Chapter 2: Journey into Darkness Continued
Aramil’s fevered screams set a grueling backdrop against the carnage. The rogue had fallen to the ground, rolling over and over attempting to squish the insect. His slight, half-elven weight was not nearly enough to squish or at the very least remove the voracious insect. Instead, he merely jammed the pincers deeper through his flesh, allowing the poison easier entry to his already aching veins.
Cassock swung his mace, shattering one of the smaller insects; all the while watching the mother slide her massive bulk ever closer. He turned to aide the rogue, motioning for Anastrianna and Gabrielle to continue their ranged attacks. The priest grabbed Aramil roughly by the collar and flipped him over. Still attached to his arm, the centipede dug even farther into the raw meat.
Cassock prayed silently for his friend’s sake as he drove the oversized mace head into and through the creature. The insect popped, sticky residue splattering everywhere, as the mace slammed painfully into the half-elf.
The rogue rolled about on the ground, clutching his wound for several disoriented moments. His eyes latched shakily onto the cleric and rose heavenward to meet the worried gaze. “Poison,” he hissed, still grasping pointlessly at his boiling blood. “Do something, dammit!”
The Priest of Cael grimaced.
“You
are a healer aren’t you!” the half-elf shrieked.
Cassock placed a reaffirming hand on the shuddering rogue’s shoulder. “There is nothing I can do for your poison. You will have to be strong enough to survive it yourself. Right now, right now we need your help.” Grasping the young rogue’s hand, he hefted the half-elf up. He reached back down and lifted Aramil’s blade, placing it firmly within the rogue’s hands. The priest noticed the rogue’s shaky legs. With another prayer for strength, he led Aramil back into the fray.
Ana and Gabrielle shifted their barrage of missiles toward the mother centipede, while Cassock and Aramil divided their attacks among the remaining baby. The poison had eaten away at Aramil’s muscles. His attacks were slow, ungainly and not doing much except for keeping the insects at bay.
With a missed swing, Aramil lurched violently forward into the pincers of the baby. Cassock swung in, leading with his mace and smashed the insect into a gooey pulp. Aramil collapsed on the ground, mere feet from mother.
The priest dodged into friendly fire across Aramil’s frame. He threw himself bodily into the path of mother, trying to utilize his warmace as a shield. The beast reared backward, pincers shrieking upon the metal. It yanked fiercely, twisting the bulbous head back and forth, but Cassock would not let go. Shifting its attack, the monster reversed its weight, pressing the priest into a pious position. Bowing his head, Cassock felt the muscles in his body strain against the heavy onslaught.
Above his skull, arrows hissed against the air like water across flame. Dull plops resounded with each hit, but mother refused to relent. He felt the pincers scrape feebly across his forehead, his body slid backward. Mother leaned in, her pincers closing on the priest’s forehead. The potent venom stung for a moment, before more wet pops exploded somewhere distant.
Mother slid forward, pinning the priest, dead. Cassock shrugged the corpulent corpse off and stood wobbly. His body had managed to counter the centipede’s poison; only slight fatigue kept him completely off balance.
With a quick motion, he wrenched Aramil back to his feet. With a few divinely powered words, the priest healed all of the group’s wounds.
“We need to keep moving,” the cleric ordered. Then, without waiting for his scout, the priest stalked deeper into the maze.
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[1]
In the center of a jagged hedged room, lied a small unconscious form. Each of the group quietly moved into the unnatural clearing. They were all covered with the dirt and blood of a very long day.
Aramil moved slower than he had in the morning; three more swollen centipede wounds oozed angrily causing poison to stain the rogue’s leather armor. His body was sore from a well-mixed cocktail of pain, exhaustion, and venom. Silently, he wondered what he had done in his past lives to warrant such a hellish existence[2].
Gabrielle thudded onto the soft earth, nursing her freshest wounds. She had been given the easiest task of all. “Just watch that passage,” Cassock had ordered. And she had done as he asked. Of course, that was when the mean humans had attacker her, all biting metal with no words. She was quickly beginning to think herself too inept for the “adventurer’s life”.
Ana stared at the prone form of what could only be her adopted sister. Slightly pointed ears pierced the waves of hair, her face turned into the earth. If not for the slight quivering of her chest, Ana would believe she were dead. Purple bruises bulged along the half-elf’s cheek. Lady Rowen questioned how she should react to the sibling that had replaced her for so long a time[3].
Cassock watched his companions carefully. Somehow, they had all managed to survive, so far. The priest had doubts about how long their luck would last. Gabrielle, the weakest of them all, had nearly perished naught but minutes ago. Aramil would surely die if he did not rest. The centipede’s venom seemed to bypass the half-elf’s immune system as if it were invited happily within. Cassock eyed Anastrianna over, wondering if she would ever leap directly into combat with her sleek blade again. The human rogue had hung back for many of the battles, just firing at her foes from a distance. While not an unsound tactic, the cleric felt overwhelmed by having to carry the brunt of close-quarters combat. He sighed, thankful that this task was nearly at its completion.
