Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Dungannon]

The four newcomers are the adventurers from Lazybones' "Travels Through the Wild West" story hour. Benzan is indeed Zenna's father. The "succubus" is actually Dana Ilgarten, a mystic wanderer. The "imp" is Cal, Mole's uncle. And the "jovoc demon" is Lok, an earth genasi dwarven defender. Needless to say, Arun is no longer the baddest dwarf in the room anymore.

 

[Lazybones]

And as the above poster I'm wondering about the "old" heroes. I'm guessing ECL 16. That fits with the Holy word spell, Dana would just be able to manage that at ECL 15 (she was one level lower than the others).

I was actually a little more generous when preparing the return of the "old" heroes (they're ECL 16/17), for a few reasons. I'll post the stats of the returning Travelers in the Rogues' Gallery, and talk a bit more about my reasoning there.

To Mimic and the other readers who haven't read Travels through the Wild West: for all of you there will be exposition in the next few posts that will clarify who they are and their relationship to the Heroes of Cauldron. I wanted to lay on the surprise, though, before that.

* * * * *

Chapter 363

Confronted by a new set of—apparently very dangerous—adversaries, Freija Doorgan did not hesitate. Speaking the words of another spell, she conjured up a shimmering forcecage that engulfed the newcomers, surrounding them with solid walls of force that offered no escape. The demon woman with her damned holy word was outside of the cage, behind it, but no matter; the prison was large enough to block the passage, and that was what Freija had sought to accomplish. The dwarf paladin and the gnome were on her side of the wall, but both were far enough way to be discounted as threats of the immediate moment. She looked around for Kaurophon, but the sorcerer had disappeared again. No big surprise there, she thought; she’d had him pegged as a coward from the moment they’d met.

“Finish the paladin!” she urged, although she suspected that the half-fiend had already fled. In any case, there was no obvious response to her command.

The force-prison’s walls were transparent, so she could see as the imp gestured in an obvious spellcasting motion, a suspicion confirmed a moment later as he disintegrated the walls of the forcecage.

Freija was already backing toward the exit, holding a prismatic spray at the ready.

The succubus stepped forward. “Destroy the fiend,” she said.

Another being became visible beside her—a perfectly formed, winged youth, clad in a golden breastplate, carrying a heavy mace in both hands. The astral deva eagerly leapt at Nabthatoron, his body shining with the bright glow of a holy aura. The demon growled and swept its augmented claw in a violent arc designed to crush its second celestial victim of the day, but this time the glabrezu’s attack was deflected as the angel parried the massive limb with his weapon.

This time, Nabthatoron had met a foe that could give it a real fight.

Ti’irok Coalfire stepped into the fray, defending his stricken haraknin by unleashing a terrible onslaught upon Arun with his massive sword Blackfire. The unholy sword drove through the paladin’s defenses with ease, and within moments the holy warrior was on the brink of sharing the destruction already suffered by his companions.

“Lok!” the imp cried in warning, but the jovoc was already rushing forward. It was big for its kind, close to five feet tall, but it still looked puny against the hulking, muscular figure of the giant. But that impression was broken a moment later as the small demonoid leapt forward through the giant’s guard, ignoring a late attack of opportunity that crushed hard into the armored plates covering its back. The giant lifted the weapon to strike again, but could not complete its attack before its foe charged ahead and slammed his axe deep into the giant’s meaty thigh. Coalfire roared in pain, and drove Blackfire down to sunder this annoying gnat.

But somehow, the gnat refused to be smoten, taking the hit with a mere grunt before unleashing another series of deadly counterattacks.

Everything seemed confused to Arun as he staggered and nearly fell, hovering on the brink of consciousness. His friends, dead or dying… Fiends attacking fiends, another celestial appearing out of nowhere… whom were the enemies, and whom allies? The hits from the giant had been incredible, and added to the impact of the horrid wilting had reduced him to the limits of even his incredible stamina.

Then he felt a presence next to him, and looked up to see the face of the succubus. She wore a visage of evil, her body lean and seductive, clad in tight leather that accentuated the curves of her form. Reflexively, Arun reached for his holy sword, but he was halted by her eyes, as their gazes locked. Those eyes… those eyes were kind, sympathetic.

