Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Chapter 176

The six-armed skeletons each stood seven feet in height, each limb ending in a bony claw that reached for the companions in anticipation as they crossed the room toward them. They moved deceptively fast for their size and the fact that they were dead, and the leading pair were upon Arun before he could effectively react. One clawed the dwarf across the face, scoring a minor hit, while the second dug a claw into Clinger’s thick hide, drawing a bright line of celestial ichor from the wound.

The dwarf stood atop the lizard’s back, holding aloft one of his small hammers. “Begone, creatures of darkness!” he shouted, and the hammer erupted in light in his fist. Both skeletons recoiled from that momentary flash, but they stood their ground, resisting the power of Arun’s divine invocation.

Even as the first pair stood before the paladin’s power, the others came on, launching attacks on the others. Dannel’s first arrow glanced off a slender rib, doing little or no damage, and he barely had time for another before a skeleton was on him, forcing him to duck under its sweeping claws.

“Blunt weapons!” Zenna yelled, retreating even as another of the skeletons threatened her. Despite the evidence of Arun’s failure, she attempted to channel her own power against them, but the effort felt puny even to her, and the creatures did not pay any heed to the attempt.

“We’re not exactly carrying a wide assortment!” Dannel shouted back, giving ground around one of the pillars, drawing his foe after him. He had his sword out now, and was looking for an opening with which to use it.

Mole fired her crossbow at the skeleton threatening Zenna, but the tiny bolt did little damage and the creatures lacked the usual weaknesses that she could exploit in a living foe. The skeleton paid her no heed, instead focusing on the tiefling. Zenna darted back into the corridor leading back toward the entrance, the skeleton’s claw glancing harmlessly off the protection of her mage armor.

Hodge rushed up at one of the two skeletons menacing Arun, chopping at its leg with his axe. Bone chips went flying as the axe bit deep, but in turn he drew a flurry of attacks from several of its arms, bludgeoning and scratching at the dwarf’s body. His shield absorbed several of the attacks, but still the dwarf found himself bleeding from several cuts as the skeleton lifted its arms for another attack.

The last skeleton continued its assault upon Arun with sweeps of its claws that scraped uselessly against his heavily armored body. The preponderance of limbs actually hindered it, and it was only able to effectively utilize four at once as weapons. Eschewing the relatively small hammer he carried, Arun instead laid into the skeleton with a powerful two-handed swing of Morgan’s sword, cleaving into the skeleton’s body and sundering a half-dozen ribs from its torso. Clinger helped by clamping onto one of the skeleton’s legs with its powerful bite, and as its arms converged to attack Arun swept the sword around again in a potent backswing, taking one of its arms off at the elbow.

Unfortunately it still had five more limbs with which to attack.

Zenna found herself running back the way they had come, the skeleton close behind her. She had powerful spells burning in her memory, but was loathe to use up her strongest magic now, not while deadlier adversaries lurked further ahead. It didn’t look like the skeleton was going to leave her much choice, however. She shot a wave of burning hands from her wand down the corridor after her, but her only reward was a claw that she only narrowly avoided, leaving several slightly bleeding scratches on her temple as a reminder.

She ran back into the room with the giant table-sculpture, looking for an opportunity, the skeleton right behind her.

Dannel led his adversary on a chase around the room, running up on the walls when necessary, using the pillars to slow its progress. His sword darted out in occasional strikes, although it wasn’t able to do much in the way of damage to the skeleton. In turn he’d taken several hits from its sweeping claws, although thus far nothing serious had gotten past his armor.

Hodge, on the other hand, was finding himself in difficulty again. Standing toe-to-toe with the skeleton was proving a flawed strategy, for even though the powerful strokes of his axe were doing damage, for each swing of his the skeleton got off four attacks of his own. Hodge’s face was now marked by a number of painful scratches, and several other bruises covered his body beneath his armor. Fortunately the skeleton, while imposing, wasn’t especially strong, and none of the injuries he’d taken thus far were life-threatening. But the sheer volume of hits he’d taken were beginning to have a cumulative effect.

But the dwarf, stubborn to the last, refused to give ground.

A loud clatter of bones sounded the first casualty of the battle, as Arun’s foe collapsed in a mangled heap. The dwarf, still mounted, turned Clinger and charged the skeleton facing Hodge from behind, hurling one of his hammers as he came. The missile collided into the spine of the skeleton, cracking the great bones, causing the creature to teeter unsteadily. That gave Hodge the opening he needed, and he brought his waraxe up in a powerful arc that slammed hard into its pelvis, shattering bones with the force of the impact. The skeleton fell, shattering into its component bones upon striking the hard floor.

Hodge sagged back and wiped his face, drawing blood across his features in a garish mask. “Better... go... help... the elf...” he panted.

Arun drew a potion vial out of his pouch and tossed it down to his friend. “Drink that,” he commanded, before turning Clinger toward the next opponent. The skeleton was already coming his way, actually, as Dannel had led it on a full circuit around the room, and was even now rounding the final pillar, drawing the skeleton after him.

