Enk&D'Shai
First Post
"What's in the Pack?" or "The Sunless Citadel on Ice"
Hey Enk! It's been awhile, so I think it's time to open our fanmail and answer some questions!
We have fanmail?
Yes we do - look at that pile over there!
Dude, that's your laundry.
No, the other pile.
You mean that huge stack by the couch?
No, that's bills. You see where you're hand is?
Yeah?
Not there. Over to the left.
D'Shai, all I see is a letter, a postcard, and some wadded up pieces of paper.
That's it! Now gimme those.
Our first letter reads:
Dear Enk,
What are you getting D'Shai for Christmas?
Signed,
D'Shai
Dude, that's not cool. You can't use fake fanmail to interrogate me about what your getting for Christmas. Besides, I already told you, you're getting a stocking full of motor oil. Oh, and coal.
You want to know what I'm getting you?
If it's anything like last year, no.
Have it your way, it's better as a surprise, I just wouldn't wait til after Christmas to open it... Our next letter - this one is a postcard.
Dear D'Shai,
How do you come up with your Tip of the Day?
Signed
Kobolds Stole My Baby
PS: Please never let Enk do another TotD!
Dude, you wrote that PS part in crayon! Bad form!
That's all the let me have on my "vacation."
Just give them the Tip and let's get on with it.
Wait!, One more letter - this one came attached to a brick thrown through Enk's window. By me.
The depths of my hatred for you have not yet been explored.
Dear story hour guys,
What are you like in real life?
Signed,
Inmate 8675309
To give you an idea, here's a list of some places we've been asked to leave, some more nicely than others.
*Several fast food establishments.
*Three separate hotels.
*One elementary school neither of us attended (Children's Theater mishap - backstage dance).
*Taco Bell (this one was memorable enough to get its own entry).
*Multiple theater chains (one of which Enk was working at at the time).
*Every bowling alley within a 30 mile radius, as well as one in Cincinnati.
*Denny's (except at 3AM, when they actually encourage us to stay).
*And my favorite, Toys R Us.
He's especially proud of that one - they had district meetings about him, and he might still be mentioned as an anecdote in the employee handboook - something about animal stampedes and the arming of America's youth.
Now for the Tip o' the Day:
Polymorph Any Object adds loads of fun to any campaign.
Have I told you, lately, that I hate you?
Hey, I rolled randomly. And one more letter: This ones from Dawn:
Dear Guys,
Well...... How about that update?
Dawn
PS: Please never let Enk do another TotD.
Alright, give me the crayon and push the button.
I push the button!
*****
"What's in the Pack?" or "The Sunless Citadel on Ice"
“I thought you said Meepo could handle the dragon!” Ander cried, perplexed at the grisly meeting between dragon and keeper.
“He said that Cal loved him and would obey him!” Aurora shot back, seemingly just as confused. “Help him, Ander! She’s killing him!”
“Yes.” Ashrem’s calm voice contrasted with the growling and snapping ball of scaly fury ravaging their guide. “And it seems he has failed to notice that minor detail, just as he fails to understand exactly how much I loathe him. I say that if he cannot control the beast, than he is as useless to us as he is to his clan, let him die.”
Ander noticed that Ashrem moved toward the grappled pair to help even as he spoke ill of the kobold, but Aurora obviously didn’t. Twin dragon headed missiles flew past the woodsman and feloine to strike the tiny dragon, knocking it off Meepo’s unmoving body.
“Bones, Aurora! We need it alive! That goes for everyone! We capture it or subdue it!” Ander moved forward approaching the small dragon as he would a wounded wolf or bear, carefully extending his hand as it rose back onto its feet. For a moment, it seemed as if he would be able to sooth her just as he had done to the Reeve’s favorite wolfhound when it’s leg was caught in a trap. Too late, he realized that Cal had other plans, and the dragonet opened her mouth to unleash a freezing cloud of mist.
Ander, already in a partial crouch, managed to tuck and roll under the cloud using his cloak to shield himself from the worst of the freezing air. The woodsman felt his left arm go numb as he passed through the mist, but in an instant he was clear of the chilling rime and the feeling started to return. As he gathered his feet under him he noticed that Ashrem had also rolled away, but to the opposite side of the tiny wyrm while Aurora and Pack had pulled Meepo out of the room for Theo to attend to.
Flexing his arm one last time, the woodsman gripped his staff and nodded to his feloine counterpart. Ashrem pulled his short sword but with a flat-side grip and nodded back. In tandem the two moved toward the crouching dragon and attacked.
Ander’s first blow fell wide as he slipped and nearly fell, not realizing that the frosty floor would be so slick. Ashrem looked to be in the same predicament as he too struck wide of the dodging Cal and then flailed his arms to maintain balance.
“These are not ideal conditions for dragon hunting, my friend,” the feloine remarked while freeing his tail from his cloak to better balance himself. Meanwhile, Cal glided to the far end of the room and hid behind what appeared to be a frozen desk.