And then a cold surge of positive energy rushed through him, healing his wounds. With a shock he realized that he had been completely restored, the beneficiary of the most potent of healing spells.

“Who… who are you?” he managed to ask.

“A friend, Arun Goldenshield… a friend.” She smiled, but the look became one of concern as she looked to her right. “I fear that Lok may need your help with this one,” she said, indicating the giant.

Arun nodded, but he hesitated for one instant more, looking down to where Hodge lay face-down a few paces away. Arun had tried to stabilize him with a trickle of healing energy, but the paladin’s powers had been drained over the course of this very long day, and he’d only managed the faintest hint of curative power. He did not know if his cohort yet lived. “My friend…”

“I will do what I can,” the woman promised. Arun nodded, and taking up his sword, rushed back into the fray.

The archer Benzan tracked the retreating conjurer, waiting for the slightest move that would indicate a spell being cast, ready to disrupt it with a well-placed arrow. It looked like she was intent on retreat, though, so he decided to just go ahead and unleash a full barrage.

But before he could release his shot, he was distracted by the intensity of the fray in the middle of the room. The astral deva had laid into Nabthatoron solidly with his heavy mace, landing punishing blows that had caved in segments of the demon’s torso. But the demon responded with an equally vigorous counterattack, tearing with its smaller claws, and finally catching the celestial hard with a sweep of its adamantine claw. The impact knocked the angel off-balance, sending him fluttering awkwardly to the ground to land in a half-crouch, shaking his head to clear it.

Unfortunately, he was still within the glabrezu’s reach, and the adamantine claw came up to deliver a crushing blow before the demon’s adversary could recover.

Benzan shifted his aim, releasing his arrow and immediately drawing another, directing his rapid-fire stream of arrows at the glabrezu. Again the shafts slammed into it with the force of shots from a ballista. Each missile released a bright glow like that of a miniature sun as it vanished into the demon’s body. The demon, transfixed, could not respond, and finally a last arrow slammed into its chest, piercing its heart before it exploded out from its back in a spray of white light and ichor.

Nabthatoron regarded its enemies with an incredulous look, and then expired, falling backward across the Cagewright’s meeting table with enough force to crack the heavy stone object in two. The room shook with the impact, momentarily drawing the attention of everyone in the room to the fallen fiend.

Benzan looked at his handiwork, glanced at the quiver at his hip, and shook his head.

“Damn, those holy arrows are expensive, too.”

Ti’irok Coalfire was slowing, bleeding from several serious wounds. It limped now, the Achilles tendon on its left ankle deeply scored by Mole’s knife. It faced two implacable foes that inflicted devastating wounds upon it, for all that neither could reach higher than the giant’s waist. Lok had taken several mighty hits that should have killed him, but clad in adamantine plate, tougher than any mortal creature had a right to be, he simply absorbed the impacts and fought on. Arun, meanwhile, restored to health, smote his holy sword through the giant’s leg, hewing at it as though he were a mad lumberjack hewing at the bole of an ancient oak.

A few feet away, Aszithef stood powerlessly in a defensive stance, blind and deaf, trying to fight off the aftereffects of the holy word. At her feet lay the two other haraknin not banished by the spell, utterly helpless as their bodies refused to obey their commands.

In the face of that assault, there was only one possible outcome. The giant finally surrendered, dropping its sword as it fell to its knees, unable to stand on its battered legs. “I yield! Spare my servants, and we will surrender to you!”

Lok, suspicious, kept his axe at the ready. Arun, tired of the slaughter, lowered his sword, but did not relax his vigilance. “Command your ‘servant’, then, to drop her weapon,” he directed.

The giant said something in a language they did not comprehend. Aszithef, apparently at least partially recovered, heard and responded in kind, and then dropped Coldburn to the ground. Even in defeat, unarmed and still unable to clearly see, the haraknin bore a noble air, standing defiant.

“The mage got away,” Benzan said, as the warriors took the defeated mercenaries into custody, divesting them of weapons and other valuable gear. “And there was another guy with her… he went invisible, I think.”

