Lazybones
Adventurer
I was really trying to capture a "beat down" feel to the group's adventures, glad to see that this is coming through loud and clear. 
Unfortunately, I am flying back east for an extended weekend trip tomorrow... won't be back until Wednesday. I will bring my USB drive, but I'm not sure I'll have regular access to a computer to post. So today's update might be an extended cliffhanger...
* * * * *
Chapter 17
RESPITE
Dar tried to slam the door, but several rats were caught in the jamb, squeaking and crawling over each other in a frenzy to get out. More rats were hurling themselves at the door from inside; it took all of Dar’s strength just to keep the door from bursting open.
Tiros summoned Valor, and started stabbing the rats stuck in the doorjamb. One managed to force its way through, and leapt at the marshal’s legs. Varo was there, smashing his mace into the creature’s back, and it landed hard on the ground, quivered a bit, and died.
“Priest!” Dar exclaimed. “Help me keep the door pinned!”
Varo assisted Dar, while Tiros continued his slaughter of the rats trying to get out. The dead bodies kept them from closing the door completely, but while new rats continued to squirm up atop the heap of corpses, only one more made it out into the corridor, only to get stabbed through by Tiros.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, but which in actuality was only a little over a minute, the surge stopped. Dar and Varo warily opened the door. Other than dead rats, the only thing visible in the room was racks of empty shelving. There was a human arm attached to the back of the door, held in place by a dagger thrust through the palm. There wasn’t much left; apparently the rats had taken care of everything that was in their reach.
Tiros leaned against the wall of the corridor, only sheer will keeping him from collapsing again. “I... cannot...”
“All right,” Dar said. “I guess this is where we camp. Varo, let’s see what we can do with these bodies.”
Fifteen minutes later, the three men slept, lost in a dreamless black bred of utter exhaustion.
* * * * *
Dar woke to a sense of disorientation that quickly dissipated. He’d been a campaigner too often to be a deep sleeper, but this time, he had dropped off a deep precipice and had sleep as heavily as he had in his life. He hadn’t meant to sleep at all, intending to keep a watch while the marshal and cleric restored their strength, but he’d been just too damned exhausted.
“Well, I guess we’re still alive,” he whispered. It was dark; the torch they’d left burning had obviously gone out. He found flint and steel by touch and managed to get another lit, driving back the darkness.
The storeroom was unchanged. That was a relief, anyway; he’d half expected to ignite the torch to see a few dozen monsters standing over them. It would have been in keeping with what Rappan Athuk had thrown at them thus far.
Tiros and Varo still slept. Dar’s mouth felt like someone had jammed an old rag into it while he slept; he found his waterskin and took a deep drink. Then he broke out some rations and ate his fill.
They had enough supplies left for a few more days, at least. They’d filled their skins at the underground stream, and while he wasn’t keen on having to go back up there, he was pretty sure they’d find other sources of water here in the dungeon. Rappan Athuk’s dungeons teemed with life, it seemed, and there had to be ready sources of water about to support such abundance.
He realized Varo was awake, looking at him. The priest didn’t stir, or stretch, or make any other movements to announce is waking. He was just asleep one moment, and awake the next. It was creepy, Dar thought. There was a lot about the man that gave him pause, but he had to admit that without the cleric’s company, they would all have died a few times over already.
Varo finally did get up. He looked at Tiros.
“Let him rest,” Dar said. Varo nodded, and helped himself to some food.
“So what next?” the fighter asked, when the cleric had finished.
“I need to attend to a few ritualistic matters,” Varo said. “Then... well, I suppose we continue our search for a way out of this place.”
The priest took up his pack and the torch, and moved a short distance away. Dar left him his privacy, but when he caught a glimpse of flashing gold, he couldn’t help but move closer.
“What are you... hey!”
The priest was using a pointed piece of stone to apply tiny dots of green slime from one of the ceramic jars to the gold bar. The slime quickly started to spread, eating away at the metal; when it reached the point Varo desired, he quickly splashed the torch over it, destroying the corrupt substance.
Without looking up, Varo said, “This is a very delicate operation. Please do not distract me by speaking.”
“But... you’re ruining the gold!”
“It is necessary,” Varo said. “You will not complain when I can use my powers to keep you alive.”
The fighter had no answer to that. He returned to the other side of the room. Tiros had not stirred, even when he’d shouted.
