Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Yup, great that 'ole Hodge is back on his feet. I hate to be the only romantic fool around here, but I hope they get to Zenna in cliffhanger time!
Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Beorna's a holy warrior, but she's clearly getting a bit impatient with the Compact; in my campaign this is the mechanism that limits the interference of outerplanar creatures in the Prime (i.e. outerplanar beings can be brought to the Prime mainly just through the mechanism of summoning and calling spells, and even then are affected by the "rules" of those spells). Creatures of mixed ancestry (tieflings, genasi, etc.) generally aren't restricted by those strictures. From what we're seeing here, it looks like the bad guys aren't playing by the rules, and the templar is frustrated that her side is playing with one hand tied behind their backs.Krafus said:
Well, she'd be a lot less chatty...
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
I am ahead in the story, but to be honest I'm still teetering on Zenna's ultimate fate. Things are going to get really ugly for the companions, though.'Twould be nice to see a permanent death among the main characters (I don't count the clerics at the beginning of the story because they died too fast).
Thanks!Entertaining writing as usual, Lazybones.
I have to go to a work-related conference tomorrow and over the weekend. I have a good cliffhanger lined up after Ch. 341, so if I can I'll get up early tomorrow morning and post a double-update.
LB
* * * * * *
Chapter 339
The giant eagle knifed through the skies over Cauldron, darting effortlessly across the thermals that rose from the ravaged city, but giving the swirling amber clouds a wide berth as it descended toward the core of the volcano. For a moment the eagle saw something flash in the sky above it, then had to bank hastily to avoid a large, ungainly form that plummeted from the sky into the chaos below.
What in the hells was that, Shensen thought, not sure that she believed what her eyes had just showed her. Of course, given what was happening in the city, odd sightings were to be expected. At least whatever it was had been falling, and its wings hadn’t been flapping, so gravity would likely handle the matter.
The druid had been spending the last few days at the Lucky Monkey, present to reconsecrate the small shrine to Shaundakul located within the roadhouse. The place had been restored to full operation for some time now, but she’d postponed that duty for several months. The Monkey still held some unpleasant memories for her, ones that were not easily banished.
She’d been there when the tremors had started in earnest. Movements of the earth were not uncommon in the Alamirs, especially with the number of semi-active volcanoes in the region, but Shensen had quickly sensed that these disturbances were not natural. She’d left Bristle in the jungle near the roadhouse (with careful instructions not to molest its patrons), and began the journey back to the city. The tremors had quickly grown in intensity, and the odd clouds gathering above the volcanic peak where the city was perched were clearly not natural, so she’d taken the form she now wore, and hastened her return.
She’d stopped first at the Temple of Helm, seeking information, and the adventurers with whom she’d battled the evil forces threatening the region before. The compound was strangely deserted, but even a casual glance at the street outside was enough to tell her that the city was in its death throes, its citizens fleeing toward the gates that offered escape.
The druid’s eyes narrowed, and she took to the air once more, heading for the lake.
Her vision, enhanced in her borrowed form, was of little avail given the amount of smoke, steam, and haze that blanketed the city. After dodging the falling morkoth, she swept down to the lake. Her druidic resistances helped her against the noxious effects of the volcanic gases rising from the boiling lake, but being here was still far from pleasant. She saw that her grove was completely immersed, and as she detected the cries of desperate animals she let out a screech and dove toward the livery stables, completely surrounded by the raging waters that had by now completely claimed Lava Avenue. Hot geysers erupted from numerous points across the roiling surface of the once-calm waters as volcanic gases burst up to the surface from below, and Shensen knew that a full eruption, if not imminent, was at least a strong possibility.
She landed smoothly on the edge of the roof of the stables. She’d mastered the ability of casting spells in her animal form, so it was a mere matter of an avian screech to draw upon the natural power to pull back the waters before the building, forming a channel that stretched from the front doors to the mouth of the alley opposite the stables on the far side of the street, a steep rise that offered a difficult but passable access to Ash Avenue above.
She offered another cry, this time focusing her power on the doors of the stables. The wood had been warped by the superheated waters, but at her command they buckled and tore free of their hinges, falling forward out into the street with a loud crash. The cries of injured animals greeted her, and she dropped off the roof, spreading her wings to drift down to the soaked floor below. When she landed, her body already shifting back to its natural form, she was already calling upon her magical powers once more, empowering herself to speak with animals, and then sending out a wave of soothing energy to calm the panicked creatures, left trapped in their stalls and pens, several already seriously burned by the waters that had penetrated the structure.
A minute later, a column of animals charged out of the stables, led by a white stallion bearing the druid Shensen Tesseril upon its back. Later, a number of the numbed survivors of the city would comment upon the strange procession that they saw rushing through the city streets, led by the black-skinned woman with the long white hair billowing out behind her, riding bareback upon a great white horse.
But there were other wonders, amidst the tales of suffering and destruction from that day, that would become part of the lore of the people of Cauldron. One tale that was often repeated was a report of a tall, winged man, clad in robes of shining silver and bearing a huge silver trumpet. Most of the stories regarding this uncanny apparition involved it swooping down from the skies to rescue someone in dire need, from a trio of citizens that had gotten stranded on a thin crust of hardened lava, to an elderly man and his wife trapped within a burning home. His touch closed wounds and mended broken bones, according to multiple reports. According to all of the stories, the winged man did not bother to speak nor did he linger, leaping back into the tumultuous skies over the city once the endangered townsfolk had been placed in a more secure location.
One other group caught at least a quick glimpse of this mysterious figure. The adventurers known as the Heroes of Cauldron made their way slowly toward the northern gates of the city, lending their aid where it was still needed, drawing upon reserves of strength to keep going. Most of those who could get to the gates easily had done so, and those remaining tended to fall into the categories of either the infirm or injured, or the foolishly stubborn. The former the companions aided, when they could, and the latter they tried to convince, but more often were forced to leave to their own devices.
The tremors shaking the city had redoubled in intensity, and now a pall hung over the city as great plumes of smoke and volcanic ash rose up to join the dark nexus of clouds that continued to swell overhead. Great rifts, billowing forth gouts of flame and noxious gasses, were now frequently visible in the pavement of the avenues, some so wide that they forced the party to make wide detours to get safely around them.
