows. “There’s much more to life, you know.”

Zenna’s gaze snapped back to the elf, and she said sharply, “I know that,” she said. “But it’s a fact of life in Faerûn, in case you haven’t noticed, that power is a necessity to survival. Life is hard, dangerous, and unforgiving to those who lack talent or dedication to improving themselves. Even if I wanted to forget that, what’s happened since I arrived in Cauldron has only served to drive that lesson home.”

Dannel regarded her with an expression that wasn’t quite pity—he knew her well enough to know that such would only fuel her rage. Instead, he nodded. “What you say is true. But it’s also true that life is beautiful, and wondrous, and full of mysteries that tickle the soul and challenge the spirit.”

And he lifted his flute to his lips, playing a soft tune that floated across the room, hanging in the air. Zenna had heard him play a number of times, but this melody was unfamiliar, evocative of joyous homecomings and the promise of friendships both old and new. Despite an unwillingness to let her guard down the song crept into her and softened her anger, awakening memories that she’d struggled to forget, of a home she had denied and people she’d cared about... but who had abandoned her. Those memories always left her with a bittersweet feeling, and uncertainties that she preferred not to revisit. Still, when the song ended, she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her, and she turned away, not wanting the elf to see how deeply she’d been affected.

Dannel complied in this little deception, making a show of gathering up his possessions, uncoupling the flute into its component pieces before sliding it back into its sheath. “We’d best be on our way,” he said. “We’ll be late for our meeting with Mole and Arun.”

He took up his longbow from its perch leaning into the adjacent corner, and rose. She watched him, still trying to sort out her own feelings. As he crossed to where she stood, near the exit to the landing that led downstairs, she said, “It’s too bad that life isn’t always like a song.”

He turned, and without warning, leaned in and kissed her.

Completely surprised, Zenna felt a million emotions warring with the immediate sensation of the elf’s lips pressed against her, his arm firm against her side as he pulled her to him. At the same time she was indignant, shocked, amused, excited. Before she could decide how to react, it was over. He drew back, unapologetic, that familiar twinkle in his eye that she found both endearing and infuriating.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t settle on what to say, and nothing came out. She suddenly felt very self-conscious, and snapped her mouth shut, feeling awkward under his scrutiny.

“Well,” she finally said.

“Well,” he echoed, with a smile that demanded nothing, but also promised nothing. “We’d better get going, the others will be waiting for us.”

And with that, he turned and left, waiting at the landing until she started to follow.

 

[Broccli_Head]

Broccli_Head Checking In for the next adventure!

 

[questionmark]

BUMP!
A blossoming romance, how sweet.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 85

“Sheesh, this place is depressing,” Mole said. “Why spend so much time here, when there’s a whole wide world full of interesting things just outside that door?”

Arun’s only reply was a grunt, as he scooped up the remaining swaths of gravy from his plate with the heel of his biscuit. The dwarf was clad in a simple wool mantle, looking a bit out of place without the familiar presence of his steel armor about his frame. His hammer was at its accustomed place at his side, however.

“You know what? You’re just a big grumpus,” Mole said. Arun lifted an eyebrow but didn’t respond to the bait, so Mole spun around on the bench and faced out into the room.

There wasn’t much to see. The dwarven tavern, situated below the surface of the street outside, was plain and functional, with massive wooden beams supporting the low ceiling. The place was virtually empty, with only a pair of dwarven craftsmen over by the hearth and the tavernmaster behind the polished wooden bar, cleaning massive crockery mugs nearly as thick about as the gnome’s body.

“Now that you’re done, we’d better get going,” Mole said, glancing over her shoulder at Arun. “Shouldn’t keep the others waiting, especially since this errand is for your benefit.”

She turned back and so didn’t see Arun’s reaction, if there was any. But she smiled to herself—she enjoyed baiting the dwarf, but at the same time thought warmly of the old curmudgeon. After all, she owed him her life.