“Meepo will live, and I am free to help….” The loud clanging of armor sounded throughout the small room as Theo also encountered the ice-covered floor. “Ow! I’m okay!”
Ashrem moved to help the priest while Ander circled toward the dragon’s hiding spot. As he carefully rounded the side of the desk, Cal sped through the air, startling the woodsman. Instinctively, he lashed out hard with his staff, altering its flight path. Instead of making good its escape through the open portal, the wyrm angled downward and flew directly at the recovering priest. Theo responded by once again crashing noisily to the ground, almost dragging Ashrem with him. With a tiny, self-satisfied roar, Cal drifted silently over to land on a frost-covered bookcase.
“Pack! Close that door and help Theo. Your cloak hopefully gives you sure footing on ice as well as brambles and spikes.” The bard quickly complied with the woodsman’s orders and soon had the room sealed and Theo standing.
Ander brought his attention back to the dragon and he and Ashrem began circling as a team, trying to keep the beast between them. The young dragon seemed to once again detect their ploy and unleashed another blast of her freezing breath. Ander tucked and rolled, noticing that Ashrem was well ahead of him, as if the feloine had known it was going to happen. I need to ask him how he always manages to do that...
Both warriors found their feet amidst a loud clattering as Theo again lost his balance, for once again the dragon had flapped near him. The tiny wyrm landed atop the desk and unfolded its wings, taunting the four would be captors.
“Ander! Judging by her size, and the stories I have heard, she’ll need some time before she can breathe another one of those ice blasts! I’d attack now, but be careful because it looks like she’s gotten really smart for her size: she really did a number on Meepo!” Pack’s voice huffed as he again helped Theo to his feet. “Theo, your armor is too bulky and heavy for this.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ander saw the priest’s face redden and he knew that Theo realized he was not helping in this situation: rather he was actually hindering them. However, the woodsman didn’t have time to comfort the cleric and tell him how much he had already done for them; he needed to attack and attack now.
Squaring his feet, Ander moved in and began spinning his staff in hopes of keeping the dragon from taking flight. On the opposite side Ashrem seemed to read the woodsman’s tactics and also moved in flashing his weapon in wide arcs, giving the winged serpent no place to run.
Cal seemed to know how much trouble she was in and launched herself at the woodsman. A quick smack with the staff drove her back, but the small beast drove forward again. Another blow landed, this time where Aurora’s missiles had exposed the flesh, and Cal slammed back hard into the desk, obviously dazed. A swift blow to the head dropped the small dragon into unconsciousness. With a short wave, the woodsman smiled at his friends knowing that the task was almost done.
The mechanical click of a key working the lock on the second door caused Ander’s smile to drop and the woodsman returned to the task at hand. Bending down he grabbed for the sleeping dragon and prepared to run. “Ashrem. Pack. Help Theo get out. We’re about to have company.”
As the others made for the door Ander attempted to hoist the dragon onto his shoulder, but the small size of the beast was deceiving. His muscles bulged but he was barely able to lift the dragon more than a foot off the floor. Contrary to the dragon’s aerial acrobatics and graceful prancing, the creature was actually densely muscled and weighed more than one of Onkus the Cooper’s anvils. Ander realized that at this rate he would not make it very far before the dragon-nappers were upon him.
Ander looked around desperately, searching for something to help him move his burden, when he heard the door swing open. Looking up, the woodsman watched as four large armored goblins rushed into the room brandishing weapons. They charged directly toward the ranger, and Ander opened his mouth in a silent scream as he watched his death run him down.
Suddenly, the first of the goblin warriors lost his footing on the slick floor - just as Theo had - and tumbled down, dragging the rest of the group with him. Soon all four goblins were a writhing mass of arms and legs as they tried unsuccessfully to stand on the frozen surface. As they slipped and slid, Ander thanked every God he knew and Zuras twice just for good measure. Then, the goblin’s antics gave the encumbered ranger an idea.
Setting the dragon back on the floor, Ander shoved as hard as he could. The compact dragon’s body scooted effortlessly over the slick stone floor, stopping only when it reached the edge of the ice. The woodsman gave chase by sliding on his belly, and reached into a pouch at his side for his remaining vial of Wishbone’s Brew of Health. He knew that the strengthening effect was short lived, so he would have to hurry once he gulped it. His fingers closed over the rough stopper of the vial - which he had memorized after his last fiasco - and he drew it forth as he gathered his legs beneath him for another, final push toward his unconscious bundle of scales, wings, and claws.
A heartbeat later, a crossbow bolt sprouted from Ander’s thigh and pain lanced throughout his body. The young ranger fell forward as his leg no longer supported his weight and, as he slammed into the floor, Wishbone’s Brew slipped from his fingers. The vial slid across the floor, coming to rest next to the dragon’s limp form.
Ander looked back as he ripped the bolt from his leg, and saw a fifth goblin enter the room, by far the largest goblin that he had ever seen. A tarnished, pitted, and ugly crown sat atop its equally pitted and ugly face.
