The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)

[Richard Rawen]

Yay Dar! First to the foe - or death?
I'd say you can't kill Dar, but you've already made it clear that you've got no problem with major PC deaths so . . .

On a different track, what ever happened to our favorite crazy Elf Wizard/Rogue/???

 

[Lazybones]

On a different track, what ever happened to our favorite crazy Elf Wizard/Rogue/???

The Mad Elf of Rappan Athuk will return in Book 4.

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Chapter 195

A CHILLING PREDICAMENT


Dar was coming around to the viewpoint that his blind charge into the passageway may have not been such a good idea.

First off, the tunnel was pretty dark; the light from their torches spilled out from the room, but it quickly faded as he ran down the passage. There was something there; he could just make out an outline ahead of short figures forming a line across the corridor about forty feet ahead. They were too small to be human, but he couldn’t make out any more details than that.

“Gobbos,” the fighter said to himself. That assumption, combined with the fact that it wasn’t a good idea to stand here and wait to get blasted, was enough for him; he lifted his sword and charged.

The enemy waited for him. For a second Dar thought that maybe he’d been mistaken; the squat shapes remained immobile, like small statues. They were blockier, too, than goblins, although their exact nature remained indistinct in the darkness. A barricade?

But then the two figures in the middle stepped aside, and Dar knew he was in trouble even before the cone of cold slammed into him.

There was nowhere to go to avoid it; the full force of the spell blasted into him, blinding him, driving him back several steps, until he found himself pressed up against one of the corridor walls. He had no idea which way he was facing; he had enough to focus on just remaining standing. His lungs burned, and he could not feel his hands or feet. Icicles had formed in his hair and beard, and in the joints of his armor, crackling when he moved.

The blast lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like a lot longer, from his perspective. He turned, blinking as the icy blast dissipated, looking for his targets.

Before he found them, an arrow found him, catching him hard near the joint between his right arm and shoulder. The arrow shot through his breastplate and the chain links underneath like they weren’t even there, burying itself deep into the joint. Dar bit off a curse as a sharp pain followed the feeling of impact, which in turn was followed by a numbness that flowed down the length of his arm. Either the shot had clipped a nerve, or...

“Poison, eh? You bastards are going to pay for that...”

But as he pushed off from the wall, he staggered to the side, and had to admit that he might not be in the shape needed to carry out the threat.

Shay had reached the mouth of the passage just as the cone was unleashed. She grabbed Kalend and shoved him to the side, twisting her body so that the full force of the blast hit her oblique rather than head-on. Kalend made it to cover a heartbeat before the spell reached them, and he reached out to drag Shay after him. The scout sagged down along the wall beside the passage, shivering but not seriously hurt.

Talen, on the farthest edge of the enemy wizard’s spell, had likewise avoided the kind of suffering that Dar had been hit with, but after the pounding he’d taken from the ice storm, he was far from being in good shape. But a moment later he felt some of the chill suffusing him ease, replaced by a soft glow that felt absolutely wonderful.

“Thanks, Allera,” he said, but the healer was already running toward the tunnel, no doubt intent on saving Dar from the fate his foolishness had ordained for himself.

Hoping that none of the goblins could see his grimace under his helmet, the knight rushed after her.

As Dar reached the line of enemies, the light from Talen’s sword filled the passage, letting him finally make out the true nature of his foes. They were goblins, but it was easy to see the source of his earlier error; these creatures were clad in suits of full plate, with small steel shields that they carried in a locked formation, each sheltering their comrade to the left as well as themselves. They reminded Dar of nothing more than a Legion formation, down to the small stabbing swords that they held in the lee of their armored bodies, poised to strike. There were six of them, not enough to fully block the passage, but the ends of their line were anchored by several other goblins in lighter armor, armed with javelins and longer swords.

Dar noted those details of the defenses, but his attention was focused on the pair of goblins behind the formation, the one with robes that was obviously the wizard, and the one beside him that was reloading its crossbow with another poisoned bolt. After the pair had blasted him, the goblin soldiers in the front had come back together, reforming their line, and blocking his route to the leaders.

A mad thought of leaping over the goblin line and cutting the wizard in half flew through his head, but even as he neared the enemy formation, each of the goblins in the front rank suddenly took a step forward, setting to meet his charge, shields up. He would have laughed, if he hadn’t already known how dangerous this little bastards were.

So he attacked. He started toward the center of the line, but his attack was a feint, and at the last instant he shifted to the side, coming up on the right flank, intending to drive through the more lightly armored goblins holding the edge.

If he’d expected to find the more lightly armored goblins easier prey, he was mistaken. His target stepped into his attack, twisting to the side to turn what would have been a deadly blow into a glancing hit that barely penetrated its chain armor. Its own counterattack faltered against Dar’s armor, but the line shifted smoothly to pen him in, and he felt pain explode in his side as a goblin thrust its sword deep into his thigh. The goblin was deceptively strong; a burly human legionary might have managed a hit like that one.

Oh, I'm screwed, Dar thought. He turned in time to see both the wizard and the crossbowman both looking at him, the latter sighting down the length of its loaded weapon.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 196

GOBLIN BASH


The goblin necromancer pointed at Dar, and summoned the dark powers of its calling once more.

A black beam of negative energy shot from its finger and stabbed Dar in the chest. Suddenly the fighter felt as though his strength had been drained from him like a tapped keg; his muscles felt weak, and he had to hold onto the passage wall to keep from falling down.

The goblin assassin, standing beside the wizard, smiled evilly, and shot its crossbow into the suffering fighter’s chest. Once again the bolt penetrated his armor, and its head bit painfully into his flesh, though not far enough to pierce a vital organ. But he could feel the numbness of the poison again working its way into his body. Groaning, trying in vain to lift his sword, the fighter slumped down to the ground.

The goblin line maintained formation, but stepped forward to finish him off. The flanker he’d struck earlier raised its sword, intending to run him through, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

But then a slight form stepped in front of him, blocking his attacker with her body. Dar tried to grab Allera, to push her behind him, but his strength was that of a kitten. The goblin adjusted smoothly, equally content to strike down an unarmored woman as a crippled fighter, and it lifted the point of its blade toward her heart as it lunged forward.

