Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Happy New Year to all of my readers.
* * * * *
The Shackled City
A Campaign Story by Ken “Lazybones” McDonald
Book VII: “Lords of Oblivion”
Chapter 293
Dannel felt some of the stress that had accompanied him as a nearly constant companion ease from his shoulders as he entered the relative quiet of the grove. This place, so near to the bustle of the town, indeed seemed like a different world entirely. It was a shame that more of the townsfolk didn’t come here, he thought.
This day there was a cool breeze off the lake rustling through the dense, overgrown brush that formed a low wall to either side of the twisting path. The sun was already well on its way to touching the curving black line formed by the hulking wall that ran around the entire circumference of the volcanic caldera in which the city of Cauldron rested. The elf walked down the path, making no effort to conceal the noise of his passage; indeed, he began to whistle the melody of an elvish song of traveling as he penetrated deeper into the grove.
When the bushes ahead began inevitably to shake, he stood his ground, trying not to look worried. It became somewhat harder, when they parted to reveal a snub head with jaws big enough to take off his head in a single bite.
“Hello, Bristle,” he said. “I’m just here to see Shensen.”
As the dire wolverine peered at him, he wondered just how “tame” the druid’s animal companion was. But finally the thing leaned in to give him a good sniff, then, as if satisfied, it turned and disappeared back into the brush. “Disappeared,” that is, if you considered the noise of the passage of an eighteen-hundred pound animal through dense bushes to be unremarkable.
Dannel did not follow the creature; he already knew his destination, knew where he would find Shensen.
The hillock was as he remembered, a grassy knoll surrounded by trees, topped by a single lonely blueleaf whose boughs spread out over its slopes like protecting arms. She was there, her back to him, watching the sunset. His booted feet made barely a whisper as he walked through the grass, but she knew he was there nonetheless.
“Hello, Dannel,” she said, without turning. “I told Bristle I didn’t want to see anybody; damn but that beast has a stubborn streak a league across.”
“Maybe he knows you need a little company now and again,” he said, sitting down next to her, facing in the same direction as she. “We all do, you know. Even hermit-druids.”
He shot a covert glance at her, thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile.
“Why did you come today?” she asked, finally.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he said. “What you went through... it’s not easy, for all that veteran adventurers like to make an almost cavalier reference to resurrection.”
She shuddered. “You cannot understand.”
He touched her shoulder, lightly. “I’m afraid I can.”
She looked at him then, delving into his eyes with hers. Her eyes were a bright blue, the color of the lake under the full sun. “You were raised?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted. “It was ten years ago; I had only just become a Harper.” Her eyes widened slightly; that in itself was an uncommon admission. That society was known for keeping close counsel and weaving secrets; it was said that by the time you knew you were dealing with a Harper, they likely had already attached a few strings to you.
“What happened?” she asked. “If you want to talk about it.”
“I was shot in the back with a Zhent crossbow,” he said. “It was my own damned fault,” he said quickly. “I dismissed someone as harmless who turned out to be anything but. Fortunately I had friends close by, so the Zhents did not have time to dispose of the body. Still, it was not something that I would want to go through again, understand.”
She nodded. “Why did you decide... to come back?”
“It wasn’t an easy decision,” he said. “For all of the emphasis upon the power of the cleric... or druid,” he added, “very few people talk about the agency of the soul. Ultimately, even in that, we have choice...”
“Not everyone does,” she said, turning back to the sunset. “People die every day across the Realms... thousands, more. Not everyone is lucky enough to know a High Priest.”
“I’ve thought about that often. For all that our clerics have dominion over life and death... whether they follow the path of good, evil, or the balance, order or chaos... for all that, the ultimate power to draw someone back across the veil is rare. And I think that’s a good thing.”
“Oh?”
“Consider our lives,” he said. “We know that our time here is transitory, but we also know that our souls will continue after our physical bodies end, that we will have... something... waiting for us after this life. And yet we fear death. Why?”
“It is because life is precious to us, because of that very fact that we cannot easily tread that boundary between realities. Whatever our beliefs, whatever our causes, or struggles, we know that every moment here is vital, and ultimately limited. Thus it’s a terrible, terrible mistake to waste any of it.”
“I had no idea you were a philosopher as well as an archer,” she said.
“Most bards I’ve met are a little of both,” he replied with a smile. “Although in some cases the philosophy can be a simple one, such as ‘wine, women, and song,’ or somesuch.”
“I’ve heard of worse approaches to life,” she said, her own mood lightening. She turned back toward the setting sun. “I’ve always loved this part of the day,” she said. “I do not know how my people, the drow, have managed to live, cutting themselves off from this beauty.”
“Many who live up here on the surface cut themselves off from it as well,” he said. “Maybe we can help at least a few remember, what it means to enjoy a sunset, in peace.”
She turned to him. “How is Zenna?” she asked.
Dannel lowered his head. “She is... she has had a difficult time.”
“We all have, of late,” she said. “If... if you love her, you cannot let her use that as an excuse.”
The elf chuckled wryly. “She doesn’t need excuses to be mad at me.”
“What are you going to do now?”
It was one of those questions that could go in a few directions, and Dannel clearly chose one in his response. “We’re not certain. Mole and I have continued to try to track down leads on these ‘Cagewrights’, while Jenya has been talking to the heads of the other churches, trying to learn what they can via divine means. But the gods have not been wholly forthcoming with hard info, it seems.”
“Helping those that help themselves,” she said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“This is my favorite part,” she said, turning back as the sunlight touched the horizon of the wall. The golden orb seemed to flare brightly, as if resisting its decline, and the inevitable return of night.
The two sat there, silent, for some time, sharing a quiet moment in a chaotic time.
* * * * *
The Shackled City
A Campaign Story by Ken “Lazybones” McDonald
Book VII: “Lords of Oblivion”
Chapter 293
Dannel felt some of the stress that had accompanied him as a nearly constant companion ease from his shoulders as he entered the relative quiet of the grove. This place, so near to the bustle of the town, indeed seemed like a different world entirely. It was a shame that more of the townsfolk didn’t come here, he thought.
This day there was a cool breeze off the lake rustling through the dense, overgrown brush that formed a low wall to either side of the twisting path. The sun was already well on its way to touching the curving black line formed by the hulking wall that ran around the entire circumference of the volcanic caldera in which the city of Cauldron rested. The elf walked down the path, making no effort to conceal the noise of his passage; indeed, he began to whistle the melody of an elvish song of traveling as he penetrated deeper into the grove.
When the bushes ahead began inevitably to shake, he stood his ground, trying not to look worried. It became somewhat harder, when they parted to reveal a snub head with jaws big enough to take off his head in a single bite.
“Hello, Bristle,” he said. “I’m just here to see Shensen.”
