The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Richard Rawen said:
And it was... What a bloody meat grinder that dungeon was. Don't know how many characters were mowed through before it was abandoned but it was a hefty bunch.
Fantastic representation of the overall "nastiness" of Rappan Athuk LB! Can't wait to read more.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks for the positive posts, Fiasco, jfaller, and Rhun. And for the "Rappan Athuk theme song," Richard.
I've very pleased with the reception that this story has gotten thus far, with over 124 page views per story update thus far (on average). Shackled City topped off at 127 views/update, and that was for a very established story with no doubt a lot of return readers as the page count got longer.
So I do keep track, and appreciate all posts!
* * * * *
Chapter 20
BLOODY RECKONING
Tiros stabbed Valor into the ogre that had taken down Dar. Once again he hit, and once again the axiomatic blade bit deep, but the ogre seemed to have a limitless stamina. The monster started to turn, and Tiros knew that Dar was far tougher than he... and that the ogre had taken him down in a single attack.
But there was naught else to do but fight on.
He got a momentary respite as Varo’s summoned ape, having finished off the first ogre, sprang forward to attack the leader. As the ogre swept its club around it seized onto its arm, digging its teeth deep into the ogre’s hairy flesh. The ogre snarled, and smashed its other fist down hard into the ape’s brain pan. The creature instantly went slack and collapsed to the ground, dissolving back into a red mist that left not even a smear behind on the stone.
Varo rushed forward to aid the stricken Dar. The ogre, having dealt extensively with priests, perhaps sensed that this harmless-looking foe was a serious threat. As Varo entered its reach, it swung its club around in a wide arc. Varo seemed to have expected the attack, though, for he dodged low, the powerful stroke missing him by scant inches. The club smashed into the wall where Dar had been flung a few seconds previous, sending bits of stone and wood flying.
Tiros knew that a lot depended on the cleric getting Dar back into the fight. “Over here, you stupid brute!” he yelled, thrusting Valor home for the last time. Tiros’s arms felt like rubber, and the blow barely cut the ogre’s skin, but he could feel the power within the sword thrum within his hand, and he knew that the beast felt the power of Law tearing through its corrupt body.
He certainly got its attention, as it turned, and delivered a truly punishing blow that locked Tiros back against the wall. Valor fell from his limp fingers and clattered to the ground; the world began to spin around him. It was only through a superhuman effort that he clung to consciousness. Through the haze that clouded his vision, he could see the ogre lifting the club for another swing that would finish him; he could hear its shout, like something heard from the end of a very long tunnel.
So be it. I gave it my all, he thought.
But then a familiar voice cut through the haze, and returned him to sudden clarity.
“I got something for you, bitch.”
The ogre’s club went flying from its hands as Dar slammed his club into the joint of its elbow. The ogre roared in pain and rage and turned on the fighter, reaching out with its other hand to grab the human’s head. But Dar wasn’t done yet. He brought the club up and with a violent yell brought it down with all his strength onto the front of the ogre’s skull.
There was a loud crack.
The ogre’s hand swept out, but Dar easily avoided it. The ogre staggered a step to the side. It looked around, its eyes unable to clearly focus on anything.
Then it toppled over, landing with a loud crash upon the ground.
Dar regarded the body, then the club. “You know, maybe this isn’t such a bad weapon after all.”
Varo had gone to help Tiros, and with his healing wand brought him back around to full consciousness. Dar took a cautious look outside; there was another dead ogre lying a few paces away, its head and arms covered in patches of bright green slime.
“Weren’t there more of them?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Maybe you scared them off, taking out the big guy,” Tiros suggested.
“Maybe, maybe,” Dar said.
“That was extremely close,” Varo said. “I fear that my spells are nearly depleted once again.”
“How are we doing on the wand?” Tiros asked.
“About half of its power remains,” the cleric replied.
“We’re going through healing like a soldiers through a barrel of ale,” Dar said.
“There is nothing we could have done differently,” Tiros said. “This place is deadly, and we cannot wander about battered and injured.”
“And when the healing runs out?” Dar asked.
Tiros picked up Valor, and returned it to storage within his magical glove. “We will deal with that as best we can when it happens,” he said.
Dar and Tiros searched the bodies of the ogres, turning up only a handful of coins of meager value. Varo treated their wounds, and they set out once again.