As they were making their way down Magma Avenue, drawing near to the mercantile district that surrounded the Town Hall and its broad public square, a streak of light and a vicious cry drew their attention skyward. Two forms flew overhead, only visible for a few heartbeats, appearing above the rooftops and streaking across the street to vanish above the buildings on the far side. The lead figure, a bloated demodand similar to the one they’d battled in Karran-Kural, was being chased by the second, a winged man in silver robes carrying a massive silver greatsword shining with brilliant light. They were there and gone before Dannel could even lift his bow.
“What was that?” Hodge asked.
“A trumpet archon,” Beorna said. “That’s Jenya’s work, no doubt. She was supposed to summon protection for herself,” the dwarf added in an undertone.
“That other was a demodand,” Dannel added. “The barrier between worlds must be growing weaker.”
“Come on,” Arun said. “We cannot join that battle, but there’s no shortage of threats in this place.”
“How much longer until the volcano erupts?” Mole asked.
“It could be hours, or days, or tendays,” Arun said. “If this were a normal geologic happening, I would think that the venting that we’re seeing now would ease the pressure beneath the earth, but this...” He didn’t have to finish; they all knew that the Cagewrights’ dark plots were behind the waking volcano, and the energies being released here could unleash an uncontrollable surge of destruction at any time.
“Careful,” Dannel said, gesturing up ahead.
They slowed as they came upon an ugly form splayed out across the street. The familiar stench of a farastu demodand identified it even before they got a good look at its remains. The cause of its death was instantly evident from the cracks in the pavement around its body, and the obvious impact damage wrought upon its body.
“The gate must be opening above,” Dannel said, looking up at the vortex in the sky above them.
“At least these ones don’t have wings,” Arun said, moving to skirt it.
“Um... guys?” Mole said, drawing their attention to the near side of the street, where a damaged storefront stood. At first glance it looked as though the place had been devastated by one of the tremors, but as they studied it they could see that most of the building was still intact, with most of the damage centered around a caved-in section of the roof facing the street. The windows of the building had all shattered, and the interior was dark, but there was enough light to reveal shifting movement. Sounds drifted out into the street, the crunch of glass, accompanied by a clatter of falling pottery and other, even less pleasant sounds that clearly weren’t natural in origin.
“Looks like we got a live one,” Beorna said, drawing her holy sword. “This won’t take but a moment.” Her stance betrayed her eagerness to be on the giving side of things for a change.
“We’ve got bigger problems,” Dannel said, his eyes still on the skies above. As they looked up, they could see ochre flashes from within the streaked morass of gray and yellow clouds above. From those flashes, dark things plummeted downward; more demodands. A few, their bloated bodies identifying them as kelubars even from this distance, drifted down on their stubby wings, while the hapless farastus simply fell, crashing into various parts of the city.
“It’s beginning,” Arun said, his voice grim.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 340
The sounds from within the ruined shop grew louder, drawing their attention back to earth. But a few moments later one of the plummeting demodands impacted the roof of a three-story structure less than a block up the avenue, sliding off to land painfully on a smaller shed attached to the side of the building. Its landing crushed the small structure, but the fall clearly hadn’t killed it, from the way that the wreckage started shifting violently a few moments later.
“Go ahead,” Beorna said to Arun. “I’ll finish this one off,” she said, indicating the building in front of them, “and catch up to you.”
But even as they spoke, fresh screams became audible just behind them, their source revealed as several panicked townsfolk appeared at the mouth of one of the side-streets that connected Ash and Magma Avenues. One of them caught sight of the adventurers, and screamed, “Fiends! Fiends! They’re everywhere!”
“On second thought, perhaps we’d better stay together,” Dannel said.
“Over here!” Arun said, already moving to help the frightened townsfolk. More were still coming onto the broader avenue from the side-street, but as the last appeared, an older woman of maybe sixty years, hobbling painfully with obvious difficulty, a pair of farastus exploded into view behind her, reaching for her with their sludge-covered claws. Arun yelled a battle cry and rushed at them in a full charge, but he could not reach the woman in time. Dannel sent an arrow flying into the first, but its infernal resistances protected it from injury. The old woman screamed as the demodand bore her down, tearing her torso open with tearing gashes of its claws, splaying her lifeblood across the street in a miasma of gore.
The sight drove Arun into a fury, and he rushed into the farastu with sword raised, smiting it with a powerful downward stroke. The demodand was already injured from its fall into Cauldron from the vortex above, and Arun’s holy blade bit deep, driving it to its knees. But its companion was quick to leap upon Arun from the flank, tearing at him with its claws and bite. One claw dug through his armor, inflicting a painful but largely superficial wound upon the paladin. Arun found himself in difficulty, his sword stuck to his dying foe by the tenacious grip of the farastu’s slimy coating. But Hodge rushed to his friend’s aid, distracting the second farastu with a sweep of his burning axe.
Even as the demodands had appeared, assaulting the helpless woman, the damaged front doors of the adjacent storefront had erupted outward, disgorging the farastu that had fallen within. The creature was a mess, covered with glass, pottery, and other debris that had clung to its adhesive slime, but that did not hinder its fury as it staggered toward Beorna. The templar lifted her sword and shouted and invocation to Helm, but before she could strike the farastu gestured and blasted a ray of enfeeblement into her chest. Grimacing as her already-depleted strength was further drained, she nonetheless rushed at the demodand, sweeping at its body in a broad cut intended to separate the upper half of its body from the lower. Weakened as she was, the blow merely knocked it sideways and did some miscellaneous damage to its innards; not enough to stop it.
The remaining townsfolk, driven to panic by the fear power of the demodands, rushed blindly past the companions, seeking safety. Mole dodged out of the way of an overweight teamster, and turned to glance up the block where the last demodand—of this batch, anyway—had fallen into the shed. The wreckage of the shed was clearly visible, but there was no sign of the fiend. Her face deepened into a frown—what remained of the shed didn’t look like enough to conceal the bulk of a farastu.
“Dannel, I think there’s one invisible behind us,” she said, moving to the side of the street to get a better view as the fleeing citizens obscured her line of sight to the shed.
