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Enchanted Trinkets Complete--a hardcover book containing over 500 magic items for your D&D games!

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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 1804790" data-attributes="member: 143">Chapter 242Dannel staggered as another axe clipped his side.  His armor held, but he felt the pain slam through his body like a hammer.  He’d already broken a rib, he suspected.  There were orcs all around him, over a dozen now, although he’d killed at least that many with his fireball and Alakast.  At least there didn’t seem to be any more coming; though that was small enough comfort with the current contingent apparently enough to finish him off.  He swept Alakast around in a broad arc, and the orcs fell back for a moment.  They could see that he was weakening, though, and no sooner had he finished his sweep than they were rushing in again, weapons seeking his flesh. But he’d gotten what he wanted, an instant’s respite.  He smiled, a grim smile, as he lifted his prize—the last missile from his necklace—and slammed it into the ground at his feet. Even as he lifted his weapon and roared his challenge of battle, Kavorek felt his magical augmentations slide off of him.  He fixed the spell-woman with a hateful look, but spared her no further attention; his focus was on the dwarven knight, who likewise had fixed his attention upon his greatest foe.  The dwarf was no fool, rushing ahead to meet him and be overwhelmed from all sides; the two dwarves and the woman calmly retreated so that the boulders were again at their backs.  The orcs surged ahead.  A number hurled spears or light axes before them, but those were easily turned by the shields of the dwarves and the magical defenses of the woman.  The dwarven knight stood at the forefront, awaiting him, and Kavorek felt the song of battle fill him as he outdistanced his troops, leaping forward to smite the dwarf with a powerful, inexorable assault. The blow crunched into the dwarf’s armor with crushing force.  The plate held, but Kavorek knew he’d hurt his foe.  He laughed, the insane sound of the battle-mad warrior, and brought his weapon up to attack again. As he did so, he met the eyes of the spell-woman.  And froze. It was as if ice had been poured into his veins.  His body stiffened, his muscles refusing to obey him.  He could do nothing, even as inside his mind he raged and screamed.  He could only watch as the dwarven knight lifted his sword, and with a single powerful stroke took the mighty orog’s head clean off his shoulders. Behind him, the orc charge faltered at the ease with which their battle-champion, the orog who had led them to victory in dozens of raids, was dispatched.  Behind the stones, they watched as a blazing fireball rose up, accompanied by the screams of their fellows as they burned.  They looked again at the bloody corpses of six ogres, once armored titans, and at the gathered bodies of dozens of their own.  Then the woman raised her hands, and a fell mist rose up out of the stones.  Cloying, red, it roiled and burned, holding them with a superstitious awe.  When a demonic face began to take shape within the living fog, looking over the host with a hungry look, they’d had enough.  They broke, fleeing, their bloodlust replaced with a desire for escape.    Atop the cliffs, Mole watched them go.  She bent to clean her knife on the dirty coat of one of the dead orcs.  She looked at the bodies around her speculatively.  Six orcs, six bodies.  On reaching the cliff, she’d hidden among the rocks there, pretending that she’d jumped off.  The orcs had bought it, and the first two were dead before they even realized otherwise.  Then she was jumping and darting and tumbling among them, avoiding their clumsy attacks, springing in to attack and then dodging back out before they could counter.  They’d chased after her, and a few had even managed to hit her, but her magical chain shirt had held against all of the blows.  Her mace had killed three, and when the last one had turned to flee, her knife had found its back.  She shook her head in amazement.  She remembered orcs as being a bit tougher than this. Back on the tor, Zenna returned to the interior of the ring of stones.  Blackened orc bodies were everywhere.  She finally found Dannel half-buried under an orc whose face had been staved in—clearly the work of Alakast.  He was still in his altered form, and for a moment her heart clasped tightly in her chest as she thought he was dead.  But then he groaned as she pulled him free, and moments later a healing spell brought him back to consciousness.  “You’re a great big stupid idiot,” she said, through her tears. His form shimmered and returned to its normal features.  He reached up with a slender hand marred with dried blood, and touched the tiny droplets before they could fall free.  “I do love you, Zenna,” he said. She shook, the tears redoubling, and he took her in his embrace.  Behind them, the last rays of light from the fading sun disappeared as the golden orb fell below the horizon.  The two dwarves stood there, silent, watching as the day slowly gave way to night.</blockquote>

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