Dr Midnight
Explorer
“Erasmus,” Dartan grumbled as they left the village. “I was wondering where he’s been.”
Kizzlorn thought for a moment and gave him a look. “Who is this ‘Erasmus’?”
“Do you remember when I told you about Jamison’s corruption? How there were two of us who spontaneously turned evil, and turned on us? Jamison was the first… Erasmus was the other. He was alive at the time… vampire hunter. Archer. Deadly. Could shoot a tossed pebble from the air at a hundred paces.”
“And he escaped?”
“Helped Jamison attack us, then fled. Never heard from him again. I looked for him, for a time, before I met my wife. Never found a thing.”
Myramus sniffled. “Now the vampire hunter is a vampire, and has joined the side of darkness.”
“Hmm,” Broldek murmured. The troll was mostly regenerated now, and only needed to regrow a few patches of skin. His face was half-covered, but the other half was an inky black mess of troll blood and twitching, glistening muscles. His yellow, unlidded eye glared about at everyone. It was most unpleasant to look at. “There’s an odd poetry in that.”
“That’s not poetry,” Myramus replied sharply. “It’s a sickening blot on your world’s history, and it will be stamped out with the rest.”
Dartan frowned at the hound archon. “’Your’ world?”
“Yes. The mortal realm ceased to be mine when I died. I’m merely here to help you defend it. Mine is the sun-blessed cirrus meadow of heaven.”
“By Pelor’s light, we will return there soon,” Menerous said piously.
“By Pelor’s light,” Myramus agreed.
Dartan spat. “There’s for Pelor’s light. Take us back to the Gauntlet, we’ve got work to do.”
They teleported. Back in the curving and circular hallway, there were no more cries of distress to be heard. Bree the skull waited here for them. “Let me guess,” she said coldly. “You returned the girl to her grateful parents. She sobbed and hugged them, and didn’t leap for anyone’s throats at any time.”
“That’s right,” Kizzlorn replied. “It would appear that you lied to us. I don’t think even Dartan doubts your treachery now.”
“Fools. Why would she attack now, with you there? She waited until you left, and is now probably feasting on the blood of her family. She was made undead and unclean, and you released her, wasting precious time in the bargain.”
Myramus drew Starfire. “I’ve had a bellyful of this skull. You’re not helpful in the least, lest ‘helpful’ means leading us into traps and ignorance of the truth.”
“Not helpful, am I?” The skull shouted indignantly. “I got you this far. I gave you the clues. I don’t know why I’m here, but I do know that I remember my childhood friend. Dartan, can you have forgotten our time together, growing up? Can you have forgotten our time playing with stick-swords and pretend wands? How can you let them destroy me?”
“I…” Dartan the Godless paused and thought. “It cannot be said that I truly trust you, but I do believe we should let you live.”
“That is enough, I suppose,” she said with a hurt voice. “In time perhaps you will come to understand my worth. For example… I can tell you that the way lies through the door at the end of the hallway.” They turned and looked down the hall, seeing a large stone door. It had a number of keyholes. “There’s a hole for every key you’ve taken. They will open the door. It is trapped with a spell, but I’m certain your thief will be able to deactivate it.”
“I’m not a thief,” Edge said. He cautiously moved up to the door and examined it. After a moment, he said “She’s right. Lightning trap. Tough to spot.” He dismantled it.
Kizzlorn knotted her brow and glanced at the skull. “All right. What’s beyond that door, then?”
“Everything. It’s coming quickly to me now… This is the gate to Thuriaq’s prison door. The room where Crow is laboring to release the fiend. He is accompanied by his minions. I think he will be done soon…”
Kizz turned to the others. “Okay. We have to trust to this. Let’s form a quick strategy and move in, taking down what we can as fast as possible. Myramus, you move in quickly with that sword of yours. Broldek and Dartan, follow him, stay hidden from any spells or missile fire, and crack some skulls when you get close enough. Edge, try to dart in and stick to the shadows. Menerous, you and I will try to provide them with distracting targets, under protection of shield spells in the rear. Lots of lights and sound, understand?” Menerous nodded. “Does anyone have anything to say?”
The Knights drew their weapons and readied. “May the hand of Pelor guide us,” Myramus said. “May the Shining One lend his grace to us in this, our deadliest hour.”