As the dire wolverine peered at him, he wondered just how “tame” the druid’s animal companion was. But finally the thing leaned in to give him a good sniff, then, as if satisfied, it turned and disappeared back into the brush. “Disappeared,” that is, if you considered the noise of the passage of an eighteen-hundred pound animal through dense bushes to be unremarkable.
Dannel did not follow the creature; he already knew his destination, knew where he would find Shensen.
The hillock was as he remembered, a grassy knoll surrounded by trees, topped by a single lonely blueleaf whose boughs spread out over its slopes like protecting arms. She was there, her back to him, watching the sunset. His booted feet made barely a whisper as he walked through the grass, but she knew he was there nonetheless.
“Hello, Dannel,” she said, without turning. “I told Bristle I didn’t want to see anybody; damn but that beast has a stubborn streak a league across.”
“Maybe he knows you need a little company now and again,” he said, sitting down next to her, facing in the same direction as she. “We all do, you know. Even hermit-druids.”
He shot a covert glance at her, thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile.
“Why did you come today?” she asked, finally.
“I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he said. “What you went through... it’s not easy, for all that veteran adventurers like to make an almost cavalier reference to resurrection.”
She shuddered. “You cannot understand.”
He touched her shoulder, lightly. “I’m afraid I can.”
She looked at him then, delving into his eyes with hers. Her eyes were a bright blue, the color of the lake under the full sun. “You were raised?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted. “It was ten years ago; I had only just become a Harper.” Her eyes widened slightly; that in itself was an uncommon admission. That society was known for keeping close counsel and weaving secrets; it was said that by the time you knew you were dealing with a Harper, they likely had already attached a few strings to you.
“What happened?” she asked. “If you want to talk about it.”
“I was shot in the back with a Zhent crossbow,” he said. “It was my own damned fault,” he said quickly. “I dismissed someone as harmless who turned out to be anything but. Fortunately I had friends close by, so the Zhents did not have time to dispose of the body. Still, it was not something that I would want to go through again, understand.”
She nodded. “Why did you decide... to come back?”
“It wasn’t an easy decision,” he said. “For all of the emphasis upon the power of the cleric... or druid,” he added, “very few people talk about the agency of the soul. Ultimately, even in that, we have choice...”
“Not everyone does,” she said, turning back to the sunset. “People die every day across the Realms... thousands, more. Not everyone is lucky enough to know a High Priest.”
“I’ve thought about that often. For all that our clerics have dominion over life and death... whether they follow the path of good, evil, or the balance, order or chaos... for all that, the ultimate power to draw someone back across the veil is rare. And I think that’s a good thing.”
“Oh?”
“Consider our lives,” he said. “We know that our time here is transitory, but we also know that our souls will continue after our physical bodies end, that we will have... something... waiting for us after this life. And yet we fear death. Why?”
“It is because life is precious to us, because of that very fact that we cannot easily tread that boundary between realities. Whatever our beliefs, whatever our causes, or struggles, we know that every moment here is vital, and ultimately limited. Thus it’s a terrible, terrible mistake to waste any of it.”
“I had no idea you were a philosopher as well as an archer,” she said.
“Most bards I’ve met are a little of both,” he replied with a smile. “Although in some cases the philosophy can be a simple one, such as ‘wine, women, and song,’ or somesuch.”
“I’ve heard of worse approaches to life,” she said, her own mood lightening. She turned back toward the setting sun. “I’ve always loved this part of the day,” she said. “I do not know how my people, the drow, have managed to live, cutting themselves off from this beauty.”
“Many who live up here on the surface cut themselves off from it as well,” he said. “Maybe we can help at least a few remember, what it means to enjoy a sunset, in peace.”
She turned to him. “How is Zenna?” she asked.
Dannel lowered his head. “She is... she has had a difficult time.”
“We all have, of late,” she said. “If... if you love her, you cannot let her use that as an excuse.”
The elf chuckled wryly. “She doesn’t need excuses to be mad at me.”
“What are you going to do now?”
It was one of those questions that could go in a few directions, and Dannel clearly chose one in his response. “We’re not certain. Mole and I have continued to try to track down leads on these ‘Cagewrights’, while Jenya has been talking to the heads of the other churches, trying to learn what they can via divine means. But the gods have not been wholly forthcoming with hard info, it seems.”
“Helping those that help themselves,” she said.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“This is my favorite part,” she said, turning back as the sunlight touched the horizon of the wall. The golden orb seemed to flare brightly, as if resisting its decline, and the inevitable return of night.
The two sat there, silent, for some time, sharing a quiet moment in a chaotic time.
I like this update a lot. These are the bits I like--characters just hanging out and interacting, providing some insight into their backstories and world-views. I think the SH would benefit from more of this relative to fights.
It's not that I dislike the combats--the Adventure Path is very combat-heavy by nature, and your description leaves nothing to be desired (especially the dracolich fight), but there's not really any tension to them because there's never any doubt that the protagonists are going to be all fine at the end. Despite that quibble (which is IMO and all that), I like this SH a lot, and tune in every day or two. Thanks a lot for providing it.
It's not that I dislike the combats--the Adventure Path is very combat-heavy by nature, and your description leaves nothing to be desired (especially the dracolich fight), but there's not really any tension to them because there's never any doubt that the protagonists are going to be all fine at the end. Despite that quibble (which is IMO and all that), I like this SH a lot, and tune in every day or two. Thanks a lot for providing it.
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Book VII might contain a bit of a surprise for you, then.Elemental said:
* * * * *
Chapter 294
“She’s gone to Saradush.”
“Saradush? Alone?” Arun asked.
Hodge snorted. “Hoy, that’s two ‘unnerd bloomin’ miles! What, the girl grew wings now?”
“Close,” Mole said. “She’s mastered teleportation, apparently.”
“Let me see the note, Mole,” Dannel said. His face was already a thundercloud, but the storm deepened as he scanned the short message. “That fool!” he exclaimed. “That fool girl! As if we weren’t being hunted by assassins... you know, it isn’t just the good guys who have access to scrying magic, or magical means of transportation...”
“She says she knows what she’s doing,” Mole said. “She’ll take precautions...”
“Bah! That’s what the man on the bridge of glass says...”
“Well, she has already gone,” Arun said. “Cursing it cannot make it not so.”
“She took some of the remaining jewels with her,” Mole said.
“May’ap she decided she’s ‘ad enough o’ this madness, thinkin’ it’d be a good time to up and get out’a this asylum,” Hodge said. “Might not be such a bad ideer at that now, mind yer.”
“No, Zenna would never abandon us like that,” Mole said, with firm sincerity.
“She ain’t been actin’ quite right o’ late, that girl,” Hodge persisted. “Even fer her. Ever since we came back from that damned ice-locker, and them pillers...”
