The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)

[Richard Rawen]

Good Stuff! Every now and then I hand out a 'monster' to play instead of their PC's.
Last time it was Orc's, another time they were still human, just 'evil' humans. They always seem to enjoy getting to play the bad guys, even if only one session. This is a very enjoyable read I think for the same reason, sometimes it's fun to see behind the veil to what the anti-heroes are up to, how even they have to overcome obstacles to set in motion those plans that the heroes are always having to come ruin to save the day...

 

[Lazybones]

Sometimes the bad guys are fun to write as well. Although the protagonists in this story have been anything but "good" for the most part.

* * * * *

Chapter 16

LEVELS OF COMMITMENT


The mage sagged against the adjacent wall. Garish red streaks covered his face, hands, clothes; all of them had the look of victims of torture.

Ghazaran was using another healing wand to treat Falah, who stood quiescent, breathing heavily. The fighter’s neck and arms were covered with nasty wounds; large swathes of flesh looked to have been dissolved, revealing the muscles—and in one case a starkly white bone—beneath. But new flesh crept out from the damaged old to cover the openings as positive blue energy poured into the wounded man’s body, and within less than the span of a minute he was whole once more.

The cleric glanced over at the Seer while he worked. “Interesting. The creature appeared to have the properties of an ochre jelly, but with the color and consistency of blood.”

The Seer looked down at the smeared and sticky remains that covered the floor of the tunnel. “This is foolish. Our resources are being seriously depleted; we need to withdraw, rest. The inherent auras of the Ways interferes with some of my magic, but if we withdraw to the temple dungeon, I can conjure an extradimensional sanctuary that will provide complete security.”

Having finished with Falah, Ghazaran made a gesture, and the fighter took up a warding position at the mouth of the crossing passage where the blood jelly had attacked. The creature had dropped onto Falah from above without warning, and only blind luck had caused him to step aside at the last moment, letting the bulk of the creature land on the floor instead of on his head.

The cleric put away his healing wand and drew out another. “I will restore you again, if you are weary.”

The Seer waved a hand dismissively. “A dozen lesser restorations will not help; that magic only postpones the reckoning. I am nearly out of spells, and the attacks upon us grow more frequent.”

Ghazaran’s cool expression did not change. “We are still on the correct course to our destination?”

The Seer’s lips twisted into a sneer. “I will take you to the Bloodwraith’s lair. But it does us no good if we are too weak to overcome the Duke and his minions, when we arrive.”

“Leave that to me,” Ghazaran said. “And to him,” he said, indicating the vague form that remained in the mists, shadowing them.

The Seer could not fully repress a shudder. Navev was the real reason they had gotten this far. The mummy was virtually immune to the threats that populated the Bloodways, and in turn its invocations had proven devastating. It had been the eldritch blasts from the undead warlock that had finally destroyed the blood jelly, as they had the gelatinous cube, the devouring mists, and the blood golems before. The golems had been among the first, and the worst; the bloated slug-like things had emerged from th omnipresent mists and fallen on Zuur’ka without warning, killing the nycaloth almost before the rest of them could react. The delay provided by Ghazaran’s planar ally had given them a chance to defend themselves, and none of them felt any remorse at the sacrifice, but the Seer had been quick to note how the loss had compromised the physical strength of their company. He had encouraged retreat then, as well, but Ghazaran had been uncompromising in his commitment to their mission.

“How long have we been down here?” the Seer asked.

Ghazaran looked thoughtful for a moment. “Impossible to tell precisely, of course... but I would estimate perhaps six hours.”

“Six hours? It will soon be high sun in Camar. Jasek and Parzad will complete their mission, and will not be able to return. As I told you earlier, the Bloodways interfere with magical transportation.”

“It is of no concern. I directed a sending to Parzad before we entered the complex. They will wait for my communication before they break the tokens that I gave them.”