Dartan laughed. “May your Shining One choke on the souls he devours.” The Maximus brothers looked hurt at this, but didn’t answer.
Broldek smiled. “I’ve got nothin’ to say. Let’s go in there and start swinging, for the good of the land.”
Snooky said I just want you all to know how proud my master would be, if he could see you now. If the gods are good he will be able to tell you this himself, in a few moments.
Edge’s ears were red. He cursed softly. “Hell with it. Kizzlorn… for good luck.” He jumped up and planted a quick, gentle kiss on her lips. “And because I might not live to do it later.” He turned away in his embarrassment.
Kizz stared after him, shocked. She’d known of the halfling’s feelings for her, but she never thought he’d dare to be so bold. She opened her mouth to say something scathing for the offense, but decided against it. Instead, she collected herself and said “May our swords and spells strike true. Let’s go.”
They placed each of the keys in a hole, and turned them. When the last key was turned, the door clicked. Myramus kicked the door in and they ran inside.
What happened next was unexpected, even for the Knights, who were expecting something bizarre and deadly. An arrow took Myramus in the arm from the moment he was exposed to the room. He cried out and Starfire clattered to the ground. Then, the whole party was awash in bright blue flame. Laughter came to their ears as they scrambled into the room, burning, looking for cover and watching for oncoming attacks.
“Welcome!” a voice called. It sounded like the hissing of a knife being scraped along a block of ice. Another twang! noise was heard, and an arrow thunked into a chink in Dartan’s armor, where his breastplate and shoulder plate met. The Godless grunted through clenched teeth and looked for somewhere to hide. There was no place to run to. The room they’d entered was a vast hall with far walls, high ceilings, no furniture or cover to hide behind whatsoever… it was a perfect spot for a master archer. Erasmus Nightwalker stood at the far end of the hall, behind a waist-high stone wall. He was firing arrows at them at an incredible speed. Menerous took an arrow in the belly and he shouted, more in surprise than pain.
“FIGHT! MOVE IN AND FIGHT!” Kizzlorn was holding an arm back to hurl a fireball spell. “HIT THEM HAR-“ her words caught in her throat when she saw the figure standing behind Erasmus. A tall, thin wraith of a man wearing white dragonhide armor and a skull for a mask. A vast crimson cape hung from his shoulders and his bony hands clutched a powerful broadsword. “Vek,” Kizz whispered, the wind taken out of her. The spell in her hand fizzled away as her concentration blew apart like leaves before a gale. Vek, oh gods, Vek, he’s back and he’s on their side HE’S ON THEIR SIDE… She watched in horror as he walked forward, brandishing his sword.
Dartan ran forward to meet it and an arrow struck him in the kneecap. The force of the arrow’s flight punctured his armor and plunged into the tensed ligament beneath. He didn’t scream as he stumbled. “DARTAN, THAT’S VEK, LOOK OUT-“ Vek raised his sword and swung it down against Dartan, who blocked the blow, kneeling on the ground in a spreading pool of blood.
“No,” Dartan said as he counterattacked. His sword stuck straight through the undead’s chest and drove him back two paces, pushing all the way in to the hilt. “It’s Metus.” The death knight’s eyes glowed sickly red in his skull as he bore down on the warrior.
Edge was quicker. He bounded across the room in two leaps and ran up the wall, dodging arrows as he did. He flipped to the ground and landed on the balls of his feet, behind Metus. He prepared a devastating wyvern fist attack, that would surely shatter the thing’s brittle ribs… but he froze, then screamed. He fell to the ground clutching his head in agony.
Broldek was stepping forward, one foot at a time, holding his greatsword with one hand and trying vainly with the other to beat out the flames that enveloped him. The troll inferno walked slowly and surely towards the cloaked figure at Erasmus’ right side, who continued to cover him with fire from afar. A jet of flame shot from Crow’s hands, never once ceasing to bathe Broldek in fire, and the troll never once ceased walking forward to kill him.
“Milady!” Menerous coughed. Three arrows were stuck in him. “They were ready for us. They knew our strategy. We must pull…” as his mouth formed the word back, an arrow plunged into his eye socket and he choked once, then fell, and lay dead.