Dar ate a little more while he waited. Once he’d finished his crafting, the cleric placed the torch on the ground before him, and bent low, folding himself until his forehead touched the ground. He remained in this position for the better part of an hour. Dar, bored, spent the time dozing, taking a whetstone to his sword, and whittling at a stick with the last of his daggers. Finally, the cleric came back over to the others. The gold bar—shaped now in the vague form of a horned creature with massive, outstretched arms—dangled from his neck by a leather throng.
“It looks like a lump of crap,” Dar said.
Varo seemed nonplussed as he sat down. “Let me explain in simple terms why it is not a good idea to make those kinds of statements. The success of my spells depends on my association of my focus with the power of my god, Dagos. If, for example, I were trying to remove a foul affliction from the body of a comrade, and I mentally made the connection you just made, then the spell would likely fizzle, falter, fail. In such a case, the person receiving the divine intervention would be, to put it simply, screwed.”
“Why are you here, cleric?”
Varo looked up at him, his eyes glimmering in the torchlight. “Why the same reason you are, fighter.”
“Yeah? And why I am here?”
“Fate.”
For a moment, the two shared a long look. Finally, it was Dar that turned away. “Are you ready to move out, then?”
“I am ready.”
Dar gave Tiros a kick. The marshal groaned. “Wake up, sleepy,” he said. “We’re moving out.”
The companions broke camp. Tiros received several lesser restoration spells from the cleric, which greatly improved his drawn and haggard appearance. Varo also treated Dar, restoring the stamina he’d lost from his close contact with the green slime.
“This place makes a good strongpoint,” Dar said, as they gathered up their packs. “We can fall back on this place if we need to rest again.”
“We shouldn’t dawdle,” Tiros said. “Time is not on our side.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you forgotten the crystal death? I certainly have not.”
“I thought the cleric could deal with that.”
“I can keep the effects at bay, for a time,” Varo said. “But I am not yet powerful enough to fully purge the substance from our bodies.”
“Wonderful,” Dar said. “Like I didn’t have enough to worry about already.”
They moved to the door. After listening for a moment to ensure that the corridor beyond was clear, Dar unlocked it, and opened the door.
The torchlight revealed a gathering of a half-dozen hideously ugly, green-skinned humanoids that stood facing the door, waiting. A sick odor of carrion hung over them.
Before he could act, the first creature lashed out at the fighter with its claws. The wounds were not severe, but Dar staggered back and fell to the ground, paralyzed.
The ghouls rushed forward, eager for blood.
Unfortunately, I am flying back east for an extended weekend trip tomorrow... won't be back until Wednesday. I will bring my USB drive, but I'm not sure I'll have regular access to a computer to post. So today's update might be an extended cliffhanger...
* * * * *
Chapter 17
RESPITE
Dar tried to slam the door, but several rats were caught in the jamb, squeaking and crawling over each other in a frenzy to get out. More rats were hurling themselves at the door from inside; it took all of Dar’s strength just to keep the door from bursting open.
Tiros summoned Valor, and started stabbing the rats stuck in the doorjamb. One managed to force its way through, and leapt at the marshal’s legs. Varo was there, smashing his mace into the creature’s back, and it landed hard on the ground, quivered a bit, and died.
“Priest!” Dar exclaimed. “Help me keep the door pinned!”
Varo assisted Dar, while Tiros continued his slaughter of the rats trying to get out. The dead bodies kept them from closing the door completely, but while new rats continued to squirm up atop the heap of corpses, only one more made it out into the corridor, only to get stabbed through by Tiros.
Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, but which in actuality was only a little over a minute, the surge stopped. Dar and Varo warily opened the door. Other than dead rats, the only thing visible in the room was racks of empty shelving. There was a human arm attached to the back of the door, held in place by a dagger thrust through the palm. There wasn’t much left; apparently the rats had taken care of everything that was in their reach.
Tiros leaned against the wall of the corridor, only sheer will keeping him from collapsing again. “I... cannot...”
“All right,” Dar said. “I guess this is where we camp. Varo, let’s see what we can do with these bodies.”
Fifteen minutes later, the three men slept, lost in a dreamless black bred of utter exhaustion.
* * * * *
Dar woke to a sense of disorientation that quickly dissipated. He’d been a campaigner too often to be a deep sleeper, but this time, he had dropped off a deep precipice and had sleep as heavily as he had in his life. He hadn’t meant to sleep at all, intending to keep a watch while the marshal and cleric restored their strength, but he’d been just too damned exhausted.
“Well, I guess we’re still alive,” he whispered. It was dark; the torch they’d left burning had obviously gone out. He found flint and steel by touch and managed to get another lit, driving back the darkness.