The attack never landed. As it began its attack motion, a puff of pink smoke appeared directly in front of its face. The goblin drew back in alarm, but too late to avoid getting a good whiff of Snaggletooth’s breath weapon. Its eyes grew unfocused as it turned and idled away from the battle, caught up in the distracting euphoria of the faerie dragon’s magic.

There were more goblins, however, and as they drew within range, their line pivoted, closing on Dar and Allera. Allera grabbed Dar’s outstretched arm and called upon her healing magic, but even with her mastery of her art, there seemed no way that she could treat him in time to avoid being overrun by that enemy surge.

The bright glow of Beatus Incendia, accompanied by a Camaran cry of battle, announced the arrival of Talen Karedes to the melee. The knight forced the goblins to shift to meet him as he attacked the fulcrum of the shifting line, blocking Allera and Dar with his shield even as he poked an armored goblin in the chest with his sword. The attack was barely more than a feint, and did little damage, but it drew the attention of the goblins, who immediately thrust at him with their small blades under the edges of their locked shields. The more lightly armored flankers came up around the ends of that front line, seeking to exploit the weaknesses in the human’s defenses.

The corridor was filled with a violent clash of metal on metal as the knight held off the enemy line. The goblins were expert fighters, taking good advantage of their heavy armor and their small size, getting in close to deliver strong attacks at Talen’s legs and lower body, their swords darting around his shield to seek out openings. Talen gave as good as he got, but in the first full exchange neither side gave way, not even when one of the flankers got in behind him and thrust its longsword up into the gap between the armor plates covering his torso, penetrating the chain links underneath and drawing blood. The knight grimaced, but held his ground.

The wizard lifted both hands, the sleeves of his robe falling back to reveal arms covered with ritual scars hacked into his limbs from elbow to wrist. “Feel the cold touch of your own deaths!” the creature screeched, following the threat with the words of a powerful necromantic spell. It spread its arms as it spoke the final words of the spell, but instead of magical fear, only silence came from it as it worked its lips. At the same moment, the sounds of the battle faded away, leaving an eerie stillness in the corridor.

The effect of the silence did not appear to extend to Dar, who yelled out a stream of violent profanity as he pulled himself to his feet and charged back into the fray. Allera had not stinted; her heal spell had completely purged his body of his wounds, including the effects of the poison from the assassin’s two crossbow bolts. He surged forward beside Talen, targeting another of the skirmishers. The creature lifted its sword to parry, but could not have expected the blow that came down hard onto its blade. The goblin’s magical weapon held, but the force of the blow drove its own weapon down into its face, the sharp edge biting through the iron cap it wore, cutting its skin down to the bone of its skull. The goblin staggered back, blood pouring down its face from the vicious wound.

Then Herzord arrived, the other companions close behind. There was not enough room in the confines of the corridor for more combatants, but the big hobgoblin brought his greatsword down into the goblin that had come around Talen’s other flank, crashing through its chain armor and biting deep into the flesh beneath. This far back the pair were outside of the silence spell, and the sound of the hit echoed disproportionately loudly through the corridor. The goblin should have crumpled, but somehow was able to turn and stab at its foe, managing to score a flesh wound in the hobgoblin’s left leg just above the knee.

The enemy necromancer was falling back, seeking the edges of the silence spell. Varo had fixed the effect in space, and it soon withdrew enough for the sounds of its own breathing to become audible again. The orb of magic blocked the tunnel, and through it the battlefield was just a muted dance of soundless movements, its true nature made obvious only by the occasional flutter of bright red droplets in the air from a particularly effective blow.

The goblin had more destructive spells in its arsenal, but upon realizing it faced enemy spellcasters as well as warriors, it paused to surround itself with a lesser globe of invulnerability.

The goblins were tough, damned tough, but it was quickly becoming obvious that they were not quite as tough as their current foes. Talen and Dar, side by side, were unleashing powerful attacks against which even the heavy plate and shields of the goblin fighters seemed of little avail. Each hit was devastating, not just from the strength and skill of the pair, but from the unique magical powers invested in their blades. Beatus Incendia blazed white each time it connected with a goblin, while Valor seemed to sizzle with blue energy each time that Dar struck, its axiomatic steel eagerly tearing into the chaotic bodies of the Orcus-followers.

The assassin had reloaded its bow with another poisoned quarrel, but retreated into the shadows. After failing to take down its first target with two shots, the monstrous little creature known as “the Executioner” to its peers in the slave pits was reconsidering the efficacy of a frontal assault. It was about to cast a spell to cover its retreat when it suddenly froze, caught by a hold person spell.

Dar kept hacking at his designated target, adding another pair of serious wounds to his opponent before the creature finally went down in a tangle of bloody arms and legs. “I want the wizard!” he yelled to Talen.

The pair was on the very edge of the silence field, so the knight heard him, and responded. “Go, I’ll take these!” he shouted back.

The goblin fighters, within the silence field, could not have heard the exchange, but the seemed to have a sense of what the fighter had in mind. Closing ranks as another of their number collapsed, they still started to shift their line to block him. But there were not enough of them left to hold the full passage, and Dar shot past, ignoring an attack of opportunity from the rightmost fighter that cut a narrow gash under his breastplate. He shot forward like a catapult stone toward the wizard. Behind him, Shay took his place at Talen’s side, striking at the goblin that had wounded him. Three of the five goblins still in place now bore serious wounds, but they refused to retreat, and still managed to get in the occasional hit that added to the tally of wounds born by their foes.

Unfortunately for the goblins, they did not have a healer standing behind them, healing their wounds as soon as they were inflicted.

Dar’s face twisted into a snarl as he shot toward the wizard. The necromancer answered with its own vicious expression, and it began casting once more, summoning protective magic. Mirror images sprung out of its body, and it took several steps back, letting them shift and twist around it, confounding its location. Within a few seconds, it was impossible to discern its location by sight.

But Dar was no stranger to fighting magic-using foes. Even as the images appeared, the fighter closed his eyes, and drove toward the spot he sensed the wizard to be. Valor tingled in his fist, and as instinct replaced thought he planted his foot and thrust forward, holding nothing back.