“BROTHER!!!” Myramus leaned down to pick up his sword with his other hand. It was invaluable to him, and one of the party’s greatest assets in combat. The sword skittered out of his reach, however, and flew away, to slap into a waiting hand. Crow held it, smiling. With his right hand he covered Broldek in flame, and his left held Starfire. On his right hand was a glittering gold ring- one of many- this one marked with dozens of tiny gems in all colors. It was a Ring of Dragon Madness, and it was crippling Edge’s senses.
“Fall down,” Crow said, bemused, to Broldek. The troll took two more steps, then one, then paused, and dropped his greatsword. He crumpled to the ground, a smoldering husk.
Kizzlorn cast spell after spell from the rear of the room, watching her friends lose. Dartan was quickly being driven under by Metus’ sword blows. Edge was screaming, both nostrils bleeding slow rivers. Myramus ran forward in rage, barely thinking of how to attack. Erasmus let him come within five feet before he shot him through the throat with a particularly barbed arrow. “No,” Kizzlorn sobbed. “We were close.”
“You were!” Crow said. “Sadly, you made the mistake of allowing us to see your every weakness before you arrived. I’m afraid we had help. Erasmus, cripple her and show her what I mean.” As quickly as that, two arrows thunked into her arms, and she screamed, falling to her knees. Something floated past her shoulder. She looked up, and through the tears she saw Bree fly over to Erasmus, who clutched it from behind and made it speak, as a puppet might.
“Thank you so very much for believing in me, Dartan,” he said mockingly through the skull. “I guess you’ve still got some blind faith left in you, eh? Also, thanks for letting me study the weak points in your armor through the corpse of a childhood friend. That was kind of you.”
Dartan, dying from a dozen wounds, bared his teeth and forced one leg up from kneeling. He caught Metus’ sword in a gauntleted hand. It cut him deeply, but he ignored the pain and ripped it from the death knight’s grasp, then smashed him in the face with its pommel. He stood shakily, dropping the sword. “You fiend,” he wheezed. “I hate you.”
“Hate’s all you ever do, Dartan. Be a good sport and lie down, won’t you?” Erasmus put an arrow through Dartan’s chest, but he didn’t fall. He walked forward as Erasmus fired shot after shot into him.
“Kill you. Gonna… kill you.” Dartan reached up and snapped an arrow off, gripping it in his fist. He rained blood on the ground as he walked. He stumbled up to Erasmus and yelled, plunging the arrow through the large iron circle he wore, into his chest. The vampire stood and smiled at him. Dartan looked down and saw that the arrow’s broken tip protruded from his back, but did not pierce his flesh. The arrow had disappeared through the iron ring, which acted as some kind of gate, allowing the arrow to pass harmlessly through his body. Dartan stared in horror, and died there. He fell down.
Metus had found his footing and raised his sword to kill Edge. The halfling’s legs kicked weakly, and he looked at Kizzlorn over the blood and bodies. “I love you,” he said before he was killed.
Kizzlorn’s head lolled against her chest as she cried. Her shoulders shook from the sobs, and she made no sound. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on her arms where the arrows had struck her. They mingled with the blood. She closed her eyes and wept as she heard Crow’s boots step closer to her. She looked up at him. Her chin trembled.
He looked down and smiled sadly. “Dartan said it himself, a few hours ago. ‘He WANTS us to reach the end, so that we can fail there- and only there.’ True enough. Now that you’re here, you’ll make a fine welcome home gift for father. Erasmus, bring the mirror.”
Kizzlorn saw Erasmus carry a gilded mirror from behind the stone wall. In its reflection was a tired looking old man with a white beard, frozen in time. He set it at the front of the room, overlooking the bodies of all the Knights. Kizzlorn also saw that the very far wall, where her enemies had attacked from, had a large circle made of milky white orbs half-embedded in the stone. Only one orb was missing. Six orbs lined the wall, one was absent from a hemispherical keyhole. The gate of Thuriaq, with six of the keys in place.
Crow circled Kizzlorn, listening to her pained breathing. “You came to die, and die you did. Very well, I might add. That Dartan doesn’t go down without one hell of a fight, does he? Thuriaq will rise, in a moment,” he pulled from his sleeve the seventh orb. It shimmered in the torchlight. “and he will smite the world. Then, when it is done, I will wake him and he will fall from his mirror, to see that his brave young heroes died trying to save it all. He’ll rush to the surface of Oerth, some distance overhead, and see the black ash of the landscape. Nothing alive. Everything dead.”
