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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 2487369" data-attributes="member: 143">Took a leave day to grade finals and relax... so here's the Friday Cliffhanger a bit early: * * * * * Chapter 438Arun felt a cold touch of fear settle over his soul as the gaze of the demonflesh golem met his.  But he was a knight consecrated to the hammer of Moradin, and the fell power of such a monster held no power over him.  Drawing his sword, he rushed at it, taking the hit he knew he would have to withstand to get to it, tearing free from its grasping claw, lunging forward and bringing his sword down into its leg.  It was like hewing at old leather with a dull knife.  The thing’s hide was incredibly strong, but the construct was infused with evil, and that made it vulnerable to the power inherent in Arun’s weapon.  The paladin stood his ground as the golem pounded him with its huge claws, one larger than the other, drawn from different creatures.  It was strong—insanely strong—but Arun was full of the power of his god, and he gave as good as he got. And then Beorna was at his side, hewing at it with him, her own deep voice adding a strident dwarvish battle cry.  It was only then that Arun realized that he’d been singing a song of battle that he had not heard since his youth in the Rift, part of the past he thought he’d put behind him.  But the golem was not merely a tough physical combatant; it was infused with dark magical powers as well.  It demonstrated this by opening its jaws wide and breathing a cloud of vapors upon the dwarves that tore into their already desiccated bodies; it was in effect another horrid wilting upon the one that the Dark Mrykul had hit them with before.  But the dwarves stood their ground.  Beorna was able to shake off the effect this time, her divinely granted mettle protecting her.  Arun lacked that gift, although he withstood the worst of the effect, and while he was weakened, he was able to fight on.  But then a coruscating pillar of flame descended from above, a gift from the Dark Myrakul who still hovered sixty feet above them, wreathed in its multilayered wards, all but immune to attack.  Beorna had simply taken too much abuse; she collapsed, smoke rising from the gaps of her armor, a stench of burned flesh rising above her.  Arun had been protected from fire, but he too suffered from the corrupt energies of the strike, and suddenly his situation looked a lot more dire. But with Beorna lying unconscious beside him, he could not retreat, even grievously wounded with a dire foe looming over him.  He lifted his sword again, knowing that without help, there could only be one outcome. But help was in short supply, as the dwarf’s companions were finding themselves in dire situations of their own. Dana had summoned an avoral, which she’d commanded to aid Lok.  The genasi had withdrawn to one of the galleries flanking the main hall, barely conscious, collapsing to the floor behind the shelter of one of the stairwells, fumbling with a healing potion from the pouch at his waist.  He felt weak, diminished; the energy drain had stolen much from him.  The Dark Myrakul had ignored the bralani thus far, which had closed to almost point-blank range, firing arrows that caromed harmlessly off its many shields.  The lichfiend recognized it as a shadow-creature, of course, which further diminished its effectiveness.  But as a quartet of lantern archons—also shadowed—rose up from below, blasting with their light-beams as they came, its patience was exhausted.  It spoke a word of blasphemy, instantly destroying the summoned creatures, including the avoral as it headed toward Lok’s retreat.   That small matter attended to, the master of Skullrot examined the battlefield.  Its demonflesh golem had the dwarven warriors well in hand, especially after its flame strike had taken out the female.  The enemy spellcasters had withdrawn to shelter to summon allies, but if the shadow-creatures and the avoral were the best they could do, then this engagement would soon be completed. Content in its own invincibility, the lichfiend began its own powerful conjuration. Mole’s heart pounded in her chest as she ran up the stairs, the sound warring with the noises of battle and the usual screams of torment that filled Skullrot.  Desperation thrust her onward, and she rapidly gained height, ascending the varied tiers of the citadel, glancing out over each balcony that she passed, dreading the sight of the lichfiend waiting, watching her, ready to blast her with some nasty magic.  The sinister powers inherent in Skullrot kept her from becoming invisible, but cloaked in her dark garments, and nearly silent, she was almost undetectable.  Still, she did not trust in her skills to conceal her from this enemy, which had already killed one of her friends with apparent ease.  It’ll kill all of them, if you don’t do something! came that annoying voice in the back of her mind that tried to interfere whenever she did something crazy. “I’m working on it!” she hissed back, coming to a stop at one of the galleries.  She was a little bit below the lichfiend’s level, now, although as she saw the roar of a flame strike knife down at her friends below, she knew that she didn’t have any more time to go higher. But instead of running toward the balcony and the battle raging in the interior of the asylum, she ran outward, deeper into the gallery.  Huge portals of iron set with small, barred openings were set along the walls at regular intervals, from which the familiar screams issued intermittently.  Mole glanced through a few of those openings, hopping up with her magical boots long enough to look through.  Finally she came to a likely candidate, and stopped.  She drew out the chime of opening she’d taken from Slouva’s body, but she didn’t need to use it immediately; the door was open. That was odd, and it gave her pause, but the desperate sounds from without drove her forward. As she entered she saw why the outer door hadn’t needed to be locked.  The prisoner was secured with chains that surrounded him entirely, pinning arms, legs, and body with a thoroughness that she had to acknowledge even as she felt pity for the poor thing’s suffering.  The captive was a planetar, his wings battered remnants, the rest of his body in little better condition.  He lifted his head and regarded her, his eyes full of a deep madness that Mole might have recognized had she not been in such a hurry. “We’re having quite a lot of trouble with that lich,” she told him, as she lifted the chime toward him.  “If you could… well, you know, use your holy powers and all, help destroy it… well, that would really be helpful.”She struck the chime, and the chains loosened their grip upon their captive.  Of course, she wasn’t quite ready for the reaction she got from the released celestial.  It wasn’t quite the gratitude she’d expected…</blockquote>

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