“What? That is a significant, and in my mind a foolish and unnecessary risk. The Camarians are not fools. They will seek out those that invaded their sanctum, and they may have the magical means to penetrate the wards that protect our pair. Jasek is resourceful, but even he cannot hide from a senior mage or high priest.”

“All the more reason to complete our mission quickly. How far are we from the Bloodwraith’s lair?”

The two men shared a hard stare for several moments. Finally, the Seer said, “Another hour, perhaps. Assuming that we are not attacked again, en route.”

“Then perhaps we should be on our way,” the cleric said. He gestured to Falah and Navev. The three of them moved into the intersection, and waited for the Seer to indicate their direction of travel.

The mage pushed off from the wall, and indicated the right tunnel. The four of them continued on, and were swallowed up by the red mists within a few steps, as though they had never existed at all.

 

[Cerulean_Wings]

The mage pushed off from the wall, and indicated the right tunnel. The four of them continued on, and were swallowed up by the red mists within a few steps, as though they had never existed at all.

That sentence = awesomeness

I like the way the bad guys deal with their issues, through silent stares, hidden agendas, and so much more that we're not aware of. Reminds me of Varo, but en-mass

I would've liked to read a detailed blood golem battle, though. Did we see one of those with the Doomed Bastards?

 

[Lazybones]

I would've liked to read a detailed blood golem battle, though. Did we see one of those with the Doomed Bastards?

Check chapter 262; I'm not sure which page of the thread it's on.

* * * * *

Chapter 17

THE LAIR OF THE BLOODWRAITH


Their entrance was dramatic.

The massive slab door exploded in a barrage of fragments, dust, and black energy. Falah stormed through the gap, his khopesh bare in his hands, a faint haze of magical protection shimmering around the outline of his body.

The minions of the Bloodwraith were waiting for him.

The chamber was larger than it looked, but the crowded interior and the density of the red mists gave it a cramped, close feeling. There were four doors, situated in the center of each wall, each flanked by a pair of upstanding stone sarcophagi. More of the large stone tombs were situated in the middle of the room, six of them surrounding and facing a larger one atop a raised platform in the center. The lids of the stone boxes had been carved into the shapes of armored warriors, stained by the red mists to look as though they were covered in blood. But the lids were ajar, the occupants of the tombs disgorged to meet the intruders into Duke Aerim’s sanctum.

Eight armored skeletons stood around the perimeter of the room, flanking the doors. The warriors bore long swords and battered shields that carried a faint but just discernable sigil, the design depicting a griffon clutching a burning sphere in its talons.

The two guardians nearest the shattered door lunged forward at Falah as the dust from the explosion began to settle. The fighter pivoted and blocked the swing of the first, but the second, striking from his unprotected flank, carved its blade into his armored side. The fighter’s mail held, but he grunted as the force of the impact staggered him. The skeletons were stronger than they looked, and grim red points of fire glowed within their hollow eye sockets. The skeletons lifted their swords to strike again, but behind the fighter dark energies flared, and the two creatures fell back, rebuked by a power greater than their own. But more were coming, moving around the perimeter of the room from the other doorways.

In the center of the room, six tall, lean creatures stepped forward to face the intruders. These figures still bore flesh upon their gaunt forms, but one look at the faces deep within the half-helms they wore was enough to reveal that they too were undead, augmented wights sustained by the dark power of the Bloodwraith. Each of these bore a greatsword in an archaic style, with thick quillons carved into the shape of hands that grasped globes of stylized fire. They moved ponderously, the crimson-encrusted chainmail covering their bodies swishing with their movements, but they formed into a line with the precision of the veteran warriors that they had been in life, and started forward as one toward the embattled Razhuri fighter.

But before they could close the distance enough to engage, the sword wights were caught up in a swarm of twisting, sinuous black tendrils that sprang up from the floor. Navev’s chilling tentacles filled the chamber, and while the undead guardians were not especially perturbed by the plummeting temperature within the invocation’s area of effect, they were inconvenienced as the tentacles wrapped around their legs and arms, holding them in place.