“Keep watch,” the succubus said to the deva, who nodded and took up a warding position at the far exit. She knelt beside Hodge, and turned her attention to him, healing the dwarf. The battered warrior stirred, and as he caught a glimpse of his savior his eyes widened, and he exclaimed a startled curse.

The woman sighed. “Cal, I think we can drop the veil now.”

“Very well,” the imp said, waving his hand. Instantly the “demons” changed form. The imp was replaced by a stout gnome clad in a rich blue robe, with numerous pouches dangling from various belts, and an array of wands jutting from a bandolier at his waist. The jovoc warrior became a dwarf clad in plate armor of dark adamantine… or at least he looked like a dwarf, for when he removed his full helm his features were revealed to be of a consistency and color similar to granite. The archer did not change form, but the succubus was revealed to be an attractive human woman of middle age, clad in comfortable garments in brown and green, with a silvery cloak and the sigil of a crescent moon at her throat.

“Who are you people?” Arun asked, even as Mole exclaimed, “Uncle Cal!”

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 364

Freija Doorgan battled a combination of seething rage and ongoing stabbings of terrible pain as she half-ran, half-scuttled down the corridor. Tears born in both emotions streamed down her face, and she struggled with the last shards of her dignity as she glanced back over her shoulder every few steps, alert to any sign of pursuit.

She should have heard something, if they were coming after her; the fiendish tiger she’d summoned to delay pursuit would certify that. It should, anyway.

And according to Regidin, she should have had no difficulties dealing with the intruders, either.

Her shoulder felt like it was on fire. Damn her for not bringing a healing potion. Damn Regidin for not granting her more reinforcements. And most of all, damn those adventurers.

She’d had matters well in hand. Where had those others come from? Disguised as fiends, they could have been anyone… Did they have additional rivals to contend with? The Cagewrights had lots of enemies…

Could it have been? No. He could not know of their designs... Could he? Freija felt a cold thrust of pure fear stab through her, cutting through the pain of her wound as if it wasn’t even there. If he had found out about their ultimate plan...

“Well, hello there, my dear.”

Freija started in surprise. She’d been so intent on the passage behind her, she’d almost run into the group coming up the tunnel toward her. She tried to recover her gravitas, but with an arrow jutting from her shoulder and blood staining her dress, that was a fairly difficult procedure.

The two individuals before her were as odd a matched pair as one could possibly expect to find. Ardeth Webb was a lean, muscled figure of a woman, her otherworldly heritage instantly obvious in the nubs of ivory horn that jutted from her forehead. She was clad only in a tight, form-fitting suit of white silk that left bare her upper arms, belly, and ample chest. Much of her exposed flesh bore intricate multicolored tattoos. Like Freija, most of her accoutrements were practical rather than fashionable, infused with potent magic that augmented her physical talents. In Webb’s case, this involved the ability to pound just about anything living into a shapeless mass of bloody ooze within a matter of seconds.

The monk’s companion was a middle-aged human man whose sardonic expression seemed etched onto his face. He looked like a soft merchant at first glance, but that was an erroneous first impression that had proved deadly for more than one person in the past. Nulin “Fish” Wiejeron was a master assassin, and the rapier dangling at his belt with a gem-studded decorative hilt was a potent magical weapon, rather than some noble’s fob. He too bore numerous magical adjuncts upon his person. Freija had spent some effort cataloguing the various magical items owned by each of the Cagewrights, and collectively they would create an inventory that would rival the best guild storehouses and shops in the great metropolises of the Heartlands.

Behind the pair two dark shadows stood, identifiable instantly by their stench. Farastu demodands, which Freija quickly dismissed with a haughty sniff.

“Why, my dear, I do believe I’ve never before seen you this… mussed,” Wiejeron offered.

She’d intended to keep her cool, but Freija could not stifle a retort that came out like a feline hiss. “Fool! The intruders have broken through the outer defenses, and slain Coalfire and his minions. Regidin’s ‘allies’ were worse than useless; that half-fiend sorcerer of his turned invisible and fled, and is probably already looting our stockpiles as we speak.”

