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The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)
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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 3386800" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Glad you enjoyed that scene. It was a challenge to write but once it got going I really enjoyed how it turned out. </p><p></p><p>I was looking at the SH forum and saw that the page has over 21k views, now, just shy of 180 views <em>per update</em>. That's more forum exposure than any of my previous story hours, and thanks to everyone for your support! <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f600.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":D" title="Big grin :D" data-smilie="8"data-shortname=":D" /> </p><p></p><p>Today's post brings back a minor character from earlier in the story to add a bit of perspective on how things are going on the "other side". Filcher's the name of a goblin rogue I played in an all-humanoids game about a year ago. Guy couldn't fire off more than 3 or 4 crossbow bolts in a row without a critical fumble, but damned if he didn't have an insane Hide check. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /></p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p>Chapter 118</p><p></p><p>SOULS OF THE TAKEN</p><p></p><p></p><p>As Filcher regained consciousness, he was greeted with a wave of pain. His first instincts were to run; he tried to move, but found it impossible. The attempt only led to more pain, stabbing through his body into his brain, and nearly dragged him back down into the black. </p><p></p><p>Instinct told him that would be bad, so he let his muscles relax, and focused on breathing, the way that old Grimax had taught him. The pain receded somewhat, still there, but manageable. Only when he felt reasonably sure that he would not pass out again, did he open his eyes. </p><p></p><p>When he looked around, he almost wished he <em>had</em> passed out again. </p><p></p><p>He was not alone; not only were most of the members of his patrol here, but he recognized members of at least two mining teams. There were maybe thirty goblins here in all, and there might have been more behind him that he could not see. All were securely bound with lengths of barbed rope that wrapped around their arms and legs, binding them tightly and holding them in a forced kneeling position. A few had toppled over despite that, and lay unresponsive on the ground. A few of the fellow prisoners looked like they might be conscious, but their heads were bowed, and the only sound he heard from any of them was soft groans of pain. They were in a large chamber of dark stone, lit by a diffuse reddish light. Metal pillars reinforced the ceiling. Even before he turned and saw the huge graven idol on the far side of the room, he knew where he was, but actually seeing it sent a tremor of fear through him that threatened to send him over the edge into uncontrolled panic. It was only through a strong effort that he was able to retain control, although the terror remained a cold pit in the depths of his stomach. </p><p></p><p>He did not see the creature that had taken them. The thing had been a true horror, a six-armed cross between a woman and a serpent. Their weapons had done nothing to it, and it had easily blocked those who had tried to flee, summoning up walls of deadly blades, or simply vanishing and appearing ahead of those who were running. It had been everywhere at once, or so it had seemed, and Filcher had initially assumed that there were many of the creatures, but in hindsight, he realized that it was likely just one, using magic to confound them. </p><p></p><p>Small consolation that was; the one was bad enough. The goblins of Grezneck were hardy creatures, toughened by life in such proximity to Rappan Athuk, but even the arts of the goblin wizards and shamans might not be enough to deal with such a monster. The goblins had held a long truce with the cult of Orcus, and many of the goblins themselves even paid homage to the ancient demon god. But now it was clear that the human priests had been biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike against their neighbors. </p><p></p><p>Filcher wondered if any of his kin had escaped. A few of his patrol were not present, at least that he could see, but he remembered seeing at least one of them cut in twain by the demon-creature’s swords. He did not know how many miners had been in the other groups that had been attacked, but he hoped that at least one had escaped to warn his kin. Maybe something could be done to prepare for another attack from the snake woman. </p><p></p><p>He remembered the others that he and his patrol had encountered, some days back. On the spider level, it had been. Those humans had claimed to be enemies of the cult of Orcus. They had fought and beaten the river trolls, so obviously they’d been powerful. What had happened to them? </p><p></p><p>Filcher tried to relax his muscles—difficult, with the barbs digging painfully into his flesh. His hands were free, but he could not move them far, with his arms immobilized by the ropes. Slowly, incrementally, he moved his nimble fingers through the folds in his tunic. His armor had been cut from his body, and his gear taken, but he’d broken an arrow yesterday, and he’d pocked the head, intending to have it recrafted by Shanis later...