Ghazaran stood in the doorway, sheltered by Falah as the fighter laid into the nearer of the two bone warriors rebuked by the cleric. Scanning the mists, he pointed into the air above the great tomb in the center of the chamber. “There!”

A figure materialized out of the mists where the priest indicated. Descending from above, the insubstantial form of the Bloodwraith seemed to be as one with the surrounding mists, the tendrils of red fog drifting in and around its body. As it drew closer, they could begin to make out some of the details of its form. The wraith’s body was a vague outline, but it appeared to wear both armor and a shrouding robe, both in an archaic style that had faded from human knowledge hundreds of years ago.

Duke Aerim made a gesture, an imperious sweep of its hand that tore a swath through the surrounding mists. Ghazaran scanned the chamber for threats, but too late realized that the Bloodwraith had other surprises in store.

The cleric looked up in time to see the two huge devouring mists descending from above. He lifted his divine focus, but was too late to act before one of the things enveloped him. A chill pressed against his skin, and bright red points—real blood, this time—erupted all along his arms, neck, and face as the creature drew life from his body. He could not see, but Falah’s cry indicated that the second creature had found its target as well. The mists around him flashed bright red, and he realized that the monster was swelling as it absorbed his blood. Over it all he could just make out a distant, sepulchral laughter, a hollow sound as devoid of life as the monsters that surrounded them.

 

[Richard Rawen]

Q: "Can a band of condemned prisoners survive the horrors of Rappan Athuk?"
A: Yes, well most... erm, some of them!

Q: Can a band of evil cultists survive the horrors of Rappan Athuk?
A: Two down...

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 18(388)

THE DUKE OF BLOOD


Ghazaran could not see; everything was a haze of red. His nostrils and mouth were full of the scent and taste of blood. The noises of the surrounding room were muted by the roaring of his own pulse, pounding furiously, and all sensation was pain as the devouring mist tore more of his blood from his body.

And yet, in the midst of that assault upon his senses, the cleric maintained a concentration as sharp as a razor’s edge.

Positive energy flared from his hands, driving back the mists. The thing that engulfed him convulsed, and he could feel its pain. And upon his discharge of power came other attacks; black bolts of eldritch potency, and then a titanic bolt of electrical energy that tore through the mist, vaporizing it. The lightning... no, a chain lightning, Ghazaran realized, as the secondary arcs blasted through the other undead, was devastating, and most of the corporeal undead, snared by the chilling tentacles, had no chance of avoiding the worst of the blast.

Ghazaran blinked and rubbed his face to clear his eyes of the cloying blood. The second devouring mist, though obviously seriously damaged, was still attacking Falah, and the cleric could see tiny droplets of blood flaring as they emerged from the fighter’s skin and were drawn up into the creature. He was still fighting, but his own attacks were not having much effect upon the thing.

Looking up, he saw that the Bloodwraith was still hovering above them, out toward the center of the room. As the cleric watched, the Duke opened its mouth impossibly wide, disgorging a gout of red mist. The thing began to twist and surge forward as it grew, and within moments it had taken on the form of another devouring mist, ready to attack and feed upon their blood.

A loud clang of metal on metal drew Ghazaran’s attention back down; several of the sword wights had managed to struggle forward through the chilling tentacles, and Falah had matched swords with them, even as the devouring mist continued to harry him from above. The lighter bone warriors were having a tougher time, and had a longer distance to travel through the area of the invocation, but most of them were continuing to struggle forward, even as Navev’s tendrils continued to lash at their bodies.

Another eldritch blast from Navev ripped into the devouring mist above Falah, slicing through its gaseous substance like a harsh gust of wind dispersing fog. The mist, already damaged, came apart, droplets of unabsorbed blood falling to the ground in a patter around it. Navev’s bolt kept going and struck the mist descending from the Bloodwraith, but it dissipated against the creature’s resistances without causing harm.