The elf turned even as screams erupted at the leading edge of the fleeing mass of townsfolk, confirming Mole’s suspicions. The gnome had already disappeared, so Dannel grimaced and slid his bow back into the magical space within his quiver, drawing out Alakast as he ran at the backs of the terrified citizens of the stricken city.
Arun braced his boot against the face of the crippled demodand he’d struck down, yanking his sword free of its sludge-encrusted body through simple strength and will. The second demodand had turned on Hodge, and laid into him with violent bashes of its slender, clawed hands. The dwarf replied with a powerful stroke of his axe, but the weapon, lacking the holy empowerment of Arun and Beorna’s swords, merely grazed its leathery hide.
Arun’s attack, however, encountered no such difficulty, and his sword clove through the fiend with alacrity, finally coming to a halt as it lodged in its spine. The demodand staggered back, drawing Arun and his sword with it. Too late it attempted escape, turning itself invisible even as Arun, still grasping his sword, yanked the weapon loose and ripped it out from the farastu’s body, laying open half of its torso as he did so. A spray of blood and guts revealing its position clearly, the demodand collapsed to the paving stones, gasping out the last of its pathetic existence.
It took Beorna’s opponent a moment to recover from the glancing put painful blow she’d landed in its side, and she used that respite to call upon the divine strength of Helm, offsetting to some degree the losses she’d suffered earlier. Thus reinforced, she was able to withstand a furious assault as the demodand leapt at her, clawing and biting. One claw clipped her painfully on the side of the head, although her helmet protected her from serious damage. She tried to run it through but fumbled her weapon, the sword dislodged from her grasp as the demodand seized at her arms, trying to pin her. In her currently weakened state, she found it difficult to break the attempted hold, and had to spend all of her effort to avoid being firmly grappled, placed at the fiend’s mercy. This close, its breath was a noxious plume, and its sticky layers of exuded slime clung to her armor, impeding her movements. Fortunately, her own innate toughness and the excellent protection offered by her armor made it difficult for the demodand to really hurt her, and it too seemed to grow frustrated as its victim continued to defy its efforts. Beorna’s legs were like tree trunks rooted in the street as the farastu clung to her body, trying to find a vulnerability in this determined enemy. Meanwhile, Beorna struggled in its grasp, bending as her hand stretched slowly but inexorably toward the hilt of the brightly glowing sword at her feet.
A woman screamed as a demodand materialized from thin air in front of her in the middle of the street. It seemed to cackle in glee as it lashed out with its claws, knocking the woman off her feet with a terrible gash to the face, and sending a gnome merchant flying with an impact that left him dazed and bleeding. The panicked townsfolk drew back in horror, just trying to get away from the terrible creature, which reached out for a teenaged girl whose scream shook the very stones with its intensity. But before the fiend could grasp its latest foe, a slender elf leapt between it and its victim. This adversary was clearly no easy prey, although the farastu laughed at the stick that the elf waved at him threateningly.
It wasn’t laughing a moment later, as Alakast slammed into its chest.
Roaring in pain, the demodand leapt at the elf, trying to tear that fearsome weapon from its enemy’s grasp. But the elf was fast, pulling the staff out of its reach before it could close its claws around the polished shaft. With a sneer the farastu shifted its efforts to the elf’s face, but before it could strike a fierce and terrible pain exploded through its lower body from behind. It never even saw the source of the attack, for the elf shifted his stance and drove the staff into it once more, and the fiend’s world exploded in a white web of agony as the outsider-bane weapon send a hot lance of power through its skull into its brain.
The farastu loosened its grim incrementally as Beorna drove a mailed fist into its face. The creature snapped at her with its huge maw, intending to take her entire head, helm at all, into that fetid gap. The templar did not try to avoid the attack, for even as its jaws clamped down across her helmet, her probing fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword.
But before she could strike, she felt a shuddering impact through the body of the fiend, which screamed as it was torn from her. Her helmet, still locked in its jaws, was ripped from her head, and she could see Arun and Hodge hacking at it as though it were a stubborn tree under assault by a pair of fanatical lumberjacks. The farastu had no chance, choking on its adamantine prize even as the dwarves drove it to the paving stones in a gory mess of rent flesh and steaming ichor.
Ignoring the stinging pains that her enemy had left at various points across her body, Beorna walked over to the slain demodand. Arun had already turned toward the last of the four fiends, but it seemed that Dannel and Mole had handled it and were now assisting the terrified survivors.
Hodge bent to help her recover her helmet from the slain demodand’s jaws, but she shrugged him off, a bit too roughly, perhaps. The defender shrugged and drew back, hefting his axe as he looked about for more adversaries.
“Are you all right?” Arun asked.
“I had it handled,” Beorna said, shamed as a wave of weakness overcame her. Her limbs felt leaden under her heavy armor, and she could not work her helmet free from the locked jaws of the dead fiend.
“I know you did,” the paladin replied, “But we were there, and the fiend was focused upon you, and did not see us approach. Would you have had us simply watch, while you defeated it?”
“You could have helped the others against the last creature,” she replied, finally drawing back and giving the farastu’s head a frustrated kick.
“I’d cut its jaws open,” Hodge suggested. “Once a giant lizard took o’ me pack mules, was the same thing. Hadda just ‘bout carve the thing open to get me best sifting pan back from that beast.”
Beorna shot the other dwarf a venomous look, but Arun continued, “Look, we’re all tired, and worn out.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you’re the one who told me that even people like us need someone else every now and again, right? We’re part of a team, here; we’ve got to stay together if we’re going to get out of this city alive.”
Beorna took a deep breath and nodded. “I apologize, Hodge,” she said. “I am not accustomed to... needing... help.”
“No problem,” the dwarf said. To be helpful, he knelt and went at the farastu’s head with his dagger, finally producing Beorna’s slime- and blood-encrusted helmet, which he offered with a grin.
She took a moment to clean off the worst of the encrusted filth before settling the helmet back on her head. As she did so, Mole and Dannel came over to the three dwarves. Behind them the survivors of the latest attack huddled in a mass in the center of the street.