</p><p></p><p>He was distracted as he sensed movement behind him. He slowly lowered his head, feigning unconsciousness, while his fingers continued their subtle work. Keeping his eyes slightly open, he tried to see what was happening. </p><p></p><p>A clatter of movement, an odd sound, like dice being rubbed together in the palm. Filcher caught sight of a flash of white out of the corner of one eye, and realized that the noise was made by animated skeletons, bearing burdens. Those burdens turned out to be more of his kin, similarly bound and battered, which were deposited nearby. Once they had been propped up, the skeletons retreated into positions around the perimeter of the chamber. </p><p></p><p>“Filcher!” came a soft hiss from his right. It was Gnasher, his second-in-command. “Filcher, are you awake?”</p><p></p><p>The patrol leader responded with a soft whisper of warning, and the other goblin subsided. Their only advantage lay in letting their enemies know that they were beaten, unconscious. The goblin’s fingers continued to probe, and he felt a slight thrill as he felt a hard outline in his tunic pocket. Careful not to betray himself with rapid movement, he slowly fished into the pocket, trying not to think about the agonies that stabbed through his arms with each movement. </p><p></p><p>A loud clank of metal announced the arrival of others. Filcher stiffened as the sound of armored men drew nearer, but they passed by him without stopping, heading toward the great idol. Hoping that one of the skeletons wasn’t standing right behind him, he grabbed onto the arrowhead, and began cutting at the ropes holding him. </p><p></p><p>Focused on his task, he was only dimly aware of the sounds of conversation and activity coming from the far side of the room; the priests were doing something unpleasant, no doubt. But when a goblin scream pierced the relative quiet of the place, his head shot up despite himself, and he looked upon the horror of their intended fate. </p><p></p><p>Several of the goblins in the front rank of captives were conscious, and one had even gotten free of his bonds, leaping up and trying to get away. But the ropes had cut off the circulation to his limbs, and he could only stagger weakly into the arms of a pair of skeletons, which grabbed him easily and dragged him back to his position. Dark shadows, nearly invisible in the poor light, were darting in and around the prisoners, and as Filcher watched in horror, one appeared and passed into the held prisoner. The goblin screamed and stiffened, and then went limp.</p><p></p><p>A few seconds later, <em>two</em> dark shadows emerged from the dead body of the goblin miner. </p><p></p><p>The sight gave urgency to his actions, and he ignored the painful cuts on his fingers as he cut at his bonds with the arrowheads. Finally, the cords parted, and his arms were free. Free movement added new agonies as blood poured into his limbs, but the sight of the death spreading amongst his kin allowed him to overcome that hindrance. He cut his legs free, and quietly slipped to the side, trying not to cry out at the new pain that resulted. </p><p></p><p>Gnasher’s body was trembling with fear, but he held himself still as Filcher cut him free. The patrol leader started to turn toward the next goblin, but as he looked up, he saw a shadow right next to it. The creature’s red eyes shone evilly at him, and as he drew back in horror, it passed into the captive. The goblin’s skin became pale where the undead monster touched it, and it shook slightly. </p><p></p><p>“Come on!” Filcher hissed, pulling at Gnasher, who was trying to rub feeling back into his legs. The two goblins started crawling among the bound forms of their kin, toward the back of the room where the skeletons and priests had entered. Behind them, the screams of the other prisoners continued, as the undead made progress through the captives. </p><p></p><p>The two goblins reached the last row of prisoners, and looked up to see a half-dozen skeletons coming for them. With stealth now unnecessary, the two sprang up, and half-ran, half-staggered toward the doors that they could see in the back of the chamber. Filcher ducked under a skeleton’s grasp, but a second seized hold of his arm, locking into him with a heavy grip. The patrol leader tried to break free, but his weakened strength was not enough to fight the unnatural grasp of the larger undead. </p><p></p><p>Then Gnasher collided into the skeleton, and all three of them fell over, clattering loudly on the ground. The skeleton’s arm-bone snapped, and its fingers loosened, allowing Filcher to get up. He reached over to help Gnasher, but he froze as he saw a terrible black form descending from above. </p><p></p><p>Gnasher