Gharazan drew out a pair of wands, and stabbed one against Falah’s back, restoring some of the strength that the devouring mist’s blood drain had siphoned from him. The effort was timely, as the newest mist dropped upon them like a falling cloak, engulfing both cleric and fighter in its substance. Almost immediately Ghazaran could feel the prickling sensation upon his skin, as it began to tug at the blood flowing through his veins underneath the flesh. Again he found his vision obscured, but he could hear Falah grunt, presumably as he took another hit from the sword wights.

“Strike at the Duke!” he shouted, hoping that the others could hear him through the immaterial substance of the devouring mist. He lifted his second wand and triggered it, but the mist absorbed the positive energy without effect. Whether this was because the thing was freshly conjured by the Duke, or merely because the wand’s spellpower was insufficient, he was not certain. But what he did know was that he was starting to feel a bit light-headed from the loss of blood. He had depleted most of his more powerful spells fighting through the Temple of the Final Sacrament and the Bloodways, but like the Seer he had kept some power in reserve.

His heal spell shattered the resistances of the devouring mist like a hammer, and it jerked wildly in the air as it drew back, leaving behind a trail of falling red droplets. It did not get a chance to recover, as another eldritch blast tore through it en route to the Bloodwraith, and it dissolved back into the surrounding red fog as though it had never been at all.

Falah was on his feet, if barely, but his foes were likewise having great difficulty. The two sword wights that had won forward to engage the fighter had been seriously damaged by the chain lightning and the chilling tentacles, and first one, and then the other, came apart under the mighty swings of the Razhuri warrior’s khopesh. The fighter was far too canny a foe to rush forward to engage the others and risk being caught by the tentacles, so he waited for them to come to him, lopping the head off of the remaining bone warrior that remained rebuked nearby to pass the time.

The Bloodwraith remained above them, indistinct in its halo of mist, although a clear malevolence shone in its bright red eyes. Navev hit it with another eldritch blast, but like the first this one merely stabbed through its body without apparent effect. The Seer had drawn out a wand, and peppered it with a barrage of magic missiles, but while the streaking bolts each drew a ripple through the wraith’s form, it did not appear to react to the wounds.

Navev raised a hand as the last of the Bloodwraith’s servants collapsed, and the chilling tentacles dissolved back into the cracked stone of the crypt floor. Ghazaran stepped forward to the edge of the dais, and confronted the hovering form of the Bloodwraith, lifting his divine focus above his head. In his other hand he held a vial, thick with red fluid.

“By power and blood do I command you, Duke Aerim! Your eternal vigil has come to an end!”

A tremor passed through the undead thing as the cleric’s words echoed through the vault. But if Ghazaran expected some form of compliance or obescience, he was to be disappointed, as the wraith’s face twisted into a paroxysm of rage, and it descended upon him, arms spread like wings to enfold him in its grasp.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 19

BLOOD AND LIFE


As the Bloodwraith plummeted down to attack, Ghazaran crushed the vial he carried in his hand, and thrust it up to meet the descending creature. The cleric’s hard expression twisted with pain as his hand passed into the wraith’s substance, but he did not flinch away, stabbing deeper until his entire arm to the elbow was lost inside the shifting vapors that comprised the undead duke.

The effect upon the Bloodwraith was more dramatic. Its body convulsed, as though the cleric’s fist had been a spike that it had impaled itself upon. Its arms, which had been collapsing upon the cleric in its attack, flared back, and a deep, terrible groan issued from its open mouth. Flashes of energy could be seen within its body, like flickers of lightning witnessed within the depths of a storm.

Ghazaran turned his head, and shouted, “Navev!”

The mummy had entered the chamber proper, and at the cleric’s command it lifted a withered arm. Black tendrils of eldritch power were already gathering around its fingers, and this time, the blast tore deep into the substance of the Bloodwraith, tearing gashes in it that oozed trailers of red mist.

The unholy creature was clearly injured now, but as the initial shock of Ghazaran’s counter began to wear off it resumed its attack. Flashes still radiated out from the cleric’s fist, buried deep within the wraith’s body, but the creature, driven by an ancient and potent hatred, thrust itself down deeper, drawing its arms back down and pressing them around the cleric’s throat. Ghazaran was staggered by the creature’s fell power, and the others could see him waning, his flesh as pale as new snow where its insubstantial claws had brushed him. Falah tried to move to the aid of his lord, but the fighter was sorely wounded, and he fell within the outer ring of sarcophagi, leaving marks of bright blood against the ancient and weathered stone as he stumbled to his knees. Still he struggled, and he pushed himself up, wavering from the loss of so much blood from the touch of the devouring mists.

Navev blasted the Bloodwraith again, and again his assault tore at its body, but the creature remained focused upon Ghazaran. At first it seemed as though there could only be one outcome; the wraith appeared almost indestructible, while the cleric could barely stand. But then, as Ghazaran’s knee nearly brushed the floor, the priest called upon some desperate reservoir of strength, and he stood once more, driving his arm yet deeper into the wraith’s body, until his face almost brushed against the insubstantial visage of the Duke. The creature howled at him, but Ghazaran discharged a last flare of positive energy, the last such spell left within his reservoir of divine power. The unholy thing could not stand before that attack, and it dissolved with a last haunting screech that faded into nothing as the mists reclaimed the collapsing form of the Bloodwraith.

The cleric sagged against the nearest tomb, breathing heavily. He drew out one of his wands and activated it, drawing the power into himself to replace the blood and vitality lost in the desperate battle against the undead. Falah waited patiently a few feet away, leaning against another sarcophagus to keep from falling down. The cleric looked up as the Seer approached.

“Impressive,” the mage said. “I was not aware that blood magic was within your area of expertise.”

Ghazaran looked up as he drew more of his wand’s power into himself. As it depleted the last of its stored power he tossed it aside, and took another one from his pouch. He gestured to Falah to come over to him. He rubbed his other hand, covered with blood and shards of glass from the broken vial, on the edge of the stone tomb. “A minor ritual, something that I picked up in the jungles of Razhur.”

“The blood... how were you able to establish the connection to the wraith?”

The cleric touched his wand to one of Falah’s wounds, which closed as the blue flare of healing energy seeped into him. “The blood was that of the last descendant of the house of Aerim.”

The Seer raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware that any such existed. That must have been difficult to come by.”

“Indeed.” The cleric did not elaborate. Instead he stood, and gestured for Falah to join him on the bier in the center of the chamber. The Seer and Navev watched as the pair worked at the lid. Ghazaran drew out a pair of prybars of black metal, but even so it took the big Razhuri’s full strength to lift the heavy lid enough for the cleric to work his bar in enough to start levering it aside. It took another full minute of grunts and heavy effort before the stone lid toppled, landing hard on the adjacent floor with enough force to crack the stone.

The Seer joined them atop the dais, curious. The mists clung to the three of them as they looked into the interior of the tomb, but their magical lights gleamed off of bright metal inside.

The sole occupant of the tomb was a man long-dead. He had obviously been laid here in great state; his bones were still encased in armor, plate of silvery mithral chased in gold, and bearing the sigil of the house of Aerim upon the breastplate. A robe of cloth-of-gold covered much of his body, and a circlet of solid gold still rested upon the brow of the faded skull within the open helm. A greatsword lay at the skeleton’s side, its blade bare. None of the items showed any sign of decay or age.

The Seer raised an eyebrow. “What do you intend to do here? You should be aware that a powerful curse lies upon these artifacts, and further that the essence of the Bloodwraith is tied to them. You destroyed it once, but it will return, and it will follow anyone that takes any of these items.”