This goblin king stepped fully into the room like a nobleman who had just shot a prized deer, and shoved its crossbow into the hands of one of the armored warriors. The warrior, who had just found his footing and was unprepared for such a move, was bowled over by the powerful thrust and again ended up as part of the pile of goblins on the floor.
Ander pulled himself to his feet and faced the goblin king, who drew a curved sword as he approached. Unlike his heavily armored minions, the goblin leader had no problems on the slippery surface of the dragon cell and soon his swift blade was upon the woodsman.
Ander dodged and weaved as best as his bleeding leg would allow, but the Worm-sized king was more than a match for the wounded warrior. The ranger managed to avoid most of the sword blows, allowing only a few nicks and cuts, but the Thrice-Cursed-Fiend often punched, kicked and even bit at the woodsman as well. Ander also knew he was running out of time, even now the other goblins were beginning to untangle themselves from their pile.
“We are all on the other side of the pit trap, Ander. Hurry before they cut off our escape route.” The feloine’s voice was accompanied by a crossbow bolt shot into the leg of one of the armored goblins as he tried to rise, knocking him back to the floor. A volley of Aurora’s missiles followed knocking another goblin back into the tangled mass on the floor.
Ander blocked a weak sword blow with his staff, but the goblin king had lured him into dropping his guard and landed a stiff punch to his wounded leg. That leg buckled, dropping him to his knees: he knew that a fatal blow couldn’t be far behind.
With speed and strength born of desperation, the woodsman pushed into the goblin as it swung its killing blow. The sword bit deep into his shoulder but Ander pushed on, shoving his attacker back across the room. The goblin backpedaled, trying frantically to find some footing on the ice-covered floor to stop the ranger’s somehow surefooted charge.
Ander pushed until he neared the armored goblins, which had once again regained their feet, and then he gave one last heave, launching the king through the air towards its followers. The goblin leader stumbled backward over the throng, sending them all sprawling once again to the floor.
Ander wasted no time, quickly turning and sliding for the door, grabbing the loose vial as he came to a stop. The angered shouts of the goblin king sounded behind him and the twang of Ashrem’s crossbow before him mixed in a confused cacophony as he tore open the stopper and downed the contents of the vial. He felt his muscles tighten as energy flowed through his body. With renewed vigor, he effortlessly hoisted the small dragon’s frame and stepped back to leap the pit.
With one step and a magically enhanced leap, the woodsman felt himself flying through the air. As he crossed the gaping pit, Ander felt a sharp pain: first in his back and then his chest, and then he was across, landing solidly on the hard stone floor. His momentum carried him forward, so he continued to run, aware now that Theo and Pack were also engaged with attacking goblins at the far end of the hall. Aurora was carrying Meepo and attempting to cast her magics to help the company secure their retreat.
Aurora glanced at the ranger as he moved toward them, and suddenly stopped in the middle of her casting, concern in her eyes. Ander watched as she bit back a sob and her skin turned a sickly white. Knowing that he did not have time to explain his many nicks and cuts, he attempted to sooth the maiden and then call for Ashrem to catch up, but when he tried to speak only a bubbling cough came out, nearly choking him.
Ander glanced down almost in fear and saw that a crossbow bolt jutted out nearly two fingers breadth from his studded leather jerkin. The woodsman nearly swooned, realizing that Wishbone’s magical potion was the only thing keeping Gauntlet from sending one of his dark servants to reap his soul. He also knew that the powers of the potion were very short lived, and that that god – the Lost Hand of Tyr – would soon claim his own. Guantlet’s drow may take me, but they will not have my friends. Spitting blood, the woodsman burbled what he knew to be his final command.
“Run!”
***
Ashrem watched helplessly as Ander shot by the crouched feloine, running with his magically long strides toward the rear guard. The feloine had seen corpses in better shape than his closest friend; Wishbone’s Brew was the only thing standing between the woodsman and death’s door.
The scout cursed silently as he stowed his crossbow in his magically large rucksack and drew out a potion of his own. He knew that Ander would not stop, even at the cost of his own life, if he thought he could lead the company to safety. The only way to stop him was to catch him, an impossible feat, without magical aid of his own, when the ranger was using his magical boots. Ducking under another crossbow shot, the feloine tore the stopper out and drained the contents of the vial. Then he felt his fur tingle as his heartbeat quickened and he felt Wishbone’s Brew of Speed take hold. For a moment, his vision swam, as if he was badly drunk on cheap wine. With a shake of his head, he fought off the feeling and sped off after his dying friend.
***
Pack was scared, and he didn’t know why.
The swinging swords, blood-soaked floor, and dead bodies weren’t helping, but the bard knew that they weren’t the cause of his fear. The halfling had sparred too often with Worm to be scared of a few goblins, no matter how bloodthirsty. Something worse than goblins lurked just outside of his awareness.
The halfling dodged another swipe and thrust weakly back, once again sinking his lucky dagger to the hilt. Yanking the blade free, Pack danced around, almost absentmindedly relying on the mimicked footwork of his bigger sibling. You need a name, lucky dagger. I can’t be a hero if my blade doesn’t have a name. How about Flicker?
The dagger struck but failed to pierce yet another goblin’s leather. Nope, not Flicker. How about Riftrunner just like Morthannan’s famous sword? The goblin’s armor again turned the blade aside, and Pack moved to his left as he knew Worm would want him to, avoiding the goblin’s clumsy return swing. You’re right: it wouldn’t be right to have two Riftrunners in history.
The bard’s dagger jumped out to his right, intercepting a kick aimed at the aging priest to his side. It was as if Worm stood over him, moving his arms as he had done so many times before when teaching the little halfling the knife fighting tricks he knew. ‘Because you never know when you might need to use a weapon to defend yourself or your family.’ The huge half-orc’s words rang in Pack’s mind, just as they had when he first spoke them, and he realized that he had never understood what they meant.
Pack unthinkingly ducked under a wild swing and countered with a swing of his own. While he did so, he began to really look at his surroundings: Theo was to his right, grunting with each swing of his heavy weapon, and he heard Aurora’s reassuring voice chanting behind him. Over his shoulder, he saw a pair of eldritch dragon heads blow by and hit the goblin in front of him, singeing the goblin’s already orange skin and knocking him backwards. Then the bard looked down at his feet, and nearly retched.
The goblin bled from a deep stab in its belly as he waited painfully for Gauntlet’s Drow to take him to his final rest. All the while, the goblin stared accusingly at the halfling. In horror Pack watched himself, with Worm-like efficiency, stoop down and bury his blade deep in the goblin’s throat, putting him out of his misery. It felt as if Worm still controlled his movements, ‘Never fight until you have to, but if you have to fight, fight to win. And if you’re fighting someone who wants to kill you, the only way to stop them is to kill them first.’ The goblin gurgled as blood flowed from his wound, and tears began to flow down Pack’s cheeks.
His legs moved him up and over the body to come even with Theo, who fought to put down the last of the goblins cutting off their escape. As he did, he could almost hear the gurgling of the goblin continue, as if it still accused him from the grave. Then he heard Aurora gasp behind him and turned to see a dead man walking toward him carrying a limp dragon over one shoulder. It gurgled one word.
“Run!”
He had already taken several steps before he realized that the bolt-skewered figure running beside and then before him was Ander, hefting the tiny dragon over one shoulder as he trailed blood out of his horrid wounds. Soon Theo and Aurora reached him and then passed him, their long strides taking them swiftly by the halfling. Pack looked back over his shoulder to see Ashrem running up toward him and then, suddenly stop. The feloine ripped free his sword and cried out to bard, “Go on ahead Pack! There are too many of them!” Then he began swiping at the air, cutting and thrusting as if locked in battle. Pack, however, saw no goblins at all.
“Too many of what, Ashrem?” Pack continued to move as he questioned the feloine. “Hurry, before they catch up!”
“They have already caught us,” the scout growled back. He paused, ducking under an invisible swing before skewering an equally invisible foe. Then, cursing loudly, he broke and ran toward the halfling. “My weapon is ineffective, Pack. These skeletons are just as dangerous as those bramble blights. Run.”
“What skeletons?” Pack asked.
“RUN!” The feloine roared like a great cat and Pack bounded forward as quickly as his short legs would carry him. He rounded the corner with Ashrem a few moments behind, and sped into the room where the goblin’s practiced archery just in time to see Theo rushing out the far side, heading for the goblin’s halfwall. Out of the other door, the one that led to the hall with pillars, poured the goblin king that Pack had seen in the dragon’s room, leading another half dozen huge armored warriors.
Pack sped off toward the exit, only to see the goblins moving to cut off his escape. In an instant he knew he was doomed – they would catch him before he got through the door. Suddenly from behind him, he heard Ashrem’s roar. “Pack! Hold still!” The bard stopped cold, trusting the feloine had some plan to save them both, and turned.
Ashrem was leaping through the air directly at the halfling. His eyes were hard, and the snarl he wore on his face would have scared a barbarian. In his arms, he held his rucksack. “Drop the dagger Pack. It cannot go where you will be.”
The halfling stared as the feloine drew closer, unable to interpret the shadow warrior’s sudden strange request. He couldn’t part with his lucky dagger: Pack knew that all heroes had their special weapon. He stood there, with feloine and goblins bearing down on him, motionless and confused, but Ashrem made the decision for him and ripped the dagger from his hands. With a smooth motion the great cat flung the weapon away.
Stunned, the halfling watched helplessly as the dagger arched in the air and disappeared into the charging horde and Ashrem opened his backpack wide and held it out before him. The scout put the pack over Pack and rode it down until the halfling was swallowed whole, which seemed impossible to the bard.
In the silent darkness, Pack shivered: alone. I never even gave it a name.
*****
Next Time!
"The Greater Good," or "Meepo Claus is Comin' to Town!"
Hey Enk! It's been awhile, so I think it's time to open our fanmail and answer some questions!
We have fanmail?
Yes we do - look at that pile over there!
Dude, that's your laundry.
No, the other pile.
You mean that huge stack by the couch?
No, that's bills. You see where you're hand is?
Yeah?
Not there. Over to the left.
D'Shai, all I see is a letter, a postcard, and some wadded up pieces of paper.
That's it! Now gimme those.
Our first letter reads:
Dear Enk,
What are you getting D'Shai for Christmas?
Signed,
D'Shai
Dude, that's not cool. You can't use fake fanmail to interrogate me about what your getting for Christmas. Besides, I already told you, you're getting a stocking full of motor oil. Oh, and coal.
You want to know what I'm getting you?
If it's anything like last year, no.
Have it your way, it's better as a surprise, I just wouldn't wait til after Christmas to open it... Our next letter - this one is a postcard.
Dear D'Shai,
How do you come up with your Tip of the Day?
Signed
Kobolds Stole My Baby
PS: Please never let Enk do another TotD!
Dude, you wrote that PS part in crayon! Bad form!
That's all the let me have on my "vacation."
Just give them the Tip and let's get on with it.
Wait!, One more letter - this one came attached to a brick thrown through Enk's window. By me.
The depths of my hatred for you have not yet been explored.
Dear story hour guys,
What are you like in real life?
Signed,
Inmate 8675309
To give you an idea, here's a list of some places we've been asked to leave, some more nicely than others.
*Several fast food establishments.
*Three separate hotels.
*One elementary school neither of us attended (Children's Theater mishap - backstage dance).
*Taco Bell (this one was memorable enough to get its own entry).
*Multiple theater chains (one of which Enk was working at at the time).
*Every bowling alley within a 30 mile radius, as well as one in Cincinnati.
*Denny's (except at 3AM, when they actually encourage us to stay).
*And my favorite, Toys R Us.
He's especially proud of that one - they had district meetings about him, and he might still be mentioned as an anecdote in the employee handboook - something about animal stampedes and the arming of America's youth.
Now for the Tip o' the Day:
Polymorph Any Object adds loads of fun to any campaign.
Have I told you, lately, that I hate you?
Hey, I rolled randomly. And one more letter: This ones from Dawn:
Dear Guys,
Well...... How about that update?
Dawn
PS: Please never let Enk do another TotD.
Alright, give me the crayon and push the button.
I push the button!
*****
"What's in the Pack?" or "The Sunless Citadel on Ice"
“I thought you said Meepo could handle the dragon!” Ander cried, perplexed at the grisly meeting between dragon and keeper.
“He said that Cal loved him and would obey him!” Aurora shot back, seemingly just as confused. “Help him, Ander! She’s killing him!”
“Yes.” Ashrem’s calm voice contrasted with the growling and snapping ball of scaly fury ravaging their guide. “And it seems he has failed to notice that minor detail, just as he fails to understand exactly how much I loathe him. I say that if he cannot control the beast, than he is as useless to us as he is to his clan, let him die.”
Ander noticed that Ashrem moved toward the grappled pair to help even as he spoke ill of the kobold, but Aurora obviously didn’t. Twin dragon headed missiles flew past the woodsman and feloine to strike the tiny dragon, knocking it off Meepo’s unmoving body.
“Bones, Aurora! We need it alive! That goes for everyone! We capture it or subdue it!” Ander moved forward approaching the small dragon as he would a wounded wolf or bear, carefully extending his hand as it rose back onto its feet. For a moment, it seemed as if he would be able to sooth her just as he had done to the Reeve’s favorite wolfhound when it’s leg was caught in a trap. Too late, he realized that Cal had other plans, and the dragonet opened her mouth to unleash a freezing cloud of mist.
Ander, already in a partial crouch, managed to tuck and roll under the cloud using his cloak to shield himself from the worst of the freezing air. The woodsman felt his left arm go numb as he passed through the mist, but in an instant he was clear of the chilling rime and the feeling started to return. As he gathered his feet under him he noticed that Ashrem had also rolled away, but to the opposite side of the tiny wyrm while Aurora and Pack had pulled Meepo out of the room for Theo to attend to.
Flexing his arm one last time, the woodsman gripped his staff and nodded to his feloine counterpart. Ashrem pulled his short sword but with a flat-side grip and nodded back. In tandem the two moved toward the crouching dragon and attacked.
Ander’s first blow fell wide as he slipped and nearly fell, not realizing that the frosty floor would be so slick. Ashrem looked to be in the same predicament as he too struck wide of the dodging Cal and then flailed his arms to maintain balance.
“These are not ideal conditions for dragon hunting, my friend,” the feloine remarked while freeing his tail from his cloak to better balance himself. Meanwhile, Cal glided to the far end of the room and hid behind what appeared to be a frozen desk.
“Meepo will live, and I am free to help….” The loud clanging of armor sounded throughout the small room as Theo also encountered the ice-covered floor. “Ow! I’m okay!”
Ashrem moved to help the priest while Ander circled toward the dragon’s hiding spot. As he carefully rounded the side of the desk, Cal sped through the air, startling the woodsman. Instinctively, he lashed out hard with his staff, altering its flight path. Instead of making good its escape through the open portal, the wyrm angled downward and flew directly at the recovering priest. Theo responded by once again crashing noisily to the ground, almost dragging Ashrem with him. With a tiny, self-satisfied roar, Cal drifted silently over to land on a frost-covered bookcase.
“Pack! Close that door and help Theo. Your cloak hopefully gives you sure footing on ice as well as brambles and spikes.” The bard quickly complied with the woodsman’s orders and soon had the room sealed and Theo standing.
Ander brought his attention back to the dragon and he and Ashrem began circling as a team, trying to keep the beast between them. The young dragon seemed to once again detect their ploy and unleashed another blast of her freezing breath. Ander tucked and rolled, noticing that Ashrem was well ahead of him, as if the feloine had known it was going to happen. I need to ask him how he always manages to do that...
Both warriors found their feet amidst a loud clattering as Theo again lost his balance, for once again the dragon had flapped near him. The tiny wyrm landed atop the desk and unfolded its wings, taunting the four would be captors.
“Ander! Judging by her size, and the stories I have heard, she’ll need some time before she can breathe another one of those ice blasts! I’d attack now, but be careful because it looks like she’s gotten really smart for her size: she really did a number on Meepo!” Pack’s voice huffed as he again helped Theo to his feet. “Theo, your armor is too bulky and heavy for this.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Ander saw the priest’s face redden and he knew that Theo realized he was not helping in this situation: rather he was actually hindering them. However, the woodsman didn’t have time to comfort the cleric and tell him how much he had already done for them; he needed to attack and attack now.
Squaring his feet, Ander moved in and began spinning his staff in hopes of keeping the dragon from taking flight. On the opposite side Ashrem seemed to read the woodsman’s tactics and also moved in flashing his weapon in wide arcs, giving the winged serpent no place to run.
Cal seemed to know how much trouble she was in and launched herself at the woodsman. A quick smack with the staff drove her back, but the small beast drove forward again. Another blow landed, this time where Aurora’s missiles had exposed the flesh, and Cal slammed back hard into the desk, obviously dazed. A swift blow to the head dropped the small dragon into unconsciousness. With a short wave, the woodsman smiled at his friends knowing that the task was almost done.
The mechanical click of a key working the lock on the second door caused Ander’s smile to drop and the woodsman returned to the task at hand. Bending down he grabbed for the sleeping dragon and prepared to run. “Ashrem. Pack. Help Theo get out. We’re about to have company.”
As the others made for the door Ander attempted to hoist the dragon onto his shoulder, but the small size of the beast was deceiving. His muscles bulged but he was barely able to lift the dragon more than a foot off the floor. Contrary to the dragon’s aerial acrobatics and graceful prancing, the creature was actually densely muscled and weighed more than one of Onkus the Cooper’s anvils. Ander realized that at this rate he would not make it very far before the dragon-nappers were upon him.
Ander looked around desperately, searching for something to help him move his burden, when he heard the door swing open. Looking up, the woodsman watched as four large armored goblins rushed into the room brandishing weapons. They charged directly toward the ranger, and Ander opened his mouth in a silent scream as he watched his death run him down.
Suddenly, the first of the goblin warriors lost his footing on the slick floor - just as Theo had - and tumbled down, dragging the rest of the group with him. Soon all four goblins were a writhing mass of arms and legs as they tried unsuccessfully to stand on the frozen surface. As they slipped and slid, Ander thanked every God he knew and Zuras twice just for good measure. Then, the goblin’s antics gave the encumbered ranger an idea.
Setting the dragon back on the floor, Ander shoved as hard as he could. The compact dragon’s body scooted effortlessly over the slick stone floor, stopping only when it reached the edge of the ice. The woodsman gave chase by sliding on his belly, and reached into a pouch at his side for his remaining vial of Wishbone’s Brew of Health. He knew that the strengthening effect was short lived, so he would have to hurry once he gulped it. His fingers closed over the rough stopper of the vial - which he had memorized after his last fiasco - and he drew it forth as he gathered his legs beneath him for another, final push toward his unconscious bundle of scales, wings, and claws.
A heartbeat later, a crossbow bolt sprouted from Ander’s thigh and pain lanced throughout his body. The young ranger fell forward as his leg no longer supported his weight and, as he slammed into the floor, Wishbone’s Brew slipped from his fingers. The vial slid across the floor, coming to rest next to the dragon’s limp form.
Ander looked back as he ripped the bolt from his leg, and saw a fifth goblin enter the room, by far the largest goblin that he had ever seen. A tarnished, pitted, and ugly crown sat atop its equally pitted and ugly face.
This goblin king stepped fully into the room like a nobleman who had just shot a prized deer, and shoved its crossbow into the hands of one of the armored warriors. The warrior, who had just found his footing and was unprepared for such a move, was bowled over by the powerful thrust and again ended up as part of the pile of goblins on the floor.
Ander pulled himself to his feet and faced the goblin king, who drew a curved sword as he approached. Unlike his heavily armored minions, the goblin leader had no problems on the slippery surface of the dragon cell and soon his swift blade was upon the woodsman.
Ander dodged and weaved as best as his bleeding leg would allow, but the Worm-sized king was more than a match for the wounded warrior. The ranger managed to avoid most of the sword blows, allowing only a few nicks and cuts, but the Thrice-Cursed-Fiend often punched, kicked and even bit at the woodsman as well. Ander also knew he was running out of time, even now the other goblins were beginning to untangle themselves from their pile.
“We are all on the other side of the pit trap, Ander. Hurry before they cut off our escape route.” The feloine’s voice was accompanied by a crossbow bolt shot into the leg of one of the armored goblins as he tried to rise, knocking him back to the floor. A volley of Aurora’s missiles followed knocking another goblin back into the tangled mass on the floor.
Ander blocked a weak sword blow with his staff, but the goblin king had lured him into dropping his guard and landed a stiff punch to his wounded leg. That leg buckled, dropping him to his knees: he knew that a fatal blow couldn’t be far behind.
With speed and strength born of desperation, the woodsman pushed into the goblin as it swung its killing blow. The sword bit deep into his shoulder but Ander pushed on, shoving his attacker back across the room. The goblin backpedaled, trying frantically to find some footing on the ice-covered floor to stop the ranger’s somehow surefooted charge.
Ander pushed until he neared the armored goblins, which had once again regained their feet, and then he gave one last heave, launching the king through the air towards its followers. The goblin leader stumbled backward over the throng, sending them all sprawling once again to the floor.
Ander wasted no time, quickly turning and sliding for the door, grabbing the loose vial as he came to a stop. The angered shouts of the goblin king sounded behind him and the twang of Ashrem’s crossbow before him mixed in a confused cacophony as he tore open the stopper and downed the contents of the vial. He felt his muscles tighten as energy flowed through his body. With renewed vigor, he effortlessly hoisted the small dragon’s frame and stepped back to leap the pit.
With one step and a magically enhanced leap, the woodsman felt himself flying through the air. As he crossed the gaping pit, Ander felt a sharp pain: first in his back and then his chest, and then he was across, landing solidly on the hard stone floor. His momentum carried him forward, so he continued to run, aware now that Theo and Pack were also engaged with attacking goblins at the far end of the hall. Aurora was carrying Meepo and attempting to cast her magics to help the company secure their retreat.
Aurora glanced at the ranger as he moved toward them, and suddenly stopped in the middle of her casting, concern in her eyes. Ander watched as she bit back a sob and her skin turned a sickly white. Knowing that he did not have time to explain his many nicks and cuts, he attempted to sooth the maiden and then call for Ashrem to catch up, but when he tried to speak only a bubbling cough came out, nearly choking him.
Ander glanced down almost in fear and saw that a crossbow bolt jutted out nearly two fingers breadth from his studded leather jerkin. The woodsman nearly swooned, realizing that Wishbone’s magical potion was the only thing keeping Gauntlet from sending one of his dark servants to reap his soul. He also knew that the powers of the potion were very short lived, and that that god – the Lost Hand of Tyr – would soon claim his own. Guantlet’s drow may take me, but they will not have my friends. Spitting blood, the woodsman burbled what he knew to be his final command.
“Run!”
***
Ashrem watched helplessly as Ander shot by the crouched feloine, running with his magically long strides toward the rear guard. The feloine had seen corpses in better shape than his closest friend; Wishbone’s Brew was the only thing standing between the woodsman and death’s door.
The scout cursed silently as he stowed his crossbow in his magically large rucksack and drew out a potion of his own. He knew that Ander would not stop, even at the cost of his own life, if he thought he could lead the company to safety. The only way to stop him was to catch him, an impossible feat, without magical aid of his own, when the ranger was using his magical boots. Ducking under another crossbow shot, the feloine tore the stopper out and drained the contents of the vial. Then he felt his fur tingle as his heartbeat quickened and he felt Wishbone’s Brew of Speed take hold. For a moment, his vision swam, as if he was badly drunk on cheap wine. With a shake of his head, he fought off the feeling and sped off after his dying friend.
***
Pack was scared, and he didn’t know why.
The swinging swords, blood-soaked floor, and dead bodies weren’t helping, but the bard knew that they weren’t the cause of his fear. The halfling had sparred too often with Worm to be scared of a few goblins, no matter how bloodthirsty. Something worse than goblins lurked just outside of his awareness.