“Dead,” Erasmus smiled.
”Dead,” Metus croaked.
“Then his heart will break and I will have won. I will come to him and destroy him. It will be easy… there will be no fight in him. Then, I can kill myself and be done, having done the vilest deed ever known.”
He walked to the back wall, holding the orb. “This has been a long time coming, Kizzlorn, and I must say it’s been incredible. I’m only sorry you and your friends won’t be alive to see the world die.” He placed the orb in the seventh hole and all seven lit up, glowing brightly, white-hot. They flushed yellow, then red, then stopped glowing and turned black. A crack smote the center of the ring and a deep rumbling was heard in the ground.
“It is done. Several hundred of the fiercest imprisoned titans are now free. Thuriaq is released. He will rise some miles outside of Greyhawk, from where he is imprisoned. We must go and watch. Have you anything final to say?” Crow, Erasmus, and Metus watched her.
She broke. The last sob went from her, and her head hung down. She mumbled “Just kill me. Please, kill me.”
Crow waved a hand. “Erasmus?” He raised his bow and put an arrow through her head. “Come, gentlemen. We’ve got the end of everything to enjoy. Let’s be off.” The black wizard teleported them away.
The Knights of Spellforge Keep all lay dead. The room was silent. In a moment, something rustled. Snooky the cat slowly crept from Kizzlorn’s knapsack. He’d heard everything, and was in the absolute blackest despair the little pseudodragon had ever known. It was all he could do to approach Gorgoldand’s mirror and weep, silently begging forgiveness for failing him in the end.
Above, in the world of men, the ground shook. Thunder rumbled everywhere. Lightning forked over Greyhawk, and the air smelled like blood. In a field where nothing ever grew, the dirt churned and smoked. The trees nearby burst into flame, and the clouds overhead boiled. A monster the size of a castle clawed its way up from the ground. Its lungs thundered like titanic bellows working a pit of coals the size of a lake. Thuriaq raised his black horns into the sky and smelled the night air. The Tarrasque opened its jaws and screamed.
MORE TO COME…
Kizzlorn thought for a moment and gave him a look. “Who is this ‘Erasmus’?”
“Do you remember when I told you about Jamison’s corruption? How there were two of us who spontaneously turned evil, and turned on us? Jamison was the first… Erasmus was the other. He was alive at the time… vampire hunter. Archer. Deadly. Could shoot a tossed pebble from the air at a hundred paces.”
“And he escaped?”
“Helped Jamison attack us, then fled. Never heard from him again. I looked for him, for a time, before I met my wife. Never found a thing.”
Myramus sniffled. “Now the vampire hunter is a vampire, and has joined the side of darkness.”
“Hmm,” Broldek murmured. The troll was mostly regenerated now, and only needed to regrow a few patches of skin. His face was half-covered, but the other half was an inky black mess of troll blood and twitching, glistening muscles. His yellow, unlidded eye glared about at everyone. It was most unpleasant to look at. “There’s an odd poetry in that.”
“That’s not poetry,” Myramus replied sharply. “It’s a sickening blot on your world’s history, and it will be stamped out with the rest.”
Dartan frowned at the hound archon. “’Your’ world?”
“Yes. The mortal realm ceased to be mine when I died. I’m merely here to help you defend it. Mine is the sun-blessed cirrus meadow of heaven.”
“By Pelor’s light, we will return there soon,” Menerous said piously.
“By Pelor’s light,” Myramus agreed.
Dartan spat. “There’s for Pelor’s light. Take us back to the Gauntlet, we’ve got work to do.”
They teleported. Back in the curving and circular hallway, there were no more cries of distress to be heard. Bree the skull waited here for them. “Let me guess,” she said coldly. “You returned the girl to her grateful parents. She sobbed and hugged them, and didn’t leap for anyone’s throats at any time.”
“That’s right,” Kizzlorn replied. “It would appear that you lied to us. I don’t think even Dartan doubts your treachery now.”
“Fools. Why would she attack now, with you there? She waited until you left, and is now probably feasting on the blood of her family. She was made undead and unclean, and you released her, wasting precious time in the bargain.”