Giving the slime-infested ogre a wide berth, they made their way to the corridor that led south, from which the ogres had come. Their torches shone on a glistening trail of bloody footprints, these ogre-sized, which continued in that direction for as far as they could see.
After about sixty feet, they came to a door on the side of the passage. This portal was quite different from the doors they had encountered thus far. Set into a recessed threshold, this door was of polished ebony wood, reinforced with bands of flawless steel that did not show the slightest trace of rust or decay. As if that wasn’t enough, there were golden runes set into the door, framed by patterns set in delicate filigree.
“Now, this is interesting,” Dar said. Taking a closer look at the door, he exclaimed, “Hey, this is inlay, real gold!” He drew his dagger, but Tiros stopped him.
“Look, I’m not a mage, but even I’m smart enough to see that this door is bad news,” the marshal said.
“Bah, it’s just a door. Right, Varo?”
The cleric hadn’t spoken since they’d encountered the portal, and he continued to stare at the runes as if his companions were not there.
“Varo? Can I hack up this door or not?”
“The runes are in the infernal script,” the cleric said. His fingers traced the patterns of the odd letters, but he was careful not to touch them. “Although the words are unfamiliar. Except for...”
His finger stopped over a complicated spiral of golden lines and whirls. “Saracek.”
“It is a name?” Tiros asked.
Varo finally broke his connection with the door and looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “This is not the way we want to go.”
“What? C’mon, that’s got to be a few hundred coins worth! You’re killing me here, Varo!”
“Consider that the gold is still here, undisturbed,” Tiros said. “Why didn’t the ogres take it, or the barbarian, or the wererats?”
“That which rests beyond this door is far greater than what any of us can handle,” Varo said. “I will not stop you if you wish to defile it, but I will not stay nearby, either.”
The cleric lifted his torch and continued down the passage. Tiros went with him, but Dar lingered a moment, licking his lips as he gave the golden inlay another long look. But as the torches of the others began to cast the corridor around him into deep shadow, he sighed and hurried to catch up with the others.
The corridor continued straight for quite a long distance, maybe as much as two hundred feet from the door where the ogres had initially appeared. Finally the passageway turned right, revealing several additional doors on both sides of the corridor ahead.
The bloody footprints went directly to the first door on the left, which was slightly ajar.
“Ware an ambush,” Tiros said quietly, as they approached the partly-open door. Dar reached it first, and gently prodded it open with his sword.
The room beyond was a rectangle about the size of the storerooms they’d found earlier. This one showed clear signs of recent occupation, and they could have guessed at its occupants even before they saw the ogre sitting propped up against the wall in the corner.
The creature was in terrible shape. Its left leg ended just above the knee, surrounded by a pool of blood and lumps of bright green slime. The ogre’s hands, what was left of them, were likewise covered in slime. Its fingers were mere nubs, and the stuff seemed to pulse as it continued to consume the body, replacing flesh with more of its own matter.
“I would guess that it stepped on a bit of slime on the floor during the attack,” Varo said. “It may not have even noticed, at first, until the substance ate through its boot. Clearly by the time it detected the threat, it was already too late. Once the stuff gets a good grip on the skin, the only real solution is to burn it off.”
“I can abide a quick kill in the heat of the melee, but gods, I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone,” Tiros said. Even Dar shuddered, and his cheek twitched.
And then the ogre stirred.
The three companions jumped, even though the ogre barely moved, its head twitching slightly. Its eyes fluttered, not quite opening, and a sound, weak and terrible, rattled in its throat.
“Put an end to it,” Tiros said, his voice thick, turning away.
Dar nodded, and thrust his sword into the ogre’s throat, careful to stay clear of any of the patches of slime. The ogre let out a last hiss, and fell still.
Dar drew back and cleaned his blade. The three Doomed Bastards looked down at the body of the ogre for a long moment in silence.
“I hate this place,” Dar finally said, summing up the feelings of all of them.
I've very pleased with the reception that this story has gotten thus far, with over 124 page views per story update thus far (on average). Shackled City topped off at 127 views/update, and that was for a very established story with no doubt a lot of return readers as the page count got longer.
So I do keep track, and appreciate all posts!
* * * * *
Chapter 20
BLOODY RECKONING
Tiros stabbed Valor into the ogre that had taken down Dar. Once again he hit, and once again the axiomatic blade bit deep, but the ogre seemed to have a limitless stamina. The monster started to turn, and Tiros knew that Dar was far tougher than he... and that the ogre had taken him down in a single attack.
But there was naught else to do but fight on.
He got a momentary respite as Varo’s summoned ape, having finished off the first ogre, sprang forward to attack the leader. As the ogre swept its club around it seized onto its arm, digging its teeth deep into the ogre’s hairy flesh. The ogre snarled, and smashed its other fist down hard into the ape’s brain pan. The creature instantly went slack and collapsed to the ground, dissolving back into a red mist that left not even a smear behind on the stone.
Varo rushed forward to aid the stricken Dar. The ogre, having dealt extensively with priests, perhaps sensed that this harmless-looking foe was a serious threat. As Varo entered its reach, it swung its club around in a wide arc. Varo seemed to have expected the attack, though, for he dodged low, the powerful stroke missing him by scant inches. The club smashed into the wall where Dar had been flung a few seconds previous, sending bits of stone and wood flying.
Tiros knew that a lot depended on the cleric getting Dar back into the fight. “Over here, you stupid brute!” he yelled, thrusting Valor home for the last time. Tiros’s arms felt like rubber, and the blow barely cut the ogre’s skin, but he could feel the power within the sword thrum within his hand, and he knew that the beast felt the power of Law tearing through its corrupt body.
He certainly got its attention, as it turned, and delivered a truly punishing blow that locked Tiros back against the wall. Valor fell from his limp fingers and clattered to the ground; the world began to spin around him. It was only through a superhuman effort that he clung to consciousness. Through the haze that clouded his vision, he could see the ogre lifting the club for another swing that would finish him; he could hear its shout, like something heard from the end of a very long tunnel.
So be it. I gave it my all, he thought.
But then a familiar voice cut through the haze, and returned him to sudden clarity.
“I got something for you, bitch.”
The ogre’s club went flying from its hands as Dar slammed his club into the joint of its elbow. The ogre roared in pain and rage and turned on the fighter, reaching out with its other hand to grab the human’s head. But Dar wasn’t done yet. He brought the club up and with a violent yell brought it down with all his strength onto the front of the ogre’s skull.
There was a loud crack.
The ogre’s hand swept out, but Dar easily avoided it. The ogre staggered a step to the side. It looked around, its eyes unable to clearly focus on anything.
Then it toppled over, landing with a loud crash upon the ground.
Dar regarded the body, then the club. “You know, maybe this isn’t such a bad weapon after all.”
Varo had gone to help Tiros, and with his healing wand brought him back around to full consciousness. Dar took a cautious look outside; there was another dead ogre lying a few paces away, its head and arms covered in patches of bright green slime.
“Weren’t there more of them?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Maybe you scared them off, taking out the big guy,” Tiros suggested.
“Maybe, maybe,” Dar said.
“That was extremely close,” Varo said. “I fear that my spells are nearly depleted once again.”
“How are we doing on the wand?” Tiros asked.
“About half of its power remains,” the cleric replied.
“We’re going through healing like a soldiers through a barrel of ale,” Dar said.
“There is nothing we could have done differently,” Tiros said. “This place is deadly, and we cannot wander about battered and injured.”
“And when the healing runs out?” Dar asked.
Tiros picked up Valor, and returned it to storage within his magical glove. “We will deal with that as best we can when it happens,” he said.
Dar and Tiros searched the bodies of the ogres, turning up only a handful of coins of meager value. Varo treated their wounds, and they set out once again.
Giving the slime-infested ogre a wide berth, they made their way to the corridor that led south, from which the ogres had come. Their torches shone on a glistening trail of bloody footprints, these ogre-sized, which continued in that direction for as far as they could see.
After about sixty feet, they came to a door on the side of the passage. This portal was quite different from the doors they had encountered thus far. Set into a recessed threshold, this door was of polished ebony wood, reinforced with bands of flawless steel that did not show the slightest trace of rust or decay. As if that wasn’t enough, there were golden runes set into the door, framed by patterns set in delicate filigree.
“Now, this is interesting,” Dar said. Taking a closer look at the door, he exclaimed, “Hey, this is inlay, real gold!” He drew his dagger, but Tiros stopped him.
“Look, I’m not a mage, but even I’m smart enough to see that this door is bad news,” the marshal said.
“Bah, it’s just a door. Right, Varo?”
The cleric hadn’t spoken since they’d encountered the portal, and he continued to stare at the runes as if his companions were not there.
“Varo? Can I hack up this door or not?”
“The runes are in the infernal script,” the cleric said. His fingers traced the patterns of the odd letters, but he was careful not to touch them. “Although the words are unfamiliar. Except for...”
His finger stopped over a complicated spiral of golden lines and whirls. “Saracek.”
“It is a name?” Tiros asked.
Varo finally broke his connection with the door and looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “This is not the way we want to go.”
“What? C’mon, that’s got to be a few hundred coins worth! You’re killing me here, Varo!”
“Consider that the gold is still here, undisturbed,” Tiros said. “Why didn’t the ogres take it, or the barbarian, or the wererats?”
“That which rests beyond this door is far greater than what any of us can handle,” Varo said. “I will not stop you if you wish to defile it, but I will not stay nearby, either.”
The cleric lifted his torch and continued down the passage. Tiros went with him, but Dar lingered a moment, licking his lips as he gave the golden inlay another long look. But as the torches of the others began to cast the corridor around him into deep shadow, he sighed and hurried to catch up with the others.
The corridor continued straight for quite a long distance, maybe as much as two hundred feet from the door where the ogres had initially appeared. Finally the passageway turned right, revealing several additional doors on both sides of the corridor ahead.
The bloody footprints went directly to the first door on the left, which was slightly ajar.
“Ware an ambush,” Tiros said quietly, as they approached the partly-open door. Dar reached it first, and gently prodded it open with his sword.
The room beyond was a rectangle about the size of the storerooms they’d found earlier. This one showed clear signs of recent occupation, and they could have guessed at its occupants even before they saw the ogre sitting propped up against the wall in the corner.
The creature was in terrible shape. Its left leg ended just above the knee, surrounded by a pool of blood and lumps of bright green slime. The ogre’s hands, what was left of them, were likewise covered in slime. Its fingers were mere nubs, and the stuff seemed to pulse as it continued to consume the body, replacing flesh with more of its own matter.
“I would guess that it stepped on a bit of slime on the floor during the attack,” Varo said. “It may not have even noticed, at first, until the substance ate through its boot. Clearly by the time it detected the threat, it was already too late. Once the stuff gets a good grip on the skin, the only real solution is to burn it off.”
“I can abide a quick kill in the heat of the melee, but gods, I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone,” Tiros said. Even Dar shuddered, and his cheek twitched.
And then the ogre stirred.
The three companions jumped, even though the ogre barely moved, its head twitching slightly. Its eyes fluttered, not quite opening, and a sound, weak and terrible, rattled in its throat.
“Put an end to it,” Tiros said, his voice thick, turning away.
Dar nodded, and thrust his sword into the ogre’s throat, careful to stay clear of any of the patches of slime. The ogre let out a last hiss, and fell still.
Dar drew back and cleaned his blade. The three Doomed Bastards looked down at the body of the ogre for a long moment in silence.
“I hate this place,” Dar finally said, summing up the feelings of all of them.
Baron Opal
First Post
And to think, one of my players is just aching to explore this dungeon.
Heh.
Heh.
Richard Rawen
First Post
Baron Opal said:
Aching is a good word. So is bleeding... dying works well, I think as does 'scrathing and clawing'...
Perhaps there will be some goodies in the ogre lair to sate Dar's gold lust and if the DM has any mercy they could actually find something useful! although the magical club seems to have come in handy =-)
Lazybones
Adventurer
Yeah, I'm just using what's provided in the module for the most part, with an occasional tweak here and there (the module references some books that I don't own). If the crew ever does make it out into the outside world, that might change.HugeOgre said:
And here it is. I find myself making more and more "Eric's grandma" edits, especially when it comes to Dar's dialogue.
Let me know if anyone finds what's here to still be too much (although the language in my SH is actually rather more tame that what's in popular SHs like Sepulchrave's and Sagiro's). I'm keeping the original text in all its glorious off-color in my version, for eventual PDF compilation.* * * * *
Chapter 21
THE PROMISE OF ESCAPE
Varo said that the slime would eventually consume the entire body of the ogre, so they carefully burned away the clinging green ooze from its hands and from the stump of its leg. The smell of burning ogre flesh that quickly filled the room wasn’t much of an improvement, and they were grateful when they could turn away from that task and search the room.
There were two exits from the room, a door in the far wall and a narrow tunnel, little more than a hole in the wall, to their left. For some inexplicable reason, the ogres had lined up several hundred copper pieces in three matched rows across the floor of the room. The coins were not worth the effort of carrying them, especially given their present burdens, so the three left them where they lie and chalked up the whole thing to yet another example of the bizarre nature of Rappan Athuk.
The small tunnel looked like it might go somewhere, but it was cramped enough so that it would require them to go through on hands and knees. Leery of that option, they left it for the moment and turned to the far door.
The door opened onto an even smaller room. The stench of ogres here was almost overpowering, and a great heap of furs suggested that at least some of the ogres used this chamber to bed down. There didn’t look to be anything of value here, but Tiros recommended that they give the room a thorough search. Dar grumbled, but the marshal’s foresight was proven valuable when they turned up a few interesting items. Of most immediate note was a greatsword of masterwork make, and with thin lines of gleaming alchemical silver etched into the steel along the edges of the blade.
“That would have been useful against the wererats, no doubt,” Varo observed. Tiros had no interest in the weapon, so Dar added it to his growing arsenal. They also found a small crystal bottle containing a bright blue elixir, which Varo took, and a last discovery that Dar found more interesting than even the sword.
“By the gods,” he said, uncorking the thick bottle of cloudy brown glass, and sniffing at the contents.
“What is it?” Tiros asked. “Another potion?”
“A thousand times better, my friend.” The fighter took a draught from the bottle, which was about half full. He immediately took on a contented look, and let out a sigh. “A crime that such a thing was wasted on ogres, but I will forgive them this once, since they saw fit to leave this here.”
Varo took a sniff of the bottle. “Brandy,” he said. Dar did not offer a drink, and the cleric did not request one.
“Great,” Tiros said. “That’s all we need on top of everything, is to have you drunk to boot.”
“Suck it, marshal,” Dar said, his tone light, but his eyes hard. “You’ve got twenty years on me, and while maybe I can’t run a command tent as well as you, when it comes to this,” he patted his sword, “you’re in no position to bitch me out.” He laughed, and after taking another swallow of the liquor, tucked the bottle into his pack. For a moment Tiros looked as though he would challenge the fighter over the bottle, but then he thought better of it, and instead turned and left the room.
After a brief debate over whether to press on, or explore the small tunnel in the back of the room, the companions decided to at least give the tunnel a look for proceeding. Dar, in a better mood now with a gill of distilled wine working its way through his system, agreed to take the lead. He took off his pack, shield, and extra weapons, laying them carefully by the entrance. Tiros handed him a torch. Drawing his sword, he held it in his other hand as he leaned into the entrance, listening for the telltale sounds of dire rats before proceeding.
But the tunnel was quiet, and no enemies surged out of the darkness to attack as he crawled down the tunnel. The tight warren shifted to the left, and after about thirty feet opened onto a large, low-ceilinged room. The chamber was irregularly shaped, and the worked stone of the rest of the level had given way to rough walls of packed earth. Expecting an attack, the fighter carefully shone the torch around the room. The place had two exits, both small tunnels like the one he had just traversed. There were some marks in the floor that might have been prints left by creatures; they were too muddled to make out. But otherwise, the room was empty.
“Anything?” came Tiros’s voice from the tunnel.
“All quiet, for now,” Dar reported back. “Hold on a second.” He turned to the nearer of the two tunnel exits. Probing it with his torch, he saw that it started sloping steeply down almost at once. A faint breeze from below caused the light to flicker slightly.
“Wrong direction again,” he muttered to himself. He turned away and headed over to the other tunnel mouth. Once again, the light of his torch fluttered as he thrust it into the opening, but this time, the flame revealed a shaft that rose precipitously up.
Dar took a deep breath, and after breathing the fetid air of Rappan Athuk, with its odors of piss, crap, blood, and death, it was like he’d taken a bath.
Grinning, he returned to the original tunnel opening.
“You guys had better come in here,” he said. “And bring my stuff. I think I’ve found a way out of this craphole!”
Richard Rawen
First Post
Lazybones said:< . . .
And here it is. I find myself making more and more "Eric's grandma" edits, especially when it comes to Dar's dialogue.
Reads just fine, the rough nature of the individuals is presented without being overly crude.
Lazybones said:
Awww man, now Dar is gonna die... probably just got poisoned or somethin heh-heh.
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