The paladin looked around, realizing that the final skeleton was missing, as well as Zenna and Mole. He felt a momentary indecision, but then grimaced. First things first he thought, urging his mount once more into battle.

Zenna raced around the perimeter of the huge chair/table sculpture in the vastness of the entrance chamber. Behind her the skeleton kept pace. The skeleton did not even notice the gnome bounding along almost silently behind it. Knowing her crossbow was of little use against such a thing, the gnome thought hard for an alternative. Inspiration finally struck like a hammerblow, and she smiled as she reached into her bag of holding. Her magical boots sent her off like a dart, and she easily caught up to the skeleton, darting between its legs and back before it could react. It started to turn, but Mole had already reached her destination, looping the other end of her rope around a protrusion from the sculpture and securing it in an instant with a simple hoist knot.

“Nah, yah!” she yelled up at the skeleton, backing up toward the corridor mouth. Zenna, she saw, had already retreated in that direction.

The skeleton, mindless and with a singular purpose, started toward them, only to stumble as the rope tied to its ankle snagged. It lurched forward, off balance, and finally clattered to the floor. Flames washed over it, as Zenna fired another blast of burning hands from her wand.

“Ah, you’ll burn the rope,” Mole warned. “C’mon, let’s go get the guys with the big muscles to finish this one off.”

They retreated down the corridor and returned to the pillar room in time to witness the destruction of the last skeleton by Arun, Dannel, and Clinger. Hodge was seriously hurt, so Zenna tended to him, using the power of her healing wand. Not many charges left in that one, either, she thought, but there was nothing to be done for that now. Mole told the paladin and elf about the one they’d trapped in the last room, and they quickly departed to finish that matter, rejoining them just a few moments later.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Dannel opined.

“They threw them at us to force us to deplete our strength,” Zenna said. “Remember there’s still two giants left as well.”

“Well, Mole and I hurt them a bit yesterday,” the elf reminded her.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Zenna said. “We may not be the only ones who have access to healing potions and wands, you know.”

“Always the optimist,” Dannel replied. “Heck, why don’t we just surrender now?”

“Well, some of us have to be realists first...”

“Um, guys?” Mole interrupted. “Bad giants, ugly hags, rude cleric, remember?”

“Yeah, c’mon, I wanna chop somepin that bleeds when yer hit it,” Hodge groused. He still looked a nightmare, but none of them suggested washing up in the alien fountains that continued to pour their contents into the central basin in the middle of the room. Instead he drew a tiny flask from an inner pocket and drew a swallow from it.

“Hey, you were holding out on us!” Mole said, as he tucked the flask back into its hiding place.

“Emergency supplies,” the dwarf responded. “Them healin’ wands and potions kin only put so much back, ye know.”

“Come on,” Arun said. He’d treated his and his mount’s wounds with his own healing powers, and now the companions, mostly intact, headed toward the door from which the skeletons had issued. The doors slid open silently at their approach, revealing a long corridor beyond that quickly swallowed them up, the doors closing as quietly as they had opened once they were all past.

“Hold up a second.”

Mole’s voice drew them all to a halt, the sound of Clinger’s heavy breathing echoing unnaturally loud in the confines of the corridor. Behind them, Zenna could hear the faint vibration of Vaprak’s Voice building in the distance, though sound was muted through the door behind them.

“What?” Hodge asked. “Yer see somethin’?”

“Like I could see anything over this hulk,” she said, but she patted Clinger with affection as she said it. “No, this is more of a smell, and it ain’t that nice.”

“Go ahead,” Zenna said. “Be careful.”

The gnome grinned and crept forward, virtually invisible, a tiny shape shrouded in a dark cloak. She’d turned the talent of avoiding detection into nearly an art form. Her armor was enchanted to muffle the sounds of movement, and she made barely a whisper on the odd stone of the corridor floor as she slipped onward.

Another sliding door became visible ahead at the end of the corridor. She suspected that it would open automatically once she drew near, but also knew that it would instantly alert whoever or whatever lay beyond.

For a moment she was undecided, but then she shrugged slightly. Well, you’re a scout, aren’t you? Scouts scout. So scout, scout.

That settled, she crept forward. Belatedly she thought about going back to borrow Dannel’s slippers; that way she could come in above the door and take a quick peek from above when they opened. Whoever was beyond wouldn’t be expecting that. Or heck, she could just have Zenna make her invisible...

She was about to turn back when the door suddenly slid aside.

Oh well, she thought. Then she looked through at the room beyond, and in the next instant was running back to the others, all thought of stealth abandoned, her heart pounding in her chest.

Behind her, the door slid shut once again.

 

[SolidSnake]

The six-armed skeletons each stood seven feet in height, each limb ending in a bony claw that reached for the companions in anticipation as they crossed the room toward them. They moved deceptively fast for their size and the fact that they were dead, and the leading pair were upon Arun before he could effectively react.