“No, I agree with Mole,” Arun said. “Zenna knows what is at stake here, and has given us no reason to mistrust her motives. We shall have to trust, eh?” The last statement was made with the paladin staring at the elf, and Dannel finally nodded, reluctantly.
“C’mon Dannel, you said you’d go with me to Weer’s,” Mole said. Although they’d agreed to stay together in pairs, at least, when going out into the city, that cautionary stricture had already been disobeyed more than once by both the elf and the gnome. But both, it seemed, needed a friend now, and Mole’s own concern was not hidden well as the two left.
“I’m goin’ fer a breath o’ air,” Hodge said. Arun turned a hard look at him—the paladin was not as relaxed on the issue of splitting up in the town—but the dwarf only shook his head. “Quitcher worryin’, I’m only goin’ o’ver to the stables. Them new fawns o’ yers seem far too dainty entire, and if yer goin’ to let ‘em stick ‘round ‘ere, they’s goin’ need to know the hilt o’ a blade from the sticker.”
Arun nodded. “A wise precaution. I will come join you shortly.”
The older dwarf winked and put on a knowing look. “Aye, I get yer meanin’, friend. Goin’ to get yerself a quick one ‘ere supper, eh?”
Arun’s look was cold enough to cut iron, but the other dwarf only laughed the louder as he turned to go. As he was leaving, he paused in the doorway. “Tell yer missus that if the two o’ yer are goin’ to bring in any new ‘recruits,’ try and get at least a few dwarves, eh? An’ a looker o’ two wouldn’t be amiss nay no how, eh?”
Arun waited until the other dwarf had left, then he let his hard look loosen into a smile. There was no changing Hodge, but the man was a boon companion, and loyal, and that was enough for Arun Goldenshield.
“That man is a boor,” came a voice from behind him, in the other doorway. “He’s loud, obnoxious, odorous, and overly fond of the drink. But damned if he can’t swing an axe, and that counts for a lot in our line of work, I’d say.”
Arun’s smile deepened as he turned around to see Beorna standing there, regarding him with a quizzical look on her face.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, wipe that silly grin off your face, then. We’ve got another recruit, another of them boys who wants to slay dragons and fight off evil; it’ll have to be with his forehead, ‘cause I’m not sure I’d trust him even with a blunt weapon. Come on, you’re the one they always ask about, and so it’s your duty; I’m no nursemaid...”
“How many is that now? Sixteen? At least Jenya doesn’t have to worry now about her church being understaffed.”
“Well at least they can muck stables and slap whitewash,” she agreed. “Well, come on then; I want to get this new one settled before supper, if he isn’t just here to mooch a meal before he disappears, like that half-elf kid.”
Arun nodded, but the templar’s point wasn’t really serious; in fact, of the recent initiates, only that one she’d mentioned had proven less than true in his desire to serve. They were a diverse lot, men and women of almost all the civilized races, mostly young, although one old fellow who had to be pushing fifty had appeared at the gate of the temple one afternoon, offering his skill to “that brown dwarf that’s been cleanin’ up this here town.” Jenya had been surprised, but after the first few of the new volunteers had been given quarters in the nearly empty temple rectory, she’d told the paladin that it made sense, in a way. The people of Cauldron had been through a lot in the last year, and there were many who felt that they needed to do something, to strike back in the only ways they could. And so they found themselves drawn to the front lines of the battle against the darkness spreading through the city, drawn to the place where people of reputation were fighting back.
Arun started toward the waiting templar, but before he reached it a commotion drew him around. Mole burst into the room—for someone who could be utterly silent when she wanted to, she could make a lot of noise—followed by Dannel, and behind him a third figure partially obscured in by the doorway. From the look on his friends’ faces—Mole eager, Dannel worried—Arun knew that their sudden return likely meant trouble.
“Hey Arun, look who we ran into!” Mole exclaimed, as their companion entered the room.
It had been over six months since he’d last seen Fario Ellegoth, and at first glance it did not appear that the intervening time had been friendly to him. The half-elf had a haunted look to his face, his smooth, lean features pinched and tight with layered worries. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days, and the paladin could see that he was highly agitated.
“What’s happened?” he said. He shot a quick glance at Beorna, who nodded. “I’ll get our weapons,” she said, turning quickly and departing.
“I need your help,” Fario said. “Fellian’s been taken.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 295
Night came quickly to Cauldron, as the sun vanished below the artificial horizon of the city’s walls and the cold evening breeze down off the mountains urged people into homes and taverns to escape the deepening dark. With all of the troubles facing the people of the town in the last year, the night had taken on a sinister cast for many honest folk, and the omnipresent clomp of booted feet and the clank of armor from the patrols of the Watch did little to instill a sense of security. While there was no curfew in place at the moment, strictly speaking, the streets quickly became all but deserted after the setting of the sun, and even those who left the taverns and inns late did not linger, walking quickly home to close and bar their doors to await the return of the dawn.
But this night, there were at least a few folk who were out and about, engaged in a business that was of the sort to end in blood and violence. In a dark alleyway just off Lava Avenue, Dannel eased out of the deep shadows just long enough to peer up and down the street, before sliding noiselessly back into cover.
“Where is that girl?” Arun muttered.
“I cannot wait anymore,” Fario said, starting to get up. Beorna grabbed him by the shoulder, and pressed him back down, a bit more roughly than perhaps was absolutely necessary.
“Charging in isn’t going to help your friend, and it may get him killed,” she said.
“She’s right,” Dannel said. “They’ll be on the lookout for a rescue.”
“They’re... torturing him,” Fario said, desperation thick in his voice.
“Meerthan is still giving you information through the link?” Arun asked. The half-elf nodded, his suffering clear in his expression.
“You people are being loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the Watch,” Mole hissed, materializing in the mouth of the alley.
“What did you find?” Arun asked.
“The place is like a fortress,” she said. “Volcanic rock for walls, solid all the way around. “They’ve bricked up all the first floor windows, and the ones on the second story are all sealed with reinforced shutters... and not the kind you buy at the hardware store, either.”
“We don’t have time to waste...” Fario began.
“We’ll find a way in,” Dannel said.
“Well, it would be easier if we had Shensen, she could create an opening right in the wall...” Mole suggested.
“Meerthan sent another messenger to find her, but she wasn’t at the grove,” Fario said.
“We’ll have to make do, then,” Beorna said. “What’s the best approach, Mole? The least likely to be watched.”
“There weren’t any windows on the back side. There’s not much back there, just an old stableyard, sheltered from the street. If there was a back entrance, they’ve sealed it. No other exits at all, save for the front doors.”
“All right,” Arun said. “Take us there.”