He felt resistance, and then a soft cough, followed by a gurgling noise of bloody death.

Opening his eyes, Dar saw that he’d impaled the wizard through the chest. The creature looked at him, the light already fading from its eyes. It tried to say something, but only managed to cough up blood.

The fighter leaned in. “Tell your god that I’m coming for him,” he said. Then he spun, launching the dead wizard from his blade. The little creature flew across the passage, smacked into the wall, and fell in a bloody heap.

Dar turned and returned to the battle, but the outcome had already been decided. Only two goblin fighters were left standing, and Herzord and Talen were making short work of them. As Dar passed the still-paralyzed assassin, he pushed it against the wall, and tore the bolt from its crossbow with his other hand. The goblin trembled, trying to break free, but could not defend itself as Dar lifted his fist and punched the head of the bolt through its left eye. The goblin collapsed, its limbs quivering for a moment before it slumped into death.

A moment later Talen knocked the last standing goblin to the ground with a blow that cut under the front guard of its helmet. Herzord made sure of a few that were still bleeding, and then the battle was over.

The corridor was awash with blood and thick with the stink of death. Herzord wasted no time, pumping his fist and pointing down the tunnel, where it split into two passages ahead. His scouts had taken heavy casualties from the wizard’s ice storm, but a half-dozen vanished into the darkness ahead to check for further threats.

“They did not go quietly,” Shay observed.

“They are fanatics,” Varo said, coming up to join them.

Dar flicked the blood off his sword, and sheathed it. “Fat lot of help you were,” the fighter said to the cleric. “Where was the fire blast, the summons?”

Varo’s gaze was chilly. “This was just the preliminaries. If you hadn’t foolishly rushed in, this battle would have been much less dangerous than you made it.”

“Why you son of a...”

“He’s right,” Talen said, lifting a hand to forestall him. “And you know it. Enough; it’s done and over with. They know we’re here, and I don’t want to wait for the next group of guards to find us. We take the fight to them, and we end this, right here, right now.”

 

[Ximix]

Hooray for Snaggletooth!

 

[Lazybones]

The rest of this week is going to be a bit... messy for our heroes.

* * * * *

Chapter 197

THE RITUAL


The chamber was a great hemisphere, just over sixty feet across, its high dome formed out of a smooth bubble in the rock deep within the darkest recesses of Rappan Athuk. The stone was a dull black, run through with striations of red that looked almost like blood vessels; if one stared, one could imagine them pulsing with a faintly audible heartbeat. The southern half of the room was higher than the rest, a dais some ten feet above the level of the entry. This raised portion was accessed by a set of marble stairs that ran from the arched entry of the chamber up to the top of the dais, facing another statue of Orcus that rose fifteen feet from its stone base to the tips of its horns. The statue, of black stone, dominated the room. The stairs were flanked on both sides by wider, steeper tiers plated with bronze, forming layered metallic platforms that ultimately led up to that summit as well. Censers shaped like claws dangled from chains set along the perimeter of the room, filling the room with thick tendrils of aromatic, narcotic vapor. Braziers of black iron were set up atop the dais, and on the bronze tiers flanking the step. The braziers filled the room with a reddish light that gave everything an otherworldly hue.

The place was occupied, and in use. At the top of the dais, their backs to the statue, stood the fell priests Theron and Celleen. Clad in black robes, cowls obscuring their faces, they were like visions out of a nightmare, surrounded by an insubstantial halo of power. Their brethren, lesser but still potent priests of the demon god, were in place facing them, Tibor and Relnek on the bronze platforms, and Phesor standing near the base of the marble steps. Looking down from above, it was almost as if the five formed the points of a pentagram, their outstretched arms forming angles that linked the formation.

At the focal point of that gathering, at the top of the steps, there was a prisoner, a tightly bound goblin. The creature lay in a puddle of its own blood and bodily wastes, shaking with a terror beyond mortal fear. The marble steps and the platform at their summit were slick with those noisome fluids, suggesting that this captive was not the first to be brought before the unholy council.

Terrible noises echoed through the chamber, and it was not immediately clear that the source was the priests, who chanted dark syllables that seemed like nothing that could have originated from the mouths of mortal men. Each utterance seemed to batter against the very walls of reality, and there were few who could have listened long to that litany without being driven to the borders of insanity.

The prisoner began to shake, and sinuous black tendrils began to ooze from its body. Tiny strands of that insubstantial power drifted out to the clerics, while most of it trailed away into the floor, drawn down toward a place far below, where the Sphere of Souls pulsed in echo to the grim ritual being conducted here.

The guards who stood near the entry of the chamber had sold their souls utterly to Orcus, but even they looks uncomfortable as the litany continued. The four hobgoblins had heard noises coming from the long corridor outside, sounds that resembled the distinctive chaos of battle even through the distortion caused by the natural echoes of the tunnel. But the guards had strict orders, and even if they had been curious, their minds were held in thrall to the ritual, and their gazes kept being drawn against their will to the prisoner, and to the huge black statue that loomed up behind it.

Then the captive was done; the chant continued, but at a lower pitch. The high priest made a subtle gesture, and two of the guards leapt to obey, taking up another prisoner from the row lined up next to the entrance. On the other side of the archway the shriveled corpses of over a dozen prisoners had been heaped for later, when the lesser priests would convert them into mindless zombies.

The prisoner struggled a bit, but the hobgoblin guards handled the wretched goblin without difficulty. They climbed up the stairs, giving the priest there a wide berth, and laid the captive before the statue, taking the dead one back with them as they hurried back down. They hurled the body into the growing heap of corpses, then returned quickly to their posts.

Almost at once the priests launched back into the ritual, drawing upon the dark power of their god. They had been here for hours, but the stolen life energy of their victims had sustained them, infusing them with potency. It was this very ritual, repeated hundreds of times, that had transformed the five priests from minor functionaries into some of the most powerful clerics in the world, capable of altering the very nature of reality with their divine spells.