“Nothing came this way, invisible or no,” Webb said. Her voice was like silk sliding over glass, soft and sibilant.

Freija mastered herself with an effort, despite the agony of her shoulder. “The point is, they will be coming, if they are not already. Regidin was wrong about their strength; the adventurers from Cauldron have been reinforced by a small group of powerful spellcasters disguised as fiends.”

The two other Cagewrights did not betray anything at that statement, but Freija knew that they would quickly make the same connections that she had.

Webb finally shrugged. “They will fail. Already the ritual is nearly complete.”

’Nearly’ is not ‘finished’! Freija thought. She knew more than any of them just how true that was, and she thought of the failsafe she’d been tasked with integrating into the Tree. Regidin knew what she did, and her lips tightened as she recollected their earlier conversation.

“So now we have two groups of foes arrayed against us, eh?” Wiejeron said. Freija wondered if the man’s idle façade concealed an inner worry, of if the man was truly feebleminded.

“Now that you have finally deigned to join the defense, you can go see for yourselves,” Freija said. “I must return to my quarters, and restore myself before the next confrontation.” She started to walk past them, but Wiejeron forestalled her. It was uncanny the way the man moved, sometimes; one moment he was standing to the side, and then suddenly he was there, in front of her.

“An ancillary defense is being established close to the Tree,” the assassin said. “Webb will escort you, and see that your wound is tended, my dear. I suspect that we shall have need of your spells, if these intruders are as dire a threat as you say. Regidin no doubt will wish to query you regarding their abilities, as well.”

Freija did not respond, but Webb grinned, cracking her knuckles noisily as she settled her petite hands into the fists that the conjurer knew could shatter stone. For a moment, the conjurer had to fight for self-control as the words to her prismatic spray spell came unbidden to the surface of her mind, so close that her tongue began to shape itself into the first syllable of the spell.

But she was still in control. Gritting her teeth, she nodded. “Let us go, then,” she said.

Wiejeron waved his hand idly. “I think I will go on ahead, and take a quick look at these intruders.” He shot a quick look at Webb, then turned down the passage.

“I summoned a guardian,” Freija interjected, regretting the words as soon as she’d said them. Wiejeron’s smile was tinged with contempt, and then he was gone. No spell, no trick of the Art that she might have followed, just… gone.

The man was very, very, good at what he did.

“Come then,” Webb said, her words dripping with false sympathy. “Let’s see to your injury.”

The two women returned down the passage, the two farastus following a short distance behind them.

 

[Richard Rawen]

just plain old Great!

Thanks again for some twists, some turns, but always straight up good story telling.

Blessings
Richard < > <

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

Yeah, and btw, I've started to get into your Travels through the Wild West !!!

 

[Guillaume]

Just finished the Travels through the Wild West story hour last night. I liked it. Say LB, did you use the fortune teller's prophecy to designate Zena as a Cagewright ? "from it's loins shall spring the destroyer of the world" or sum such...

 

[Lazybones]

Just finished the Travels through the Wild West story hour last night. I liked it. Say LB, did you use the fortune teller's prophecy to designate Zena as a Cagewright ? "from it's loins shall spring the destroyer of the world" or sum such...

Heh, can't say at this juncture...

Glad you guys are enjoying the TttWW/TSC tie in. I'd missed the old characters and now the ideas are just flowing in on how to handle the remaining books. My only hope is that I can continue to keep all of the characters straight in my own mind.

* * * * *

Chapter 365

“I am sorry that we could not get here sooner,” Cal said, as they gathered around the body of Dannel.

Dana knelt beside the gruesome corpse. The white shafts of his ribs shone too-bright in the ruddy light, stabbing into the air. Between them, there was little left but blackened shreds of flesh and broken links of mithral armor.

“How is he?” Cal asked.

“’e’s dead, ye daft gnome,” Hodge growled.

Cal raised an eyebrow, but did not reply as he watched Dana, her brow furrowed in concentration as she slowly passed her hands over the dead elf’s body.

