Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)

[Lazybones]

Mobs can be fun. I still remember one of the modules in the old Dungeon mags, which involved some high level players taking on a cult of disease loyal to one of the nastier demon princes. The final encounter had the players confronting a mob of over a hundred insane 0 level (this was 1st ed) cultists. The mod included lots of suggestions for how to adjudicate fanatical people swarming over and killing people in full plate.

Of course, if the party wizard still had a few fireballs left, it became moot...

* * * * *

Chapter 139

When the guardsmen had arrived, Mole had quickly worked herself deeper into the crowd closer to the pedestal, giving her a clearer vantage of what was going on. She thought she recognized the young man with the knife, as well as a few of the other provocateurs who started the attack on the guards. They were rakes, associates of the Last Laugh, the leading thieves’ guild of Cauldron. While not personally affiliated with that organization, Mole had met a number of its members, and had even diced with a few of them at some of the seedier locales in the town. They were a tight-lipped lot, at least when it came to their brotherhood, but the gnome had clearly discerned that the Last Laugh were intricately tied into the storm of events brewing within Cauldron.

As the crowd came alive, however, provoked to assault and violence by the actions of those agents, Mole quickly had to turn her thoughts to avoiding getting trampled by the mob. She twisted and tumbled her way to the edge of the speakers’ platform, its solidity giving her some respite from the surge of angry people.

She saw Maavu cast a spell from a scroll, and then draw a potion from the same pouch at his waist. But even as the merchant uncorked the vial and drew it to his lips, she felt a sudden chill pass over her. A... thing materialized before the man, an amorphous cloud with a vaguely humanoid form, hanging in the air with twin wisps of red flame for eyes. The merchant tried to draw back, but the thing lashed out at him with a rough tentacle of its own foggy substance. The vial exploded as it struck, and Maavu’s expensive cloak and tunic tore open, scoring the flesh beneath.

The merchant cried out, and leapt down from the platform to the crowd below. The nearby townsfolk that saw the creature cried out and fled, while several others just stood there, transfixed with horror at the sight of the creature. Maavu was moving quickly, although he was forced to dart and dodge around both groups of people as he sought escape. The merchant was fast, almost unnaturally so, likely enhanced somehow by the spell he’d cast earlier.

Unfortunately, the creature was even faster.

Maavu perhaps sensed its rush, for he turned just in time to meet the creature streaking down out of the sky toward it. The hapless merchant dodged aside from its first lancing attack, but even as the first wind scythe sliced past a second one was forming, tearing across the man’s torso and leaving an ugly red gash in its wake.

Then the creature promptly vanished once more, cloaked again in invisibility.

Maavu drew back a step, and called upon a spell. A glittering field of glowing motes erupted into being in front of the wizard, hanging in the air and outlining the form of the invisible creature clearly. The wizard paid for his action, however, as the creature darted at him again, slashing him painfully across the body once more.

Mole drew back, her eyes flashing with the afterimages of the glitterdust that had exploded in her face as she’d rushed to the aid of the merchant. Fortunately she’d resisted being blinded, but it took her a moment to readjust and find the creature again within the field of sparkling motes. Grimly she held her sword, uncertain if such a creature could be harmed by a mundane weapon, but unwilling to allow the poor merchant to be torn to pieces while she watched.

But before she could attack, a ray of fire sliced through the crowd, tearing into the fabric of the creature. Whatever its resistance to weapons, the thing was clearly hurt by fire, as it roiled and drew back from the assault. Mole turned to see Zenna standing there, twenty paces away, a look of intense concentration on her face.

Needing no further impetus to action, Mole leapt forward. Her sword sliced through the cloudy form, meeting resistance and tearing a small portion of its substance with the passage of her blade. The thing turned on her, and for a moment, as those baleful eyes of flame fell upon her, she felt her breath freeze in her throat.

Her arms felt leaden, and refused to obey her commands as the creature menaced her. She felt a cold terror as it came closer, extending a tendril of fog toward her half-open mouth.

 

[Black Bard]

Hey, don't kill Mole!!! I like her!!!

By the way, what the hell is this foggy monster???