The door to the steep stairwell leading up to the street opened, and a trio of dwarves entered the tavern. By their finery—neat but functional, like the tavern itself—they were likely merchants, gold dwarves by the deep earthen tone of their skin. Unlike Arun, all wore long, rich beards, that of the oldest streaked through with silver, and tied with a dozen small golden bells that tinkled slightly with his movements. The elder merchant’s eyes scanned the common room with approval before alighting upon the table where Mole and Arun sat.

“I thought this were a dwarven tavern,” the merchant spat, in thickly accented Common.

Mole leaned back against the table. “Oh, my mother was half-dwarven,” she chimed, sounding utterly credible despite the contrary evidence offered by her appearance.

The old gold dwarf regarded her doubtfully, but finally turned away and started toward the bar. “Dwarven ale,” he said in his own tongue, pulling off leather gloves and slapping them down on a vacant table. “The strong stuff. Tis been a long road, and we could use a taste o’ home.”

The bartender nodded and started filling steins. One of the old merchant’s companions had unslung his pack at the table chosen by the leader, but the other lingered a moment, staring at Arun with cold, beady eyes.

“Been livin’ among humans long... takin’ their likin’ to the razor then?” he queried, his words thick, as though he chewed each one off a bit before spitting it out.

Arun met his gaze squarely. Though he didn’t reply, his eyes were like cold iron, and when Mole glanced back, she saw that his hands were tight against the edge of the table, as though hanging on for dear life.

Sensing a difficult situation, Mole naturally decided to intervene.

“Welcome to Cauldron!” she said expansively, popping up and crossing to the dwarf, offering her hand. “I think you’ll find the hospitality here much to your liking... there’s something for everyone here!”

The dwarf ignored her, still staring at Arun. “Be that I know ye?” he growled. “Yer of the Rift, that’s no doubt. Southern spur, the Electrum Deeps?”

Arun stood, the bench scraping back loudly against the floor. “Nay,” he said. “Must have me mistaken for someone else, friend.” He took up his hammer, and started around the table in the general direction of the door.

The dwarf merchant’s companions came over to join him. “No, I be certain, now,” he said. “Tough to be forgettin’ the likes o’ you, ye beardless coward.”

Arun stopped as if poleaxed, his mouth tightening in barely suppressed rage.

Mole, who did not speak dwarven, did not understand what was being said, but she could read the tension that had gotten thick enough to cut with a knife. “Um... perhaps we’ll just be going...” she hazarded.

But the dwarf merchant was having none of it, and in fact was clearly getting as angry as Arun. “Yer still gots the temerity to be wearin’ that symbol, then?” he said, gesturing curtly at the icon splayed across the paladin’s chest—the hammer and anvil of Moradin, the chief deity of the dwarven pantheon.

The merchant’s companions looked at their friend curiously. He reported, “This be Arun Goldenshield,” he spat.

The old merchant nodded, the movement causing the bells in his beard to tinkle slightly. “Ah. I heard about the troubles in the Deeps.” His eyes were sad, a contrast to the anger in those of his younger companion.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Arun said, starting once more toward the door. Mole, familiar with the dwarf’s mannerisms, could see that each step came only with difficulty, and she could sense the conflict within her friend.

The young merchant stepped before him, blocking his way. “Yes, flee, coward,” he said. “And stay out of this place. This be a tavern for dwarves.”

Arun did not respond, but Mole stepped forward, indignant. “Look, fella, I don’t know what your problem is, but you should show at least a little respect. Arun is a great hero, a paladin of your head-honcho forger god, and he’s slain many evil foes—I know, I was there. So lay off, eh?”

The dwarf merchant turned to her. “Your ‘friend’ should have told you the full story, seems like,” he said, his Chondanthan accented but understandable. “Did he tell ye, that he’s an exile, driven out from his people, never to return on pain of death? That his cowardice allowed enemies of the gold dwarven people to walk free, to threaten our wives and our children?”

Mole looked at Arun, whose face was a stone slate. “I trust my friend, and whatever he did, I know he had a good reason,” she said with conviction.

“Bah,” the merchant retorted. “He’ll fit in well with you surfacers, with your weak stomachs and ‘tolerant’ ways. Get out of my sight... unless you want to do something about it, coward?”

For a moment Mole hoped that Arun would; she wanted to see this smug jerk taught some manners. The gray-bearded dwarf was hanging back, with that sad look still on his face, but the other young one—he seemed barely an adult, by the look of him—looked equally eager for a bit of trouble.

But Arun only turned away, and the dwarf laughed.

That was it for Mole. She stepped forward to confront the rude dwarf directly. Even though he was short even for his kind, he was broad, and muscular—easily several times Mole’s weight, no doubt. He met her approach with a look of derision.

“Well? Get out, I said.”

Mole responded with a single lengthy sentence. While she didn’t speak dwarven, she’d picked up a few of its more creative curses, and in the sentence, she managed to insult the dwarf, his family, several of his more distant ancestors (one of whom, by implication, had apparently been a goblin), and finally that part of him about which most males are rather protective.

The dwarf responded rather predictably by flying into a rage, and reached out to grab the gnome with his thick, muscled fingers. His intent was clear in the look of fury blazed across his face.

His fingers closed upon empty air, however, as Mole darted forward under his reach, coming up alongside his left hip. She’d drawn a leather purse from the pouch at her belt—jangling with the weight of numerous coins—and as she passed the dwarf she smoothly spun and slammed the improvised bludgeon into the dwarf’s side. The impact, hitting the dwarf off-guard, drew a grunt of pain from the merchant, who staggered awkwardly to the side. Already off balance due to his lunge, he stumbled and went down.

The dwarf’s young companion came forward to help, but Mole suddenly sprung into the air, her magical boots carrying her up almost to the level of the rafters above. As the dwarf looked up at her with an almost comical look of surprise on his face, the gnome’s boot shot out, catching him squarely across the bridge of his nose. The dwarf stumbled back and likewise fell, blood pouring from the broken appendage.

The old dwarf stood his ground, refusing to get involved. But the first dwarf, the one that she’d struck with the purse, was already getting back to his feet, and even as Mole heard him and turned to face him, he drew out a handaxe from his belt. The elder dwarf saw him and shouted something in dwarvish, but the younger merchant, his ego and body both bruised, his rage unslaked and demanding satisfaction, hurtled forward, the axe coming up threateningly.

But it was arrested as Arun stepped in, and captured the merchant’s wrist in an iron grip.

“Enough,” he said. The dwarf struggled for a moment, but then his eyes met the paladin’s, and he saw something there that gave him pause. He shuddered, then nodded. The old man took him into custody and the two groups of combatants drew apart, each wary of the other.

“I think it’s time that we left this place,” Arun said, turning wearily and starting toward the stairs. Mole followed—after pausing to stick her tongue out at the fiery-tempered young dwarf merchant.

 

[Broccli_Head]

Cool hints at Arun's backstory!

 

[wolff96]

I've been looking forward to this for a while now -- Arun's Backstory.

Now we know why he's so foolhardy brave in battle... he's making up for being thought a coward. Or perhaps he even WAS a coward, before he became a Paladin.

Looking forward to more, LB.

 

[Lazybones]

More on Arun today, and the weekend cliffhanger a day early. My office is moving to a new location tomorrow and I won't have computer access. Have a great weekend!

* * * * *

Chapter 86

Magma Avenue was fairly crowded on this morning, with dozens of Cauldronites taking advantage of the break in the storms of the last few tendays to catch up on errands and just general meandering out of doors. The sky above was a stark blue in between the scattered clouds, although the chill in the air sufficed to remind everyone that yes, it was still winter. Clouds hung in denser clusters over the mountains that overshadowed the city to the east, a further reminder that the city would likely be facing more inclement weather before too long. But with the churches of the city equipped with the wands of control water recovered from the clutches of Triel Eldurast and her co-conspirators, the terror of flooding had been eased, at least for this season.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Arun said, as the gnome and dwarf made their way through the crowds. Magma Avenue was a fairly busy shopping district, and it seemed as though the residents of the city wanted to get a month’s worth of purchasing and selling into this one clear morning.

“Well, I was starting to get worried that I’d spend my entire stay in Cauldron without participating in a barroom brawl,” Mole said idly, drawing a harrumph that might have been amusement from the paladin.

They walked on in silence for a bit, then Mole asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Arun didn’t respond for several paces, and Mole didn’t push him. But finally he said, “It’s true what he said—I am a coward, at least by the traditions and laws of my people.”

“I can’t believe that,” she said earnestly. “If anything, you’re a bit too brave, a little crazy, even.”

Arun’s mouth cracked a smile, but it wasn’t in his voice as he continued. “I was accepted into the Order of the Hammer at a relatively young age,” he said. “I volunteered for pioneer duty—the cadres that scout the outermost tunnels, searching for threats.”

“One time there was an incursion by a tribe of goblins—almost a thousand of them—that had made their way up from the Underdark. They weren’t looking for trouble, were probably running from something bigger and meaner than they were. Which is mostly everything, in the Underdark.”

The dwarf paused as he looked off into the distance, seeing memories revisited in his thoughts. When he continued, there was a grimness in his tone. “I fought in a few skirmishes, and got separated from my patrol. I found myself in a side tunnel—cramped, but quiet. I was making my way back to one of the main tunnels when I came across a small cavern.”

“The place was crowded with goblins. Women, children... all noncombatants. The males were all off fighting off my kin, not that they would last long against battle-hardened dwarves. There must have been a hundred in that place. There was no way out, except through me.”

Mole looked up at him. “I thought your paladin code was pretty straightforward about such things; defenseless enemies and such.”

“Among humans, perhaps. Not among dwarves. A child goblin is still a goblin, who will grow up to become a goblin adult... evil and corrupted.”

“So what did you do?” Mole asked, though she thought she already knew the answer.

“I let them go,” he said.

“And your kin weren’t happy when they found out about it,” Mole said.

“No,” Arun said. “I submitted myself for judgment to the elders of our community. There were a few that were sympathetic to my plight, but there was little that they could do, given my oaths and the direct contravention of our laws. I was given a choice: I could be stripped of my station and my perquisites, including the right to bear arms and the right to pass on my family name, and live out my life as a miner or other unskilled laborer. Or I could accept exile.”

“It couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

“No, it was not.”

“Well... I know my opinion doesn’t count for a whole lot, but I think you’re the most honorable man I’ve ever met.”

The dwarf looked down at the gnome. “Thank you. And I think your opinion is more valuable than you give credit for.”

Mole smiled, then caught sight of something ahead through the crowd, further down the street. “Oh look, there’s Zenna and Dannel. I wonder if they’ve had as much excitement as we have, this morning.”

Mole whistled loudly, then waved as Dannel turned in their direction. Zenna seemed distracted, but that wasn’t an unusual state for her. Head in the clouds, that girl, Mole thought idly.

The two groups started toward each other, but Mole paused abruptly, a frown creasing her expression.

“Do you hear that?” she asked Arun. The dwarf looked around, curious. “What?”

“A rumbling... under the surface of the street...”

That was all the warning that they had, as a building along the north side of the street suddenly erupted in a shower of earth and stone, spraying shards of shattered brick out into the crowd. People started screaming and running even before a massive form took shape out of the cloud of pulverized dust and dirt that billowed out over the wreckage of what had, until moments ago, been the front of a non-descript warehouse.

It resembled a huge bug, although it stood upright, with a hard, chitinous shell covering its alien, multi-segmented form. Massive mandibles snapped experimentally at the air as it emerged from the cloud of debris, and it grasped onto the rough edges of the wall with powerful claws, tearing down more of the structure of the warehouse down around it as it drew itself up out of the tunnel it had burrowed up from somewhere below the city.

“Oh, dear,” Mole said, reaching for her crossbow.

 

[questionmark]

arggggg!
You and your damn cliff hangers LB!

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 87


The street scene erupted into chaos as an umber hulk made a sudden appearance, tearing apart the front of a warehouse upon Magma Avenue.

The companions, no strangers to unexpected danger, were quick to react. Arun, of course, immediately charged, despite the fact that he was unarmored. Even without his second skin of steel, his booted feet pounded loudly on the cobbles of the street, and as he unlimbered his heavy warhammer, he made an impressive sight as he charged across the street toward the lumbering hulk.

Even as the dwarf charged forward into battle, Dannel strung his bow and drew a long steel-tipped shaft from his quiver. In a single smooth motion he drew, aimed, and released. The arrow sliced through the air a mere handspan above the heads of the fleeing townsfolk, clipping the umber hulk on the back of its armored skull. The arrow glanced off of the hard chitin that comprised its shell, but clearly the creature had felt it, as it spun ponderously about, staring out into the street with bulbous, multifaced eyes.

Mole unlimbered and loaded her crossbow with quick efficiency. But as she lifted the weapon to aim, she met the creature’s potent gaze. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember what she was doing here... oh, the sky was such a pretty color today! People were screaming all around her, and that sounded fun, so she started screaming too! Such great fun!

Zenna cursed inwardly—it hadn’t occurred to her to bring her own crossbow, not for a mere jaunt out into the city. She searched her mind for a spell that might be useful against such a monstrosity, but doubted that a mere command would have any effect on such a beast. Then she heard Mole’s screams over the noise of the crowd, and without hesitation headed in that direction.

“Zenna... wait!” Dannel shouted, uselessly.

Arun felt a wash of conflicting thoughts rush over him as he met the uncanny stare of the creature, but he shrugged off the confusion as he focused on this latest in the series of deadly adversaries that he’d confronted. The monster saw him coming, the sole individual on the street interested in approaching rather than fleeing, but it ignored him and instead started widening the hole it had made in the front wall of the warehouse, ripping boards from the building’s frame as though they were paper, and toppling most of the rest of the structure’s façade out into the street. The roof above groaned as its supports gave way, and it sagged awkwardly, likely only moments away from a collapse.

Arun let out a roar as he surged into the creature from behind, driving his hammer into its armored back. The strike barely seemed to faze the umber hulk, but the dwarf had finally gotten its attention, as it spun and lashed out at him with its massive claws. Arun paid the price for rushing into melee without the protection of his armor, as the claws that so easily penetrated wood and stone ripped deep gashes in his torso. Through a haze of pain, the dwarf saw the hulk’s head dart down, its mandibles snapping to take his head from his shoulders. The dwarf lurched backward just in time to avoid the unpleasant fate of decapitation, but could not fully avoid the jaws as one ridged mandible sliced along the side of his skull, drawing a red line that laid open his head to the bone.

Somehow the dwarf remained standing, but as blood fountained down his head and over his savaged body, it was clear that he was just about finished. A second arrow from Dannel sliced past, narrowly missing the hulk. The need to avoid hitting his friend had forced the elf to be conservative in his aim, and this time it had cost him.

Zenna pushed her way through a screaming crowd of people—most focused simply on exiting the immediate area, but some staggered about as if dazed, and she saw one man inexplicably beating on another with furious if mostly inaccurate blows, while his target just stood there, yelling something incoherent.

Madness...

She pushed past a pair of brightly dressed women who had the look of noble folk about them, and saw Mole. Her friend was just standing there, her loaded crossbow held limply at her side, a strange look on her face.

“Mole!” Zenna said, rushing toward her friend.

Mole looked up, smiled...

...raised her crossbow until the bolt was level with Zenna’s chest, and fired.

 

[Broccli_Head]

confusion...one of my favorite spells!