Myramus drew Starfire. “I’ve had a bellyful of this skull. You’re not helpful in the least, lest ‘helpful’ means leading us into traps and ignorance of the truth.”
“Not helpful, am I?” The skull shouted indignantly. “I got you this far. I gave you the clues. I don’t know why I’m here, but I do know that I remember my childhood friend. Dartan, can you have forgotten our time together, growing up? Can you have forgotten our time playing with stick-swords and pretend wands? How can you let them destroy me?”
“I…” Dartan the Godless paused and thought. “It cannot be said that I truly trust you, but I do believe we should let you live.”
“That is enough, I suppose,” she said with a hurt voice. “In time perhaps you will come to understand my worth. For example… I can tell you that the way lies through the door at the end of the hallway.” They turned and looked down the hall, seeing a large stone door. It had a number of keyholes. “There’s a hole for every key you’ve taken. They will open the door. It is trapped with a spell, but I’m certain your thief will be able to deactivate it.”
“I’m not a thief,” Edge said. He cautiously moved up to the door and examined it. After a moment, he said “She’s right. Lightning trap. Tough to spot.” He dismantled it.
Kizzlorn knotted her brow and glanced at the skull. “All right. What’s beyond that door, then?”
“Everything. It’s coming quickly to me now… This is the gate to Thuriaq’s prison door. The room where Crow is laboring to release the fiend. He is accompanied by his minions. I think he will be done soon…”
Kizz turned to the others. “Okay. We have to trust to this. Let’s form a quick strategy and move in, taking down what we can as fast as possible. Myramus, you move in quickly with that sword of yours. Broldek and Dartan, follow him, stay hidden from any spells or missile fire, and crack some skulls when you get close enough. Edge, try to dart in and stick to the shadows. Menerous, you and I will try to provide them with distracting targets, under protection of shield spells in the rear. Lots of lights and sound, understand?” Menerous nodded. “Does anyone have anything to say?”
The Knights drew their weapons and readied. “May the hand of Pelor guide us,” Myramus said. “May the Shining One lend his grace to us in this, our deadliest hour.”
Dartan laughed. “May your Shining One choke on the souls he devours.” The Maximus brothers looked hurt at this, but didn’t answer.
Broldek smiled. “I’ve got nothin’ to say. Let’s go in there and start swinging, for the good of the land.”
Snooky said I just want you all to know how proud my master would be, if he could see you now. If the gods are good he will be able to tell you this himself, in a few moments.
Edge’s ears were red. He cursed softly. “Hell with it. Kizzlorn… for good luck.” He jumped up and planted a quick, gentle kiss on her lips. “And because I might not live to do it later.” He turned away in his embarrassment.
Kizz stared after him, shocked. She’d known of the halfling’s feelings for her, but she never thought he’d dare to be so bold. She opened her mouth to say something scathing for the offense, but decided against it. Instead, she collected herself and said “May our swords and spells strike true. Let’s go.”
They placed each of the keys in a hole, and turned them. When the last key was turned, the door clicked. Myramus kicked the door in and they ran inside.
What happened next was unexpected, even for the Knights, who were expecting something bizarre and deadly. An arrow took Myramus in the arm from the moment he was exposed to the room. He cried out and Starfire clattered to the ground. Then, the whole party was awash in bright blue flame. Laughter came to their ears as they scrambled into the room, burning, looking for cover and watching for oncoming attacks.
“Welcome!” a voice called. It sounded like the hissing of a knife being scraped along a block of ice. Another twang! noise was heard, and an arrow thunked into a chink in Dartan’s armor, where his breastplate and shoulder plate met. The Godless grunted through clenched teeth and looked for somewhere to hide. There was no place to run to. The room they’d entered was a vast hall with far walls, high ceilings, no furniture or cover to hide behind whatsoever… it was a perfect spot for a master archer. Erasmus Nightwalker stood at the far end of the hall, behind a waist-high stone wall. He was firing arrows at them at an incredible speed. Menerous took an arrow in the belly and he shouted, more in surprise than pain.