The goblin prisoner had lost consciousness. But its body continued to twitch, and as the priests of Orcus resumed their ritual, thin black tendrils of insubstantial mist began to form on its skin like beads of sweat. As the chant continued, those tiny threads began to extend outward, toward the five priests, toward the connection that would siphon of the life energy of the hapless creature. The minutes passed slowly, those threads drawing outward slowly, like tendrils of ivy growing over a trellis. When they finally touched the priests, there was a subtle but noticeable shift in the aura present in the room, an exultation of power that doomed the fate of the goblin as inexorably as a sword through the vitals.

The hobgoblin guards watched in fascinated horror as the clerics wrought their magic again. By now they were familiar with what was transpiring, and yet each time the initiation of the deadly bond held their attention like a magnet.

But as the dark connection between priests and victim was forged, one of the guards shifted slightly. Had that been another sound? It turned toward the entry, and the long, wide tunnel beyond. Its eyes stung from the thick clouds of incense that the censers were pouring out, and the everburning torches in the tunnel beyond provided sparse illumination, leaving much of the passage in shadow.

There... was that something moving in one of those zones of darkness? The uneven lighting played havoc with the creature’s darkvision, but some instinct deep within it warned of danger.

And then a figure stepped forward into the middle of the passage, coming into full view.

It was a man, clad in a dark cloak and cowl, superficially not that different from the appearance of the high priests of the True God. But the hobgoblin was more than a fighter; it was also an acolyte of the demon lord. Its gaze fixed on the golden idol that the newcomer wore clearly around his neck, and it clearly sensed the wrongness of that sigil, even though the other was too far distant to see clearly.

The hobgoblin opened its mouth to shout a warning, but the sound died before it could emerge. The guard had been given one firm order by Theron, when they had gathered here hours before, a command that burned in its mind above all others.

Do not interrupt the ritual!

The hobgoblin’s companions had belatedly realized that something was wrong, and as they turned, the first creature reached for the hilt of the sword at its belt. But before it could draw the weapon, the enemy grasped his divine focus, and unleashed a powerful spell.

Varo’s flame strike came pouring down from above, impacting right where the hapless captive lay dying. The spell snuffed out its life at once, but as it blasted out from the point of impact it also roared into the ring of clerics, scorching them.

All five clerics were tough and experienced; it would take far more than even Varo’s magic to fell them. But the spell also disrupted the ritual, and as the goblin prisoner died the black threads of life energy that extended from it rebounded onto the clerics, stunning them with the sudden, unexpected surge of raw power. Theron, the leader of the circle, was hit hardest by the backlash, and he fell to the ground. The other four priests staggered back, black smoke rising from their robes where the column of fire had momentarily engulfed them.

The shadows to either side of the priest of Dagos came alive, as his allies surged forward to attack. One group was uncannily quiet; Kalend carried an arrow fitted to his bow that had been empowered with Varo’s second silence spell just moments before. That warding had allowed their more heavily armored forces to sneak this far forward without alerting the guards, and now the thief took up a position near the archway, looking for a spellcaster to shoot.

With the ritualists temporarily overcome by the disruption of their unholy rite, the companions rushed forward to exploit their advantage. Dar, Talen, and Herzord charged headlong into the ranks of the hobgoblin guards, their magical blades flashing in the red light of the braziers. As Talen’s holy sword burst into flames, it seemed to drive back that eerie glow, surrounding him with an aura of wholesome brightness in this sinister place.

The guards, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, fell back, but only far enough to give them a chance to draw their weapons and make a stand against the attackers. Several of them attempted to invoke the power of Orcus, but they barely had a chance to focus their minds upon their spells before the enemy rush hit them. The guards wore magical chain armor and bore heavy shields, but that protection offered little succor against the powerful assault from the three veterans at the forefront of the enemy surge. All three scored telling hits in that first rush, and while none of the injuries were critical, they indicated where this battle was headed.

The second rank of combatants followed on the heels of the first, and they rushed past the sudden and violent melee to attack the dazed clerics. Shay was on the marble stairs in an eyeblink, and she leapt into the air to deliver a scissors-kick that knocked the priest standing on the steps flying. Phesor clattered to the ground, his wind knocked from him as he landed hard and rolled to the base of the stairs. Even as she landed in a smooth crouch, others were rushing past her; Herzord’s hobgoblin lieutenant to her left, and a pair of goblin fighters to her right. Missiles were flying around them, arrows fired by the goblin scouts as they picked out targets that were vulnerable to sneak attacks.

One of those arrows was Kalend’s, as he picked his target and let fly. The arrow struck the priestess Celleen in the side. The cleric was wearing chainmail under her robe, and did not suffer serious injury, but the arrow snagged in the armor, physically connecting the silence aura to her. She was recovering quickly from her shock and surprise, and as she shook her head to clear it from the aftereffects of the blast, her expression twisted into a snarl.

Serah shot a beam of searing light into the face of one of the clerics on the lower tiers, moments before the hobgoblin lieutenant leapt onto the bronze step, slashing with his longsword. The cleric Tibor screamed and fell over the edge of the raised platform, knocking one of the braziers over with him. The sound of the metal bowl clattering on the stone floor was cacophonous, and hot coals were scattered everywhere around him as Tibor fell hard on his back on the ground six feet below, dazed.

Varo had not moved since casting his flame strike, and now he finished another spell. He pointed, and a pair of creatures materialized at the top of the stairs, upon the scorched center of the dais. The things—for it was impossible to classify them further—were amorphous blobs of shifting, tenuous matter, their outer flesh a medley of colors, textures, and features that changed from one moment to the next.

Both chaos beasts headed for Celleen, oozing jerkily over the stone toward the cleric. The priestess clearly recognized them, her eyes widening under her cowl as she drew out her heavy mace and retreated. She did not immediately recognize that the silence field was fixed on the arrow that still jutted from her armor.

The companions and their allies had gained complete tactical surprise, and the battle was clearly going their way.

That all changed a moment later, as Theron rolled over, propped himself up on one arm, and uttered a word of blasphemy.

 

[Lazybones]

Chapter 198

BLASPHEMY


The single word of power echoed through the chamber with devastating effect.

The goblinoids were not affected, except perhaps as a momentary twinge of uneasiness felt at the edges of their senses. They were not creatures of Orcus, but that did not mean that they were not evil.

Varo grimaced, and briefly lifted one hand to his head, but likewise recovered swiftly. He was still in the outer corridor, far enough away that word only reached him as an echo of power. Kalend had hesitated in the entryway after taking his shot at Celleen, and that saved him as well from the full force of the spell.

The same could not be said of their companions.

Varo’s chaos beasts were blasted out of existence, sent back to the primeval disorder from which he had summoned them. Serah and Allera crumpled, their senses overloaded by the spell, their muscles locked and useless. Talen, Shay, and Dar were dazed and weakened, the potency of the spell draining strength from their bodies.

There was one other casualty; a flutter in the air as Snaggletooth fell to the ground off to the side of the room, the little dragon becoming visible as it landed in a limp heap. Allera let out a strangled cry, but the healer, paralyzed, could do nothing to intervene.

Energized by the success of their leader’s counterattack, the evil clerics rebounded with a vengeance. The one that Shay had knocked down pulled himself to his feet. The dazed scout was unable to hinder him in any way as he turned and dropped a flame strike of his own into the arched entryway. The spell incinerated most of the prisoners there and the cleric’s own guards, but those had been all but dead anyway, expendable resources that had served their purpose. But the flames also tore through the enemy; a pair of goblin fighters fell, and several scouts that were too slow to get out of the way were roasted as well. Herzord, Dar, and Talen all suffered serious injuries from the spell, and behind them Serah and Allera, paralyzed and helpless, were nearly killed. Varo lifted his hands and staggered back as the backblast of the spell washed over him, but he was just outside of the area of effect and suffered no serious injury. Likewise Kalend retreated back behind the arch of the entry as the flames shot past, the thief’s hands trembling as he fought to overcome the terror that clutched at his insides.

Tibor, his robe still covered with smoldering coals, stood to see the hobgoblin lieutenant standing over him atop the bronze platform, ready to finish what he had started. The cleric fell back and raised a hand, summoning his magic in a desperate effort to stop his adversary. The gambit worked, as the hobgoblin veteran froze, caught by the hold person spell. The cleric smiled grimly, and grabbed the hobgoblin by one ankle, dragging him over the edge of the platform. Herzord’s lieutenant was a tough fighter, but was unable to do anything to stop his fate as the cleric yanked his helm off, and proceeded to crush his skull with a solid blow from his heavy mace.

Relnek, standing on the opposite tier, faced a pair of goblin fighters, which had leapt off the stairs to assail him. The priest looked down at its foes with derision, but that changed a moment later as one of the creatures got in a lucky thrust that punched through the armor protecting his side. Spitting a curse, the cleric reached out and seized the creature’s head with his open palm, unleashing a slay living spell. The goblin failed to resist the magic, and collapsed, dead. Its companion paled but pressed its attack, only to miss as the cleric turned to face it.

“You are next,” he hissed, as a red glow materialized around the fingers of his right hand.

Herzord charged out of the dying flames, his armor blackened, smoke rising from his charred flesh. The hobgoblin roared as he laid into Phesor, smiting him with his greatsword. The cleric’s magical armor saved him from being cut in twain, and he fell back, favoring a vicious wound in his side.

Dar and Talen were not far behind. They had a wide choice of enemies, with all five clerics still on their feet and proven deadly, but it seemed clear that the two atop the dais were the biggest threat, if only because they could cast spells at will while they were not directly engaged. Theron had been shielded by the angle of the dais while he’d been prone, but now he came back into view, as he rose and started spellcasting. Celleen, meanwhile, had belatedly realized the source of the silence, and managed to yank the arrow out from the links of her armor, tossing it aside. As soon as the arrow passed out of range, she too began casting.

Dar tried to slip past the cleric facing Herzord, but the man turned from the hobgoblin and seized the fighter as he passed, pouring the devastating energies of an harm spell into him. A scream was torn from Dar as the familiar agonies of the spell savaged his body, dragging him roughly to the brink of death. Weakened from the aftereffects of the blasphemy, Dar could not shake free, and the cleric cackled in mad glee as he summoned more negative energy to finish off the crippled fighter.

Shay was already on the stairs, but like Dar she’d identified the pair behind her as the more immediate threat. She ran up the stairs, her sword feeling like a lead weight in her hand.

“Shay, no!” Talen yelled, recognizing the scout’s intent to engage the clerics alone. Avoiding the crowded stairs, the knight leapt up onto the lowest of the bronze tiers on the left. He’d intended to use them as giant steps to make his way up to the top of the dais, but with his reduced strength and heavy armor weighing him down, he was barely able to keep from tumbling over onto his face. He grimaced and rushed toward the second tier, but before he could make it an agonizing pain exploded through his leg, ripping into his body. He staggered and fell to one knee as another harm spell savaged him. Through a haze of pain that threatened to pull him under, he was dimly aware of something tugging at the injured leg, trying to drag him down.

He looked down to see Tibor, his robe on fire, covered in the blood and brains of the hobgoblin lieutenant, clutching his ankle, looking up at him with an eager, evil look burning in his eyes.

Allera couldn’t see anything; she’d fallen onto her side, facing the wall. Her body shook, and could not even feel the pain of her crispened flesh over the sharp grief that stabbed into her like a knife. She could not move, and the part of her brain that was still capable of reason told her that the paralysis would not ease for minutes, at least.

But a moment later she felt a presence behind her, followed by a sudden sharp twist of spiritual power that shattered the paralysis holding her like a rock through glass. That power was nothing like the soothing, bolstering healing magic that she commanded, but the dispel evil spell got the job done. She looked up and saw Varo.

“Serah, Talen, and Dar are on the brink of death,” the cleric said.

Allera stared up at him with wide eyes. She opened her mouth, started to reply, but he’d already risen and rushed back to the battle.

She did not even waste the seconds it would have taken to get up; she closed her eyes, focused, and let the healing power flow through her.

Herzord hacked at Phesor’s back like a lumberjack hewing at a tree, but the cleric refused to release his grip on Dar, intent on making certain of the fighter’s death. Dar was still unable to tear free of the fanatic priest’s hold, but he pulled his arm back and drove Valor into the man’s gut. Half of the length of the sword slid into Phesor’s body, and the cleric grunted. A moment later, he coughed, and blood trickled down his chin from the sides of his mouth. His body sagged, but he still did not relinquish his grip on Dar’s armor.

“Tell your Master...” Dar began.

“The True God will have his bounty,” the cleric laughed, spitting blood into Dar’s face. Phesor’s gaze shifted, and Dar could not help but turn to see the cleric Relnek, standing over the broken bodies of two goblin fighters, lift his hands as he chanted the words to summon another flame strike.

Shay heard Talen’s cry, but she did not turn from her objective. She knew that someone had to take out those priests, before they blanketed the room with more destructive magic. She’d seen Allera and Serah go down, dead or dying, and knew that they would not have healing to pull them back from the brink this time. Fighting her own weakness, she was not certain what she could do to stop two clerics of their obvious power, but she had to try.

She reached the top of the stairs, and skidded to a sudden stop.

Looking up, she found herself confronted with a huge black ape, standing easily eight feet tall, looming over her. The thing had an extra set of arms, her mind registered, just before it smashed its fists into its chest, uttered a deafening roar, and surged toward her.

 

[Richard Rawen]

I knew I shouldn't have cheered for the lil drake

First rule of dealing with a Rat Bastard DM: Never express fondness for anything that you don't want dead.

I would at this point express a certain affinity for the priests of Orcus, however I know how that would work out... one of them would conveniently cast a... um... nevermind.
Nothing to see here . . .

'cept a great story =-) Great reading LB, holding on for the Friday cliffhanger after these last few piddly mid-week chest-clutchers

 

[Lazybones]

We're approaching the end of Book 3; we should hit it in two weeks (on a Friday, naturally).

But we have a few cliffhangers to go to get there. Here's the first...

* * * * *

Chapter 199

THE HIGH PRIESTS OF ORCUS


Dar saw what was coming, but there was nothing he could do about it. Herzord brought his sword back down again, hacking into the back of Phesor’s neck, almost taking the cleric’s head off in the process. Dar finally tore free from the dead cleric and nearly fell, but managed to stagger in the general direction of Relnek, knowing that he would not reach the cleric in time.

But as the cleric of Orcus finished his spell, he screamed and fell back, clutching at his head. Relnek’s flame strike blasted down at an angle, smashing into the dome high above them, filling the room with a blast of heat but not harming anyone on the floor below. The cleric staggered back against the shelf formed by the next-highest bronze tier, and as he turned back, Dar could see that an arrow jutted from the left side of his face, buried into the eye socket. The shaft was too big to be a goblin arrow, and while it hadn’t come in straight enough to penetrate the brain and kill him, it had done a thorough piece of work on the cleric’s eye.

“Nice shot, Kalend!” Dar yelled. He felt stronger, recognizing the life pouring back into him from Allera’s mass cure serious wounds spell. He leapt at the cleric, intending to take him down quickly.

On the far side of the stairs, Talen had slipped and fallen on his side, as the cleric Tibor continued to pull at his ankle. Twisting onto his back, the knight thrust down with Beatus Incendia. He’d intended to drive the blade through the man’s skull, but the cleric twisted aside, and he only managed to open a deep gash in his shoulder. That was enough to force him to loosen his grip, but it was only a momentary respite, as Tibor came back at him, a red glow forming around his bloody fingers.

Allera’s healing spell was very timely, but Talen’s foe seemed impervious to wounds. Tibor ignored his burning robe, the blackened flesh from Serah’s searing light and Varo’s flame strike, and the injuries that Talen and the hobgoblin lieutenant had inflicted on him, focusing on taking down his still gravely injured foe. Talen did not know that Theron had bolstered his allies with a mass cure critical wounds spell moments before; to him, the cleric seemed to have a vitality beyond that of any mortal man. His mouth twisting into a grim frown, Talen drew himself into a crouch and lifted Beatus Incendia, waiting for the cleric to close.

But before he could strike, Tibor suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Bright red blood cascaded down his nostrils and out his ears, and an unintelligible cascade of gibberish hissed from his lips, before he collapsed.

Talen rose, and saw Varo standing there. The cleric pointed toward the top of the dais. “Those two are the largest threat; we need to take them out, quickly.”

Talen looked up and saw Shay flying backward through the air. His heart clenched in his chest before he realized that she’d jumped, rather than been thrown. Shay had never seen a fiendish girallon before, but she could tell enough from looking at it that there was no way she could stand up to it head on, especially not with her strength drained to that of a child. The scout landed in a crouch at the bottom of the stairs.

The girallon, angered as its claws swept empty air, roared again and charged down the stairs, using its lower set of arms for balance.

Dar laid into Relnek, ripping open the cleric’s shoulder from behind. The cleric staggered back, but he reached up and yanked the arrow from his eye, and as he turned back Dar could see that the wound had stopped bleeding, and that the cleric was not quite yet finished.

“You are persistent,” the cleric said, echoing Dar’s thoughts exactly. A moment later, Varo’s inflict serious wounds spell hit him, however, undoing the benefits of Theron’s healing spell. Dar leapt forward, but the cleric recovered quickly, reaching out and stabbing a hand into the fighter’s side. Once again Dar screamed as another harm spell ripped through him. The cleric chuckled and drew back, but Dar wasn’t done; he took the pain, lifted his sword, and impaled Valor through the cleric’s chest. The fighter, on the brink of death once more, nearly followed the priest down to the ground, and he knelt there on his knees for a few seconds, breathing heavily.

“Freaking clerics...” he wheezed, holding onto the hilt of his sword, jutting from the dead priest’s chest, for support.

The high priests atop the dais had not been idle while their companions were being hacked to pieces. After summoning the girallon, Celleen cast spell resistance, aware that a high-level priest was among their enemies. That proved a timely choice, as Varo’s mass inflict bounded off the shield a moment later, fizzing with a mere tingle on her skin. The priestess had taken serious injuries from the flame strike that had opened the battle, but as Theron’s mass cure critical wounds eased the pain of those wounds, she aborted her healing spell and instead protected herself with a death ward. Those necessary tasks complete, she started looking for something to kill.

Theron followed his mass cure with a summons, reaching across the barrier between worlds and conjuring a trio of fiendish tigers to his will. He felt the sting of Varo’s mass inflict as he finished the spell, but his concentration held, and he turned to his own defenses, protecting himself with both an unholy aura and spell resistance.

“Where is the enemy priest?” he shouted to Celleen, over the chaos of the battle. Between the incense floating in the air and the smoke from the multiple flame strikes, it was becoming difficult to see.

Celleen did not respond; she had already spotted Varo, and was spellcasting.

Herzord met the summoned girallon’s charge on the stairs. The hobgoblin, a veteran of hundreds of battles, let the monster come to him. It had reach, and the high ground, both advantages that the commander took into account as the creature closed, until it was near enough to lash out at him with a single muscled claw. The impact hit, hit hard, but Herzord merely grunted and took it. The monster’s other arms lifted to engulf him, but before they could strike the hobgoblin stepped forward, close enough for him to bring his greatsword down in a vicious arc that split the huge ape’s chest wide open. Blood and organs gushed from the terrible wound, and the hobgoblin sidestepped as the huge creature fell past him, dissolving even as it slid to the base of the stairs.

Waves of positive energy continued to surge through the room, as Allera continued bolstering her companions. She did not stir lying on her side in a fetal position, her eyes tightly closed, her hands moving in the complex gestures of spellcasting in her lap. She could feel the life energies of her friends, waxing and waning under the enemy assault and her own magic, but ebbing ever closer toward death. Her own pain had receeded to a dull throb; she just kept casting, healing, channeling mass cure after mass cure into the room, toward the bright points of light that flickered in the darkness.

A soft moan shook her out of her reverie. Opening her eyes, she lifted her head and saw Serah lying on the ground, shaking, just a few feet away. The priestess was still gripped firmly within the paralysis caused by Theron’s earlier blasphemy. The sight stirred Allera’s instincts enough to shake her out of her grief, and she crept forward, extending her arm to touch the other woman on the ankle.

Dar felt his strength returning as another cure spell took hold. He was beginning to feel like some mongrel’s chew toy with the repeated battering his body had taken, but he was all too aware that the battle was not over. As he straightened and yanked his sword free of the cleric’s chest, a huge tiger leapt onto him, knocking him over backwards.

Varo healed Talen, purging him of the wounds he had suffered thus far, and of the lingering weakness of the blasphemy. The knight nodded gratefully and started at once back toward the dais, clambering up the bronze platforms. He made it only up to the second tier before a black tiger padded forward to the edge of the dais, growling before it crouched and leapt at him.

The last tiger bounded down at Herzord, pouncing onto the hobgoblin fighter before he could set to take its charge. Somehow, the hobgoblin kept his footing on the slick steps even with five hundred pounds of fiendish cat tearing and slashing at him. The tiger’s claws opened deep gashes in his arms and legs, but then Herzord got his chance, tearing his arms free and bringing down his sword in a decisive blow that severed the cat’s spine in one fell chop. The tiger joined the girallon and dissolved as it expired upon the stairs. Herzord, breathing heavily, paused only a few seconds before he started up the stairs once more.

Dar yelled out as he fell onto his back, the tiger lashing out and snapping in what felt like a hundred places at once. His magical breastplate kept him from being torn apart at once, and with a heave he thrust the creature off him, rolling it off the edge of the bronze tier. The cat landed on its feet and came at him again, but Dar got Valor up this time, and stabbed the axiomatic sword deep into its shoulder. The cat hissed in pain but kept pressing its attack.

Talen fared better against his tiger, but then again he was at full strength, restored by Varo’ intervention of a moment ago. The cat’s claws failed to find purchase on the smooth metal plates covering his torso, and Beatus Incendia blazed with purpose as he carved deep gashes in its body, ending with a stroke that sliced through half of its skull.

Talen looked up again to see one of the priests, the woman, pointing at him. The knight tried to dodge, but as a green beam shot from her fingertips, it became clear that he was not the target of the attack.

The disintegrate struck Varo square in the chest. The priest of Dagos did not move as the green energy of the beam spread across his body, seeping into him. He closed his eyes, drawing all of his focus and determination into a barrier against the spell. Flesh sizzled as the green glow ate away at it, but when it died, he was still there, smoking rising from his chest from where the beam had struck.

“Dagos is my shield, foul bitch of Orcus!” he shouted. But the attack had disrupted his latest summoning spell, and he was rapidly running out of effective counters. He hurled another mass inflict spell at the two enemy priests left standing, but the attack faltered against their spell resistance.

Dar couldn’t see much except for black fur and blood as the tiger leapt up and wrapped its claws around his upper body. It tried to bite him, but the huge jaws snagged on the front of his helmet. He smelled brimstone.

“Get! Off! Of! Me!” he yelled, but weakened as he was, he could not break the tiger’s ferocious leverage. Then the cat screamed and suddenly he was free; he immediately took advantage and drove Valor to the hilt in the monster’s side.

As it fell, he saw Kalend, the thief’s sword edged in red, and beside him Serah. The cleric’s clothes were an utter mess, charred from the flame strike, but she rushed over to him, treating his own injuries with a cure serious wounds spell.

“Thanks,” he said, grimacing as he tried to get up for yet another time. He felt a cold chill, some instinct warning him as he looked up toward the top of the dais.

Talen and Herzord were converging on that destination, but the two clerics were waiting for them. Behind them the statue of Orcus loomed huge, somehow clearly visible even through the haze of smoke and chaos.

“They’re running into a trap,” Dar said, forcing his wobbly legs to support his weight. “Stay here,” he told Kalend and Serah, turning back to the foe.

But the clerics were ready. Theron raised a hand into the air, the sleeve of his robe falling to reveal the fire-blackend limb beneath. “Lo, and as the Codex declares, so shall the fate of all who oppose the True God be sealed in blood!”

The two clerics released their spells spontaneously, Theron’s flame strike cascading down at the same instant that Celleen’s mass inflict serious wounds scoured through the companions in its wake.

 

[Vurt]

The girallon, angered as its claws swept empty air, roared again and charged down the stairs, using its lower set of arms for balance.

Awesome attention to detail!

Lazybones, your storyhour is such a guilty pleasure--so very, very good for the reader, so very, very bad for Dar & Co.

Cheers,
Vurt

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks, Vurt!

A milestone for the story today... chapter 200. Man, that went fast.

* * * * *

Chapter 200

PAIN


Dar blinked.

His body was numb. Sensation... everything felt distant, as though he was being told about another person’s experiences. The stench of roasted flesh. Sounds. Pain. Anger. Violence.

He blinked, and it all came back in a rush. There was still little pain, but he could see his hand, a blackened claw, bright red where the skin had cracked away, revealing the savaged muscle tissue below. There was a spot of white, where a piece of bone was visible.

He tried to get up. It felt like there was a dragon sitting on his back. He saw the hilt of Valor, and reached out ot grab it. He could not feel the touch of the weapon, but it was reassuring to have it in his hand.

Why was he alive.

Memory, returning in a rush.

He lifted his head slightly. The flesh of his cheek stuck to the hot bronze he was lying on, coming away in a swath. He did not feel it.

His gaze traveled over a blackened forms, on the ground beside the bronze tier. He did not recognize it at first, until it moved... no, there was something under it. Kalend, his eyes wild and unfocused as he pushed away the dead hunk of material that had been a vibrant young woman a few seconds before.

Serah...

Realization hit him like a dagger thrust. He took a breath, ignoring the burning in his abused lungs. At least it was... feeling, a physical sensation that told him he was alive. The pain started to come back, too, as the mass cure that had revived him continued its work, reconnecting the nerves that had been burned away with his flesh.

He stood, Valor’s tip dragging on the bronze.

He looked up, to witness the battle raging on the edge of the dais.

Talen felt metal crunch as he smashed Beatus Incendia across the body of the woman cleric, but she only smiled at him, even as he staggered back. To his right, Shay had rushed in to face the other cleric, the one that had taken down Herzord with a single blow from his flaming mace. The hobgoblin had been the first to reach the platform, emerging from the dying flames with blood trailing down his body from the vicious wounds that had been inflicted across his body. The male cleric had just stood there, waiting for him. Talen, clambering up the last tier, was too late to do anything except watch as Theron brought up a mace, its head surrounded by an eager nimbus of fire, and smashed it across Herzord’s chest. The hobgoblin had to have been a good forty or fifty pounds heavier than the priest, but the blow had knocked him on his back, tumbling over the edge of the dais to land limp on the first bronze tier below.

Shay had not hesitated, leaping into the gap left by the fallen hobgoblin to engage the cleric. Talen felt sick knowing what could happen to her, but he was far too experienced to turn his attention from his foe, even for an instant.

When the final exchange came, it came quickly and decisively. Both clerics lunged, almost as though they were directed by the same mind. Neither Talen nor Shay were quick enough to avoid being touched, even the briefiest of finger-brushes enough for the priests of Orcus to deliver their deadly spells. The harm spells undid all of the healing spells that Allera had layered upon them, and both fell to the ground, their bodies convulsing as the evil magic wrought its unholy work upon their bodies.

“Fools,” Celleen hissed, “to think that you could stand before the might of the True God.”

Licinius Varo stepped up onto the dais.

“Ah, the Creeper’s scion finally dares to come before us,” Celleen said.

“You seek to destroy the world,” Varo said simply. “I will not be the last to defy you.”

“Noble, but ultimately too late,” Theron said. “Even if we should fall, the power has already been gathered to sunder the barrier between worlds. Before this day is out, the ritual will be complete, and the way will be opened for our Master. Your powers are impressive, but they are not enough to defeat us.”

“You underestimate me,” Varo said. He gestured, and a huge fiendish centipede appeared behind the statue of Orcus, coiling around the graven momument as it emerged into the light.

Theron raised an eyebrow, and Celleen sneered. “Is that the best you can manage, shadow priest?” the woman asked.

“You have fought well, but this distraction will not save your friends,” Theron said. The cleric extended an arm, and unleashed a mass inflict serious wounds spell.

The spell should have been instantly lethal for Talen and Shay. But even as the dark energies of the spell spread out from the cleric, Allera countered it with her last mass cure spell. Allera’s spell was far weaker than that of the evil cleric, but the power that she commanded was at the same time much stronger. The negative energy was countered by the positive, and the pair even gained some small measure of strength, though both still lingered close on the edge of unconsciousness.

Theron’s eyes widened slightly at being countered, but his voice remained level. “Your powers are weakening, old man.”

It is not my power that you need to be worried about,” Varo replied calmly.

Celleen lifted her hand to fire off her own inflict wounds, but was distracted by the charge of Varo’s monstrous centipede. The creature struck the cleric hard in the back, driving its mandibles through the links of her magical chainmail into the flesh beneath. The cleric was far too tough to succumb easily to its venom, but the vermin was too big to ignore. Celleen looked almost annoyed as she reached around and touched it on the head, unleashing a slay living spell into it. The centipede spasmed and released her, dissolving almost before its head hit the ground.

Dar slid up onto the top of the dais from the highest bronze tier, lashing out with Valor even as he surged to his feet. His blow caught Theron in the back of his left leg, and bit hard even through the man’s platemail. The cleric was clearly limping as he came around to face Dar, but before the fighter could set his feet for a full attack, Theron reached out and placed his palm on Dar’s chest, blasting him with his second harm.

Varo helped Talen to his feet, infusing him with a cure serious wounds as he did so. “Help Shay,” Talen said, and he started to turn to her before Varo stopped him.

“You must stop her,” Varo said, pointing at the enemy cleric. Leaning in, the cleric said, “If she gets another mass inflict off, Shay is dead.” Even as he finished speaking, Celleen took down the centipede, and turned back toward them.

Talen roared and charged at the cleric, before she could unleash another one of those destructive inflict wounds spells. He didn’t even try to cut her down with Beatus Incendia, sliding the sword back into its scabbard, and leaping forward to bear her down in a grapple.

He hit her hard, and clearly outweighed her, but it was like trying to grapple water. The cleric slid effortlessly from his grasp, and a she twisted out of his way his inertia carried him forward, and he fell hard on his face, his mail clattering around him. He tried to get up, but only managed to turn onto his back before the priestess shoved her boot down onto his neck.

“Pathetic,” she said, before she hit him, hit all of them, with another mass inflict spell.