Whoops! I thought they were actual Spellweavers

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 177


The chamber seemed smaller than it actually was, as it was divided into two levels, with the rear of the chamber eight feet higher than the forepart, with a curving stone stair to the right of the initial entry providing access to the higher level. Thick pillars of white stone further reinforced the illusion of a confined space, rising to join buttresses that supported another vaulted ceiling high above. The familiar light panels provided illumination, but several had apparently failed, leaving a partial pattern that left various areas of the room steeped in shadow.

The room’s solitary inhabitant stood on the edge of the platform, looking down at the door below. He did not stir as the door slid open, nor did he respond as the adventurers entered.

The companions drew in a collective gasp as they saw what Mole had seen, earlier.

Morgan’s muscular torso was bare, his flesh covered with crude markings hastily painted in black ink and red ochre. While clearly applied in haste, the designs contained a medley of sigils, words, and pictures that were both obscene and profane. The cleric’s face was covered by a black hood cinched tightly around his neck, with two holes cut for eyes; his only other garment was a loincloth girded about his hips. He bore a wicked-looking club in both hands, a heavy piece of black iron nearly five feet in length.

“Welcome,” a voice rasped from somewhere atop the platform. From elsewhere came an evil cackle. “So pleased you could join us,” the first voice continued.

“What have you done to him?” Zenna demanded. Reflections of herself shifted around her; mirror images that masked her true location.

“We’ve shown him his true path, dearie,” came the voice. Zenna resisted the urge to look down at Mole, who was standing behind Hodge. The three warriors, Arun, Hodge, and Dannel, formed a half-circle in front of the two women. But Zenna knew that the true danger here wasn’t mere physical assault, but the magical powers of the hags.

“And now you will pay, for the death of our sister,” the other voice said. “You were fools to return to this place...”

“Kill them!” the first hag crooned.

The sound of the footfall was close, and heavy, echoing across the floor to their left. It was followed almost instantly by another, to their right. From the way the floor shook at the steps, it was clear to all of them what their source had to be, even if there was nothing at all there that they could see. Without hesitation Arun, now dismounted, rushed to the left, while Clinger and Hodge both charged to the right. Both dwarves were alert to the sound of the heavy footfalls that approached them, but they could not fully adjust to the invisible giants that suddenly materialized before them as they swung their heavy clubs at their diminutive foes. Arun managed to dodge aside at the last instant, and partially deflected the powerful blow with his borrowed sword, but Hodge was less fortunate, and he took a punishing blow across his breastplate that laid him out on his back, gasping for breath.

“Is that... the best yer got?” he choked out, pulling himself back to his feet. The celestial lizard gave him a moment’s respite as it seized the giant’s ankle in its powerful jaws, crushing it in a painful grip.

Zenna knew that the dwarves would not be able to stand long alone against a pair of giants, but she knew that another attack was forthcoming. And indeed, the air around Morgan suddenly seemed to shimmer, and the two hags appeared flanking the cleric, their faces twisted in a sinister expression of utter hatred, their fingers pointing at the companions.

Zenna felt a twisting in her gut as one of the hag’s gazes fixed upon her. She felt a sudden panic well up within her, and a wave of nausea that threatened to overbear her. She knew that if she gave into the hag’s power, even for an instant, she would be lost, and possibly with her all of them. She reached down into herself, drawing upon an inner reserve of fortitude, and with a shudder the power of the eyebite faded.

She felt a grim thrill of satisfaction as the hag snarled in anger.

The other hag focused her attention upon Hodge. “You cannot resist my will, dwarf,” she said with a cackle, as she snared his mind with the same power of domination that she’d used before to such great effect upon Morgan.

Indeed, she was correct. But even as the hag attempted to exercise her control through the mental link, she found herself blocked by the protective aura placed upon the dwarf moments ago, just before they’d entered the room.

“That one,” Zenna growled, calling upon her magic in a flaming blast of power. The scorching ray twisted into the hag, but even as the fiery magic struck her, it faded into wisps of nothingness.

“Your petty spells cannot harm the likes of me, apprentice!” the hag laughed. “But my pretty can do more, much more!”

And with that she pointed again, and Morgan leapt off the edge of the platform, landing squarely on the floor before them with a sound of finality as he hefted the ugly metal club.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 178

Facing two hill giants, the evil hags, and their former ally, once again the situation looked grave for the adventurers from Cauldron.

The song filled Dannel as it always seemed to, now, as he lifted his bow and took aim down the length of a long shaft. He could not keep it in, and his lips parted in a pure note of focused joy as he let the arrow fly. The missile slammed into the hag’s shoulder, drawing a cry of pain from her as it drove her back. He reloaded and drew again, lost in total focus upon the bow and the song, and even as the hag recovered he struck her again, piercing her side this time with the second shaft. But the hag was a supernatural being, infused with the darker powers of faerie, and despite the two grievous wounds she was still clearly far from beaten.