“FIGHT! MOVE IN AND FIGHT!” Kizzlorn was holding an arm back to hurl a fireball spell. “HIT THEM HAR-“ her words caught in her throat when she saw the figure standing behind Erasmus. A tall, thin wraith of a man wearing white dragonhide armor and a skull for a mask. A vast crimson cape hung from his shoulders and his bony hands clutched a powerful broadsword. “Vek,” Kizz whispered, the wind taken out of her. The spell in her hand fizzled away as her concentration blew apart like leaves before a gale. Vek, oh gods, Vek, he’s back and he’s on their side HE’S ON THEIR SIDE… She watched in horror as he walked forward, brandishing his sword.
Dartan ran forward to meet it and an arrow struck him in the kneecap. The force of the arrow’s flight punctured his armor and plunged into the tensed ligament beneath. He didn’t scream as he stumbled. “DARTAN, THAT’S VEK, LOOK OUT-“ Vek raised his sword and swung it down against Dartan, who blocked the blow, kneeling on the ground in a spreading pool of blood.
“No,” Dartan said as he counterattacked. His sword stuck straight through the undead’s chest and drove him back two paces, pushing all the way in to the hilt. “It’s Metus.” The death knight’s eyes glowed sickly red in his skull as he bore down on the warrior.
Edge was quicker. He bounded across the room in two leaps and ran up the wall, dodging arrows as he did. He flipped to the ground and landed on the balls of his feet, behind Metus. He prepared a devastating wyvern fist attack, that would surely shatter the thing’s brittle ribs… but he froze, then screamed. He fell to the ground clutching his head in agony.
Broldek was stepping forward, one foot at a time, holding his greatsword with one hand and trying vainly with the other to beat out the flames that enveloped him. The troll inferno walked slowly and surely towards the cloaked figure at Erasmus’ right side, who continued to cover him with fire from afar. A jet of flame shot from Crow’s hands, never once ceasing to bathe Broldek in fire, and the troll never once ceased walking forward to kill him.
“Milady!” Menerous coughed. Three arrows were stuck in him. “They were ready for us. They knew our strategy. We must pull…” as his mouth formed the word back, an arrow plunged into his eye socket and he choked once, then fell, and lay dead.
“BROTHER!!!” Myramus leaned down to pick up his sword with his other hand. It was invaluable to him, and one of the party’s greatest assets in combat. The sword skittered out of his reach, however, and flew away, to slap into a waiting hand. Crow held it, smiling. With his right hand he covered Broldek in flame, and his left held Starfire. On his right hand was a glittering gold ring- one of many- this one marked with dozens of tiny gems in all colors. It was a Ring of Dragon Madness, and it was crippling Edge’s senses.
“Fall down,” Crow said, bemused, to Broldek. The troll took two more steps, then one, then paused, and dropped his greatsword. He crumpled to the ground, a smoldering husk.
Kizzlorn cast spell after spell from the rear of the room, watching her friends lose. Dartan was quickly being driven under by Metus’ sword blows. Edge was screaming, both nostrils bleeding slow rivers. Myramus ran forward in rage, barely thinking of how to attack. Erasmus let him come within five feet before he shot him through the throat with a particularly barbed arrow. “No,” Kizzlorn sobbed. “We were close.”
“You were!” Crow said. “Sadly, you made the mistake of allowing us to see your every weakness before you arrived. I’m afraid we had help. Erasmus, cripple her and show her what I mean.” As quickly as that, two arrows thunked into her arms, and she screamed, falling to her knees. Something floated past her shoulder. She looked up, and through the tears she saw Bree fly over to Erasmus, who clutched it from behind and made it speak, as a puppet might.
“Thank you so very much for believing in me, Dartan,” he said mockingly through the skull. “I guess you’ve still got some blind faith left in you, eh? Also, thanks for letting me study the weak points in your armor through the corpse of a childhood friend. That was kind of you.”
Dartan, dying from a dozen wounds, bared his teeth and forced one leg up from kneeling. He caught Metus’ sword in a gauntleted hand. It cut him deeply, but he ignored the pain and ripped it from the death knight’s grasp, then smashed him in the face with its pommel. He stood shakily, dropping the sword. “You fiend,” he wheezed. “I hate you.”
“Hate’s all you ever do, Dartan. Be a good sport and lie down, won’t you?” Erasmus put an arrow through Dartan’s chest, but he didn’t fall. He walked forward as Erasmus fired shot after shot into him.