“We’re getting close to the square in front of the town hall,” the elf said. “From there it’s pretty much a straight shot down Obsidian to the west gate. We’ve calmed down the remaining townsfolk, and I’ve treated those with serious wounds. But we’d better get going.”
Beorna adjusted the helmet to its proper place, then nodded. From within the cavernous interior of the adamantine shroud, her voice was hollow and deep.
“I am ready.”
The sounds from within the ruined shop grew louder, drawing their attention back to earth. But a few moments later one of the plummeting demodands impacted the roof of a three-story structure less than a block up the avenue, sliding off to land painfully on a smaller shed attached to the side of the building. Its landing crushed the small structure, but the fall clearly hadn’t killed it, from the way that the wreckage started shifting violently a few moments later.
“Go ahead,” Beorna said to Arun. “I’ll finish this one off,” she said, indicating the building in front of them, “and catch up to you.”
But even as they spoke, fresh screams became audible just behind them, their source revealed as several panicked townsfolk appeared at the mouth of one of the side-streets that connected Ash and Magma Avenues. One of them caught sight of the adventurers, and screamed, “Fiends! Fiends! They’re everywhere!”
“On second thought, perhaps we’d better stay together,” Dannel said.
“Over here!” Arun said, already moving to help the frightened townsfolk. More were still coming onto the broader avenue from the side-street, but as the last appeared, an older woman of maybe sixty years, hobbling painfully with obvious difficulty, a pair of farastus exploded into view behind her, reaching for her with their sludge-covered claws. Arun yelled a battle cry and rushed at them in a full charge, but he could not reach the woman in time. Dannel sent an arrow flying into the first, but its infernal resistances protected it from injury. The old woman screamed as the demodand bore her down, tearing her torso open with tearing gashes of its claws, splaying her lifeblood across the street in a miasma of gore.
The sight drove Arun into a fury, and he rushed into the farastu with sword raised, smiting it with a powerful downward stroke. The demodand was already injured from its fall into Cauldron from the vortex above, and Arun’s holy blade bit deep, driving it to its knees. But its companion was quick to leap upon Arun from the flank, tearing at him with its claws and bite. One claw dug through his armor, inflicting a painful but largely superficial wound upon the paladin. Arun found himself in difficulty, his sword stuck to his dying foe by the tenacious grip of the farastu’s slimy coating. But Hodge rushed to his friend’s aid, distracting the second farastu with a sweep of his burning axe.
Even as the demodands had appeared, assaulting the helpless woman, the damaged front doors of the adjacent storefront had erupted outward, disgorging the farastu that had fallen within. The creature was a mess, covered with glass, pottery, and other debris that had clung to its adhesive slime, but that did not hinder its fury as it staggered toward Beorna. The templar lifted her sword and shouted and invocation to Helm, but before she could strike the farastu gestured and blasted a ray of enfeeblement into her chest. Grimacing as her already-depleted strength was further drained, she nonetheless rushed at the demodand, sweeping at its body in a broad cut intended to separate the upper half of its body from the lower. Weakened as she was, the blow merely knocked it sideways and did some miscellaneous damage to its innards; not enough to stop it.
The remaining townsfolk, driven to panic by the fear power of the demodands, rushed blindly past the companions, seeking safety. Mole dodged out of the way of an overweight teamster, and turned to glance up the block where the last demodand—of this batch, anyway—had fallen into the shed. The wreckage of the shed was clearly visible, but there was no sign of the fiend. Her face deepened into a frown—what remained of the shed didn’t look like enough to conceal the bulk of a farastu.
“Dannel, I think there’s one invisible behind us,” she said, moving to the side of the street to get a better view as the fleeing citizens obscured her line of sight to the shed.
The elf turned even as screams erupted at the leading edge of the fleeing mass of townsfolk, confirming Mole’s suspicions. The gnome had already disappeared, so Dannel grimaced and slid his bow back into the magical space within his quiver, drawing out Alakast as he ran at the backs of the terrified citizens of the stricken city.
Arun braced his boot against the face of the crippled demodand he’d struck down, yanking his sword free of its sludge-encrusted body through simple strength and will. The second demodand had turned on Hodge, and laid into him with violent bashes of its slender, clawed hands. The dwarf replied with a powerful stroke of his axe, but the weapon, lacking the holy empowerment of Arun and Beorna’s swords, merely grazed its leathery hide.
Arun’s attack, however, encountered no such difficulty, and his sword clove through the fiend with alacrity, finally coming to a halt as it lodged in its spine. The demodand staggered back, drawing Arun and his sword with it. Too late it attempted escape, turning itself invisible even as Arun, still grasping his sword, yanked the weapon loose and ripped it out from the farastu’s body, laying open half of its torso as he did so. A spray of blood and guts revealing its position clearly, the demodand collapsed to the paving stones, gasping out the last of its pathetic existence.
It took Beorna’s opponent a moment to recover from the glancing put painful blow she’d landed in its side, and she used that respite to call upon the divine strength of Helm, offsetting to some degree the losses she’d suffered earlier. Thus reinforced, she was able to withstand a furious assault as the demodand leapt at her, clawing and biting. One claw clipped her painfully on the side of the head, although her helmet protected her from serious damage. She tried to run it through but fumbled her weapon, the sword dislodged from her grasp as the demodand seized at her arms, trying to pin her. In her currently weakened state, she found it difficult to break the attempted hold, and had to spend all of her effort to avoid being firmly grappled, placed at the fiend’s mercy. This close, its breath was a noxious plume, and its sticky layers of exuded slime clung to her armor, impeding her movements. Fortunately, her own innate toughness and the excellent protection offered by her armor made it difficult for the demodand to really hurt her, and it too seemed to grow frustrated as its victim continued to defy its efforts. Beorna’s legs were like tree trunks rooted in the street as the farastu clung to her body, trying to find a vulnerability in this determined enemy. Meanwhile, Beorna struggled in its grasp, bending as her hand stretched slowly but inexorably toward the hilt of the brightly glowing sword at her feet.