The storeroom was unchanged. That was a relief, anyway; he’d half expected to ignite the torch to see a few dozen monsters standing over them. It would have been in keeping with what Rappan Athuk had thrown at them thus far.
Tiros and Varo still slept. Dar’s mouth felt like someone had jammed an old rag into it while he slept; he found his waterskin and took a deep drink. Then he broke out some rations and ate his fill.
They had enough supplies left for a few more days, at least. They’d filled their skins at the underground stream, and while he wasn’t keen on having to go back up there, he was pretty sure they’d find other sources of water here in the dungeon. Rappan Athuk’s dungeons teemed with life, it seemed, and there had to be ready sources of water about to support such abundance.
He realized Varo was awake, looking at him. The priest didn’t stir, or stretch, or make any other movements to announce is waking. He was just asleep one moment, and awake the next. It was creepy, Dar thought. There was a lot about the man that gave him pause, but he had to admit that without the cleric’s company, they would all have died a few times over already.
Varo finally did get up. He looked at Tiros.
“Let him rest,” Dar said. Varo nodded, and helped himself to some food.
“So what next?” the fighter asked, when the cleric had finished.
“I need to attend to a few ritualistic matters,” Varo said. “Then... well, I suppose we continue our search for a way out of this place.”
The priest took up his pack and the torch, and moved a short distance away. Dar left him his privacy, but when he caught a glimpse of flashing gold, he couldn’t help but move closer.
“What are you... hey!”
The priest was using a pointed piece of stone to apply tiny dots of green slime from one of the ceramic jars to the gold bar. The slime quickly started to spread, eating away at the metal; when it reached the point Varo desired, he quickly splashed the torch over it, destroying the corrupt substance.
Without looking up, Varo said, “This is a very delicate operation. Please do not distract me by speaking.”
“But... you’re ruining the gold!”
“It is necessary,” Varo said. “You will not complain when I can use my powers to keep you alive.”
The fighter had no answer to that. He returned to the other side of the room. Tiros had not stirred, even when he’d shouted.
Dar ate a little more while he waited. Once he’d finished his crafting, the cleric placed the torch on the ground before him, and bent low, folding himself until his forehead touched the ground. He remained in this position for the better part of an hour. Dar, bored, spent the time dozing, taking a whetstone to his sword, and whittling at a stick with the last of his daggers. Finally, the cleric came back over to the others. The gold bar—shaped now in the vague form of a horned creature with massive, outstretched arms—dangled from his neck by a leather throng.
“It looks like a lump of crap,” Dar said.
Varo seemed nonplussed as he sat down. “Let me explain in simple terms why it is not a good idea to make those kinds of statements. The success of my spells depends on my association of my focus with the power of my god, Dagos. If, for example, I were trying to remove a foul affliction from the body of a comrade, and I mentally made the connection you just made, then the spell would likely fizzle, falter, fail. In such a case, the person receiving the divine intervention would be, to put it simply, screwed.”
“Why are you here, cleric?”
Varo looked up at him, his eyes glimmering in the torchlight. “Why the same reason you are, fighter.”
“Yeah? And why I am here?”
“Fate.”
For a moment, the two shared a long look. Finally, it was Dar that turned away. “Are you ready to move out, then?”
“I am ready.”
Dar gave Tiros a kick. The marshal groaned. “Wake up, sleepy,” he said. “We’re moving out.”
The companions broke camp. Tiros received several lesser restoration spells from the cleric, which greatly improved his drawn and haggard appearance. Varo also treated Dar, restoring the stamina he’d lost from his close contact with the green slime.
“This place makes a good strongpoint,” Dar said, as they gathered up their packs. “We can fall back on this place if we need to rest again.”
“We shouldn’t dawdle,” Tiros said. “Time is not on our side.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you forgotten the crystal death? I certainly have not.”
“I thought the cleric could deal with that.”
“I can keep the effects at bay, for a time,” Varo said. “But I am not yet powerful enough to fully purge the substance from our bodies.”
“Wonderful,” Dar said. “Like I didn’t have enough to worry about already.”
They moved to the door. After listening for a moment to ensure that the corridor beyond was clear, Dar unlocked it, and opened the door.
The torchlight revealed a gathering of a half-dozen hideously ugly, green-skinned humanoids that stood facing the door, waiting. A sick odor of carrion hung over them.
Before he could act, the first creature lashed out at the fighter with its claws. The wounds were not severe, but Dar staggered back and fell to the ground, paralyzed.
The ghouls rushed forward, eager for blood.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