Arun did not hold anything back, laying into the giant with a two-handed smite that sent the huge creature rocking backward, pain exploding from the deep wound in its side. The giant lifted his club to strike again, but before he could swing the paladin slid six inches of steel into his groin, and the giant stiffened in agony. In desperation the giant smashed his club down into the dwarf with everything it had, the full power of its strength and weight behind the blow.

The club struck the ground with enough force to crack one of the floor tiles. But the dwarf, trained from youth in the tactics of fighting giants, had shifted out of the path of the club as it had come down, and stood unharmed.

The giant looked down into the eyes of the paladin, and saw death.

The other giant was finding itself pressed as well. It pounded Clinger with several powerful blows of its club, but the celestial lizard refused to release its hold upon the giant’s ankle. Hodge rushed back to help it, opening a foot-long gash in its other leg with his axe. The giant shifted back to the dwarf and struck him solidly in the shoulder, again knocking him roughly about, but even though it was clear that the dwarf could not absorb many more hits like that, still he lifted his axe and came in again. The giant poked the club at the dwarf’s face, but Hodge too was a dwarf of dwarves, and he easily ducked the desultory attack, coming up in a roll that ended with his axe coming up into the giant’s thigh.

The giant roared in pain, its legs now twin channels of agony running in parallel up into its body. It lifted its club again, but even as it shifted its weight it felt an explosion of pain in its lower back. It felt as though a spear of flames had been thrust into its spine, and as it staggered, the sensation grew as it lost its balance and plummeted forward, falling to its knees and only barely catching itself from falling on its face. It saw the dwarf and his damnable axe coming again, and tried to grab him, but again the dwarf was too quick and his fingers closed only on air.

As the giant fell, Mole let go of its belt and fell smoothly to the floor. She looked at her bloody knife with amazement and smiled to herself.

It’s not how big it is, it’s where you put it, she thought. But then, leaving the crippled giant to Hodge to finish, she turned and headed swiftly to the stairs that led up to the platform.

But even as the dwarves battled for their lives against the giants, Zenna’s attentions were focused on the cleric who started toward her, the club coming up menacingly.

“You don’t have to do this, Morgan,” she said. “You can fight them!”

But the cleric did not respond. Zenna hurled a spell at him, to hold him again, but this time her magic slid off the focused shield of the cleric’s will.

This time, he would not be denied the vengeance he had desired, ever since he had met her.

She saw Dannel turn toward them. “No!” she cried. “You know what you have to do!”

She saw the pain in the elf’s eyes, but also saw the acceptance, knew that the key to their victory lay in overcoming the hags, in breaking the spell that held Morgan captive.

Leaving her to face the wrath of the dominated cleric alone.

 

[Dwarf_Paladin]

All I can say is, YIKES!

I would both love and hate to have you as a DM, I dont think i would survive more then a sesion or two, but it would be a fun TPK

 

[Broccli_Head]

All I can say is, YIKES!

I would both love and hate to have you as a DM, I dont think i would survive more then a sesion or two, but it would be a fun TPK

Nahh...Arun would survive. And Mole. She'd sneak away.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 179

The elf continued his barrage, trying to force arrows through the terrible defenses of the hag. The other hag shifted the dark power of her gaze to fall upon him, and for a moment he felt that same surge of evil that had threatened Zenna. But Zenna had also laid a protective ward upon him as well, and after a moment the agony of the eyebite faded. He drew yet another arrow, sighting at the injured hag... and she vanished, drawing down once more a cloak of protective invisibility. Instinctively he fired his arrow, but the hag must have moved swiftly, for it only passed through empty air.

He shifted his aim toward the second creature, but felt a redoubling of the earlier evil assault upon him as the hag focused upon him yet again with the fell power of her spell. This time his defenses failed to hold, and his bow fell from nerveless fingers as he fell back, waves of pain and nausea washing over him, the hag’s cackles echoing through his mind.

Zenna drew back as Morgan whipped his club through one of the mirror images, the glamour vanishing as though popped by the force of the blow. She had no more spells to hold him or sway his mind; she’d used up the bulk of her clerical powers on protection from evil spells for her allies.

Still, she was not without resources. She fired off a color spray into his face, a brilliant barrage that had left tough foes stunned and vulnerable.

But even as the colors faded, he was attacking again. This time a pair of images vanished before his fury, and the cold eyes on the other side of the black mask promised death.

So be it, then, she thought.

Even as the cleric lifted his weapon to strike her down, she unleashed her second scorching ray at point-blank range into his chest. His skin blackened a

nd crisped where the ray tore into him, but the man did not cry out, nor did he falter, though the wound had to be incredibly painful. Instead he lashed out again, and this time his club clipped a solid form, tearing through her shield and her mage armor and striking painfully against her shoulder. She fell back against the nearby wall. The club came in again, but once again, distracted by the last remaining image, which continued to shift around her, he missed and drove the club heavily into the wall a foot from her face.