Ghazaran looked up. “I do not intend to steal the Duke’s possessions.”

The wizard’s expression darkened. “You had said that we needed the aid of the Bloodwraith, but it resisted your attempts to dominate it. So what more do you hope to gain?”

“I did not say that we needed the assistance of the Bloodwraith. I said that we needed the assistance of Duke Aerim.” He nodded to Falah; the warrior took up a warding position near the edge of the dais, facing the open doorway that led back out into the Bloodways. The priest reached into his pouch of holding and drew out a black vestment, which he put on over his armor.

“But... you cannot mean...”

Ghazaran met the wizard’s eyes briefly, but did not respond. The Seer looked down at the remains within the tomb, then back at the cleric. “The Duke has been dead for at least four hundred years, and probably closer to five. Even a true resurrection cannot bring back one gone so long, even if the soul can be found and channeled back to the Prime.”

At that comment, Ghazaran did smile slightly, a slight twist to his features. “You lack faith, friend.”

The Seer drew back a step as Ghazaran took up a position at the head of the open sarcophagus. In his black robe, he looked almost like an undead thing himself, its long folds trailing as he lifted his arms out over the remains of the once-legendary Duke. Aerim, who had led the armies of Good who had come to Rappan Athuk to destroy the legions of Orcus. Aerim, who had once been a consecrated knight, who had ultimately fallen before the devastating power of the Prince of the Undead. Aerim, who had served for centuries as the Bloodwraith, corrupted beyond human understanding into a foul, sinister thing by the dark energies resident within the Bloodways.

Ghazaran reached down and placed something upon the brow of the dead knight. It sparkled brilliantly upon the weathered bone, just below the golden circlet.

The Seer peered down at it, and then started in surprise. For once he betrayed amazement, as he looked back up at Ghazaran. “You have possession of chrysalium! The Tears of the Gods! Why did you not share this earlier?”

But Ghazaran had begun to incant, and the wizard could feel the power growing within the mists all around him, almost at once. Now alarmed, he started to back away, but as he turned he nearly ran into Navev, who had approached silently during their exchange. The mummy stared up at the priest with an unreadable mystery in its dead eyes, and as they shifted briefly to the Seer the man felt an icy cold like a dagger thrust deep within his insides. He stumbled away, falling against one of the tombs on the lower tier. Looking down at his hands, the mage saw that they were wet with blood, the omnipresent markings of the Bloodways.

The ritual continued unabated atop the dais, and the Seer could now see the magical currents that the priest was manipulating, even without the agency of arcane divination. The mists themselves were twisting around the tomb of the Duke, and the Seer could perceive a pulsing within them, like a heartbeat. He wanted to cover his ears and avert his eyes, almost overcome by the clashing powers that warred in this place. But the Seer was a creature of lust; not for the mundane matters of flesh that drove most of his kind, but for knowledge, secrets, hidden whispers and scattered fragments of lore lost to the eyes of man. It was that lust that had driven him to Rappan Athuk, the same that had cost him his name and his life... before. And it was the same that caused him to step not away from the dark rite being practiced here, but forward, until the edges of the swirling mists caressed him, and red flared before his eyes as the blood within them brushed his face.

He wiped his eyes, clearing them, and watched.

It was impossible to tell how long it took, caught within the maelstrom of mists and power. When it was done, the Seer was caught off guard for a moment; he blinked, his senses slowly returning to normal as the echoes of the ritual faded. His body felt as though he’d been stretched upon a rack, and his steps forward were halting. But he stepped up to the dais, and kept going, until he stood at the foot of the Duke’s tomb. Ghazaran was still there, clutching the edges of the sarcophagus as a support; the priest looked gaunt and frail.

But the man lying within the tomb was anything but. Clad within his armor, resplendent within the golden robe, he looked a lord, a prince, a knight. He looked to be about fifty, his beard and hair sparkled through liberally with gray, which added rather that detracted from his bearing. His features were strong, and even motionless he seemed to radiate a quiet charisma. He looked like a man just laid to rest, but the Seer could see his chest rising and falling in slow cadence.

The eyes of the Duke opened. For a moment they fluttered around, unfocused, vague. Then that haze of confusion dissipated, and his stare shifted toward the Seer, and sharpened.

In that moment, the wizard knew that Ghazaran had been right, and he understood why they needed Duke Aerim’s help.

 

[Cerulean_Wings]

Ahh, clerics... defying what's possible and what isn't every adventure!

Nice updates, Lazy Bones, I'm dying to see what the Duke can offer, and what his items do in battle

 

[Lazybones]

I started writing again today, after a hiatus of about a month where I'd either been a) away from my computer, or b) sick as a dog. Fortunately I was near the end of the story when I stopped, so it hasn't interfered with my posting schedule.

Since I'm near the end of the story now, both in terms of writing and in posting, I think I might wrap up the Doomed Bastards and start a 4e story next. I haven't preordered Keep on the Shadowfell yet, but I have both that and the 4e core rules boxed set in my cart on Amazon. I have prepared a number of character sketches, but I don't know a lot about the rules system yet except for what's been discussed in the 4e forum here at ENWorld. What I've seen leaves me cautiously optimistic.

I'm also starting a new Neverwinter Nights campaign soon that will run on Saturday mornings. If any of you loyal readers are still playing that game, look me up at Neverwinter Connections; I will likely have some open slots.

* * * * *

Chapter 20

EMERGENCE


When they emerged from the depths of the Temple of the Final Sacrament, the day was already deepening into twilight, the light of the fading sun muted by dense clouds overhead and the twisting branches of the surrounding forest. The companions that had delved into the Bloodways showed the signs of their nearly sixteen hours underground; all were exhausted and dirty, save for Zafir Navev, who trailed behind the others, silent and deadly.

Duke Aerim stood at the threshold of the ancient temple, and stared thoughtfully into the open air beyond. The former Bloodwraith had been quiet for most of their journey back to the surface. At first he had seemed somewhat dazed, overcome by the transition back to life, but the further they had gotten from the tomb within the Bloodways, the stronger he had gotten. Ghazaran had spent most of the trip back up in close consultation with the resurrected lord, but Aerim had said little, stirring out of his quiescence only when they were assaulted by a blood golem in the Ways. The thing had seemed confused, and Aerim’s blade had torn it into fragments almost before it could marshal an effective attack.

They had all washed with water conjured by Ghazaran once they’d finally escaped the Bloodways and returned to the dungeons under the Temple of the Final Sacrament, but all of their garments remained sodden with streaks of red, giving them all a rough, barbaric look. Faint red outlines of their footprints trailed down the steps behind them, a marker of their passage.

The Seer exchanged a few words with Ghazaran, and then walked away, out into the clearing surrounding the temple. He did not go far before casting a spell, summoning a shimmering doorway of magical energy into which he vanished. Whatever magical portal he had created disappeared behind him, a few seconds after he had departed.

Ghazaran cast a spell as well, a sending. Within a few seconds, there was a shimmer in the air, and both Jasek and Parzad appeared, clad in plain, functional garments that would have drawn little attention in Camar, or any other city across the world.

“It’s about freaking time,” Jasek said, as he looked around their surroundings. An eyebrow came up as he saw Aerim, but the Duke seemed barely interested in their affairs, even when they involved the sudden disappearance or appearance of members of their company. “Half the city is looking for us, and I was going to have to...”

“It was necessary,” Ghazaran interrupted. He looked at Parzad. “You have it?”

The wilder nodded. He drew out a leather wrap, and handed it to Ghazaran. The cleric’s eyes grew covetous as he unwrapped the package, but he only glanced at the flash of yellow within before he closed it and tucked it into his pouch. He looked over at Navev, who returned the gaze without reaction. Parzad also handed over a small bundle of leather scroll cases, which the priest examined in more detail. “Excellent, excellent. These will prove quite useful. You have done well.”