A woman screamed as a demodand materialized from thin air in front of her in the middle of the street. It seemed to cackle in glee as it lashed out with its claws, knocking the woman off her feet with a terrible gash to the face, and sending a gnome merchant flying with an impact that left him dazed and bleeding. The panicked townsfolk drew back in horror, just trying to get away from the terrible creature, which reached out for a teenaged girl whose scream shook the very stones with its intensity. But before the fiend could grasp its latest foe, a slender elf leapt between it and its victim. This adversary was clearly no easy prey, although the farastu laughed at the stick that the elf waved at him threateningly.
It wasn’t laughing a moment later, as Alakast slammed into its chest.
Roaring in pain, the demodand leapt at the elf, trying to tear that fearsome weapon from its enemy’s grasp. But the elf was fast, pulling the staff out of its reach before it could close its claws around the polished shaft. With a sneer the farastu shifted its efforts to the elf’s face, but before it could strike a fierce and terrible pain exploded through its lower body from behind. It never even saw the source of the attack, for the elf shifted his stance and drove the staff into it once more, and the fiend’s world exploded in a white web of agony as the outsider-bane weapon send a hot lance of power through its skull into its brain.
The farastu loosened its grim incrementally as Beorna drove a mailed fist into its face. The creature snapped at her with its huge maw, intending to take her entire head, helm at all, into that fetid gap. The templar did not try to avoid the attack, for even as its jaws clamped down across her helmet, her probing fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword.
But before she could strike, she felt a shuddering impact through the body of the fiend, which screamed as it was torn from her. Her helmet, still locked in its jaws, was ripped from her head, and she could see Arun and Hodge hacking at it as though it were a stubborn tree under assault by a pair of fanatical lumberjacks. The farastu had no chance, choking on its adamantine prize even as the dwarves drove it to the paving stones in a gory mess of rent flesh and steaming ichor.
Ignoring the stinging pains that her enemy had left at various points across her body, Beorna walked over to the slain demodand. Arun had already turned toward the last of the four fiends, but it seemed that Dannel and Mole had handled it and were now assisting the terrified survivors.
Hodge bent to help her recover her helmet from the slain demodand’s jaws, but she shrugged him off, a bit too roughly, perhaps. The defender shrugged and drew back, hefting his axe as he looked about for more adversaries.
“Are you all right?” Arun asked.
“I had it handled,” Beorna said, shamed as a wave of weakness overcame her. Her limbs felt leaden under her heavy armor, and she could not work her helmet free from the locked jaws of the dead fiend.
“I know you did,” the paladin replied, “But we were there, and the fiend was focused upon you, and did not see us approach. Would you have had us simply watch, while you defeated it?”
“You could have helped the others against the last creature,” she replied, finally drawing back and giving the farastu’s head a frustrated kick.
“I’d cut its jaws open,” Hodge suggested. “Once a giant lizard took o’ me pack mules, was the same thing. Hadda just ‘bout carve the thing open to get me best sifting pan back from that beast.”
Beorna shot the other dwarf a venomous look, but Arun continued, “Look, we’re all tired, and worn out.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you’re the one who told me that even people like us need someone else every now and again, right? We’re part of a team, here; we’ve got to stay together if we’re going to get out of this city alive.”
Beorna took a deep breath and nodded. “I apologize, Hodge,” she said. “I am not accustomed to... needing... help.”
“No problem,” the dwarf said. To be helpful, he knelt and went at the farastu’s head with his dagger, finally producing Beorna’s slime- and blood-encrusted helmet, which he offered with a grin.
She took a moment to clean off the worst of the encrusted filth before settling the helmet back on her head. As she did so, Mole and Dannel came over to the three dwarves. Behind them the survivors of the latest attack huddled in a mass in the center of the street.
“We’re getting close to the square in front of the town hall,” the elf said. “From there it’s pretty much a straight shot down Obsidian to the west gate. We’ve calmed down the remaining townsfolk, and I’ve treated those with serious wounds. But we’d better get going.”
Beorna adjusted the helmet to its proper place, then nodded. From within the cavernous interior of the adamantine shroud, her voice was hollow and deep.
“I am ready.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 341
The streets of the city were nearly deserted as the company made its way steadily higher toward the massive black walls encircling the city. Still, they managed to locate several other desperate souls as they made their way closer to the west gate, until they had nearly two score ragged survivors trailing behind them as they turned onto the final rising avenue that ascended from Obsidian Avenue toward the walls and the compact square where one of four exits from the city was situated. The companions were quite familiar with this gate, for it was the one through which Zenna and Mole had entered the city, just over a year ago, and which they had used in their journey to the Lucky Monkey, in a time when their problems seemed easy and straightforward in comparison to now.
Then, they’d only had evil cults, floods, and a were-baboon barbarian to deal with.
As they made their way closer to the gate, they could see that the square ahead was occupied, and in fact cluttered with people. A humble, almost pathetic statue decorated the square; the likeness of an armored man cast in bronze, his specific identity worn away by centuries of the elements, the plaque that had once marked his plinth stolen before most of the current residents of Cauldron had been born. But the statue still served as a gathering point, and as the companions drew nearer they could make out the familiar form of Jenya Urikas standing on the edge of the platform, the bronze warrior looming protectively behind her. She was surrounded by a number of people in the uniform of the Watch, and a smattering of Arun’s Hammers, their blue tunics stained by blood and soot. Around the authorities mingled a much larger crowd of uncertain residents of the city, surrounded by barely-controlled mules and horses, carts, wagons, and containers of every sort, holding what possessions the city’s residents had been able to preserve from the cataclysm gripping Cauldron.
As they reached the square, they directed their charges to join the crowd, and started making their way toward Jenya. The High Priestess looked wan and tired, as if the hours since the first quake had stolen decades from her, leaving her old and frail. But the spark of determination that shone in her persisted still, and they could hear her voice over the din of the crowd, issuing orders that the people, if confused and reluctant, nevertheless appeared to be following. The gates were open, and slowly the living contents of the square were drifting through them, to the long road that led down from the mountain to the lowland forests and safety.
Jenya saw them before they drew near enough to hail her, and some of the tension gripping her seemed to lift as she waved them over. That gesture seemed enough to help part the crowd, or perhaps it was the looks on the faces of the adventurers. As they reached the stone plinth, the High Priestess issued a few more orders to the nearby Watch officers, who saluted and headed out into the crowd. Then she bent and reached down, letting a pair of acolytes help her to the ground at the foot of the pedestal.