Aramil bent over the half-elf and nudged her easily. She stirred slowly, her eyes batting open. Fearfully, the child threw her arms above her face in defense. Aramil grasped them gently and pulled them away.
“We’re not here to harm you, Ariel,” the rogue claimed. “Your father, Mayor Rowen has sent us to rescue you.” A large, beautiful smile broke through the bruised skin and she wrapped her arms tightly around Aramil’s leg. Aramil leaned backward, an uncertain expression plastered upon his face. He glanced at Ana but she merely shrugged and turned away.
Aramil pried the young girl’s hands from around his thigh and staggered away. He leaned against the hedge to rest his weary bones and slid to the ground. A sixth sense fired somewhere in the back of his mind and he turned around to search the plants. Inside the bush, the rogue’s hands sensed a deep impression or clearing. He scrabbled along the ground, sliding under the hedges. Inside the hedge, a small space large enough for a man was carefully trimmed. Lying on the ground was a wrapped piece of parchment. He snatched the letter and scrabbled out of the enclosure.
“What’ve you got there?” demanded Cassock, in the middle of applying a few spells to the bruised child’s face.
“Dunno, can’t read,” the rogue mumbled. He shoved the parchment toward the priest. Carefully, Cassock untied the black ribbon and unrolled the paper.
T~
Proceed with plan. Deliver corpse to bell tower. Cavalry on way. TM pleased.
~L
“It seems they meant to kill the prisoner, I mean Ariel,” the priest stuttered. “Did you see the face of the elf that did this to you?”
Ariel glanced down and nodded slowly. “He wasn’t an elf, though,” she said in a quiet voice. “He was human. But he was an elf too. It depended on whether or not he was wearing his ribbon.”
“What does it mean, the ‘cavalry is on the way’?” Ana queried. She was leaning over the priest’s shoulder, deciphering the rough handwriting.
Cassock grimaced. “Either there is a larger band moving this way or toward the town. I think we need to keep moving. If they’re heading here, we don’t want to be around when they arrive. If the cavalry is heading toward town, then your fa--…the mayor will need all the help he can get.” The priest stood up, slipping the parchment into his pouch. “Can you travel?” His stare focused upon Aramil.
“I’ll be fine,” the half-elf grumbled. He stretched his weary body and assumed the lead. Two steps toward the hall, Ariel’s hands were again wrapped about his legs [4]. From behind, he heard Gabrielle smacking her lips together in a mock kissing sound. Aramil fumed.
[5]
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[1] I chose to skip a bit here. Battle is all fine and great…but should be used sparingly in my opinion. I don’t want to be R.A. Salvatore.
[2] Ok, well maybe…not so silently. This is an example of Out-of-Character speech & emotion making the final cut into the SH update. Aramil’s player has the worst luck in existence. If something can go wrong, Murphy chooses to lay the smack down upon Aramil (for the most part). Of course, part of the blame does go to Aramil’s player because…well he usually just charges in like a lawful-stupid paladin, even though he’s a rogue.
[3] Another player’s speech made the final cut. Happycat turned to me, during the game, and questioned, “How am I supposed to feel about this girl who replaced me?” As a good DM I replied, “Dunno. How does it make you feel?” She never did talk to her adopted sister much…hmmm. Go easy on her folks, this is her first
real d20 game…and she’s practically new to the whole “roleplaying” aspect. For that matter, it’s Aramil’s and Gabrielle’s players first d20 game as well…guess I like noobies.
[4] Hey, she had to bond to someone…so why not the other half-elf? Its not like her sister was paying her any attention….
[5] Skipping a bit more battle that they pulled through quite easily. Goblins…heh…nothing but meat shields in my book. Although I have to spit this out…because in retrospect it was humorous….there was a pack of goblins that walked up to the party in the hedge maze…one of which was waving a wand at them and chattering incomprehensibly. He almost seemed to be trying to hand over the wand. At which point, Cassock delves into battle, smashing goblin heads left and right. When all the goblins have been slaughtered he examined the wand…it was a wand of cure light wounds with a couple dozen charges left on it. The goblin was trying to exchange the wand for its (and its companions) survival.
Moral of the story: Never offer a Priest of Cael a gift…unless you want to end up on the wrong side of a weapon.
…granted…I guess I did kinda push my players into a kill everything that moves mindset…
So, when next we pick up…I’ll be bypassing the sleepless journey back to the Town, picking up the story just outside the village and a not-so-pointless battle.