 

[snappyapple]

Ooh, the first time I can guess a non-iconic monster, and got out the right book for it! It's a Breathdrinker of course, with the wind scythe, invisibility and all that. And don't worry, Lazybones isn't used to killing his main characters, not unless its for a good reason right?

 

[Lazybones]

Snappyapple nailed it. Welcome to the story, by the way, and thanks for posting.

* * * * *

Chapter 140

Mole could not move as the breathdrinker extended a tendril of its own substance toward her. She felt an icy chill as the fog caressed her lips and nostrils, probing inside.

Then she was jerked roughly backward, falling on the stones. She saw Zenna step into the place where she’d been standing, a wand in her hands. She fired a spray of roiling flames into the creature, a fan of burning hands that seared the edges of the fog, but did little to stop it. The creature did not press its attack, however, instead turning back to face the critically injured Maavu.

“Arun! We need you, now!” Zenna cried, the shout lost in the chaos of the still-roiling crowd.

Maavu had used the few moments of respite to raise some magical defenses, and quaff a potion that healed some of the wounds he had taken. Realizing that he could not flee against the speed of the creature, he turned to face it even as it surged once more to the attack. For a fleeting instant his defenses held; then a final cutting slash of cohesive fog tore through his shields and into his chest, a critical hit that scored to the ribs beneath cloth and flesh. With a groan, the merchant staggered backward and slumped to the stones, blood oozing from the wound.

The creature darted forward to finish its assignment, but before it could reach the merchant an acid arrow sizzled squarely into the middle of its form. The breathdrinker spun to face Zenna, who now held a second wand, a faint wisp of smoke lifting from its tip.

“Come on then,” Zenna said, a sudden and unexpected vehemence in her voice as she spat the words at the creature.

Come it did, surging toward her in a deadly rush. Zenna held her ground, her mage armor absorbing its first strike, her jaw tightening around a gasp of pain as its second cut deeply into her side.

A loud noise, a clatter of metal combined with a dwarven battle cry, drew her attention to the side.

“You had your chance,” she told the creature, which seemed unconcerned, forming another wind-scythe in preparation of another assault upon the wizard.

Before the creature could attack, however, Arun appeared from around the platform, charging headlong into the fray, his hammer clutched in a ready position. The breathdrinker shifted but did not avoid the hammer as it tore into its otherworldly substance.

And tore through it, the wisps of fog reforming in the hammer’s wake, nearly unaffected by the blow.

“It’s only harmed by magic!” Zenna exclaimed. She punctuated her point by firing another acid arrow into it, the fat droplets of searing green disintegrating the wisps of cloud as the two interacted.

As if on cue, Hodge appeared from the opposite side of the platform, charging forward with his axe raised in an echo of Arun’s rush just moments ago. The breathdrinker, perhaps sensing that this battle was lost, turned and dove toward Maavu, intent upon finishing its task. It had nearly reached the wizard when the charging dwarf caught up to it, driving his axe—late of Zenith Splintershield’s possession—through it. The effect was markedly different than Arun’s assault, and as the axe sundered its form the creature let out a hollow shriek before it disintegrated into wisps of nothingness.

Zenna quickly moved to help the crippled merchant, while Arun tended to Mole. They could still hear the noise of the crowd in the square, although the immediate area around them had grown suddenly quiet.

“You know, maybe this axe isn’t so bad after all,” Hodge said, examining his new weapon.

Zenna poured the potent energies of a cure moderate wounds spell into Maavu, and helped the wizard/merchant to his feet.

“Thank you, my dear,” the man said. “Though I fear that this is only the opening sally by my foes.”

“And whom exactly are they?” Zenna asked.

“I am afraid I cannot linger to discuss the matter,” Maavu replied. “But come to Redgorge, to the Redhead Miner’s Inn... speak the word “mortar” and they will let you in. Alec Tercival will be there, and I am certain that will wish to talk to you of the threat...”

“Wait,” Zenna said. But the man had already taken up another potion vial, and before she could do anything to stop him, he quaffed it. Almost immediately his body began to dissolve into the shape of a cloud of mist eerily similar to the form of the breathdrinker. Then it rose quickly into the sky, where it vanished amidst the rooftops of the town.

Cries of pain drew their attention back toward the Town Hall. The mob was definitely breaking up, with people fleeing out of the square along the three main avenues out from the intersection.