perhaps saw the death reflected in his companion’s eyes, for he glanced over his shoulder, raising his arms in a hopeless effort to stop the wraith from taking him. </p><p></p><p>Filcher could do nothing to help, and in fact had to stagger back to save himself from another pair of skeletons that tried to grab him. Tumbling backward, barely gaining enough control to come up into a run, he darted for the doors. The heavy portals resisted his initial tug, and as he looked back over his shoulder to see more skeletons coming toward him, he knew he was doomed. </p><p></p><p>Then the doors opened, and another part of skeletons carrying prisoners entered the room. Filcher shot past them at once, and ran. He kept running, even as the screams grew fainter behind him, and images of nightmare continued to play through his thoughts. </p><p></p><p>He did not stop running for a long, long time. </p><p></p><p></p><p>* * * * * </p><p></p><p><em>Author’s Note</em>: I am using a house rule for spawning undead. This is in response to an issue I raised in a thread here at ENWorld some time back, and which I also addressed in my <em>Travels through the Wild West</em> story. I feel that the current spawn rules would almost inevitably lead to the world being overrun by incorporeal undead. One fifteenth level evil priest could create a shadow in a slum, control it, and in a busy night could create an army of thousands of shadows that could utterly devastate a city. You start by attacking poor people and indigents in their sleep, using <em>silence</em> spells to help keeping an alarm from being raised. Since each shadow created is under the control of its killer, you create a hierarchy that would ultimately answer to the priest controlling shadow #1. </p><p></p><p>Or, since shadows are pretty stupid, you could wait for 16th level and create wraiths instead. If you started at dusk, you could convert a decent sized town by dawn (assuming a geometric progression once you reach a critical mass of maybe 50-100 wraiths, then you don’t have to be as worried about detection, since nothing is going to be able to stop them). Then you just order the wraiths to go underground during the day, head to the next nearest town, and come up to attack at dusk. Wraiths are also better because they are LE and have Int 14, and thus likely to be better organized. </p><p></p><p>My house rule is simple: an undead can only create a spawn from a humanoid that has at least as many HD as it has. A creature with fewer levels is consumed, but no spawn is created. In the above chapter, the cultists were using both shadows and wraiths; most of the goblins in RA are at least 3rd level, but patrol leaders are 5th. I am operating under the assumption that incorporeal undead that spawn can sense whether a victim has enough life force to breed a spawn. </p><p></p><p>Even with this limitation, the people of Camar are in for some tough times ahead. <img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":]" title="Devious :]" data-shortname=":]" /></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 3386800, member: 143"] Glad you enjoyed that scene. It was a challenge to write but once it got going I really enjoyed how it turned out. I was looking at the SH forum and saw that the page has over 21k views, now, just shy of 180 views [i]per update[/i]. That's more forum exposure than any of my previous story hours, and thanks to everyone for your support! :D Today's post brings back a minor character from earlier in the story to add a bit of perspective on how things are going on the "other side". Filcher's the name of a goblin rogue I played in an all-humanoids game about a year ago. Guy couldn't fire off more than 3 or 4 crossbow bolts in a row without a critical fumble, but damned if he didn't have an insane Hide check. :) * * * * * Chapter 118 SOULS OF THE TAKEN As Filcher regained consciousness, he was greeted with a wave of pain. His first instincts were to run; he tried to move, but found it impossible. The attempt only led to more pain, stabbing through his body into his brain, and nearly dragged him back down into the black. Instinct told him that would be bad, so he let his muscles relax, and focused on breathing, the way that old Grimax had taught him. The pain receded somewhat, still there, but manageable. Only when he felt reasonably sure that he would not pass out again, did he open his eyes. When he looked around, he almost wished he [i]had[/i] passed out again. He was not alone; not only were most of the members of his patrol here, but he recognized members of at least two mining teams. There were maybe thirty goblins here in all, and there might have been more behind him that he could not see. All were securely bound with lengths of barbed rope that wrapped around their arms and legs, binding them tightly and holding them in a forced kneeling position. A few had toppled over despite that, and lay unresponsive on the ground. A few of the fellow prisoners looked like they might be conscious, but their heads were bowed, and the only sound