In the aftermath of the battle, there had not been time for more than perfunctory introductions between the two groups. Mole had mentioned her uncle, Balander Calloran, to them before, and there was in fact a slight familial resemblance evident in the features of the two gnomes. The others were Lok, a mixed-breed dwarf/earth genasi whose fighting skill had already been revealed to them; Lady Dana Ilgarten, a priestess of Selûne and mystic wanderer; and her husband Benzan, an arcane trickster with a diverse mastery of stealth, steel, and spell. Arun greeted them cautiously, although inwardly he was grateful for their timely appearance. The paladin currently was keeping a close eye on their captives along with Benzan, although the giant and his three remaining haraknin seemed content to remain where they were, unarmed and nursing their wounds.

“How did you know to find us here at all?” Mole asked, as Dana drew out a scroll from her pouch.

“Dannel contacted us,” Cal explained. “We’ve been keeping an eye on the situation here in Cauldron for some time now, ever since we found out that you two had settled down here. Events clearly outpaced us here; even so we would have been here sooner, but the cult of Cyric was making a bid to seize control of the Western Heartlands, and we were the ones in the right place to put a stop to it. Turns out we were virtually neighbors to their base of operations; they’d suborned the government and military of the city-state of Iriaebor, through the brilliant machinations of a Spur Lord who’d made himself the virtual king of that city.”

“We found this out about a month ago, and since then we’ve been fighting almost non-stop as we’ve unraveled the complex skeins of the Cyricist plot. In fact, we were right in the midst of laying low the Twin Towers of the Eternal Eclipse, in northeastern Amn, when we got the message from Dannel.” He looked at Benzan, who wore a look of fierce determination that betrayed also more than a hint of frustration. Lowering his voice, the gnome continued, “More than a few times he wanted to come here, to find Izandra, to bring her back home. Dana told him that she would have resented and resisted any efforts to control her, and I supported her. But now… he blames himself, for what happened.”

“We’ll find her, don’t worry,” Mole said. “We’ve gotten out of lots tougher scrapes than this one.”

“Yes… I’ve heard a great deal about your accomplishments, and checked in on you a few times as well; covertly, of course. I’m very proud of you… of both of you, Clarese. We all are.”

“Well,” the gnome said, blushing slightly. “We just kinda all got caught up in the flow of events.”

“Don’t be modest. You’ve done a great number of things in a very short time, and overcome some incredible challenges. Ah, good, Dana’s doing the resurrection. This may take some time.”

“What about Nidrama?” Mole asked. “Our celestial… the glabrezu stomped her.” After the battle, they’d found nothing of the celestial but her magical wand of healing, her two-handed flaming sword, and a faintly golden outline etched onto the stone where she’d died.

“I don’t know… we can ask Dana’s planar ally, perhaps.” He smiled wistfully. “I remember when it was badgers we summoned to our cause… and we were glad to have them.”

“Nothing ever stays simple,” Mole said.

“True, Clarese.”

“It’s Mole, now.”

“Ah.” The older gnome smiled. “So it is. If fits you. You know, your mother still has hopes for you to settle down and take over the family business.”

Mole’s lips tightened in a gesture of dismay. “Calloran Imports. Yuck, boooring…”

“Yes, well, she blames me, you know, and my stories, for diverting you from a ‘proper’ life-calling.”

“I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Adventuring, I mean.”

“The cold, the mud, the long treks, the sleeping outdoors, short rations, and constant fights?”

“No…” She shrugged. “The other stuff.”

He touched her shoulder. “Yes, I understand exactly what you mean.”

On the other side of the room, near their prisoners, the genasi warrior, Lok, turned to Arun. “You serve the Soul Forger?”

Arun nodded. “I have been called to serve.”

“I have traveled far, but never have I encountered one of the golden dwarves.”

“Well, I haven’t seen a dwarf genasi before, though I have heard of such combinations.”

“My story is a long one,” Lok said. “For another time, perhaps.”

“I would welcome such an opportunity.”

The genasi nodded. “You fight well.”

“Thank you. You, as well.”

Hodge came over to join the two warriors. “So, what we doin’ with this lot, then?” the dwarf asked.

“The giant claims that he is a mercenary, with no particular loyalty to the Cagewrights or their plans.” Arun said.