Mole led them on a wide loop around their destination, an abandoned inn that had been transformed into a safe house for the Last Laugh. The Last Laugh was the city’s largest thieves’ guild, and while the companions had long suspected their involvement with the city’s troubles, they hadn’t had any solid evidence of an organized link. Until now, it seemed. Mole and Zenna had had a run-in with the guild shortly after they’d arrived in Cauldron, where they’d saved the cleric Ruphos Laro from a beating at the hands of several Last Laugh thugs. They’d first met Fario Ellegoth and Fellian Shard a short time after that encounter. The two half-elves had joined them in investigating the disappearance of several orphans from the Lantern Street Orphanage. What they’d found in a complex deep under the city was a slaving operation run by a half-troll warrior named Kazmojen. They’d managed to defeat Kazmojen and his allies, but Ruphos was slain by the slaver.
That wasn’t all they’d found on that trip, and the memory was something that still haunted them. During the confrontation with Kazmojen, a monstrous aberration had appeared: a terrible beholder. Fortunately the creature had not lingered, taking one of the children before vanishing back from wherever it had come. The child, a wisp of a boy named Terrem, had been returned to the orphanage a few days later, without any memory of what had happened.
After that, the companions had lost track of Fario and Fellian. The two half-elves were members of a loose organization called the Striders of Shaundakul, followers of the deity of wanderings and adventure. Shensen, too, was associated with them, and the companions knew that the Striders had been working behind the scenes to try to uncover the source of the troubles confronting Cauldron. Fario had explained that he and Fellian were linked by a magical telepathic link to a wizard named Meerthan Eliothlorn, the leader of their operation here in Cauldron. Fellian had been staking out the house of a noblewoman that they’d suspected of participation in the conspiracy behind the troubles infecting the city, when he’d been captured by agents of the Last Laugh. Through the mental link, Meerthan had known immediately of the capture, and he’d quickly alerted Fario to seek out aid.
And so, here they were.
“Okay, careful, don’t make any loud noises,” Mole said, as she led them down a narrow alley that opened onto the back of the courtyard behind the Last Laugh safehouse. “If you can help it,” she added, with a glance back at Hodge.
“Fellian saw ten beds in the common room on the second floor,” Fario reported. “There were at least that many rogues in the place, plus a halfling that had the look of a wizard, and...” he faltered for a moment, “and a woman... she’s the one leading the... interrogation.”
“Hold it together, man,” Hodge grumbled. “We’ll get yer boy outta there.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Dannel said.
Beorna’s answer came as she slid one of her swords from its sheath; the black adamantine blade shone dully in the faint moonlight.
Night came quickly to Cauldron, as the sun vanished below the artificial horizon of the city’s walls and the cold evening breeze down off the mountains urged people into homes and taverns to escape the deepening dark. With all of the troubles facing the people of the town in the last year, the night had taken on a sinister cast for many honest folk, and the omnipresent clomp of booted feet and the clank of armor from the patrols of the Watch did little to instill a sense of security. While there was no curfew in place at the moment, strictly speaking, the streets quickly became all but deserted after the setting of the sun, and even those who left the taverns and inns late did not linger, walking quickly home to close and bar their doors to await the return of the dawn.
But this night, there were at least a few folk who were out and about, engaged in a business that was of the sort to end in blood and violence. In a dark alleyway just off Lava Avenue, Dannel eased out of the deep shadows just long enough to peer up and down the street, before sliding noiselessly back into cover.
“Where is that girl?” Arun muttered.
“I cannot wait anymore,” Fario said, starting to get up. Beorna grabbed him by the shoulder, and pressed him back down, a bit more roughly than perhaps was absolutely necessary.
“Charging in isn’t going to help your friend, and it may get him killed,” she said.
“She’s right,” Dannel said. “They’ll be on the lookout for a rescue.”
“They’re... torturing him,” Fario said, desperation thick in his voice.
“Meerthan is still giving you information through the link?” Arun asked. The half-elf nodded, his suffering clear in his expression.
“You people are being loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the Watch,” Mole hissed, materializing in the mouth of the alley.
“What did you find?” Arun asked.
“The place is like a fortress,” she said. “Volcanic rock for walls, solid all the way around. “They’ve bricked up all the first floor windows, and the ones on the second story are all sealed with reinforced shutters... and not the kind you buy at the hardware store, either.”
“We don’t have time to waste...” Fario began.
“We’ll find a way in,” Dannel said.
“Well, it would be easier if we had Shensen, she could create an opening right in the wall...” Mole suggested.
“Meerthan sent another messenger to find her, but she wasn’t at the grove,” Fario said.
“We’ll have to make do, then,” Beorna said. “What’s the best approach, Mole? The least likely to be watched.”
“There weren’t any windows on the back side. There’s not much back there, just an old stableyard, sheltered from the street. If there was a back entrance, they’ve sealed it. No other exits at all, save for the front doors.”
“All right,” Arun said. “Take us there.”
Mole led them on a wide loop around their destination, an abandoned inn that had been transformed into a safe house for the Last Laugh. The Last Laugh was the city’s largest thieves’ guild, and while the companions had long suspected their involvement with the city’s troubles, they hadn’t had any solid evidence of an organized link. Until now, it seemed. Mole and Zenna had had a run-in with the guild shortly after they’d arrived in Cauldron, where they’d saved the cleric Ruphos Laro from a beating at the hands of several Last Laugh thugs. They’d first met Fario Ellegoth and Fellian Shard a short time after that encounter. The two half-elves had joined them in investigating the disappearance of several orphans from the Lantern Street Orphanage. What they’d found in a complex deep under the city was a slaving operation run by a half-troll warrior named Kazmojen. They’d managed to defeat Kazmojen and his allies, but Ruphos was slain by the slaver.
That wasn’t all they’d found on that trip, and the memory was something that still haunted them. During the confrontation with Kazmojen, a monstrous aberration had appeared: a terrible beholder. Fortunately the creature had not lingered, taking one of the children before vanishing back from wherever it had come. The child, a wisp of a boy named Terrem, had been returned to the orphanage a few days later, without any memory of what had happened.
After that, the companions had lost track of Fario and Fellian. The two half-elves were members of a loose organization called the Striders of Shaundakul, followers of the deity of wanderings and adventure. Shensen, too, was associated with them, and the companions knew that the Striders had been working behind the scenes to try to uncover the source of the troubles confronting Cauldron. Fario had explained that he and Fellian were linked by a magical telepathic link to a wizard named Meerthan Eliothlorn, the leader of their operation here in Cauldron. Fellian had been staking out the house of a noblewoman that they’d suspected of participation in the conspiracy behind the troubles infecting the city, when he’d been captured by agents of the Last Laugh. Through the mental link, Meerthan had known immediately of the capture, and he’d quickly alerted Fario to seek out aid.
And so, here they were.
“Okay, careful, don’t make any loud noises,” Mole said, as she led them down a narrow alley that opened onto the back of the courtyard behind the Last Laugh safehouse. “If you can help it,” she added, with a glance back at Hodge.