“What’s happenin’?” Hodge asked.

“The Town Guard is firing into the crowd,” Zenna said.

“Why, those bastards,” Arun said. He started in that direction, but Zenna held his shoulder.

“I have to put a stop to it,” the paladin said.

“The riot is over,” Zenna said. “This battle is already lost; help the injured, if you must, but it would be best if we left this place quickly.” She glanced up at the sky where Maavu had disappeared. “I will meet you at the Morkoth, later; there are things to discuss.” Without waiting for a reply, she stepped back, incanted briefly, and vanished from sight.

“Girl’s getting’ a bit hoity,” Hodge grumbled. “Tho’ she do have a point ‘bout not hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, me thinks.”

Mole, leaning against Arun, finally stirred herself, shaking off the linger effects of the breathdrinker’s gaze. Sheathing her sword, she tossed up her hands, and exclaimed, “Would someone please tell me what is going on?”

Arun and Hodge exchanged a look. They had no easy answers for her.

Meanwhile, the square emptied out, as the protestors fled the violence of the mercenaries of the Town Guard. Or at least most fled; a half-dozen bodies remained sprawled in bloody heaps on the broken cobbles, reminders of a bad day in Cauldron.

 

[Black Bard]

Oh, Breathdrinker... I like this monster...
Besides a little praise to your great writing skills, Lazy, I have just one more thing to add: HODGE ROCKS!!!

 

[Lazybones]

Oh, Breathdrinker... I like this monster...
Besides a little praise to your great writing skills, Lazy, I have just one more thing to add: HODGE ROCKS!!!

Yeah, I just couldn't bring myself to kill him off permanently... not yet, anyway.

Stat-wise, he still manages to hold his own, despite the fact that the raise dead cost him the level he'd gained in the course of "Zenith Trajectory".

In today's episode, we learn more of the plot of "The Demonskar Legacy":


* * * * *

Chapter 141

“A cloud of anger and mistrust hangs over our city. There is something happening here, a shadow that deepens with each coming day...”

Jenya Urikas, High Priest of Helm in Cauldron, turned back to face the companions gathered in the forepart of the chapel dedicated to her deity. At this time of day, with the last rays of the setting sun slanting through the narrow windows high along the walls, the place was empty save for the priestess and her guests.

“I’m sorry, I have grown maudlin in my advancing years.” The priestess forced a smile. Jenya’s curly brown-and-gray hair framed a face that will still rather youthful, but it was clear that the responsibilities of her new position, gained following the murder of Sarcem Delasharn, had taken their toll on her. A number of her friends and colleagues had died in recent months, their lives spent facing the myriad troubles that confronted the town.

“The mayor has announced that the new taxes will not be collected for three months,” Zenna said. That news, still spreading through the city, had taken the edge off some of the tension following that afternoon’s riot, but there was still an understandable sense of anger and fear that roiled just beneath the surface in Cauldron.

“That’s of little concern to the families of the men and women who lost their lives in the square today,” Arun said.

“True,” Jenya said. “I have already spoken to the heads of the other churches, about starting a collection for those who lost loved ones.” She shifted her gaze to Arun. “From what I have heard, the number of dead would have been higher, but for a pair of dwarves clad in resplendent mail, who remained in the square, tending the wounded, defying the Guard.”

“What of Maavu, and Alec Tercival?” Mole asked.

The priestess sighed. “Alec and I were close friends. We served as initiates together, back at a time when both of us were younger and full of the vigor and idealism that drives the inexperienced. He’s a good man, but this challenge... it is unlike him.”

“The buzz about the city is that the mayor has declared the challenge null and void, that Alec is under the influence of ‘outside forces’.”

“I have not seen him in some time, and grow concerned,” Jenya admitted. “Whatever has happened to him, it seems he has gotten embroiled in the heart of the politics that grip our troubled city.”

“He’s a nobleman, isn’t he?” Mole asked. “From what I’ve heard, only a member of the leading families can even offer this sort of challenge, according to the city Charter.”

Jenya nodded. “The Tercival name was once revered as belonging to one of the great clans of Cauldron’s history,” she said. “Unfortunately for Alec, he came along at a time when his house was facing serious reversals, and his father ended up losing his ancestral estate in the settlement of various debts that the family had incurred. After his father’s death, Alec took service to the Church, but one of his prime motivations has always been to rebuilt the pride and repute of his name.”

“What of Maavu?” Arun asked.

“Maavu Arlintal is a member of an organization that calls itself ‘the Chisel’. They were initially organized a long time ago in the town of Redgorge, to the south. Their members are skilled craftsmen and merchants who often possess other talents as well; their founder, I believe, was a powerful wizard.”

“And what is this group’s agenda?” Arun asked.

“I cannot say, for certain. The Chisel has historically been an organization shrouded in secrecy, conducting their activities behind closed doors. Only a few of their members are even publicly known. I do know that they have been critical of the city’s current administration, however, and it is likely they were the instigators of today’s protest.”

“Well, it seems that if we want more information, we shall have to go make a visit... after all, we were invited,” Zenna said.

“Very well,” Arun said. “If it will help us identify the source of the darkness growing in this town, so that we can uncloak and eradicate it.”

“I will send Morgan with you, as my representative,” Jenya said.

Zenna’s expression betrayed her feelings, and Mole said, “No offense, Jenya, but I think we’d be better off without that windbag.”

“I know he can be... difficult...,” Jenya said, “but he’s a skilled warrior and priest, and despite his rough exterior, he’s true of heart. You may need his aid.”

Arun regarded the priestess intently. “Is there something else you would share with us, lass?”

Jenya had the grace to flush slightly. “I... yes, I am sorry. In times such as these, my instinct is to keep my secrets close, but you are friends, and true ones.”

She turned back to the altar at the end of the chapel atop a low dais, a broad slab of gray marble covered with a pristine cloth of white linen. Atop it, attached to the wall behind the altar, was a box fashioned of dressed stone reinforced with bands of polished steel. Around it burned six white candles in sconces set into the wall, above which hung a standard in blue and gray cloth depicting the upraised gauntlet that was the symbol of Helm’s order.

She placed her hand upon the box, but did not open it. “This contains the Star of Justice, the most holy relic of our church.”

“I remember,” Zenna said. “A holy mace, with the power to cast the divination spell, as I recall.”

The priestess nodded. “When I heard of this challenge, I invoked its power to learn of Alec’s fate.”

“And what did you learn?” Alec asked.

Jenya hugged her arms close to her body, and looked up into empty space. When she spoke, her words were thick with the memory of her communion with her patron.

"Late on the path of justice,
Trapped between glass and stone,
He weeps where many can see him,
But he can see only himself."

“What does it mean?” Mole asked.

“These sorts of divine revelations are usually cryptic,” Zenna said. “Remember the rhyme we learned when we were seeking the lost children.”

“Ah, yes,” Mole said. “Yeah, that was a puzzler, but I guess it all made sense in hindsight.”

“I do not know either,” Jenya said. “But I think it is clear that Alec is in great danger. Whatever you can do to find him...”

“We are already in your debt, Jenya,” Arun said. “We will do what we can.”

“Well, when we be hittin’ the road?” Hodge queried. “An’ what about the elf, he comin’?”

“Dannel will not be joining us,” Zenna said. The others looked at her curiously, but she ignored the questions in their eyes. “And if you feel that... Morgan’s presence is necessary, then he may accompany us. There is little sense in delaying,” she went on. “We may as well set out in the morning.”

“We’ll need to secure horses, and supplies,” Mole pointed out.

“The church can assist with that,” Jenya said. “We have a relationship with one of the teamsters’ guilds, and frequently lease mounts for our various needs.”

“Hodge and I’ll get the gear we need,” Arun said.

“Very well. I will send Morgan to the Morkoth—you are still staying there, yes?—tomorrow morning.”

“Fine,” Zenna said, already turning to leave. The others, surprised at her brusqueness, said their goodbyes to Jenya, before following her out into the courtyard and the street beyond.

In their distraction, and the gathering shadows of the evening, none of them noticed the cloaked figure who intently watched their going from the depths of a nearby alley.

 

[Dungannon]

Why do I get the feeling a certain smitten elf will be following them on their journey?