“Oy, but ‘e’ll take their gold fair ‘nuff, is that it? And if a city gets blasted to bits, ‘at’s not ‘is problem, eh?”

Arun did not equivocate. “We have accepted their surrender. To kill them in cold blood is not acceptable.”

“Yer not goin’ to let them go? Mark me, that giant’ll turn on ye as soon as ye blink.”

“If they are that foolish, then he will earn his fate,” Lok said simply, hefting his axe in a gesture that was simple, and no less menacing for it.

Dana continued the ritual of resurrection, while the rest of the group kept watch. Cal treated Mole’s injuries with one of his wands, and the gnome rogue busied herself by collecting loot from both their slain foes and the prisoners. The haraknin and the giant made no move to interfere; perhaps it was the steely stares of Arun and Lok that promised dire consequences if they so much as moved; maybe it was the barely-contained rage in Benzan’s cold eyes.

Within about a minute, Mole had collected a small pile of loot which she laid out at the end of the stone table. Benzan came over to join her.

“I thought I was a veteran looter, but it looks like I must defer to a true master,” he said to her.

“We get lots of practice,” Mole said, “What with all the high-powered bad guys who keep trying to kill us.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” The tiefling indicated the pile. “Anything good?”

Mole held up a golden ring she’d taken from one of the slain haraknin. “They were well equipped, for mercenaries, but I expect that the wizard probably had the best stuff.”

“We’ll get another shot at her, don’t worry,” Benzan said, his hands tightening on the shaft of his bow.

“My uncle says that the most important rule of tactics is to always take out the wizard first.”

“You know, I think I may have heard that before.” He indicated the massive corpse of the glabrezu, astride the broken table. “You know, I did take out that demon.”

Mole looked up at him, a mischievous grin on her face, and shrugged. “Not bad, I suppose… of course, I once goosed an adult red dragon…”

Another minute passed into two, three. A blue glow had settled around Dannel’s body, and as they watched his broken form began to slowly knit back together, into wholeness. Dana’s voice grew stronger even as her incantation drew on, and finally she shuddered, unleashing the final words that drew a momentary surge of divine power through her, into the slain elf.

“Go on, we’ll keep an eye on them,” Lok said to Arun and Hodge. While the genasi and tiefling covered the prisoners, the surviving Heroes of Cauldron walked over to their fallen friend. Dannel looked at peace, now, his body reformed, his bare flesh pink in the reddish glow of the lava pools.

“He’ll need new armor,” Arun said.

“If ye can bring him back, from that…” Hodge breathed, “There ain’t nothin’ that can’t be done…”

“If only that were so,” Cal said, looking to Dana. The two shared a sad look, an old pain briefly revisited. But then Dannel stirred, his eyes fluttering before opening fully, groaning as he shifted his newly-whole body.

“Welcome back, Dannel,” Mole said warmly.

The elf gradually became aware of his surroundings. “I was dead…”

“Were ye ever,” Hodge said. “Yer guts were strewn—“ he cut off, silenced by a hard look from Arun. “What?”

Dannel’s mind cleared enough to recognize the presence of others here with them. He finally settled on the tall woman who rose slowly, her expression tired but pleased.

“Lady Ilgarten,” he said, with amazement.

“Yes, Dannel Ardan. We’ve come… a bit late, but we’ve come.”

“If you’re up to it, lad, we have some unfinished business with these folks,” Cal said.

Dannel rose, gratefully accepting help from Arun. He found his bow where he’d dropped it, what felt like an eternity ago.

“Let’s do it, then.”

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 366

With their companion restored to them, the adventurers—both groups—turned to the far doorway where the enemy conjurer had escaped. Dannel’s armor was ruined, but he appropriated one of the magical chain shirts formerly worn by the haraknin, gingerly sliding it over his still-tender torso.

“They’ve had a good ten minutes, and I don’t think they’ll have wasted it,” Benzan said. “What exactly are we dealing with, here?”

“Fiends. Lots of ‘em. Big ones,” Hodge said.

“The Cagewrights include thirteen individuals of great power, and varied talents,” Arun said. “We’ve killed one, already… the giant minotaur.”