“Kill you. Gonna… kill you.” Dartan reached up and snapped an arrow off, gripping it in his fist. He rained blood on the ground as he walked. He stumbled up to Erasmus and yelled, plunging the arrow through the large iron circle he wore, into his chest. The vampire stood and smiled at him. Dartan looked down and saw that the arrow’s broken tip protruded from his back, but did not pierce his flesh. The arrow had disappeared through the iron ring, which acted as some kind of gate, allowing the arrow to pass harmlessly through his body. Dartan stared in horror, and died there. He fell down.
Metus had found his footing and raised his sword to kill Edge. The halfling’s legs kicked weakly, and he looked at Kizzlorn over the blood and bodies. “I love you,” he said before he was killed.
Kizzlorn’s head lolled against her chest as she cried. Her shoulders shook from the sobs, and she made no sound. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on her arms where the arrows had struck her. They mingled with the blood. She closed her eyes and wept as she heard Crow’s boots step closer to her. She looked up at him. Her chin trembled.
He looked down and smiled sadly. “Dartan said it himself, a few hours ago. ‘He WANTS us to reach the end, so that we can fail there- and only there.’ True enough. Now that you’re here, you’ll make a fine welcome home gift for father. Erasmus, bring the mirror.”
Kizzlorn saw Erasmus carry a gilded mirror from behind the stone wall. In its reflection was a tired looking old man with a white beard, frozen in time. He set it at the front of the room, overlooking the bodies of all the Knights. Kizzlorn also saw that the very far wall, where her enemies had attacked from, had a large circle made of milky white orbs half-embedded in the stone. Only one orb was missing. Six orbs lined the wall, one was absent from a hemispherical keyhole. The gate of Thuriaq, with six of the keys in place.
Crow circled Kizzlorn, listening to her pained breathing. “You came to die, and die you did. Very well, I might add. That Dartan doesn’t go down without one hell of a fight, does he? Thuriaq will rise, in a moment,” he pulled from his sleeve the seventh orb. It shimmered in the torchlight. “and he will smite the world. Then, when it is done, I will wake him and he will fall from his mirror, to see that his brave young heroes died trying to save it all. He’ll rush to the surface of Oerth, some distance overhead, and see the black ash of the landscape. Nothing alive. Everything dead.”
“Dead,” Erasmus smiled.
”Dead,” Metus croaked.
“Then his heart will break and I will have won. I will come to him and destroy him. It will be easy… there will be no fight in him. Then, I can kill myself and be done, having done the vilest deed ever known.”
He walked to the back wall, holding the orb. “This has been a long time coming, Kizzlorn, and I must say it’s been incredible. I’m only sorry you and your friends won’t be alive to see the world die.” He placed the orb in the seventh hole and all seven lit up, glowing brightly, white-hot. They flushed yellow, then red, then stopped glowing and turned black. A crack smote the center of the ring and a deep rumbling was heard in the ground.
“It is done. Several hundred of the fiercest imprisoned titans are now free. Thuriaq is released. He will rise some miles outside of Greyhawk, from where he is imprisoned. We must go and watch. Have you anything final to say?” Crow, Erasmus, and Metus watched her.
She broke. The last sob went from her, and her head hung down. She mumbled “Just kill me. Please, kill me.”
Crow waved a hand. “Erasmus?” He raised his bow and put an arrow through her head. “Come, gentlemen. We’ve got the end of everything to enjoy. Let’s be off.” The black wizard teleported them away.
The Knights of Spellforge Keep all lay dead. The room was silent. In a moment, something rustled. Snooky the cat slowly crept from Kizzlorn’s knapsack. He’d heard everything, and was in the absolute blackest despair the little pseudodragon had ever known. It was all he could do to approach Gorgoldand’s mirror and weep, silently begging forgiveness for failing him in the end.
Above, in the world of men, the ground shook. Thunder rumbled everywhere. Lightning forked over Greyhawk, and the air smelled like blood. In a field where nothing ever grew, the dirt churned and smoked. The trees nearby burst into flame, and the clouds overhead boiled. A monster the size of a castle clawed its way up from the ground. Its lungs thundered like titanic bellows working a pit of coals the size of a lake. Thuriaq raised his black horns into the sky and smelled the night air. The Tarrasque opened its jaws and screamed.
MORE TO COME…
Last edited:
