The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Son_of_Thunder
Explorer
Hurrah for Lazybones!
Ah Lazybones, it's good to see a new story hour from you. I still remember reading the first installment of Travels through the Wild West. I'm looking forward to this very much.
Thanks for sharing your talent.
Ah Lazybones, it's good to see a new story hour from you. I still remember reading the first installment of Travels through the Wild West. I'm looking forward to this very much.
Thanks for sharing your talent.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks for all the support! It's stuff like this that motivate me to keep writing, and writing, and writing... 
I don't want to be coy, but I'm going to defer on this question for now because a) to share too much might reveal some spoilers; and b) some of them are still coming together in my own mind. At this point I just have a sketched out list of some broad plot ideas for way down the road, and some of the characters might evolve considerably before then. Suffice it to say that there will likely be more than a few surprises with regards to these characters.
I'd be interested in hearing what you the readers think at this point with regards to character alignment thus far. Might help me gauge if I'm getting the personalities across as intended.
But I'll share one: Ukas is CN. Heh, maybe that one was a bit too obvious.
I managed to punch out a good chunk of story today. As always my schedule is unpredictable, but if my current pace keeps up, I may be able to eventually commit to a regular M-W-F update schedule like I did with The Shackled City. The posts are tending to be a bit longer than usual for me thus far, but I'm sure there will be the usual crop of cliffhangers for those folks who gave me my ENWorld custom title.
For now, here's the conclusion of the first encounter:
* * * * *
Chapter 5
THE GUARDIANS
“We are pretty damned screwed,” Dar said, as he struggled to keep his feet as the gargoyle ravaged his back. He was already starting to feel woozy from loss of blood.
But then the weight fell away from him. He spun to see the gargoyle frantically struggling, trying to dislodge the weight of the Mad Elf from its back. The elf had gotten a dagger from somewhere, and was thrusting it in rapid succession into the gargoyle’s neck. Thus far he didn’t seem to be doing a lot of damage, but he’d certainly distracted it.
There was no time to be grateful for his opportunity, as Dar’s second foe surged at him again. “To the hells with it,” the fighter growled, shucking his shield and taking up his sword with both hands. He met the gargoyle’s rush with a loud cry, using his full strength to drive the blade hard into its chest. The sword hit the creature’s stony hide and kept going, piercing its chest. Dar kept pushing, driving the gargoyle back, ignoring its claws as they tore at his arms. He didn’t stop until the crossguard of the sword met its skin, until the gargoyle toppled over backwards. Its body cracked, crevices expanding outward from the terrible wound, and it crumbled into dust as it died.
“Well, that’s one,” Dar said, swaying as he stood over the creature’s remains.
Varo’s enemy, stung by the cleric’s power, regarded him with a new caution. The priest just stood there, waiting, a nasty look in his eyes. For a full second, two, the adversaries just watched each other. Then, with a shriek, the gargoyle rushed forward. Varo again just waited, and as the gargoyle slashed at him, he reached forward and seized the creature’s skull with his hands. Once more the dark power of his god flowed at his call, and the gargoyle staggered as cracks spread out across its head. Its black eyes flashed, and its body came apart as the second inflict spell ended it.
Navev, paralyzed by the claws of the gargoyles, could do nothing to avert his death as the gargoyles took him from the field of battle. But even as he lifted higher into the air, he felt a sudden weight tug at him.
The gargoyles felt it too, and looked down to see Velan Tiros holding onto the warlock’s ankle, the aged marshal’s weight dragging the two of them down despite the efforts of the two gargoyles. The marshal’s magical sword shone in his other hand, but the gargoyles were too far out of reach for him to bring it into play. For a moment, the scene was almost comical, the two creatures and two humans fluttering along drunkenly, lurching back and forth in the general direction of the mausoleum. That image lasted only until Tiros’s original foe slammed into the marshal from behind. The gargoyle had been seriously wounded, but when Tiros had gone to Navev’s aid, it had been quick to rejoin the fight. The force of the impact was enough to jar Navev from the grasp of the two flying gargoyles, and all three of them—Navev, Tiros, and Tiros’s enemy—fell hard to the ground in a heap.
Tiros’s sword went flying from his grasp. He tried to stand, but took a claw hard across the face, and collapsed. He did not get up.
The two gargoyles that had seized Navev flapped to the ground almost casually a few feet away. The one that had taken down the marshal got back to its feet, and reached down to put a final end to what it had begun.
All three gargoyles turned as a loud cry echoed across the battlefield.
Ukas the barbarian came rushing forward, holding a massive granite grave marker above his head. The gargoyles shrieked and turned to face the charging half-orc, but all the first one got was fifty pounds of stone slammed down upon its head. The blow drove the gargoyle’s skull down to where its liver would have been, if it had been a normal creature. The creature crumbled and came apart, its gemstone eyes clattering to the ground at its feet.
The other two gargoyles swung out to flank the barbarian, their claws extended. Ukas took a beating, blood spraying from his wounds until his attackers were splattered with red smears. But somehow the barbarian remained standing, swinging blindly about with the headstone. He clipped a gargoyle hard across the shoulder, knocking it back, but the blow also was the final straw for the beaten old slab, which came apart in a shatter of debris.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, another shriek announced the arrival of yet another gargoyle behind him. The creature still trailed the barbarian’s chain, tangled hopelessly around its leg, but it still looked as though it had a lot of fight left in it.
Ukas turned and saw it coming. The barbarian’s left eye was swollen and covered with blood, half blinding him, and his left arm was a mess of shredded flesh, with the white of bone showing at one gory point. But the half-orc raged on, and he laughed as more foes came upon him.
Swarming upon the half-orc, the gargoyles failed to notice another threat, until it was standing right behind them.
“Hey, ugly.”
The gargoyle turned in time to take two feet of blue steel through its gut. The gargoyle screamed and collapsed as Dar drove Tiros’s magical weapon into its body. The second gargoyle broke away from the half-orc and leapt at the fighter from the side, but Dar whipped the sword up and took its left claw off at the wrist.
“Damn,” the fighter said, grinning now despite his still-serious wounds.
Varo had helped the elf put down the last gargoyle on their side of the battlefield, using another spontaneous inflict spell to kill the creature. The elf skittered off as the cleric ran toward the others, careful to give the still-battling combatants a decent berth as he made his way toward where Tiros and Navev had fallen.
The remaining gargoyles continued to press their attack. Ukas seized one in a choke-hold, tightening his grip even as it continued to savage his limbs with its claws. Dar was struck by the other claw of the one he’d hurt, and he nearly went down, barely recovering in time to avoid its next rush. It leapt into the air and dove down on him, and it was luck more than anything else that brought his sword up in time to meet its descending body. The two collided, hard, and this time when the fighter fell, he groaned and lay there, unable to rise.
The gargoyle stepped forward, itself critically hurt. No blood came from the severed stump of its right hand, but cracks covered its body from the rough treatment it had suffered.
It reached for Dar, but then its head exploded as an eldritch blast caught it an inch below its right ear. Navev lay in a bloody heap, the red glow shining eerily from his eyes, but at least he was moving.
The battle was over. Ukas stood over his last foe as it crumbled, wavering as his rage began to wane. He would have died, most likely, had not Varo reached him in that moment with a healing spell. Even with that intervention, he could barely stand.
Tiros, likewise battered to within an inch of his life, recovered his sword from where it lay beside the bleeding Dar. The cleric, now armed with a slender ebon wand, came to the fighter’s aid next, and brought him back to full consciousness. The fighter looked at both the wand and the marshal’s sword, which vanished with a flick of his wrist.
“Been holding out on us?” he asked, the comment directed to both the cleric and the marshal. He started to rise, but only made it to a crouch as blood oozed anew from several deep gashes in his arms and torso.
“Hold still,” Varo said, applying more of the magic of his device. “This wand and another were in the box that Valus gave me. They are among the least potent of their kind, but they will save your life if you stop floundering about and let them work.”
“What about that sword?” Dar said.
“One of the guards smuggled it to me,” Tiros said. “We should get moving—the mists obscure this place, but no doubt the Duke’s men monitored the battle, and if they suspect that I hold Valor, they will no doubt take it as a prize for their master.”
Dar wiped a hand over his face; the gesture only ended up smearing more blood across his features. He grimaced, and stood. With more of Varo’s healing taking effect, he could now do so unassisted. “How much power does that thing have?”
“It was fully charged, but another battle like that, and that will be it,” Varo said, returning to Tiros and Navev.
“Damn,” the fighter said, looking around. “We haven’t even gotten inside yet, and already we’ve gotten our asses kicked.”
“At least we survived,” Tiros replied. He looked tired, but also determined as he wiped blood of his arms with a dirty rag. Varo healed him until all of his cuts stopped bleeding and sealed shut, then turned to help Navev. The half-orc recovered his chain from the ruin of the last gargoyle. There was no sign of the elf, but they could almost feel him nearby, watching. And in any case, as long as Tiros wore the ring bound to the mad creature’s collar, there was no place else he could go.
All that was left of the gargoyles was green rubble and their gemstone eyes, ovoids of black jet. Dar started picking up the latter, dropping the precious stones into a pouch.
“What are you doing?” Tiros asked.
“Getting paid,” the mercenary answered.
Tonks said:
I don't want to be coy, but I'm going to defer on this question for now because a) to share too much might reveal some spoilers; and b) some of them are still coming together in my own mind. At this point I just have a sketched out list of some broad plot ideas for way down the road, and some of the characters might evolve considerably before then. Suffice it to say that there will likely be more than a few surprises with regards to these characters.
I'd be interested in hearing what you the readers think at this point with regards to character alignment thus far. Might help me gauge if I'm getting the personalities across as intended.
But I'll share one: Ukas is CN. Heh, maybe that one was a bit too obvious.
I managed to punch out a good chunk of story today. As always my schedule is unpredictable, but if my current pace keeps up, I may be able to eventually commit to a regular M-W-F update schedule like I did with The Shackled City. The posts are tending to be a bit longer than usual for me thus far, but I'm sure there will be the usual crop of cliffhangers for those folks who gave me my ENWorld custom title.
For now, here's the conclusion of the first encounter:
* * * * *
Chapter 5
THE GUARDIANS
“We are pretty damned screwed,” Dar said, as he struggled to keep his feet as the gargoyle ravaged his back. He was already starting to feel woozy from loss of blood.
But then the weight fell away from him. He spun to see the gargoyle frantically struggling, trying to dislodge the weight of the Mad Elf from its back. The elf had gotten a dagger from somewhere, and was thrusting it in rapid succession into the gargoyle’s neck. Thus far he didn’t seem to be doing a lot of damage, but he’d certainly distracted it.
There was no time to be grateful for his opportunity, as Dar’s second foe surged at him again. “To the hells with it,” the fighter growled, shucking his shield and taking up his sword with both hands. He met the gargoyle’s rush with a loud cry, using his full strength to drive the blade hard into its chest. The sword hit the creature’s stony hide and kept going, piercing its chest. Dar kept pushing, driving the gargoyle back, ignoring its claws as they tore at his arms. He didn’t stop until the crossguard of the sword met its skin, until the gargoyle toppled over backwards. Its body cracked, crevices expanding outward from the terrible wound, and it crumbled into dust as it died.
“Well, that’s one,” Dar said, swaying as he stood over the creature’s remains.
Varo’s enemy, stung by the cleric’s power, regarded him with a new caution. The priest just stood there, waiting, a nasty look in his eyes. For a full second, two, the adversaries just watched each other. Then, with a shriek, the gargoyle rushed forward. Varo again just waited, and as the gargoyle slashed at him, he reached forward and seized the creature’s skull with his hands. Once more the dark power of his god flowed at his call, and the gargoyle staggered as cracks spread out across its head. Its black eyes flashed, and its body came apart as the second inflict spell ended it.
Navev, paralyzed by the claws of the gargoyles, could do nothing to avert his death as the gargoyles took him from the field of battle. But even as he lifted higher into the air, he felt a sudden weight tug at him.
The gargoyles felt it too, and looked down to see Velan Tiros holding onto the warlock’s ankle, the aged marshal’s weight dragging the two of them down despite the efforts of the two gargoyles. The marshal’s magical sword shone in his other hand, but the gargoyles were too far out of reach for him to bring it into play. For a moment, the scene was almost comical, the two creatures and two humans fluttering along drunkenly, lurching back and forth in the general direction of the mausoleum. That image lasted only until Tiros’s original foe slammed into the marshal from behind. The gargoyle had been seriously wounded, but when Tiros had gone to Navev’s aid, it had been quick to rejoin the fight. The force of the impact was enough to jar Navev from the grasp of the two flying gargoyles, and all three of them—Navev, Tiros, and Tiros’s enemy—fell hard to the ground in a heap.
Tiros’s sword went flying from his grasp. He tried to stand, but took a claw hard across the face, and collapsed. He did not get up.
The two gargoyles that had seized Navev flapped to the ground almost casually a few feet away. The one that had taken down the marshal got back to its feet, and reached down to put a final end to what it had begun.
All three gargoyles turned as a loud cry echoed across the battlefield.
Ukas the barbarian came rushing forward, holding a massive granite grave marker above his head. The gargoyles shrieked and turned to face the charging half-orc, but all the first one got was fifty pounds of stone slammed down upon its head. The blow drove the gargoyle’s skull down to where its liver would have been, if it had been a normal creature. The creature crumbled and came apart, its gemstone eyes clattering to the ground at its feet.
The other two gargoyles swung out to flank the barbarian, their claws extended. Ukas took a beating, blood spraying from his wounds until his attackers were splattered with red smears. But somehow the barbarian remained standing, swinging blindly about with the headstone. He clipped a gargoyle hard across the shoulder, knocking it back, but the blow also was the final straw for the beaten old slab, which came apart in a shatter of debris.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, another shriek announced the arrival of yet another gargoyle behind him. The creature still trailed the barbarian’s chain, tangled hopelessly around its leg, but it still looked as though it had a lot of fight left in it.
Ukas turned and saw it coming. The barbarian’s left eye was swollen and covered with blood, half blinding him, and his left arm was a mess of shredded flesh, with the white of bone showing at one gory point. But the half-orc raged on, and he laughed as more foes came upon him.
Swarming upon the half-orc, the gargoyles failed to notice another threat, until it was standing right behind them.
“Hey, ugly.”
The gargoyle turned in time to take two feet of blue steel through its gut. The gargoyle screamed and collapsed as Dar drove Tiros’s magical weapon into its body. The second gargoyle broke away from the half-orc and leapt at the fighter from the side, but Dar whipped the sword up and took its left claw off at the wrist.
“Damn,” the fighter said, grinning now despite his still-serious wounds.
Varo had helped the elf put down the last gargoyle on their side of the battlefield, using another spontaneous inflict spell to kill the creature. The elf skittered off as the cleric ran toward the others, careful to give the still-battling combatants a decent berth as he made his way toward where Tiros and Navev had fallen.
The remaining gargoyles continued to press their attack. Ukas seized one in a choke-hold, tightening his grip even as it continued to savage his limbs with its claws. Dar was struck by the other claw of the one he’d hurt, and he nearly went down, barely recovering in time to avoid its next rush. It leapt into the air and dove down on him, and it was luck more than anything else that brought his sword up in time to meet its descending body. The two collided, hard, and this time when the fighter fell, he groaned and lay there, unable to rise.
The gargoyle stepped forward, itself critically hurt. No blood came from the severed stump of its right hand, but cracks covered its body from the rough treatment it had suffered.
It reached for Dar, but then its head exploded as an eldritch blast caught it an inch below its right ear. Navev lay in a bloody heap, the red glow shining eerily from his eyes, but at least he was moving.
The battle was over. Ukas stood over his last foe as it crumbled, wavering as his rage began to wane. He would have died, most likely, had not Varo reached him in that moment with a healing spell. Even with that intervention, he could barely stand.
Tiros, likewise battered to within an inch of his life, recovered his sword from where it lay beside the bleeding Dar. The cleric, now armed with a slender ebon wand, came to the fighter’s aid next, and brought him back to full consciousness. The fighter looked at both the wand and the marshal’s sword, which vanished with a flick of his wrist.
“Been holding out on us?” he asked, the comment directed to both the cleric and the marshal. He started to rise, but only made it to a crouch as blood oozed anew from several deep gashes in his arms and torso.
“Hold still,” Varo said, applying more of the magic of his device. “This wand and another were in the box that Valus gave me. They are among the least potent of their kind, but they will save your life if you stop floundering about and let them work.”
“What about that sword?” Dar said.
“One of the guards smuggled it to me,” Tiros said. “We should get moving—the mists obscure this place, but no doubt the Duke’s men monitored the battle, and if they suspect that I hold Valor, they will no doubt take it as a prize for their master.”
Dar wiped a hand over his face; the gesture only ended up smearing more blood across his features. He grimaced, and stood. With more of Varo’s healing taking effect, he could now do so unassisted. “How much power does that thing have?”
“It was fully charged, but another battle like that, and that will be it,” Varo said, returning to Tiros and Navev.
“Damn,” the fighter said, looking around. “We haven’t even gotten inside yet, and already we’ve gotten our asses kicked.”
“At least we survived,” Tiros replied. He looked tired, but also determined as he wiped blood of his arms with a dirty rag. Varo healed him until all of his cuts stopped bleeding and sealed shut, then turned to help Navev. The half-orc recovered his chain from the ruin of the last gargoyle. There was no sign of the elf, but they could almost feel him nearby, watching. And in any case, as long as Tiros wore the ring bound to the mad creature’s collar, there was no place else he could go.
All that was left of the gargoyles was green rubble and their gemstone eyes, ovoids of black jet. Dar started picking up the latter, dropping the precious stones into a pouch.
“What are you doing?” Tiros asked.
“Getting paid,” the mercenary answered.
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Synchronicity
First Post
Any statistics on that magic sword of the Marshal's, Lazybones? Or would that, again, reveal more than you'd like at this time?
Curiously,
Synch.
Curiously,
Synch.
Poor Warlock guy, I was soon he was a goner. Reminds me of my first Warlock (and the only one) I have ever played. He died in our first session in a first battle because of the similar reason. I mean, c'mon, what are the chances that my character was the only one of five of us who was capable of attacking from range...
It's even more ironical that the battle where he died was supposed to be a pretext to the campaign - not a serious one. We were fighting a priest of Nerull that had cast a spell similar to spider climb and went up a pillar. Others couldn't reach him so my char was the only one who could hurt him. Of course that priest happened to possess a nifty spell called spiritual weapon and naturally spiritual weapon of Nerull's priest is scythe. For those who don't know, Scythe has crit modifier x4/20. Guess if the priest critted and if my char was the target?
By the way, I'm seriously starting to think that arcane casters don't pull their weight in fights when compared to melees. I mean, in above situations it was fighters and cleric doing all the job, also in shackled city arcane casters really didn't provide that much. Naturally this is fiction but I have noticed the same in DnD too.
Of course it is possible to build an effective wizard/sorcerer/warlock but it often takes multiple levels and really careful planning. Plus before you reach high levels, your resources are veeeery limited and once you are out of them (spells) you are pretty useless.
Now my next Warlock is gonna be carefully planned: spider walk, entropic warding and eldritch spear. Just walk on across the ceiling and blast everything within 250 ft range. Since it's not likely you will initially face a lot melee enemies that can fly, that's pretty safe. I also considered darkness, devil's sight and eldritch spear but I can't find a plausible rp reason to swap darkness and devil's sight later on out for invisibility and see the unseen. Later on the plan involves chilling tentacles and walk unseen (swapped out for retributive invisibility).
Oh ya and this seems like a beginning for a great story. I'll be following the warlock guy with interest to see how well he fares.
It's even more ironical that the battle where he died was supposed to be a pretext to the campaign - not a serious one. We were fighting a priest of Nerull that had cast a spell similar to spider climb and went up a pillar. Others couldn't reach him so my char was the only one who could hurt him. Of course that priest happened to possess a nifty spell called spiritual weapon and naturally spiritual weapon of Nerull's priest is scythe. For those who don't know, Scythe has crit modifier x4/20. Guess if the priest critted and if my char was the target?
By the way, I'm seriously starting to think that arcane casters don't pull their weight in fights when compared to melees. I mean, in above situations it was fighters and cleric doing all the job, also in shackled city arcane casters really didn't provide that much. Naturally this is fiction but I have noticed the same in DnD too.
Of course it is possible to build an effective wizard/sorcerer/warlock but it often takes multiple levels and really careful planning. Plus before you reach high levels, your resources are veeeery limited and once you are out of them (spells) you are pretty useless.
Now my next Warlock is gonna be carefully planned: spider walk, entropic warding and eldritch spear. Just walk on across the ceiling and blast everything within 250 ft range. Since it's not likely you will initially face a lot melee enemies that can fly, that's pretty safe. I also considered darkness, devil's sight and eldritch spear but I can't find a plausible rp reason to swap darkness and devil's sight later on out for invisibility and see the unseen. Later on the plan involves chilling tentacles and walk unseen (swapped out for retributive invisibility).
Oh ya and this seems like a beginning for a great story. I'll be following the warlock guy with interest to see how well he fares.
Here are my takes on the alignments of each of the chars thus far. While I don’t know where they will go, or how accurate I may be this is my best guess.
Mad Elf: Chaotic Evil
Corath Dar: Lawful Neutral
Ukas Half-Orc: Chaotic Neutral
Zafir Navev: Lawful Evil
Licinius Varo: Neutral Evil
Velan Tiros: Lawful Neutral
These guesses were formed by their initial descriptions of their crimes and from my take on how they have been acting since the release and entrance into the dungeon. Like I said, I know I am most likely way off, but thought I would try to guess all the same.
Great work so far!
Mad Elf: Chaotic Evil
Corath Dar: Lawful Neutral
Ukas Half-Orc: Chaotic Neutral
Zafir Navev: Lawful Evil
Licinius Varo: Neutral Evil
Velan Tiros: Lawful Neutral
These guesses were formed by their initial descriptions of their crimes and from my take on how they have been acting since the release and entrance into the dungeon. Like I said, I know I am most likely way off, but thought I would try to guess all the same.
Great work so far!
Tonks said:
I'm taking a different approach. I think the alignments are as follows:
Made Elf: Chaotic Good (he seems evil, but I think he's just a caged animal)
Dar: Chaotic Neutral
Ukas: Chaotic Neutral
Zafir Navev: Neutral (I don't think he's evil, just misunderstood)
Varo: Lawful Evil
Velan Tiros: Lawful Neutral
Lazybones
Adventurer
I guess it depends on the build and the situation. In my Shackled City story, my arcane casters were kind of gimped, in that Zenna died before the mystic theurge class really hit its sweet spot, and Cal had 4 bard levels that didn't really help him once he got into the teens. Plus Cal was more of a "utility caster" than a blaster-mage. Even so, especially at the higher levels there are places where an arcanist can accomplish some pretty awesome effects, including one-shotting tough bad guys, and neutralizing powers that would otherwise kill sword-swingers.Beregar said:
But I am still unsure about the warlock. I guess that's one reason I put one in this story, to see how it works out in "play".
Tonks and Canaan: good guesses, both of you. I wonder what will happen if I ask the same question at post 100. While I've been working on some long-term plot ideas this week, as always the characters will sort of end up taking their own path.
Another update:
* * * * *
Chapter 6
THE SEPULCHER
Once they had recovered from the ordeal of the battle, the Doomed Bastards turned their attention back to the mausoleum. The great iron doors were carved with desperate scenes of violence; great demonic things were represented in the cold metal. All of the companions, with the exception of Varo, shuddered at the sight. The expression on the cleric’s face was unreadable, but something powerful burned in his eyes as he scanned the graven portals.
The huge portals were secured with an obvious lock in a recess within the seam that joined the doors. Tiros went forward, wary, and knelt to examine the mechanism, careful not to touch anything that might be trapped.
“Dwarvish, I think,” he reported, after a few moments. “Pretty complex. In good condition, all things considered.”
“We should have the elf open it,” Dar said. “He’s supposed to be the thief, right?” They all turned to look at the elf, which shrank back under their scrutiny. He looked ready to bolt, magical collar or no.
“I don’t think that he will be of much use in this matter,” Varo said. “Generally even exceptional rogues need tools for this sort of thing.”
“Well, Ukas then,” Dar replied. The half-orc flicked a booger in the general direction of Navev, who jumped back. Then he hefted his chain, and smiled as he started toward the door.
“No, wait,” Tiros said. “Wait!” he repeated, stepping in front of Ukas to block the half-orc’s progress. The barbarian looked down at the man—a full foot shorter than he—with a growl at being deprived the opportunity to smash something. “I just want to check one thing first; it won’t take but a minute or two.”
“Given the likelihood of traps in this place, I think that caution might be the best course,” Varo said. “Especially since the first obstacle proved so... challenging.”
“Fine, let’s go,” Dar said, turning to follow Tiros as the marshal led them back up the steps to the graveyard. “But best be quick. I don’t want to be stuck in this place after nightfall, and I doubt the soldiers will be welcoming us to their bivouac.”
The old warrior’s destination wasn’t far off, and was in fact visible from the top of the steps, a dark shadow situated more or less in the center of the dell. It was a statue, a stone monument that resolved out of the fog and twilight into the shape of an armored dwarf. The figure was weathered, with the details of its carving worn away by the passage of years. But there was still something noble in the ancient figure’s bearing, and its stance, with a battle axe at the ready, suggested that it might leap off its pedestal into the fray at a moment’s notice.
“Well?” Dar asked.
“I saw this as we were coming in,” Tiros said. “A dwarvish monument, and a dwarvish seal on the entrance? I thought it might be significant.”
“For this you dragged us over here?” Dar began, but stopped as the mad elf crept forward. The others watched as the ragged creature reached the pedestal, and started moving around it in a slow circuit, running his fingers across the stone.
“What’s he—“ Dar said, only to be interrupted by a raised hand from Varo.
A moment later, they heard a clearly audible click, and a small stone panel popped open in the side of the pedestal at the dwarf statue’s feet. The elf reached inside, and drew something out. He started to stuff it into the folds of his rags, but Tiros was there quickly to take custody of the prize.
“What is it?” Dar asked.
Tiros held it up so that they could see it, a metal object that shone dully in the poor light. “A key.”
* * * * *
The iron doors swung open with a loud creaking noise.
The interior of the mausoleum appeared to be a single large chamber. As the doors spread open they could see that the walls of the place were easily five feet thick, reinforcing the impression of solidity that the structure conveyed. The floor was made of ancient gray marble, covered in cracks that formed patterns of striation across its surface. There were various objects scattered about, mostly bits of crushed stone, fragments of bone, and other detritus of no value.
The only feature of note was a stone sarcophagus set upon a raised dais on the far side of the chamber. The room was unlit, and the far corners were lost in deep shadows that could have concealed anything.
“We’ll need some light,” Dar said. “Varo?”
“Once again, without my focus I cannot be of assistance in that regard,” the cleric responded.
“Looks like we do it the old fashioned way then,” Tiros said, shrugging off his pack. He drew out a number of torches, tucking a few into his belt before he focused on the last with flint and steel. It only took a few moments before he had a bright flame burning on the brand, driving back the shadows and fully revealing the empty outlines of the chamber.
Dar had started toward the stone coffin. “I would not recommend disturbing the dead, not in this place,” Varo said.
“Bah,” the fighter countered. “There might be something of value in there. Or maybe that’s where the entrance is.”
“That may very well be, but I would still leave it until there is no other option. Remember who this place is consecrated to.”
“Orcus, you said. So what?”
“Among other things, the demon lord is known as Prince of the Undead.”
Dar gave the sarcophagus a second look. He muttered something not quite discernable, but he kept his distance as the companions spread out and searched the room.
Once again it was the elf who uncovered the way. A loud scraping noise drew the attention of the others to where the poor wretch was drawing his dagger across several seams in the floor. At first glance, the marble slab appeared identical to the others surrounding it, but on closer examination they could see that the gaps around the stone were wider, and not filled with dust and old mortar like the others.
“He’ll never get that open,” Dar observed. “Ukas?”
The half-orc grunted and came forward, his chain clattering loudly. The elf hissed and drew back as the barbarian lifted his weapon and brought it down in a powerful arc that ended with the heavy iron manacles clattering hard against the stone. One of the metal bracers broke from its chain, and went skittering across the chamber. But the blow had cracked the stone, and as the dust from the impact settled they could see a fist-sized hole in what was now revealed as a secret trapdoor.
Tiros brought the torch close to the hole, and was rewarded with a flicker of the flame. “Looks like this is the way,” he said.
“Stay alert,” Dar said. He took up a position near the slab, his sword poised, and nodded to Ukas to lift the trapdoor. The half-orc pushed his fist through the opening and heaved, sliding the heavy stone slab away and dropping it to the ground with a loud crash. They could now see that the space below was a shaft that descended out of the range of the torch’s light, with rusty iron rungs set into the stone at even intervals.
“Well, who wants to go first?” Dar asked. He looked around at the others, but no volunteers were forthcoming.
“Right,” the fighter said, sheathing his sword. “Give me another torch,” he said to Tiros. Once he’d lit the brand, he leaned over the opening, scanning the shaft. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw, for he dropped the torch into the hole. The flickering brand fell about thirty feet before it landed on the ground, sputtering fitfully as it lay upon bare stone. They could see that the floor of the shaft appeared to open onto a larger passage, but could not discern anything else from their vantage.
“No time like the present,” Dar said. He started down the shaft, testing each rung before putting his full weight onto it. The others followed, with Varo right after Dar, followed by Ukas, Navev, and the mad elf. The elf went down the shaft head-first, barely touching the rungs as he slid down close on the heels of the warlock.
Tiros was the last to essay the shaft. He waited until the others had cleared it, then lowered the torch into the opening. “Torch coming down!” he warned, then dropped the light. As the brand fell, the darkness seemed to surge around the marshal like a malevolent presence. The iron doors stood partially opened—was that a flicker of movement in the entry? He held himself still, and thought he heard a faint scrape of leather against stone. Or it could have been anything, even a figment of his imagination, stimulated by the arcane horrors of this place.
“You coming, marshal?” came Dar’s voice from below. “Your little friend is getting real antsy down here.”
Tiros had tensed his hand, ready to summon Valor. But even if he wasn’t imaging it, what could he really accomplish, if a threat was lurking outside? The hairs on his arms prickled; it was as if the darkness was smothering him, holding him pinned against threats just beyond his perception.
Lowering himself carefully into the shaft, Velan Tiros entered the dungeons of Rappan Athuk.
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