“I’m glad you’re all well,” Jenya said. “With all that’s happened...” She trailed off, and it was clear that she’d seen her own share of pain and suffering, since they’d parted at the Temple of Helm.
“We saw the archon,” Arun said. “You Called it?”
Jenya nodded. “I gave him the Star of Justice, in exchange for his aid.” At Beorna’s surprised look, she added, “The Compact requires an exchange, and while I intended to merely summon a protector, as you required, templar... the portal had begun to open, and I could not just let fiends wander the city at will, slaying its citizens. We needed time, and the loss of the artifact is a small price to pay for the lives saved.”
“Speaking of fiends, we ran into a few,” Mole pointed out.
“The portal is not yet fully open, but within hours, Cauldron may become a gate-town, a permanent link between Carceri and Faerûn.”
“What can we do to stop it?” Arun asked.
Jenya looked at him with eyes that shone dully. “I do not know that it can be stopped, at this point.”
For a moment, no one spoke, and despite the tumult around them, it was as if a sudden quiet had fallen over the world.
“The evacuation,” Beorna finally said. “What happens to the survivors?”
Jenya shook her head, as if the templar’s words had shaken her from a reverie. “We are focusing the evacuation to the west and south; it would be foolish to try to bring columns of refugees across the Alamirs at this time of year.”
“Especially with demons crawlin’ all o’er the place,” Hodge grumbled softly.
“Skellerang and Tristane are leading a column south to Redgorge,” Jenya went on. “This group we’ll take to the Lucky Monkey; I’ve already sent riders ahead to begin preparing clearings for a temporary camp. Other smaller groups have set out on the lesser trails, but we’re going to try to get everyone gathered at one of those two points. Messages have also been sent to Almraiven, and to the Temple of Eternal Vigilance in Tethyr. Our enemies may be ascendant, but we will not meekly surrender our realm to their foul scheme!”
“No, we will not,” Arun said, his words like cold iron. “And I, for one, have a few matters to resolve with the Cagewrights.”
Suddenly, loud screams sounded from the crowd outside, from beyond the gates. The companions instantly grasped their weapons, alert for signs of danger. Arun actually started toward the gate, but a wall of confused and panicked people and animals stood in his way.
“What now?” Dannel asked.
In answer, a dark shadow passed over the square. A terrible and familiar wave of sensation rushed over them. Throughout the open space, already scared people cowered in abject terror as the ancient power of the shadow’s owner spread its fell influence, borne above them on spread wings.
It was a dragon, its scarlet hide shining bright in the dull red glow that issued from the stricken city. It swept low over the wall, barely clearing the empty battlements above, a rush of smoke and ash blasting in its wake, creating an artificial wind that tugged the garments of the terrified people below. Gliding on wings that might have enfolded an entire house in their membranous sweep, it slid north over the city, toward the town hall. There, its wings spread to catch the air, and it slowed to grasp the slender spire that rose from the dome of the great structure in its huge claws.
The people of Cauldron had seen terrors this day, but nothing compared to the sight of the great dragon Hookface, a monstrosity out of legend, perched on the summit of the town hall, a great plume of fire erupted from its draconic jaws to scorch the sky, laying claim to the wreckage of the city.
The streets of the city were nearly deserted as the company made its way steadily higher toward the massive black walls encircling the city. Still, they managed to locate several other desperate souls as they made their way closer to the west gate, until they had nearly two score ragged survivors trailing behind them as they turned onto the final rising avenue that ascended from Obsidian Avenue toward the walls and the compact square where one of four exits from the city was situated. The companions were quite familiar with this gate, for it was the one through which Zenna and Mole had entered the city, just over a year ago, and which they had used in their journey to the Lucky Monkey, in a time when their problems seemed easy and straightforward in comparison to now.
Then, they’d only had evil cults, floods, and a were-baboon barbarian to deal with.
As they made their way closer to the gate, they could see that the square ahead was occupied, and in fact cluttered with people. A humble, almost pathetic statue decorated the square; the likeness of an armored man cast in bronze, his specific identity worn away by centuries of the elements, the plaque that had once marked his plinth stolen before most of the current residents of Cauldron had been born. But the statue still served as a gathering point, and as the companions drew nearer they could make out the familiar form of Jenya Urikas standing on the edge of the platform, the bronze warrior looming protectively behind her. She was surrounded by a number of people in the uniform of the Watch, and a smattering of Arun’s Hammers, their blue tunics stained by blood and soot. Around the authorities mingled a much larger crowd of uncertain residents of the city, surrounded by barely-controlled mules and horses, carts, wagons, and containers of every sort, holding what possessions the city’s residents had been able to preserve from the cataclysm gripping Cauldron.
As they reached the square, they directed their charges to join the crowd, and started making their way toward Jenya. The High Priestess looked wan and tired, as if the hours since the first quake had stolen decades from her, leaving her old and frail. But the spark of determination that shone in her persisted still, and they could hear her voice over the din of the crowd, issuing orders that the people, if confused and reluctant, nevertheless appeared to be following. The gates were open, and slowly the living contents of the square were drifting through them, to the long road that led down from the mountain to the lowland forests and safety.
Jenya saw them before they drew near enough to hail her, and some of the tension gripping her seemed to lift as she waved them over. That gesture seemed enough to help part the crowd, or perhaps it was the looks on the faces of the adventurers. As they reached the stone plinth, the High Priestess issued a few more orders to the nearby Watch officers, who saluted and headed out into the crowd. Then she bent and reached down, letting a pair of acolytes help her to the ground at the foot of the pedestal.
“I’m glad you’re all well,” Jenya said. “With all that’s happened...” She trailed off, and it was clear that she’d seen her own share of pain and suffering, since they’d parted at the Temple of Helm.
“We saw the archon,” Arun said. “You Called it?”
Jenya nodded. “I gave him the Star of Justice, in exchange for his aid.” At Beorna’s surprised look, she added, “The Compact requires an exchange, and while I intended to merely summon a protector, as you required, templar... the portal had begun to open, and I could not just let fiends wander the city at will, slaying its citizens. We needed time, and the loss of the artifact is a small price to pay for the lives saved.”