“Your information was good,” Jasek admitted. “They weren’t ready for us.”

“Others have intervened; our foes have gained more knowledge, and will likely try to stop us.”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to get moving?” Jasek asked.

“I am cognizant of the needs for urgency, but there are preparations that must be made first. Secure a camp near the temple,” he told them. “I will require solitude inside; do not intrude, even if you detect odd noises or lights within.”

“What if we come under attack?” Jasek asked. “The Camarians have wizards and clerics too, you know.”

“I do not believe that they will be able to reach us before dawn, and we will be well on our way to our ultimate goal by then. If they prove more adaptable than we thought, then feel free to take whatever actions you feel are appropriate. I trust to your resourcefulness, Jasek.”

“Somehow I am not reassured,” the rogue said, but he nodded, already scanning the area for the best spot to camp. “What about him?” he said, indicating the Duke, still standing facing away from them, at the top of the Temple steps.

“Leave Duke Aerim to me,” Ghazaran said.

As the others headed outside to begin their preparations for their camp, the cleric walked over to Aerim. The Duke stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, obscuring his sigil. His golden robe was a bit threadbare, but remained remarkably intact for its age.

Aerim acknowledged him with a faint inclination of his head. “I am grateful for removing me from that... existence,” he said. “But I have no interest in this scheme of yours.”

“You will have the opportunity to gain vengeance against those who sent you into peril, and abandoned you in the depths of the world below,” the cleric said.

Aerim’s hands tightened into fists, indicating that he had not forgotten, but still he shook his head. “This Camar of yours is alien to me,” he said. “The people responsible for my fate are all dead, along with their descendants, and those who followed, for hundreds of years. I do not know this world, but I would look upon it, ere I judge my path.”

“Alone?”

“Such appears to be my lot.”

“Perhaps not.” Something in his voice made the Duke turn, and see the object that the cleric was holding in his hand.

It was a small silver locket, dangling on a thin chain. Aerim took it, staring at it in his hand. “Alyse,” he said, the word thick in his throat.

“The legends say that all that you loved suffered for your fall.”

Aerim looked at the cleric, and there was a promise of death in his eyes.

“Orcus and his cult have been laid low; that vengeance is denied you. But neither do you owe the wretched people of this world any allegiance. Help me release the Ravager from its prison, and I will restore your wife to you, using the same power that I summoned to draw you from your suffering, back to the world of the living. From there, you can determine your fate by your own will, and not the failings of others.”

Aerim’s anger did not abate, but it had shifted from the cleric. He looked down at the locket. “Why did you bring me back, priest?”

“You were the finest swordsman of your age.”

“Swords are cheap enough, in this or any age. Do not trifle with me; speak truth, or I will take your life before I take my leave.”

“I shall deliver it to you, then. You know already that I serve ancient and powerful gods. They told me how to release you, now that the Demon is defeated, and they told me that you were the key to the successful completion of my quest.”

“But why? I am just a man.”

“No. You were, and are, more. I freed you from the prison of the Bloodways, but the power of that place still flows in your veins. You are Aerim, but you are also Aegis, the weapon of ages, the blade against which the pain of the world will be wrought.”

Aerim was silent for a long moment. Finally, he closed the hand holding the locket into a fist, and lowered it to his side.

“So be it. But if you deceive me, know that I will see that your suffering rivals mine, before you die.”

Ghazaran nodded calmly. “Agreed.”

 

[Cerulean_Wings]

Yay! Nice to read you're back on your feet and ready to do more awesomeness, Lazy Bones

You're writing a 4e story hour? Even more awesome! I'm optimistic about 4e as well, so I'm overjoyed that you're writing about it

Come to think of it, your first name doesn't suit you; you're anything but "lazy"