he heard from any of them was soft groans of pain. They were in a large chamber of dark stone, lit by a diffuse reddish light. Metal pillars reinforced the ceiling. Even before he turned and saw the huge graven idol on the far side of the room, he knew where he was, but actually seeing it sent a tremor of fear through him that threatened to send him over the edge into uncontrolled panic. It was only through a strong effort that he was able to retain control, although the terror remained a cold pit in the depths of his stomach. He did not see the creature that had taken them. The thing had been a true horror, a six-armed cross between a woman and a serpent. Their weapons had done nothing to it, and it had easily blocked those who had tried to flee, summoning up walls of deadly blades, or simply vanishing and appearing ahead of those who were running. It had been everywhere at once, or so it had seemed, and Filcher had initially assumed that there were many of the creatures, but in hindsight, he realized that it was likely just one, using magic to confound them. Small consolation that was; the one was bad enough. The goblins of Grezneck were hardy creatures, toughened by life in such proximity to Rappan Athuk, but even the arts of the goblin wizards and shamans might not be enough to deal with such a monster. The goblins had held a long truce with the cult of Orcus, and many of the goblins themselves even paid homage to the ancient demon god. But now it was clear that the human priests had been biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike against their neighbors. Filcher wondered if any of his kin had escaped. A few of his patrol were not present, at least that he could see, but he remembered seeing at least one of them cut in twain by the demon-creature’s swords. He did not know how many miners had been in the other groups that had been attacked, but he hoped that at least one had escaped to warn his kin. Maybe something could be done to prepare for another attack from the snake woman. He remembered the others that he and his patrol had encountered, some days back. On the spider level, it had been. Those humans had claimed to be enemies of the cult of Orcus. They had fought and beaten the river trolls, so obviously they’d been powerful. What had happened to them? Filcher tried to relax his muscles—difficult, with the barbs digging painfully into his flesh. His hands were free, but he could not move them far, with his arms immobilized by the ropes. Slowly, incrementally, he moved his nimble fingers through the folds in his tunic. His armor had been cut from his body, and his gear taken, but he’d broken an arrow yesterday, and he’d pocked the head, intending to have it recrafted by Shanis later... He was distracted as he sensed movement behind him. He slowly lowered his head, feigning unconsciousness, while his fingers continued their subtle work. Keeping his eyes slightly open, he tried to see what was happening. A clatter of movement, an odd sound, like dice being rubbed together in the palm. Filcher caught sight of a flash of white out of the corner of one eye, and realized that the noise was made by animated skeletons, bearing burdens. Those burdens turned out to be more of his kin, similarly bound and battered, which were deposited nearby. Once they had been propped up, the skeletons retreated into positions around the perimeter of the chamber. “Filcher!” came a soft hiss from his right. It was Gnasher, his second-in-command. “Filcher, are you awake?” The patrol leader responded with a soft whisper of warning, and the other goblin subsided. Their only advantage lay in letting their enemies know that they were beaten, unconscious. The goblin’s fingers continued to probe, and he felt a slight thrill as he felt a hard outline in his tunic pocket. Careful not to betray himself with rapid movement, he slowly fished into the pocket, trying not to think about the agonies that stabbed through his arms with each movement. A loud clank of metal announced the arrival of others. Filcher stiffened as the sound of armored men drew nearer, but they passed by him without stopping, heading toward the great idol. Hoping that one of the skeletons wasn’t standing right behind him, he grabbed onto the arrowhead, and began cutting at the ropes holding him. Focused on his task, he was only dimly aware of the sounds of conversation and activity coming from the far side of the room; the priests were doing something unpleasant, no doubt. But when a goblin scream pierced the relative quiet of the place, his head shot up despite himself, and he looked upon the horror of their intended fate. Several of the goblins in the front rank of captives were conscious, and one had even gotten free of his bonds, leaping up and trying to get away. But the ropes had cut off the circulation to his limbs, and he could only stagger weakly into the arms of a pair of skeletons, which grabbed him easily and dragged him back to his position. Dark shadows, nearly invisible in the poor light, were darting in and around the prisoners, and