“Speaking of fiends, we ran into a few,” Mole pointed out.
“The portal is not yet fully open, but within hours, Cauldron may become a gate-town, a permanent link between Carceri and Faerûn.”
“What can we do to stop it?” Arun asked.
Jenya looked at him with eyes that shone dully. “I do not know that it can be stopped, at this point.”
For a moment, no one spoke, and despite the tumult around them, it was as if a sudden quiet had fallen over the world.
“The evacuation,” Beorna finally said. “What happens to the survivors?”
Jenya shook her head, as if the templar’s words had shaken her from a reverie. “We are focusing the evacuation to the west and south; it would be foolish to try to bring columns of refugees across the Alamirs at this time of year.”
“Especially with demons crawlin’ all o’er the place,” Hodge grumbled softly.
“Skellerang and Tristane are leading a column south to Redgorge,” Jenya went on. “This group we’ll take to the Lucky Monkey; I’ve already sent riders ahead to begin preparing clearings for a temporary camp. Other smaller groups have set out on the lesser trails, but we’re going to try to get everyone gathered at one of those two points. Messages have also been sent to Almraiven, and to the Temple of Eternal Vigilance in Tethyr. Our enemies may be ascendant, but we will not meekly surrender our realm to their foul scheme!”
“No, we will not,” Arun said, his words like cold iron. “And I, for one, have a few matters to resolve with the Cagewrights.”
Suddenly, loud screams sounded from the crowd outside, from beyond the gates. The companions instantly grasped their weapons, alert for signs of danger. Arun actually started toward the gate, but a wall of confused and panicked people and animals stood in his way.
“What now?” Dannel asked.
In answer, a dark shadow passed over the square. A terrible and familiar wave of sensation rushed over them. Throughout the open space, already scared people cowered in abject terror as the ancient power of the shadow’s owner spread its fell influence, borne above them on spread wings.
It was a dragon, its scarlet hide shining bright in the dull red glow that issued from the stricken city. It swept low over the wall, barely clearing the empty battlements above, a rush of smoke and ash blasting in its wake, creating an artificial wind that tugged the garments of the terrified people below. Gliding on wings that might have enfolded an entire house in their membranous sweep, it slid north over the city, toward the town hall. There, its wings spread to catch the air, and it slowed to grasp the slender spire that rose from the dome of the great structure in its huge claws.
The people of Cauldron had seen terrors this day, but nothing compared to the sight of the great dragon Hookface, a monstrosity out of legend, perched on the summit of the town hall, a great plume of fire erupted from its draconic jaws to scorch the sky, laying claim to the wreckage of the city.
Neverwinter Knight
First Post
Great that you made it Lazybones!Lazybones said:
Now that's what I call a cliffhanger !!!Lazybones said:
This is no mere wyrmling. 
Richard Rawen
First Post
*grumble*
The REAL Cliffhanger was that when I showed up Friday around 19:00 EST the post wasn't made . . . no big deal there, I just figured to get it Saturday.
Then Saturday comes and the Site Was Down!
The Horror!
Heh, I sure was glad to see it up and available for my reading pleasure this fine morning.
Until "Hookface" arrived that is! YIKES!
Talk about Irony, I was upset at not getting to read on Friday and now I am Glad I didn't have to let that image percolate in my fertile imagination all weekend LOL.
Only a Very Well written story with characters that this reader Cares About would get me going like this, Thanks again LB for some fantastic (though cruel in a Cliffhanger kinda way) storytelling.
Blessings,
Richard < > <
The REAL Cliffhanger was that when I showed up Friday around 19:00 EST the post wasn't made . . . no big deal there, I just figured to get it Saturday.
Then Saturday comes and the Site Was Down!
The Horror!
Heh, I sure was glad to see it up and available for my reading pleasure this fine morning.
Until "Hookface" arrived that is! YIKES!
Talk about Irony, I was upset at not getting to read on Friday and now I am Glad I didn't have to let that image percolate in my fertile imagination all weekend LOL.
Only a Very Well written story with characters that this reader Cares About would get me going like this, Thanks again LB for some fantastic (though cruel in a Cliffhanger kinda way) storytelling.
Blessings,
Richard < > <
Lazybones
Adventurer
Let's get ready to rumble!
* * * * *
Chapter 342
The dragon launched itself from the cupola, sweeping out over the city in a slow, lazy arc, barely over the level of the rooftops. It drifted in and out of view as it cut through the haze of smoke rising over the city, and it almost appeared to be...
“Looking for something,” Dannel said, his keen eyes fixed on the massive creature.
“Us, likely,” Hodge grunted.
“What makes you say that?” Mole asked.
“Ha’ ye forgotten our record with drakes?” the dwarf railed. “By Clangeddin’s puckered buttocks, this one’s prolly the sire... or gran’sire, o’ the baby red we killed at that crazy bastard’s hut up in the mountains!”
Mole looked thoughtful. “Oh, yeah, that one.”
Jenya turned from where she’d been issuing curt commands to those members of the Watch and the Hammers that were still present. The square had been transformed into a sea of chaos, with people now dropping all of the possessions they’d hoarded earlier, rushing for the gate in a press. A few leaders were trying to maintain order, but even at this distance, all of the companions could feel the familiar tinge of dragonfear.
“This will get worse,” Jenya said. “If that dragon decides to attack the refugees, there will be a slaughter. We cannot stand against a red of that size...”
“We’ll take care of it,” Beorna said. Amazingly, she appeared calm, her face hard like chiseled stone.
“Templar...”
“Go, the people need you. Without your presence, the flight will become a rout, and more will die in the panic.”
A loud roar and a crash sounded out over the city. The companions readied their weapons, but the sounds seemed a good distance off, and after a few seconds they turned back to Jenya.
“Probably looting the city,” Mole observed, with the air of a lecturer speaking to students. “Reds are greedy bastards.”
“Well, unless any of you can sprout wings, we’ll need to draw its attention,” Beorna said, unlimbering her rarely-used bow.
“I believe I can handle that,” Dannel said, drawing out his own longbow from his magical quiver.