“Yes, we saw her as we came in,” Cal said. “That must have been quite a fight.”

“Great, that just leaves twelve,” Benzan said. “And I’m already running low on holy arrows.”

Arun nodded. “Nidrama knew more… she was a celestial who aided us; the glabrezu killed her.”

“I hope for her sake that she was not called here,” Dana said.

“I do not know. She did sacrifice something to join us.”

The deva turned to them as they approached the far door. “I must remind you, Lady Ilgarten, that my time of service is limited by the terms of the Compact, which governs our agreement.”

“As are our buffs,” Cal added. “Some of the short-duration ones have already lapsed, I’m afraid. If we’re going to do this, we should be about it while our abilities are at their strongest.”

“Ah, we’ve kinda been going nonstop for about a tenday already,” Mole said. “You know, volcano erupting, fiends falling from the sky, that kind of thing.”

Cal looked at her. “Well, if you like, you can go up and wait for us above. We won’t be too long, I don’t think.”

“I believe our dwarvish friend over there has a standard response to those sorts of comments, but I won’t repeat it, as we’re in mixed company. No way I’m going to miss the finale, Uncle Cal.”

“What about the giant and his minions?” Lok asked.

“I can deal with them quickly enough,” Benzan said. Arun frowned, and Cal shook his head. “We’ve been down that path before, my friend,” the gnome said.

Dana turned to the deva. “Transport them someplace where they will do no harm.”

The creature nodded, and walked over to the giant and the three haraknin. The mercenaries did not resist as the deva gathered them, then collectively plane shifted them away to some other reality.

“Yet another enemy who survives to bear us a grudge,” Benzan said. “Yet another decision that may come back to bite us at a later date.”

“We’ve faced such before, Benzan. Better that than to compromise what we are,” Dana said.

“What exactly is that? Fools?”

“You took the same oaths that I did, Benzan. We both serve the same ends, and I think you believe the same things, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“I wear the pin, Dana, but that doesn’t mean that I’m just a Harper lackey…”

The two faced off for a moment, something intense passing silently between them.

“They were like this even before they were married,” Cal whispered aside to Mole.

Finally, Benzan turned and strode toward the door. “Enough useless banter, let’s be abut this,” Benzan said. Drawing out a wand, he made himself invisible.

“With you guys here with us, they won’t know what hit them,” Mole said, also disappearing.

Unfortunately, the gnome was very, very wrong.

 

[Neverwinter Knight]

I can believe that! You play the Cagewrights a lot smarter than the adventure specifies...there's a lot of firepower left in that dungeon!!!

BTW, I'm just past the prophecies in Tales

 

[Lazybones]

I can believe that! You play the Cagewrights a lot smarter than the adventure specifies...there's a lot of firepower left in that dungeon!!!

When I first read this module, I thought, "Do they expect all the bad guys to just sit there while the adventurers go room to room?" You can get away with some by explaining that the Cagewrights are all... well, nuts, but I think that the module should wipe out your average 17th level party of four if the bad guys are played with the intelligence that they possess. As we saw earlier, the HoC would have been ground beef if the Travelers hadn't shown up when they did, and that was an encounter that only used about 1/3 of the total resources of the Cagewrights in their stronghold.

As we'll see, even an eight-member party is going to have some real problems...

* * * * *

Chapter 367

Shebeleth Regidin could not help but feel a sudden twist in his gut as he stepped into the huge underground chamber. In the last twenty years he’d passed through trials that had forever changed him, such that emotion, at least as normal mortals experienced it, had been all but burned out of him. But this place still had the power to affect him. How could it not, he thought, staring up at the culmination of the Cagewrights’ efforts. The Tree of Shackled Souls was a dark shadow of black lines and ugly angles, despite the surrounding illumination. Strands of coruscating energy formed and unformed around the boughs of the tree, a flickering halo of violent surges of black and gray that were utterly and coldly silent.

“It is beautiful, is it not,” came a voice from the left.