“Fellian saw ten beds in the common room on the second floor,” Fario reported. “There were at least that many rogues in the place, plus a halfling that had the look of a wizard, and...” he faltered for a moment, “and a woman... she’s the one leading the... interrogation.”
“Hold it together, man,” Hodge grumbled. “We’ll get yer boy outta there.”
“So, what’s the plan?” Dannel said.
Beorna’s answer came as she slid one of her swords from its sheath; the black adamantine blade shone dully in the faint moonlight.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 296
“I wish Zenna was here,” Mole said, softly.
“Yeah, but I’m sure she’d just say we were being crazy again, ‘Yet another insane plan,’ or something of the like,” Dannel replied.
The elf and the gnome were perched on the roof of the safehouse, mere shadows against the blocky outline of the building. Dannel wore his magical slippers, but even with them Mole had still beaten him up, darting up the uneven wall of the old inn as though she’d been out on a paved boulevard on a Tenthday stroll.
“Here comes Beorna,” Dannel said. “Get ready.”
The two crouched low against the tiles as the templar, enlarged to a height of eight feet, strode forward. As they watched, she lifted her massive sword in both hands, calling upon the divine power of her patron god.
“That wall’s at least a foot of volcanic rock,” Dannel said.
“My money’s on Beorna,” Mole commented. “Come on, let’s go.”
The two started quietly across the roof, and therefore did not see Beorna as the templar drew her blade back, and then with a grunt slammed it into the wall. Mole and Dannel felt the building tremble slightly beneath them as the force of the impact was driven through the wall and through the supports of the structure. It was a mighty blow, one that should have resulted in a broken sword. But Beorna’s weapon was forged of adamantine, that nearly mythical substance forged by dwarves in the deepest places under the earth, and it was the wall that gave way.
The first blow had shattered stone, but she did not pause, sweeping the blade out in one massive swing after another. When she finally stepped back, mere seconds since her first attack had shattered the stillness of the night, the wall was a ruin, with a gaping five-foot hole in the building yawning open before them. Behind the gap they could hear confused shouts at the inhabitants of the building reacted to the surprise assault.
Fario was the first through the opening, launching himself through like a shot fired from a catapult. By the time that Arun appeared he’d already run the first rogue through, and was exchanging blows with two others, his two swords darting back and forth as he parried the sweeps of their falchions. Another Last Laugh rogue came at him from behind, his weapon raised to backstab the half-elf, but Arun’s blade carved through him, and he barely had time to scream before he crumpled, blood erupting in a flood from the gash that had cloven his torso to his spine.
Seeing that help had arrived, Fario disengaged from his foes, ignoring a cut that opened a long slash in his left leg as he darted toward the staircase up against the right wall. “Hold up, man!” Arun warned, but the half-elf, possessed with fear for his friend, ignored him. Behind him Hodge entered the fray, stepping through the gap before firing his heavy crossbow at point-blank range into the chest of one of the remaining thugs. The man staggered back, injured, while Hodge tossed aside the empty bow and lifted his axe, its head bursting into magical flame.
“Go ahead,” he said to Arun. “I’ll mop up these rakes.”
The two rogues’ eyes widened as they saw Beorna appear in the entry, the enlarged dwarf filling the opening before she released the spell and stepped through.
Mole and Dannel, meanwhile, had reached the front side of the inn. Mole fearlessly bent precipitously over the front eave to look down at the shutter a few feet below, one of two windows that overlooked the front door. She’d already secured a rope to one of the chimneys behind her, and now leapt out into the dark void, falling lightly back against the wall beside the shutter as it grew taut and drew her back in. Above, she could hear Dannel moving into position, climbing under the eaves with the help of his magical slippers to hold him in place against the vertical wall. He lifted Alakast as she drew out some small tools and went to work on the shutter, bracing the rope around her by holding it taut between her legs.
Fario ran up the stairs and emerged into a large common room, where he quickly found himself in a world of trouble. Two rows of beds ran across the room in parallel columns, several of which had been tossed over hastily to serve as makeshift barricades for the half-dressed rogues who now aimed shortbows in his direction.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, a pair of lean humans, clad only in light silk leggings, turned from drinking vials of unidentified potions to face him as they entered. Their naked torsos were corded with muscle and covered with tattoos, and their faces were painted in the white-and-black harlequin mask of the Last Laugh. By the way they snapped into ready martial stances, it was clear that they did not need to reach for weapons.
Don’t... throw... your life... away, Fario! came a faint, familiar voice in his mind, over the telepathic bond.
But the half-elf’s rational thoughts were driven away by the pain he could feel through that link, and there was no hesitation as he let out a loud cry and leapt at the nearest monk to attack.
Hold on... I’m coming, Fellian! he screamed, silently.
“I wish Zenna was here,” Mole said, softly.
“Yeah, but I’m sure she’d just say we were being crazy again, ‘Yet another insane plan,’ or something of the like,” Dannel replied.
The elf and the gnome were perched on the roof of the safehouse, mere shadows against the blocky outline of the building. Dannel wore his magical slippers, but even with them Mole had still beaten him up, darting up the uneven wall of the old inn as though she’d been out on a paved boulevard on a Tenthday stroll.
“Here comes Beorna,” Dannel said. “Get ready.”
The two crouched low against the tiles as the templar, enlarged to a height of eight feet, strode forward. As they watched, she lifted her massive sword in both hands, calling upon the divine power of her patron god.
“That wall’s at least a foot of volcanic rock,” Dannel said.
“My money’s on Beorna,” Mole commented. “Come on, let’s go.”
The two started quietly across the roof, and therefore did not see Beorna as the templar drew her blade back, and then with a grunt slammed it into the wall. Mole and Dannel felt the building tremble slightly beneath them as the force of the impact was driven through the wall and through the supports of the structure. It was a mighty blow, one that should have resulted in a broken sword. But Beorna’s weapon was forged of adamantine, that nearly mythical substance forged by dwarves in the deepest places under the earth, and it was the wall that gave way.
The first blow had shattered stone, but she did not pause, sweeping the blade out in one massive swing after another. When she finally stepped back, mere seconds since her first attack had shattered the stillness of the night, the wall was a ruin, with a gaping five-foot hole in the building yawning open before them. Behind the gap they could hear confused shouts at the inhabitants of the building reacted to the surprise assault.
Fario was the first through the opening, launching himself through like a shot fired from a catapult. By the time that Arun appeared he’d already run the first rogue through, and was exchanging blows with two others, his two swords darting back and forth as he parried the sweeps of their falchions. Another Last Laugh rogue came at him from behind, his weapon raised to backstab the half-elf, but Arun’s blade carved through him, and he barely had time to scream before he crumpled, blood erupting in a flood from the gash that had cloven his torso to his spine.
Seeing that help had arrived, Fario disengaged from his foes, ignoring a cut that opened a long slash in his left leg as he darted toward the staircase up against the right wall. “Hold up, man!” Arun warned, but the half-elf, possessed with fear for his friend, ignored him. Behind him Hodge entered the fray, stepping through the gap before firing his heavy crossbow at point-blank range into the chest of one of the remaining thugs. The man staggered back, injured, while Hodge tossed aside the empty bow and lifted his axe, its head bursting into magical flame.
“Go ahead,” he said to Arun. “I’ll mop up these rakes.”
The two rogues’ eyes widened as they saw Beorna appear in the entry, the enlarged dwarf filling the opening before she released the spell and stepped through.
Mole and Dannel, meanwhile, had reached the front side of the inn. Mole fearlessly bent precipitously over the front eave to look down at the shutter a few feet below, one of two windows that overlooked the front door. She’d already secured a rope to one of the chimneys behind her, and now leapt out into the dark void, falling lightly back against the wall beside the shutter as it grew taut and drew her back in. Above, she could hear Dannel moving into position, climbing under the eaves with the help of his magical slippers to hold him in place against the vertical wall. He lifted Alakast as she drew out some small tools and went to work on the shutter, bracing the rope around her by holding it taut between her legs.
Fario ran up the stairs and emerged into a large common room, where he quickly found himself in a world of trouble. Two rows of beds ran across the room in parallel columns, several of which had been tossed over hastily to serve as makeshift barricades for the half-dressed rogues who now aimed shortbows in his direction.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, a pair of lean humans, clad only in light silk leggings, turned from drinking vials of unidentified potions to face him as they entered. Their naked torsos were corded with muscle and covered with tattoos, and their faces were painted in the white-and-black harlequin mask of the Last Laugh. By the way they snapped into ready martial stances, it was clear that they did not need to reach for weapons.
Don’t... throw... your life... away, Fario! came a faint, familiar voice in his mind, over the telepathic bond.
But the half-elf’s rational thoughts were driven away by the pain he could feel through that link, and there was no hesitation as he let out a loud cry and leapt at the nearest monk to attack.
Hold on... I’m coming, Fellian! he screamed, silently.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks, Sundog, and glad to have you on board! I do update every weekday, so at least you don't have long to wait between updates (imagine the angst of Sepulchrave's fans, who have to wait two to six months between updates!).Sundog said:
I was so bummed when my office started filtering games-related sites about a year ago. No more ENWorld at work...
Well, at least I can still work on my story in between projects. * * * * *
Chapter 297
The light was bad, she was hanging from the side of a building, and the desperate sounds of battle added a particular urgency, but Mole’s concentration did not break until she heard a faint but satisfying snick as the lock on the shutters gave way to her efforts.
“Good work, Mole,” Dannel whispered.
To be honest, she was rather pleased at her good fortune, since she’d let her lock-picking skills atrophy somewhat of late. But then she heard a loud bustle of activity from beyond the window, accompanied by multiple shouts—lots of shouts. Apparently the room they were about to enter was already a fairly busy place.
The darkness hid the wide grin that split her face.
Pulling open the shutters, she revealed a window with panes covered on the inside with dark fabric. Likely that was locked as well, but Dannel was already coming forward, Alakast at the ready. Even in the faint light she could see that he’d done something to himself, and his fists that clutched the pale wood were knobby and scaled.
Cool, she thought.
The elf struck, and the window exploded inward as the magical quarterstaff slammed into it. With a flick of her wrist, Mole tossed the little ball from her bag of tricks into the room, and instantly followed it by kicking off against the wall beneath her, using the rope to drive her back through the open window to land in an easy roll on the floor beyond.
The space she was in seemed unnaturally small, with thick red curtains dangling from long bars attached to the ceiling above. But she could hear shouts and activity all around, and knew that there were Bad Guys all around, close.
To her great pleasure the little rust-colored ball beside her expanded into a new creature, a black bear.
“Come on, let’s go kick some evil butt!” she said to the bear. She didn’t have to go far, as one of the curtains flew aside to reveal a pair of armed men clutching sweeping falchions, their faces painted half-white and half-black in the Last Laugh style.
Fario knew from the first exchange that the twin monks were expert melee combatants. Despite being unarmored, they moved with lightning quickness, and the potions they’d drunk apparently had given them some sort of magical protection, as he learned when a seemingly true thrust had glanced off of a tattooed torso. He wasn’t surprised when they moved smoothly to flank him, and he only hoped he could hold out long enough for help to arrive.
Pain blossomed through his body as an arrow stabbed through his armor into his side, followed a moment later by a crushing one-handed blow that snapped into his left arm just above the elbow. His entire arm went numb, and his shortsword went flying. But the half-elf just switched to a two-handed grip on his longsword, and fought on.
“You will regret coming here, elf!” one of the pair hissed, in thickly accented Chondanthan.
“You will join your friend, yes?” the other echoed, as he spun to avoid another thrust from the half-elf, snapping his foot around to drive painfully into Fario’s gut. Bright flashes of light exploded through his vision as he fought to recover the breath that had been driven from his body by the hit.
“It will not be long now,” the first monk said, but even as the words left his mouth, the loud rumble of someone heavy charging up the stairs drew their attention toward the corner of the room.
Mole dodged a sweeping falchion that clanged hard against the floor where she’d been standing a few heartbeats before, tumbling to the side to that the rogue was between her and the bear. As she came out of her roll she stabbed up with her rapier, and the rogue fell back, blood fountaining from the deep puncture that had penetrated his heart. The bear rose on its hind legs and clawed at the second rogue, knocking him back into the curtain, the weight of both of them pulling it down off its moorings. As the rogue fell, he and the bear half-tangled in the fabric, a larger portion of the room was revealed beyond.
Along with another five of the Last Laugh rogues.
“Dannel, I could use a little help here!” she shouted over her shoulder.
A crunch of feet upon shattered glass announced the arrival of the elf. In the light of the room he looked far more imposing than he had out in the dark outside, the lean features of the elf replaced by the thick hide and ferocious mien of a lizardman. Even the hardened rogues took pause at his appearance, but Dannel did not hesitate, leaping into their midst with Alakast already slashing out at the nearest. The end of the staff slammed into the man’s shoulder, driving him back, but the others were quick to recover, spreading out to take him from all directions at once.
Back on the opposite side of the inn, Arun exploded into the common room. Several arrows from the rogue archers glanced off of his shield or the mithral plates of his armor, doing no damage. The dwarf peered through the narrow slit of his helm, taking in the scene in a single glance, then rushed at the nearest warrior monk. The nimble figure sensed him coming and shifted into a stance designed to offer defense without opening himself up to Fario. It might have worked against most foes, but not Arun Goldenshield. Blood sprayed into the air as the paladin’s blade bit deep into his body, piercing his magical protections. Through some intent focus of will the man remained standing, but then Fario reared up behind him, his sword clutched in both hands above his head. The injured monk’s twin shouted a warning, and drove a potent kick into the elf’s back, but Fario was beyond feeling anything except a drive for revenge. The tattooed warrior might have been able to dodge the blow, save for the torrent of blood he’d already lost, and the weakness that flowed into him as his life poured out of him. The second monk let out a shriek as Fario buried his blade to the hilt in the man’s chest, and he went down in a gory pool of his own insides.
“Moskaius!” the second monk shrieked. He added, “You die!” and leapt at Fario, all pretext of defense abandoned as he lashed out at his enemy. The injured half-elf tried to defend himself, but could not react in time to avoid a punishing razor-punch that slammed into the side of his head, staggering him. The monk raised his fist to deliver a finishing blow to the half-elf’s neck, but before he could strike the bright glow of a holy blade fell across his eyes.
“No,” Arun said simply. The monk hissed and lashed out.
But bare skin and fast moves were no match for mithral plate and a holy sword. The second monk died quickly and messily.
Mole’s summoned bear let out a roar of pain as a falchion dug deep into its body. The rogue did not have time to press its advantage, however, as Mole backflipped away from the man she’d been fighting, twisting in mid-air to bring her up facing the rogue. Confused by the maneuver, the man swung at her, but the blade passed harmlessly over her, just a second too late. No sooner had the curved steel sliced by then she crouched and sprung up again, her rapier darting out like a wasp’s sting, finding a tiny crease in the man’s armor and sliding deep into his body.
The rogue just stood there as she kicked off him and landed easily a few feet away. He knew something was terribly wrong, but it wasn’t until his mouth began to fill with his own blood that he knew that he was dead.
Dannel was holding his own against his foes; he’d already taken one rogue down and had injured a second. They’d managed to flank him, but the thickened skin gained via his alter self spell, combined with his magical armor, was making him a tough target. Still, they had him outnumbered; Mole moved to help him, but suddenly her muscles stopped obeying her orders. A cold chill fell over her as she stiffened and fell, unable to move. She felt rather than saw a shadow move over her, and saw out of the corner of her eye the injured bear moving to protect her. Attaboy, she thought, but her heart froze a moment later as the artificial creature let out a painful cry and slumped to the ground before her, already dissolving into nothingness as the magic holding it here evaporated. She heard a faint scuff over the sounds of the fray and knew that the man who’d killed her bear was standing over her, just out of her line of sight.
Uh oh, she thought, unable to do anything but wait for the blow to land.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Home sick today... so an early Friday cliffhanger.
* * * * *
Chapter 298
Beorna reached the top of the stairs, Hodge just a few steps behind, to see Arun charging a quartet of poorly dressed archers who seemed extremely reluctant to face him. A mangled heap of what looked like it had been two men remained in his wake, along with the slumped form of Fario.
“Tend to the elf!” the paladin shouted, as he batted aside a thrust from a hastily-grabbed falchion and sank his sword to the hilt in the man’s chest. That was enough for the other three, who threw down their weapons in unison. “Quarter, we beg quarter!” they cried.
“Get over there in the corner, and do not move,” Arun ordered. Amazingly, the paladin had yet to be injured, though he’d killed four men in the seconds since Beorna had hacked the opening in the wall of the inn. “Hodge, watch them,” he said, starting toward the back corner of the room.
“Where’s the secret door?” he asked the prisoners. For a moment they feigned ignorance, but when Arun raised his bloody sword one of them pointed to a panel that appeared to be just part of the surrounding wall. The dwarf gave it a quick look, then gave up and slammed at it with his sword, the wood splintering before his strength and steel.
“Don’t go off getting into more trouble without me,” Beorna said, moving to join him. Behind her, Fario stood weakly but determined, healed but still looking like a man who’d lost a dozen fistfights in quick succession.
Despite being pressed from all sides, Dannel clearly heard the last sounds of the bear, and he spared a glance to see Mole down, threatened by another rogue. With a spinning feint to drive back his attackers he turned and leapt at the man. His thrust with Alakast failed to connect, but it drove the man back two steps to the nearest curtain, allowing Dannel to take up a protective position over the fallen rogue. She wasn’t moving, but he didn’t see any obvious wounds; the mystery was resolved a moment later as a cold feeling descended over him. Knowing that they were both dead if he faltered, he fought off the spell, looking around in an attempt to find the caster. He deflected a pair of strokes with Alakast as the rogues pressed him, barely keeping them at bay with counters from the long staff.
There. A flicker of movement in the corner of the room, near the ceiling. Looking up, he saw a small figure, a halfling, clinging to the wall, the outline of his body shifting with magical displacement, a shield up before him.
Unfortunately Dannel wasn’t in a position to do anything about the enemy wizard at the moment, as a painful cut made its way through his defenses, ripping his mail links and scoring his back. The rogue laughed and darted back out of the reach of his counter, while two others prepared for another coordinated attack from ahead.
“You won’t last much longer, lizard!” one of them snarled, as Dannel missed a parry. Luckily his armor held, and he was able to turn out of the full force of the blow into a second that he did deflect, snapping the staff up into that attacker’s face. The man staggered back, blood draining from his broken nose.
“I don’t have to last much longer,” the elf said, even as the sound of breaking wood sounded faintly through the far wall of the room.
A beam of ruddy light shot down from the wizard, and Dannel’s strength faded as the familiar effects of a ray of enfeeblement settled upon him. The rogues took this as a signal to rush in at him, and for a moment the elf was surrounded by a swarm of blades. Alakast flashed and blurred in his grasp, and another rogue fell back, choking for breath through his crushed throat. But Dannel was also bleeding from another wound, a painful gash that ran across his left hip down his leg.
“Could use some help now!” he yelled, as the three remaining rogues gathered themselves for another rush.
A panel in the wall exploded outward, falling from its mountings in a ruin of scraps and splinters. Beorna strode into the chamber, her adamantine sword once again proving to be an effective remover of barriers. Arun was just a step behind her.
Dannel parried a swing from a rogue who’d thought to take advantage of the distraction. “Wizard!” he said, pointing with his staff in the general direction of the halfling before sweeping it around to block another cut. The rogues, to their credit, held their ground, although two of those facing Dannel fell back to confront the dwarves.
Unfortunately, they didn’t know quite what they were getting into.
Beorna lifted her hand and unleashed a blast of searing light that slammed into the corner where the wizard crouched. She got lucky and hit him through the misleading shield of his displacement, and his cry of pain was quite satisfying. Apparently the sudden change in odds was not to his liking, as he swept his faded red cloak around his body, vanishing in a small flash of smoke.