Not hesitating, she reached out and grabbed the club, releasing a powerful jolt of electrical energy through the metal weapon into the cleric. The shocking grasp tore into him like a raging flood, and he stiffened, dropping the heavy weapon from charred fingers.

But driven by a combined fury that originated both within him and from outside, the cleric surged at her again before she could pull herself up, and his powerful fingers locked onto her throat, driving her back into the wall.

Even at that moment, as the dwarves finished off the two giants, and Dannel succumbed to the fell power of the hags, Mole reached the top of the platform, her cloak drawn close around her, a dark shadow amongst the confusion of the battle. She saw the one hag, but while she could see bloodstains on the floor where Dannel had shot the other, she could not see it. That was the leader, she knew, the one that had dominated Morgan, the key to this confrontation. But where is she, she thought, suspecting that she knew the answer. She heard a flapping sound in the air above, among the pillars, but when she looked up she saw nothing there either.

“Damn you, Kymzo,” she heard a voice say quietly, so close that she almost jumped up and gave away her position. She crouched lower in the lee of the stairs, and focused her senses out over the platform.

There. A droplet appeared in mid-air, falling to the floor, smeared a moment later by a passing foot. Heading for one of the two doors that exited the chamber from the platform.

Mole was off like a shot, crouched low to the ground.

“Come sister, we must flee this place...”

The voice, coming from thin air, gave Mole her target, and she leapt. Belatedly the consequences for a mistimed attack flashed through her mind, and then she was hanging on the hag’s back, to all outside observers dangling there in mid-air three feet off the ground.

The hag hissed in anger, and Mole could feel powerful claws tearing at her arms and face. But the hiss had been what she was waiting for, and it guided her as she tore with the knife. The hiss turned into a broken gurgle as the hag staggered and fell, Mole following her down, driving the knife again and again into her throat. It was like trying to stab a tree, the hag’s thick skin like bark, but the initial surprise assault had done its work, combined with Dannel’s arrows jutting from its gnarled body. Splotches of blood appeared on the floor beneath her, and then the hag appeared, quivering as it bled out the last of its life upon the stone tiles of the floor.

Mole drew herself up and looked up at the other hag, who had turned to see the death of her sister. She was a sight, blood covering her sleeves and splattered on her face, the knife in her hand a mess of gore. She lifted her arm and pointed at the hag with the knife.

“You’re next.”

The hag turned invisible and fled.

Zenna saw flashes of light flare across her vision as Morgan squeezed, cutting off the flow of air and blood through her neck. She struggled against his grip, which felt like iron, but he was too strong.

“I... I didn’t kill your family,” she gasped. Mole had told her the whole tale of woe, but it didn’t seem to matter now, as the cleric strangled her.

Dimly she heard the cry of the hag, somewhere beyond the face of the man whose hate-filled visage dominated her vision. But then, as she looked up into his eyes, she saw the spell that had controlled him snap, sensed the iron bonds of control that the hag had established over his mind and body shatter with its death.

But the hatred was still there, and the pressure around her throat hadn’t eased. If anything, it grew stronger, infused with the madness that now burned through the narrow slits in the black fabric.

Consciousness faded, and the black embraced her.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 180

“GET OFF!”

Arun grappled Morgan’s arms and heaved, trying to break the cleric’s grip on Zenna, but the man’s hands were knotted around the unconscious woman’s neck, and his arms were like iron bars, rigid and unyielding. The dwarf didn’t hesitate, bringing his sword up and slamming the hilt into the cleric’s face, shattering his jaw. Morgan went limp, flying backward to land semi-conscious on the hard stone tiles of the floor.

The paladin knelt by the unmoving woman, and found that she was not breathing. He powers of healing were somewhat depleted from their earlier encounters, but he drew deeply upon his reservoir and channeled positive energy, the gift of his god, into her.

She did not stir.

“Zenna!”

Dannel staggered forward, all but falling at her side. He had his healing wand out, but ignored it as he drew upon a pure song of grief and love that poured out of him, into her. Sparkles of blue light formed in the air between them, borne on the notes of the song, vanishing into her body.

Her body arched as she drew in a sudden, desperate gasp of air, then she started choking, feeling at the tender flesh of her throat that was already beginning to bruise.

“Hold still,” Dannel said. “Let the magic do its work.”

She nodded, forcing herself to breathe calmly through her nose until the urge to gasp faded and she could breathe normally. An ugly necklace of purple welts remained where Morgan’s fingers had pressed, however. She rose, the elf helping her stand. The room was quiet again, with the massive bodies of the giants flanking them in the center of the room.

The companions gathered around the figure lying on the floor. Morgan, still groggy, pulled himself up until he knelt there in their midst, his eyes lowered, blood still oozing from the cracked and burned flesh tight across his chest where Zenna had hit him with her spell. He reached up and tore the hood from his head, revealing a face that was a mask of blood and suffering.

“Kill me cleanly,” he said, his words slurred due to his damaged jaw. “I do not deserve mercy, but still I ask it, a clean, quick death.”

“I think we’ve had enough killing here,” Arun said, softly.

“You were under the control of the hags’ magic,” Dannel added. “There is no fault, no shame in it.” He shuddered at the remembered power of the eyebite to which he had succumbed.

Morgan’s gaze did not waver, fixed upon Zenna. “I have failed,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. His body shook, and they could see the despair flowing out from him like waves of heat from a roaring fire.

Dannel’s voice was soothing, although Zenna could see that it struck the man like a spearpoint. “Morgan, you are still needed...”

His stare remained fixed on Zenna. “Tell them!” he commanded. “Tell them, that they may hold their false pity!”

Zenna stepped forward. She did not have the quiet nobility of Arun, or the smooth presence of Dannel, but there was still something that shone in her eyes when she took them all in with her gaze, before focusing back on the fallen cleric.

“Yes, you have failed,” Zenna said. “You have failed us, and we have failed you.” Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but Zenna kept on talking over him. “And perhaps you have failed in your compact to your god and your church; that is a matter for you and your oaths to resolve. But mark this, priest. This is not a game, here. We are in a struggle for our lives, and the defeat of one foe does not necessarily mean that the danger is past. We are a team, here—“ she indicated her companions with a wide sweep of her hand—“and we have to rely upon each other, if we hope to complete our mission here. Remember the paladin, and the lives that will be lost in Cauldron and Redgorge if we do not return with him, or at least word of his fate.”

Her gaze intensified, and for a moment it was as if the two of them, wizard and cleric, were the only people in the room. “I offer you no forgiveness, nor do I proffer pity, Morgan of Helm. But nor do I release you from the oaths you swore to us, when you became a member of this company. Oaths perhaps not in the language of ritual and tradition, sworn on an altar in a church, but oaths nonetheless. You are not finished here, Morgan Ahlendraal, and I do not release you.” The last words were almost a whisper, but she could see the force with which they struck him.

The cleric rose. His face was an iron mask, but Zenna knew him well enough to see the storm of turmoil that lay behind that barrier. He could barely stand. Zenna knew that there was one thing more that needed to be done. She stepped forward.

“You must ask,” she said, and she saw that he flinched. Would her words be enough?

“The elf...” he rasped.

“No. From me. You must ask, cleric of Helm, if your honor is truly more than just words and inflated pride.”

Morgan sagged, and for a moment Zenna thought that he would collapse. But then his eyes came back up to meet hers, and while there was no peace there—there would not be, not for some time, if ever, she knew—there was at least a return of the old determination that she’d come to know there.

“Heal me... please...” he said.

 

[Dungannon]

Wow.

That's all I have right now, Wow.

You are truly a gifted storyteller, LB.

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks, Dungannon! I liked how that scene came together; I'm glad you enjoyed it.

* * * * *

Chapter 181

They were running out of healing magic, Zenna thought, as she replaced her healing wand back in its pocket sewn into the lining her belt pouch. As far as she knew, they were completely done with the healing potions they’d brought with them from Cauldron, and after treating the injuries they all suffered—well, except for Mole, she’d hadn’t been scratched—the stored energies in her wand were nearly depleted.

Still, they were going to push on. What else could they do? They’d defeated the hags, at least—though Mole had told them that the last one had escaped—and now they had to confirm the grim outcome of Alek Tercival’s fate with which the hags had tormented them.

Morgan had not been able to help them with that; the channel of mental contact established by the hag’s dark magic had only been one-way, and while he’d been able to perceive what was happening, as a helpless observer in his own body, he could not tell them if their taunts had been based in truth. He did report that he hadn’t seen any more giants, although the mystery of the flapping wings that Zenna and Mole had both heard was revealed as the cleric told them of a small imp-like creature, which had served the hags as a spy and messenger.

“They spoke of someone named Nabthatoron,” he told them. “From their words and tone, I gathered that he was someone of great power in this region.”

“The demon,” Dannel said, and Zenna had nodded.

But there was nothing for it but to continue.

They retreated out of the complex, but only temporarily, to recover Morgan’s armor and shield. Arun had dismissed his companion again following the battle, so they all walked together, their sounds of their footsteps echoing hollowly off the walls of the canyon. The cleric had accompanied them stiffly, his pain not entirely physical. He’d tried to wash off the sigils painted onto his body by the hags, but even though he was able to blur some of them beyond recognition, scrubbing his torso with a lye cake provided from Mole’s bag, Zenna knew that they would likely remain intact, inside of him, for some time to come.

They ate a somber meal, and drank deeply from their waterskins, and then gathered up their weapons and returned to the complex. Arun had offered Morgan his sword back, but the knight refused. Instead he took up the blackened iron club that the hags had given him. Zenna suspected that there was some overwrought meaning in the gesture from the man’s point of view, but she didn’t feel like debating it with him. She too was tired, eager for this journey to end, whether the outcome was for good or for ill.

They returned to the complex, still wary, but nothing emerged from the quiet halls to challenge them this time. They returned to the room where they’d battled the hags, and climbed to the top of the platform. The chamber smelt of blood and death, and they knew that in the warm, damp climate, rot would soon follow. They gave the corpse of the dead hag a wide berth and headed toward one of the sliding doors.

The door slid aside at their approach to reveal another corridor, ten feet wide with a vaulted ceiling fifteen feet above. The corridor deposited them in another room, a relatively compact chamber roughly thirty feet square.

“Home sweet home,” Mole said.

Indeed the place had the look of a residence, and even before one looked at the three beds arranged against the far wall it was evident that this was the demesne of the hags. A series of golden baboon masks were hung along the north wall, and rich carpets and tapestries covered the floor and walls. Several skeins of fine yarn were laid out around chairs to their left, suggesting that at least some of the designs in the place were the product of the chamber’s former owners. A chest to their left in the corner completed the décor.

“It’s sad,” Dannel said, examining one of the tapestries with a critical eye. “Some of this stuff is really good, actually, and yet it came from minds steeped so in evil.”

“Bah,” Hodge said, but the dwarf fidgeted, unable to think of anything further to say.

“They chose their fate,” Arun said, closing the matter, at least in his mind.

Mole had made a beeline for the chest. “Well now, what do we have here?” she said, flexing her fingers before examining the lock.

“Careful, there might be traps,” Zenna said.

Mole shot her a look—well, duh—before returning to her work. But her examination did not find any obvious dangers, and it appeared that the chest was unlocked as well. Apparently the hags had been confident in their ability to repel intruders in their lair.

Mole opened the chest, revealing an assortment of neatly stacked items of value. With a small cry of glee she began digging through them, cataloguing each and placing them on a nearby carpet.

“Good stuff,” Hodge said, picking out a golden armband. “All this,” he added, indicating the contents of the chamber, “Worth more ‘an a few coppers, me thinks.”

Mole nodded seriously. “Yeah, but how are we going to lug it all out of here?”

Morgan cleared his throat tentatively. “It is clear that Alek Tercival is not here,” he offered, but it was clear that he still lacked his old fire, for he did not press the matter, and the others ignored him.

Mole found a scroll and unrolled it, giving its contents a quick scan. “Here, Zenna, this is for you,” she said.

Arun was watching them from nearby, and took interest in a number of securely stoppered vials that Mole next drew from the chest. “Healing potions?” he asked. Mole opened one, took a sniff and a tiny taste, and nodded. “Those will be useful,” the paladin said.

Zenna, meanwhile, had examined the scroll. It was clearly arcane, although the complex formulae were beyond her. She cast a read magic cantrip, and sucked in a startled breath. There were some powerful spells here! She felt a tingle as she looked over the spell titles... prying eyes, greater dispel, sequester...

Dannel, meanwhile, had turned to examine the rest of the room. “I saw a mask like these in Cauldron,” he said, noting the baboon masks affixed to the walls. In the halfling’s shop. Alek Tercival had brought it back, sold it to him.”

Zenna and Morgan both turned to him. “I wonder if he got it here?” the tiefling asked.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they are remnants of some larger ancient civilization, with artifacts like these scattered throughout the area.”

“Okay, I think that’s all of it!” Mole said. She indicated the spread of treasure. In addition to a small bag of gold coins, there was a set of assorted silver dishes, a plain copper chain necklace set with small brass orbs, four potions, and a light mace with a handle crafted out of bone. “Zenna, what’s magical?”

The tiefling returned to that side of the room and cast another cantrip, scanning the items. “The necklace, the potions, and the mace,” she said.

“Ah,” Mole said. She took up the mace, her small hands barely fitting around the thick haft. “Well, this isn’t as good as my sword, but it might do a bit more damage than that little knife of mine. If no one minds?”

Hodge took up the necklace and shrugged it over his head and thick beard. He looked down at it, his eyes widening in surprise. “This be gold!” he said in surprise.

Dannel came over and examined it closely. “Interesting,” he said. “I have seen the like once before only... a necklace of missiles. These orbs can be hurled at a foe, and explode in a magical fireball. A potent device, but one must be careful, lest an orb be detonated by mistake.”

Hodge quickly—and carefully—removed the necklace, shoving it at the elf. “Bah, I only wanted honest metal and a nice gem or two!”

Mole was already packing some of the silver dishes into her bag of holding. She looked wistfully around, as if regretting the treasure that they would not be able to carry out of here.

Zenna’s gaze had returned to the baboon masks. They were well done, and seemed to be watching their movements. She shuddered, but the feeling brought back a memory, of something she had been told earlier...