Regidin turned as the hulking bulk of Dyr’ryd materialized from the shadows. In the pulsating light from the lava flows that crisscrossed the floor of the chamber, the shator’s bloated and layered flesh appeared lurid and sickly. But the monstrous demodand also shone with the glow of power, a power attenuated to its fullest expression in this place, at this time. One massive hand was encased in a steel gauntlet, and it carried an equally huge guisarme with a blue-tinged steel blade that eagerly flashed in the ruddy light of the chamber. There was a growth that bulged from the side of its head like a cancer, a horror in its own right, for that misshapen form was the residence of the second of the two personalities that dwelled within the hulking form of the fiend. An aberration twice over, the foul leader of the Cagewrights likewise shared the peculiar madness that had driven each of the Thirteen to this conclusion.

Regidin, familiar with the mannerisms of the demodand, waited until the two entities had acknowledged him and settled out the inner hierarchy through which they would deal with him. It was the mouth of the shator that spoke next, although the tiny symbiant—parasite?—seemed to be watching him intently.

“The intruders draw near.”

“Yes. They have battered through our outer defenses, including Gau and Coalfire’s mercenaries.”

“And your two recruited allies.”

Regidin shrugged. “They gave their best for the cause. The Heroes of Cauldron have been reinforced by a new cohort of powerful interlopers, with potent allies at their call.”

The tiny Ryd symbiant chortled. “We knew that she had powerful friends, yes, yes. Gave them a nice invitation, we did.”

The slight twist to Regidin’s lips might have been a frown. “She was the key. What was done, was what had to be done.”

The huge demodand’s jaws smacked noisily. “The ritual of planar binding is not yet complete. The Tree must be defended, at all costs.”

Regidin nodded. “I am already gathering our remaining forces to destroy the intruders. Thearynn is not allowing himself to be found, but I have collected the rest of the Thirteen, and the few demodands left to us. Unfortunately, the ritual is interfering with our ability to draw more allies from Carceri.”

“Defend the Tree,” the shator repeated. “Soon, soon the gate will be secure, and then this place will become one with the prison plane. Then, the Master will be free, and our rewards will be great…” Ryd chuckled, a terrible sound as the shator finished speaking.

Regidin did not comment.

“Go,” Dyr’ryd said, both mouths speaking in unison. “We will remain with the artifact, and guide the ritual to its conclusion. Go.”

Regidin offered no farewell, merely turned and departed.

* * * * *

“You will listen and mark my words, fiends,” Freija Doorgan said, her words like knives in the relatively narrow confines of the passageway. Her fury was fueled not only by her still-fresh humiliation at the hands of the enemy adventurers, but by the terrible stench given off by the demodands crammed with her into the cramped space. Her wounds had been healed by Grehlia Cairnis, who stood now a few paces away, watching her with bright eyes that shone like twin orbs of cut ice. No doubt that tiefling bitch Webb was somewhere nearby; the monk hadn’t let Freija out of her sight since they’d parted with Wiejeron not more than fifteen minutes ago.

The conjurer poured her fury out against the demodands, who wisely knew better than to rise to the challenge. Even Regidin’s pet shator, a miserable beast named Keeriv, said nothing as she laid down her commands. Regidin had ordered all of the remaining demodands to obey her before he’d left to meet with Dyr’ryd, true, but all of the fiends had considerable egos and only seemed to follow the orders of the Thirteen when it suited them.

Or when a furious wizardess with a prismatic spray at the ready was raging at them.

“There will be no fogs, no acid clouds, this time. You will remain invisible until our signal, and then assault the enemy with acid arrows and rays of enfeeblement. You kelubars will target the spellcasters. Farastus will weaken the warriors. Now, is that simple enough for your feeble brains to grasp?”

Keeriv rumbled, a sound like an avalanche erupting from deep within its huge body. “And how do I fit into your plans, conjurer?”

Freija’s eyes narrowed, as she sifted through the comment for insult. “You, my dear shator, you will destroy their celestial ally.” Her lips tightened into a dark smile. “And once he is gone, then you may have your way with whichever of the enemy remains.”

The shator nodded, its own monstrous mouth twisting into a smile at the anticipation of unleashing destruction.

Of course, if it had known the entirety of what Freija Doorgan had planned, it might have been less amused.