Dannel put his remaining foe down with a pair of strokes that snapped ribs and cracked his skull, then bent to examine Mole as Arun loudly dismantled the remaining rogues. One, clutching an arm ruined by the paladin’s backswing, tried to dart toward the broken window and escape, but Fario was on him before he’d made five steps, bringing him down with a thrust to the back.
“How is she?” Beorna said, quickly crossing to Mole.
“I’m... I’m all right,” the gnome said, grimacing as she flexed muscles painfully tautened by the halfling’s hold person spell. Dannel offered a hand to help her up, but she snapped her back and popped onto her feet in a single motion. “I’m fine,” she said. “Though you look like you’ve taken a fall into a heap of razors.”
“Yeah, well, you did leave me four of them,” he said lightly, leaning slightly on Alakast while Beorna laid a potent healing spell upon him.
Fario had already turned back to the wall opposite the windows, drawing back another of the red curtains. “There’s another secret door here, somewhere,” he said, sheathing his sword and running his hands along the wood paneling. He quickly found something and leaned in closer, but then his expression tightened into a pained grimace.
“What is it?” Dannel said, stringing his bow.
“She’s waiting in there with her blade to his throat,” he said. “She intends to kill him as soon as we enter.”
* * * * *
Chapter 298
Beorna reached the top of the stairs, Hodge just a few steps behind, to see Arun charging a quartet of poorly dressed archers who seemed extremely reluctant to face him. A mangled heap of what looked like it had been two men remained in his wake, along with the slumped form of Fario.
“Tend to the elf!” the paladin shouted, as he batted aside a thrust from a hastily-grabbed falchion and sank his sword to the hilt in the man’s chest. That was enough for the other three, who threw down their weapons in unison. “Quarter, we beg quarter!” they cried.
“Get over there in the corner, and do not move,” Arun ordered. Amazingly, the paladin had yet to be injured, though he’d killed four men in the seconds since Beorna had hacked the opening in the wall of the inn. “Hodge, watch them,” he said, starting toward the back corner of the room.
“Where’s the secret door?” he asked the prisoners. For a moment they feigned ignorance, but when Arun raised his bloody sword one of them pointed to a panel that appeared to be just part of the surrounding wall. The dwarf gave it a quick look, then gave up and slammed at it with his sword, the wood splintering before his strength and steel.
“Don’t go off getting into more trouble without me,” Beorna said, moving to join him. Behind her, Fario stood weakly but determined, healed but still looking like a man who’d lost a dozen fistfights in quick succession.
Despite being pressed from all sides, Dannel clearly heard the last sounds of the bear, and he spared a glance to see Mole down, threatened by another rogue. With a spinning feint to drive back his attackers he turned and leapt at the man. His thrust with Alakast failed to connect, but it drove the man back two steps to the nearest curtain, allowing Dannel to take up a protective position over the fallen rogue. She wasn’t moving, but he didn’t see any obvious wounds; the mystery was resolved a moment later as a cold feeling descended over him. Knowing that they were both dead if he faltered, he fought off the spell, looking around in an attempt to find the caster. He deflected a pair of strokes with Alakast as the rogues pressed him, barely keeping them at bay with counters from the long staff.
There. A flicker of movement in the corner of the room, near the ceiling. Looking up, he saw a small figure, a halfling, clinging to the wall, the outline of his body shifting with magical displacement, a shield up before him.
Unfortunately Dannel wasn’t in a position to do anything about the enemy wizard at the moment, as a painful cut made its way through his defenses, ripping his mail links and scoring his back. The rogue laughed and darted back out of the reach of his counter, while two others prepared for another coordinated attack from ahead.
“You won’t last much longer, lizard!” one of them snarled, as Dannel missed a parry. Luckily his armor held, and he was able to turn out of the full force of the blow into a second that he did deflect, snapping the staff up into that attacker’s face. The man staggered back, blood draining from his broken nose.
“I don’t have to last much longer,” the elf said, even as the sound of breaking wood sounded faintly through the far wall of the room.
A beam of ruddy light shot down from the wizard, and Dannel’s strength faded as the familiar effects of a ray of enfeeblement settled upon him. The rogues took this as a signal to rush in at him, and for a moment the elf was surrounded by a swarm of blades. Alakast flashed and blurred in his grasp, and another rogue fell back, choking for breath through his crushed throat. But Dannel was also bleeding from another wound, a painful gash that ran across his left hip down his leg.
“Could use some help now!” he yelled, as the three remaining rogues gathered themselves for another rush.
A panel in the wall exploded outward, falling from its mountings in a ruin of scraps and splinters. Beorna strode into the chamber, her adamantine sword once again proving to be an effective remover of barriers. Arun was just a step behind her.
Dannel parried a swing from a rogue who’d thought to take advantage of the distraction. “Wizard!” he said, pointing with his staff in the general direction of the halfling before sweeping it around to block another cut. The rogues, to their credit, held their ground, although two of those facing Dannel fell back to confront the dwarves.
Unfortunately, they didn’t know quite what they were getting into.
Beorna lifted her hand and unleashed a blast of searing light that slammed into the corner where the wizard crouched. She got lucky and hit him through the misleading shield of his displacement, and his cry of pain was quite satisfying. Apparently the sudden change in odds was not to his liking, as he swept his faded red cloak around his body, vanishing in a small flash of smoke.
Dannel put his remaining foe down with a pair of strokes that snapped ribs and cracked his skull, then bent to examine Mole as Arun loudly dismantled the remaining rogues. One, clutching an arm ruined by the paladin’s backswing, tried to dart toward the broken window and escape, but Fario was on him before he’d made five steps, bringing him down with a thrust to the back.
“How is she?” Beorna said, quickly crossing to Mole.
“I’m... I’m all right,” the gnome said, grimacing as she flexed muscles painfully tautened by the halfling’s hold person spell. Dannel offered a hand to help her up, but she snapped her back and popped onto her feet in a single motion. “I’m fine,” she said. “Though you look like you’ve taken a fall into a heap of razors.”
“Yeah, well, you did leave me four of them,” he said lightly, leaning slightly on Alakast while Beorna laid a potent healing spell upon him.
Fario had already turned back to the wall opposite the windows, drawing back another of the red curtains. “There’s another secret door here, somewhere,” he said, sheathing his sword and running his hands along the wood paneling. He quickly found something and leaned in closer, but then his expression tightened into a pained grimace.
“What is it?” Dannel said, stringing his bow.
“She’s waiting in there with her blade to his throat,” he said. “She intends to kill him as soon as we enter.”
Aah, the old hostage plot... I've always considered it a sign of weakness and cowardice on villains' part. Good stuff, Lazybones. OTOH, I do wonder at Zenna's absence. Did you decide to interject a bit of realistic D&D playing, and pretend that Zenna's player was absent for those sessions? 
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