The halfling dodged another swipe and thrust weakly back, once again sinking his lucky dagger to the hilt. Yanking the blade free, Pack danced around, almost absentmindedly relying on the mimicked footwork of his bigger sibling. You need a name, lucky dagger. I can’t be a hero if my blade doesn’t have a name. How about Flicker?
The dagger struck but failed to pierce yet another goblin’s leather. Nope, not Flicker. How about Riftrunner just like Morthannan’s famous sword? The goblin’s armor again turned the blade aside, and Pack moved to his left as he knew Worm would want him to, avoiding the goblin’s clumsy return swing. You’re right: it wouldn’t be right to have two Riftrunners in history.
The bard’s dagger jumped out to his right, intercepting a kick aimed at the aging priest to his side. It was as if Worm stood over him, moving his arms as he had done so many times before when teaching the little halfling the knife fighting tricks he knew. ‘Because you never know when you might need to use a weapon to defend yourself or your family.’ The huge half-orc’s words rang in Pack’s mind, just as they had when he first spoke them, and he realized that he had never understood what they meant.
Pack unthinkingly ducked under a wild swing and countered with a swing of his own. While he did so, he began to really look at his surroundings: Theo was to his right, grunting with each swing of his heavy weapon, and he heard Aurora’s reassuring voice chanting behind him. Over his shoulder, he saw a pair of eldritch dragon heads blow by and hit the goblin in front of him, singeing the goblin’s already orange skin and knocking him backwards. Then the bard looked down at his feet, and nearly retched.
The goblin bled from a deep stab in its belly as he waited painfully for Gauntlet’s Drow to take him to his final rest. All the while, the goblin stared accusingly at the halfling. In horror Pack watched himself, with Worm-like efficiency, stoop down and bury his blade deep in the goblin’s throat, putting him out of his misery. It felt as if Worm still controlled his movements, ‘Never fight until you have to, but if you have to fight, fight to win. And if you’re fighting someone who wants to kill you, the only way to stop them is to kill them first.’ The goblin gurgled as blood flowed from his wound, and tears began to flow down Pack’s cheeks.
His legs moved him up and over the body to come even with Theo, who fought to put down the last of the goblins cutting off their escape. As he did, he could almost hear the gurgling of the goblin continue, as if it still accused him from the grave. Then he heard Aurora gasp behind him and turned to see a dead man walking toward him carrying a limp dragon over one shoulder. It gurgled one word.
“Run!”
He had already taken several steps before he realized that the bolt-skewered figure running beside and then before him was Ander, hefting the tiny dragon over one shoulder as he trailed blood out of his horrid wounds. Soon Theo and Aurora reached him and then passed him, their long strides taking them swiftly by the halfling. Pack looked back over his shoulder to see Ashrem running up toward him and then, suddenly stop. The feloine ripped free his sword and cried out to bard, “Go on ahead Pack! There are too many of them!” Then he began swiping at the air, cutting and thrusting as if locked in battle. Pack, however, saw no goblins at all.
“Too many of what, Ashrem?” Pack continued to move as he questioned the feloine. “Hurry, before they catch up!”
“They have already caught us,” the scout growled back. He paused, ducking under an invisible swing before skewering an equally invisible foe. Then, cursing loudly, he broke and ran toward the halfling. “My weapon is ineffective, Pack. These skeletons are just as dangerous as those bramble blights. Run.”
“What skeletons?” Pack asked.
“RUN!” The feloine roared like a great cat and Pack bounded forward as quickly as his short legs would carry him. He rounded the corner with Ashrem a few moments behind, and sped into the room where the goblin’s practiced archery just in time to see Theo rushing out the far side, heading for the goblin’s halfwall. Out of the other door, the one that led to the hall with pillars, poured the goblin king that Pack had seen in the dragon’s room, leading another half dozen huge armored warriors.
Pack sped off toward the exit, only to see the goblins moving to cut off his escape. In an instant he knew he was doomed – they would catch him before he got through the door. Suddenly from behind him, he heard Ashrem’s roar. “Pack! Hold still!” The bard stopped cold, trusting the feloine had some plan to save them both, and turned.
Ashrem was leaping through the air directly at the halfling. His eyes were hard, and the snarl he wore on his face would have scared a barbarian. In his arms, he held his rucksack. “Drop the dagger Pack. It cannot go where you will be.”
The halfling stared as the feloine drew closer, unable to interpret the shadow warrior’s sudden strange request. He couldn’t part with his lucky dagger: Pack knew that all heroes had their special weapon. He stood there, with feloine and goblins bearing down on him, motionless and confused, but Ashrem made the decision for him and ripped the dagger from his hands. With a smooth motion the great cat flung the weapon away.
Stunned, the halfling watched helplessly as the dagger arched in the air and disappeared into the charging horde and Ashrem opened his backpack wide and held it out before him. The scout put the pack over Pack and rode it down until the halfling was swallowed whole, which seemed impossible to the bard.
In the silent darkness, Pack shivered: alone. I never even gave it a name.
*****
Next Time!
"The Greater Good," or "Meepo Claus is Comin' to Town!"
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