“Yer all insane,” Hodge said. “That ain’t no piddlin’ wyrmling yer wantin’ to pick a fight with! That there drake’s a fully-grown adult wyrm! Why, them things snack on giants fer breakfast! Yer all stark, blasted, raving...”
“Hodge,” Arun interrupted, without turning; he was preparing his own bow. His string had been broken during their encounters in the city, so Dannel gave him one of his spares. “Go with Jenya; she’ll need your help with the refugees.”
“Go stuff yerself.”
The paladin looked up. “Excuse me?”
“Ah, sorry. I mean, go stuff yerself, most holy champion o’ Moradin.” With an angry shake of his head, Hodge unlimbered his heavy crossbow and winch, and began loading the weapon, a more or less constant stream of muted curses accompanying every stage in the process.
Arun glanced over at Beorna, whose face cracked into a hint of a smile.
“He’s right, though,” Dannel said softly. “This one won’t be easy.”
Arun sighed. “They never are, not with us.”
Jenya had taken a scroll from one of her acolytes, and was reading from it in a steady cadence of magical syllables. Each of the companions in turn felt a tingle as a protective ward settled around them, and the High Priestess did not stop until all of the magical writings on the scroll had faded. She then laid a blessing upon them, followed by a healing spell that sent a surge of positive energy through them.
“I’m sorry, that is the best that I can offer,” she said, as the effects of the mass cure moderate wounds spell faded. “Almost all of my divine spells are depleted, and I doubt that there will be many chances to pray in the next few days.”
“Thank you, High Priestess,” Beorna said, bowing deeply in respect, her armor clanking noisily about her at the awkward movement. It was an odd moment, the six of them standing there in the midst of a sea of chaos, taking a few precious seconds for another leavetaking.
“We’ll join you at the Monkey, if we’re able,” Arun said, testing the new string on his bow. Jenya nodded, but did not respond. The companions shared a look, and then started back down the now-deserted street behind them. Jenya only lingered for just a few seconds as the five heroes rushed down the street, then turned to join the last remnants of the flood of survivors pouring out of the city, hoping to find some sanctuary in the wilds beyond.
* * * * *
Chapter 342
The dragon launched itself from the cupola, sweeping out over the city in a slow, lazy arc, barely over the level of the rooftops. It drifted in and out of view as it cut through the haze of smoke rising over the city, and it almost appeared to be...
“Looking for something,” Dannel said, his keen eyes fixed on the massive creature.
“Us, likely,” Hodge grunted.
“What makes you say that?” Mole asked.
“Ha’ ye forgotten our record with drakes?” the dwarf railed. “By Clangeddin’s puckered buttocks, this one’s prolly the sire... or gran’sire, o’ the baby red we killed at that crazy bastard’s hut up in the mountains!”
Mole looked thoughtful. “Oh, yeah, that one.”
Jenya turned from where she’d been issuing curt commands to those members of the Watch and the Hammers that were still present. The square had been transformed into a sea of chaos, with people now dropping all of the possessions they’d hoarded earlier, rushing for the gate in a press. A few leaders were trying to maintain order, but even at this distance, all of the companions could feel the familiar tinge of dragonfear.
“This will get worse,” Jenya said. “If that dragon decides to attack the refugees, there will be a slaughter. We cannot stand against a red of that size...”
“We’ll take care of it,” Beorna said. Amazingly, she appeared calm, her face hard like chiseled stone.
“Templar...”
“Go, the people need you. Without your presence, the flight will become a rout, and more will die in the panic.”
A loud roar and a crash sounded out over the city. The companions readied their weapons, but the sounds seemed a good distance off, and after a few seconds they turned back to Jenya.
“Probably looting the city,” Mole observed, with the air of a lecturer speaking to students. “Reds are greedy bastards.”
“Well, unless any of you can sprout wings, we’ll need to draw its attention,” Beorna said, unlimbering her rarely-used bow.
“I believe I can handle that,” Dannel said, drawing out his own longbow from his magical quiver.
“Yer all insane,” Hodge said. “That ain’t no piddlin’ wyrmling yer wantin’ to pick a fight with! That there drake’s a fully-grown adult wyrm! Why, them things snack on giants fer breakfast! Yer all stark, blasted, raving...”
“Hodge,” Arun interrupted, without turning; he was preparing his own bow. His string had been broken during their encounters in the city, so Dannel gave him one of his spares. “Go with Jenya; she’ll need your help with the refugees.”
“Go stuff yerself.”
The paladin looked up. “Excuse me?”
“Ah, sorry. I mean, go stuff yerself, most holy champion o’ Moradin.” With an angry shake of his head, Hodge unlimbered his heavy crossbow and winch, and began loading the weapon, a more or less constant stream of muted curses accompanying every stage in the process.
Arun glanced over at Beorna, whose face cracked into a hint of a smile.
“He’s right, though,” Dannel said softly. “This one won’t be easy.”
Arun sighed. “They never are, not with us.”
Jenya had taken a scroll from one of her acolytes, and was reading from it in a steady cadence of magical syllables. Each of the companions in turn felt a tingle as a protective ward settled around them, and the High Priestess did not stop until all of the magical writings on the scroll had faded. She then laid a blessing upon them, followed by a healing spell that sent a surge of positive energy through them.
“I’m sorry, that is the best that I can offer,” she said, as the effects of the mass cure moderate wounds spell faded. “Almost all of my divine spells are depleted, and I doubt that there will be many chances to pray in the next few days.”
“Thank you, High Priestess,” Beorna said, bowing deeply in respect, her armor clanking noisily about her at the awkward movement. It was an odd moment, the six of them standing there in the midst of a sea of chaos, taking a few precious seconds for another leavetaking.
“We’ll join you at the Monkey, if we’re able,” Arun said, testing the new string on his bow. Jenya nodded, but did not respond. The companions shared a look, and then started back down the now-deserted street behind them. Jenya only lingered for just a few seconds as the five heroes rushed down the street, then turned to join the last remnants of the flood of survivors pouring out of the city, hoping to find some sanctuary in the wilds beyond.
Black Bard
First Post
Quoting Rock'n'Roll Racing : LET THE CARNAGE BEGIN!!! 
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