as Filcher watched in horror, one appeared and passed into the held prisoner. The goblin screamed and stiffened, and then went limp. A few seconds later, [i]two[/i] dark shadows emerged from the dead body of the goblin miner. The sight gave urgency to his actions, and he ignored the painful cuts on his fingers as he cut at his bonds with the arrowheads. Finally, the cords parted, and his arms were free. Free movement added new agonies as blood poured into his limbs, but the sight of the death spreading amongst his kin allowed him to overcome that hindrance. He cut his legs free, and quietly slipped to the side, trying not to cry out at the new pain that resulted. Gnasher’s body was trembling with fear, but he held himself still as Filcher cut him free. The patrol leader started to turn toward the next goblin, but as he looked up, he saw a shadow right next to it. The creature’s red eyes shone evilly at him, and as he drew back in horror, it passed into the captive. The goblin’s skin became pale where the undead monster touched it, and it shook slightly. “Come on!” Filcher hissed, pulling at Gnasher, who was trying to rub feeling back into his legs. The two goblins started crawling among the bound forms of their kin, toward the back of the room where the skeletons and priests had entered. Behind them, the screams of the other prisoners continued, as the undead made progress through the captives. The two goblins reached the last row of prisoners, and looked up to see a half-dozen skeletons coming for them. With stealth now unnecessary, the two sprang up, and half-ran, half-staggered toward the doors that they could see in the back of the chamber. Filcher ducked under a skeleton’s grasp, but a second seized hold of his arm, locking into him with a heavy grip. The patrol leader tried to break free, but his weakened strength was not enough to fight the unnatural grasp of the larger undead. Then Gnasher collided into the skeleton, and all three of them fell over, clattering loudly on the ground. The skeleton’s arm-bone snapped, and its fingers loosened, allowing Filcher to get up. He reached over to help Gnasher, but he froze as he saw a terrible black form descending from above. Gnasher perhaps saw the death reflected in his companion’s eyes, for he glanced over his shoulder, raising his arms in a hopeless effort to stop the wraith from taking him. Filcher could do nothing to help, and in fact had to stagger back to save himself from another pair of skeletons that tried to grab him. Tumbling backward, barely gaining enough control to come up into a run, he darted for the doors. The heavy portals resisted his initial tug, and as he looked back over his shoulder to see more skeletons coming toward him, he knew he was doomed. Then the doors opened, and another part of skeletons carrying prisoners entered the room. Filcher shot past them at once, and ran. He kept running, even as the screams grew fainter behind him, and images of nightmare continued to play through his thoughts. He did not stop running for a long, long time. * * * * * [i]Author’s Note[/i]: I am using a house rule for spawning undead. This is in response to an issue I raised in a thread here at ENWorld some time back, and which I also addressed in my [i]Travels through the Wild West[/i] story. I feel that the current spawn rules would almost inevitably lead to the world being overrun by incorporeal undead. One fifteenth level evil priest could create a shadow in a slum, control it, and in a busy night could create an army of thousands of shadows that could utterly devastate a city. You start by attacking poor people and indigents in their sleep, using [i]silence[/i] spells to help keeping an alarm from being raised. Since each shadow created is under the control of its killer, you create a hierarchy that would ultimately answer to the priest controlling shadow #1. Or, since shadows are pretty stupid, you could wait for 16th level and create wraiths instead. If you started at dusk, you could convert a decent sized town by dawn (assuming a geometric progression once you reach a critical mass of maybe 50-100 wraiths, then you don’t have to be as worried about detection, since nothing is going to be able to stop them). Then you just order the wraiths to go underground during the day, head to the next nearest town, and come up to attack at dusk. Wraiths are also better because they are LE and have Int 14, and thus likely to be better organized. My house rule is simple: an undead can only create a spawn from a humanoid that has at least as many HD as it has. A creature with fewer levels is consumed, but no spawn is created. In the above chapter, the cultists were using both shadows and wraiths; most of the goblins in RA are at least 3rd level, but patrol leaders are 5th. I am operating under the assumption that incorporeal undead that spawn can sense whether a victim has enough life force to breed a spawn. Even with this limitation, the people of Camar are in for some tough times ahead. :] [/QUOTE]
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