“Arun,” she said. “Does it seem like those masks are watching us?”

The dwarf looked at her in confusion, but then a realization hit. “The celestial’s message.”

Mole looked up, interested again. “What?”

“The celestial who spoke to us, told us of a great treasure, in the lair of her ‘false sisters,’ ‘beyond the watchful eyes of the north.’”

The gnome bounced up and ran over to that wall. “Damn, too heavy,” she said, examining one of the masks. “I wonder if we could scrape some of the gold off though...”

“Mole,” Zenna said.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, searching the wall behind the masks. “Hello, what have were here...”

She pressed something, and a small part of the wall folded out, revealing a hidden compartment beyond. She reached in and drew out a long object shrouded in silk.

“Cool!” she said, drawing back the covering to reveal a thick quarterstaff, fashioned from a wood so pale as to be almost white in coloration. She swung it through the air, and it almost seemed to thrum eagerly in her hand.

“Give it to Morgan,” Zenna said. “He needs a decent weapon.”

The cleric shook his head, and swallowed. “It is a gift of the gods...” he said. “A holy weapon, I cannot...”

With impatience written on her face, Zenna walked over to Mole, took the staff, and thrust it into Morgan’s hands. “We don’t have time for this foolishness,” she said. “We have a man to find.”

Over Mole’s protests, they quickly gathered what they could of the remaining treasure, shared out the healing potions, and turned to leave. Two pairs of eyes, one gnomish, one dwarvish, lingered on the wealth remaining behind, but soon the room was empty once more, the smooth door sliding shut behind the departing adventurers.

They returned to the large outer room and chose the other exit, which led to a virtually identical corridor, ending in another door.

The door swished open to reveal another small chamber. The room’s dominant feature was set into the opposite wall, a giant pentagram set into the wall. The interior of the pentagram was a glistening wall, almost as if a pool of water were somehow being kept within in defiance of gravity. Shadows flickered in that surface that might have been a distorted reflection, or might have been distinct images of something deep beyond.

Facing the pentagram was a large chair, an angular construction of white stone. The chair was situated in the midst of a circular carving in the floor, within which there were evenly spaced designs, a set of five small pentagrams that were each laid in a different colored tile.

Seated in the chair was a man, his back to them, his head tilted as if in rest—or dead, perhaps.

Mole, faced with a situation almost guaranteed to prod her curiosity, was the first into the room, giving the carving in the floor a wide berth as she circled the room to get a look at the seated figure. The others were more cautious, but they followed her, with Morgan, Arun, and Hodge moving to the right, and Zenna and Dannel following Mole around to the left.

The seated figure was clad in the familiar raiment of a knight of Helm. Morgan confirmed their suspicion, speaking his name.

“Alek Tercival.”

The man stirred at the sound of his name, lifting his head, looking as though he’d just come out of a deep sleep. “Yes,” he said, and it was as if the word had been drawn from a deep place within him.

“Brother,” Morgan said, his voice thick, “We have come far to find you.”

The paladin smiled. “Your timing is precipitous, friend. For a great evil is descending upon the land, and the time fast approaches when the forces of Light and those of the Dark will be tested one against the other.”

Zenna felt a twinge of uncertainty as the man spoke, a vague sense of unease. Using Dannel’s body to shield her movements, she cast a minor cantrip, focusing upon the man seated in the chair.

“How did you get here? What about the hags?” Dannel asked.

The paladin smiled, a sad, deep smile. “They ensnared with their fell magic, friend. In my pride I sought to defeat their evil alone... but they were too strong for me, and I fell into their power. But now you have come to save me, and together we can confront the evil that stirs in Cauldron...”

“Aye,” Arun said. “It’s past time we left this place behind.”

“What is this?” Mole said, looking up at the great pentagram.

“It is called the Starry Mirror,” Alek replied. “It is a gateway between worlds, created by a civilization now long-lost to legend.”

Zenna leaned forward over Dannel’s shoulder, so that her lips were close to his ear. “There’s illusion magic at work here,” she whispered.

The elf nodded. Turning to the seated man, he spoke.

“A great many people have been very worried about you, Sir Tercival. Above all, your close friend, the current High Priestess of the Temple of Helm in Cauldron. Surely you recall her name?”

The others looked at Dannel in surprise, but Zenna kept her eyes on the seated paladin. The man laughed. “Very well then,” he said, rising from the chair to stand before them.

Mole had been keeping an eye on the Starry Mirror, so she detected the shimmering as the mirror’s surface distended and something passed through into the room behind them.

“Something’s coming through!” she yelled in warning, even as the form of Alek Tercival fell off of the man before them like water flowing from an upended pitcher. What remained was a thin, amorphous figure of a man, his body a smooth, reflective surface that shone like quicksilver. He lifted a sword that looked like a single great shard of reflective glass, and their combined looks of horror were reflected in that plane as he lifted it over his head in a promise of blood to be shed.