drs said:
Oh yeah, Mole and her window-tumbling-20-rolling-goo-throwing-dragon-stabbing-cheekiness would have to be my favourite chr
.
Finally some love for Mole! Thanks drs, welcome to the story.
NWK: they're all a bit underpowered; because of the fast pace of the campaign (I really haven't left much time in between for manufacturing items, and Zenna's absence means they cannot teleport over to Almraiven for upgrades, as I'd initially intended). With a few exceptions (e.g. Mole's ring, the scene at Weer's place at the start of Book VIII), almost all of their gear is looted from the bad guys (and the group has missed a few caches along the way). I haven't checked their gear values lately but I'd suspect that they're about 50-75% of the "normal" levels as outlined in the DMG.
But hey, that's okay, Arun's about to get a
big upgrade...
* * * * *
Chapter 356
A few minutes later, the companions gathered at the original intersection of the two corridors, only a short distance from the charnel heap of blood and slime and gore and corruption where the desperate battle had taken place.
Nidrama, looking more mortal than at any time previous, was still pouring charges from her
wand of cure serious wounds into Dannel. The elf was pale. They all were, realizing how close they’d come to being defeated in their first confrontation with the Cagewrights’ forces.
Well, most of them were pale with such thoughts, anyway; Mole seemed more interested in the boots she’d taken off the minotaur barbarian. At first they had seemed ludicrously big for her, but after handling them for a minute or two they had miraculously shrunk to a size that seemed perfect for her.
“Well, that was fun,” Hodge said, spitting out a fat gob of blood that might have contained a tooth. He’d been the only one of them not critically wounded in the brief battle, and in fact it had been his hasty “first aid” that had stabilized Nidrama. Of course, it might have been the farastu slime covering the cloth he’d used that had helped bind the deva’s wound, rather than any particular medical skill the dwarf possessed, but it had held long enough for Arun to free himself from the grasp of the last dying farastu, and use Nidrama’s healing wand to bring her back to consciousness. Dannel, mercifully, had stabilized on his own, although his breathing had been rasping and shallow when they’d gotten to him, and even repeated healing spells had left him wan and shaken.
“That… that
creature, that was one of the most devastating warriors I’ve ever faced,” Arun said. “No, let me correct myself. That was
the most devastating warrior I’ve ever faced. She would have gone through even Zarik Dhor like a hot knife through butter.”
“She was a Cagewright, one of the Thirteen,” Nidrama said, finally rising as she completed the healing of Dannel’s wounds—the physical ones, anyway. From the heavy use they’d put it to in the aftermath of the battle, the wand was likely well on its way to being depleted of its store of magic.
“Faugh!” Hodge snorted. “Just one o’ them nearly took us all for sausages! Yer sure yer want to be doin’ this, now?”
The last was directed to Arun, who merely fixed his stare into the darkness of the corridor ahead. “We have no choice. We will just have to be more cautious.”
Mole suddenly looked up from her prize. “Hey… I wonder if she had any treasure?” Without waiting for confirmation from the others—or permission—she hopped up and darted through the gaping secret door in the north wall.
“Mole!” Dannel exclaimed. He started to say something else, but caught himself and shook his head.
“You’d only draw attention to her,” Arun said. “If she does stick her feet into something, you can wager she’ll let us know.”
“And like as not we’ll get sucked into it up to our necks,” Hodge said. He was trying to scrape the clinging farastu slime from the blade of his axe, and not having much success. Nidrama saw him and reached out to touch the axe. As her slender fingers closed around the haft, the ooze seemed to grow viscous, sliding off the weapon to plop in lumps upon the ground.
“Hey!” Hodge said. “Why didn’t yer do that before? I mean, when that thing was hoppin’ all over me?”
“The secretions of the demodands are one with their essence of corruption,” the celestial said. “It is of them; anathema. When they live, only the purification of utter destruction—” she held up her sword, letting its flames glimmer brightly between them—“can cleanse it of its foulness. When they die, the corruption weakens, and eventually fades.”
“Yeah, well,” Hodge said, scratching his head.
Dannel had strung his bow anew with a spare string, and now tested its draw. “We should not linger here,” he said. “Likely this was just an initial test; the others no doubt have prepared a welcome deeper within the complex.”
“Why didn’t they just all meet us at the door?” Hodge asked.
“Distracted, no doubt,” Arun said, scraping what he could of the farastu slime from his shield before taking it up again. He’d beaten out the dents in his armor and helm as best he could with one of his hammers, but he still looked a sight, even with Nidrama’s healing.
“The Tree will take time to build its dark power to full fruition,” Nidrama said. “Once that happens, Cauldron will be no more, and your world will be refashioned in the image of the Dark.”
“That is what we must stop,” Arun said, drawing his sword.
Their attention was drawn to the door by a faint exclamation of glee, followed a moment later by the appearance of Mole. She was carrying something long and slender wrapped in a cloak, and wore the look of someone quite satisfied with herself.
“Glad you came back… it’s time to move out,” Dannel said. “Were there any other exits that way?”
“Ha!” Mole returned. “And to think, you guys would have passed it up!”
“What didje find, girl?” Hodge said, trying to maintain an aloof air but failing at it. In his case, the avarice of his nature wasn’t far from the surface, regardless of his long apprenticeship to Arun.
“Well,” Mole began, “She had a pretty grim set-up in there—the minotaur, that is. Whole room full of martial junk… man, the weapons…”
The men looked at her piercingly, and Nidrama, she saw, had turned to her with eyes suddenly wide. The deva came forward quickly and looked to be intent on spoiling her surprise, so Mole drew back the cloak with a dramatic flourish…
“Ta da! It’s a sword! Kinda like yours, eh Arun?”
The sword—a smooth, perfect longsword—looked a bit dingy and ill-cared for at first glance. It had the look of a weapon forged of cold iron, rather than finely processed steel, and its hilt was a simple straight shaft with a leather grip. Its crossguard bore its only decoration, shaped into a half-circle in the form of a rising sun, the sigil of the god Lathander, the Morninglord.
Nidrama reached out and touched the blade, her fingers drawing lightly down the length of the steel. “A holy avenger,” she said, reverently.
“By the gods,” Arun echoed.
Nidrama turned to him. “This is a gift, paladin. Take up this weapon… it is meant for your hands.”
Arun looked uncharacteristically indecisive.
“Do not fear that your patron would frown upon such; in our quest the will of the Soul Forger and the Morninglord are linked as one. Take it… do not reject the boon that has been handed us.”
Arun reached out and took hold of the sword. Mole, feeling quite pleased with herself, smiled as the sword seemed to flash in his hand, an almost electric tingle passing through all of them as the power in the sword found its match in that wielded by the man. For a moment, the gnome considered the adamantine morningstar and the silver flail she’d also found in the minotaur’s chamber, both currently residing in her
bag of holding. Might not those have some wondrous powers as well? She allowed herself to resist the urge to reveal them to the others; none of them used either sort of weapon, after all.
Arun handed his own holy sword to Hodge, who accepted it with only a bit of grumbling; even though it was not his favored axe, the latter dwarf had seen firsthand, many times, how effective the weapon was against evil foes. For a moment, the paladin simply admired his new blade, then finally, almost grudgingly, he turned to the gnome.
“Take us forward, Mole.”