 

[Dwarf_Paladin]

I just noticed that today is almost the one year anniversary of when you started the second book, er series, whatever .
Anyway good work LB, you the man

 

[Black Bard]

Why do I get the feeling a certain smitten elf will be following them on their journey?

Why those Harper-folk must be so sneaky???

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks for the kudos, and yes, I don't think we've seen the last of Dannel...

* * * * *

Chapter 142

“So, do you want to talk about it?” Mole asked.

The companions were walking quickly from the Temple of Helm toward the Drunken Morkoth, where they had rooms they’d been occupying on a semi-permanent basis for the last several months. As night descended upon the city, Ash Street was fairly quiet, with occasional people headed home after a day’s labors, or toward Lava Avenue and the various taverns there that catered toward the crowd that saw nightfall as an opportunity to throw off the restrictive shackles of the working day.

Arun and Hodge walked back a short distance behind Mole and Zenna. Mole almost had to run to keep up with the taller woman’s pace, but her magical boots made that little difficulty. Normally Zenna subconsciously slowed her pace to match Mole’s, but tonight the tiefling seemed intent on returning to the inn as rapidly as possible, with no small talk.

Zenna had not responded, and Mole started to ask again, only to be cut off with a hard, “No.”

“Look, I know men are crazy and all,” she began, shooting a glance back at Arun and Hodge to make sure that they were out of range of hearing. The two dwarves, their deliberate, armored steps much slower than Zenna’s brisk walk, were now just shadows a half-block back. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em, yadda yadda ya. But Dannel’s an important part of our group, we need him—“

“Not anymore,” Zenna said. She looked down at her friend without breaking stride, and smiled wistfully. “We got along all right before, didn’t we? Just you and me, all those miles on that long road...”

“Well, sure. But here... well, it’s clear that we’re stirred up in a whole big mess of trouble. And... well, he did save your life...”

“It’s done and over,” Zenna said, turning back to the street ahead. Suddenly, she stopped, so abruptly that Mole had to turn around and come back several paces to join her.

“What is it?”

“Do you smell smoke?”

Mole tested the air. “Yeah. And look, down by the lake. That looks like the glow of a fire, over there, over the back of those shops...”

The clank of metal announced the arrival of the dwarves. “What’s the matter?” Arun asked.

The two women shared a look. “Trouble,” Mole said.

* * * * *

The four companions hurried in the direction of the fire. Even as they drew near to Lava Street, the lowest of the four concentric roads that encircled the city’s central lake, they could hear cries and shouts that indicated the source of the fire.

They emerged from one of the sloped connecting alleys that linked the city’s four main avenues around the crater to a scene of chaos. Before them stretched the calm black waters of the lake that filled the center of the caldera. Reflected in the surface of that quiet body were the dancing flames roaring out from the windows and eaves of a waterfront inn, a rambling two-story structure named Mintua’s Board.

A number of half-orc mercenaries were gathered before the inn, hurling bucketfuls of water onto the flames in what seemed to be a fruitless gesture.

The companions rushed closer, in time to see a despondent-looking man clutching his head with his hands as he stared at the flames. “Me inn!” he cried. He turned to one of the half-orcs, a hulking brute with a patch over one eye. “Them’s burnin’ me in, you gots to stop them!”

The half-orc clutched the man by the throat of his torn and soot-stained jerkin, lifting him off his feet. “Demons of fire inside! They burn us! Weapons do nothing!” he screamed, shoving a hunk of metal that looked like it might have once been a weapon into the terrified man’s face.

Arun rushed into the courtyard before the inn. “Is there anyone left inside?” he shouted, already starting toward the main entry, wreathed in fire and smoke.

“Arun, no!” Zenna yelled. But before anyone else could respond or take action, a burst of flame exploded from the doorway. Arun drew back, shielding his face, as the flames solidified into a humanoid form, easily sixteen feet tall, a figure shaped of living flames.

The half-orcs drew back in horror, but the fire-creature was faster as it lunged and caught up one in a fist of flame that wrapped around its throat, lifting it into the air. Its mottled gray-green flesh turned black and its screams choked off into gasps of agony that in turn died with the mercenary, falling back into a smoldering heap upon the cobblestones of the courtyard.

The elemental turned toward Arun.