The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions

[Jon Potter]

[Drealond #6] The Price of Doing Business

This man was clearly not someone that Draelond would have been keen on entering into business negotiations with under almost any circumstances. But his options were drastically limited. He knew so little about the ground on which he stood, he clearly needed assistance of some sort... He was, however, very wary of the price the curious stranger would seek for his guidance.

"Your help is very clearly the kind of help I need, and perhaps the only help I may find, but allow me to clear my concerns if you will," Draelond said to the bounty hunter. "If you are so willing to break your contract with those that have sent you after me, how will I know that you will honor your word to me? What assurance do I have that you are not leading me directly into their clutches?"

He realized even as he heard the words leaving his own mouth that he was not in a strong bargaining position. He knew he would have to take the offer, and he needed the answer to the ultimate question. Before the stranger could answer any of his questions, he added, "I must know, what currency do you require in return for your services?"

The bounty hunter laughed again and waved his hand dismissively. "And just what currency do you think you've got to offer, warrior?" he asked. "You're dead! You've got no currency to tempt me with. Leastwise nothing that I want."

Draelond squinted at him and the man gave another little dismissive wave. "Oh, lighten up, warrior. All I mean is that as an unclaimed soul you are your own currency, but I don't like doing business with the creatures that deal in such tender."

"So why are you helping me?" Draelond asked and the man sighed.

"I'm helping my friends in the Brotherhood; you just happen to be benefiting from the situation," the bounty hunter said. "They asked me to bring back a willing soul - one who wasn't destined for the Lower Planes. That's not as easy a task as you'd think; unlike you, most of those want to go on to their eternal reward."

"You're in the right place at the right time, warrior," the man went on. "But I'm not forcing you to go back with me. I'll be happy to take you to the Cyois-ghalfung grove and collect my bounty. There are always other souls and one of them is bound to want to return to the Prime. Of course, I'd be real surprised if the druids wanted you to return to the mortal coil, so you might want to consider that before you make your decision."

"And speaking of which," the bounty hunter concluded. "What's it going to be? I don't like hanging around Purgatorium in one spot for too long. It invites all the wrong kind of attention. So give me your answer, one way or the other, and we'll get moving."

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Really good update Jon, I'm looking forward to where this is going to lead.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Drealond #7] Caveat Emptor

Draelond looked at the man for no more than a second, shrugged, and said, "Let's off then. I've things to attend to in, as you put it, 'the mortal coil'."

The bounty hunter reached behind his back and unhooked a small brass cage from his belt. It looked like a birdcage of the sort Draelond had seen in the homes of certain burghers and wealthy yeomen in Barnacus. No more that a foot tall and half that in diameter, the purpose of the cage was not immediately apparent. The bounty hunter placed the cage on his open palm and opened the tiny door set into the tarnished bars.

"What's that for?" Draelond asked and the man grinned.

"Well, you didn't think I was going to house you did you?" he replied. "This'll let me bring you out of Purgatorium without turning you into a ghost. Now hold still and don't try to resist." Then he muttered a word that Drealond couldn't hear and a tremendous force began to tug at every fiber of the warrior's being.

Whether he'd wanted to resist or not, he had no opportunity. In an instant he felt himself being drawn into the cage and the charcoal stench of burning filled his nostrils. Then there was only silent darkness.



Rhedon SkyFox stared at the glowing pea of light within the soul cage and smiled. The cool green light bathed the bounty hunter's features, casting the planes of his face into harsh relief. He nodded.

"This ought to do," he said to no one in particular and then produced a small hood from a pouch and proceeded to cover the little cage. The glow of the warrior's soul - one of the few colors that remained true in the weird light of Purgatorium - would attract the attention of every harvester and collector nearby and the sooner it was shielded from covetous eyes, the better.

He consulted a small brass device rather like a compass and hustled off in the direction of the nearest frost tide.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Draelond #7a] Caveat Emptor II

For Draelond waking was like struggling to the surface from the depths of the Tyredemia Sea.

His first conscious indication that he might yet live was the acrid smell of burning incense that reached his nostrils. The sensation of cold stone pressing against his back and the prickly scratch of a fur blanket covering him from chin to toe came next. He saw the dim glow of candle light through his eyelids and heard the muttering voices a moment later. He groaned and tried futily to raise his hand.

"I think I saw him move!" a female voice said excitedly. "It worked!"

"Of course it worked!" replied a male voice. "Did you doubt me?"

"Well.., the woman answered and then there was laughter.

"You have to admit, Harcourt, this wouldn't be the first of your schemes to come up short," another woman chuckled. The male voice huffed.

"Enough with the short jokes!" another woman said sharply.

"Azril smiles on this endeavor," Harcourt answered petulantly. "It's the ultimate trick."

"I thought stealing the Godstone was the ultimate trick?" another man said and there was more laughter.

"Hush, Chemb," Harcourt said quickly. "This will be different."

Draelond groaned and forced his eyes open. He was lying on his back in a room with an exposed beam ceiling.

"He's opened his eyes!" one of the women exclaimed and Draelond heard clapping and the rustling of clothing as someone moved about to his left. "Quick! Fetch the mirror!"

A halfling popped into Draelond's field of vision and studied him critically. "He looks right," the halfling told the others and from his voice, Draelond knew that he was Harcourt. The halfling then directed his speech to Draelond. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I-I-" the warrior rasped and Harcourt nodded sagely.

"This is all perfectly normal," the halfling said and then turned to his side. With an air of importance, he announced, "Claret, the mirror!" A round, steel mirror was passed into his little hands and Harcourt held it such that Draelond could see himself in its surface.

Of course, it wasn't himself that stared back at him from the mirror's depths. The face that confronted him was human, clean-shaven and tanned, framed by thick brown hair. Piercing gray eyes flanked a nose that had been broken at least once. There was a glimmer of panic in those unfamiliar gray eyes, and an instant later Draelond heard himself shriek. The cry was answered by laughter from somewhere nearby.

"Sheesh!" Harcourt winced. "There's just no pleasing some people!"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #248a] We Are The Eggmen

Windstryder gave the hand signal to move back and then crept back down the path until she was confident that they were out of earshot. "There are way too many of them to handle at our current strength," the elf whispered. "I say let's quickly go though the caves to see if there is anything we can do to prevent them from relocating back into there."

Morier shook his head.

"While I know very little of the nature of this group's operation, I do know that I have sat idly by and said too little for too long," the elf said. "This band of bugmen threatens Hillville Junction, and again we sit and debate the virtues of too many half-baked plans."

"We cannot afford a frontal assault right now," Windstryder countered. "Let's move quickly but efficiently through the caves, find what we can, destroy what we can, and catch up to the others."

"Those of us that are able need to put an end to this menace as quickly as we can," the albino argued. "I mean no disrespect, but I cannot watch this threat to my former home continue. Those that are with me, I beg your valor. Those that are not, I beg your tolerance." Ixin nodded her agreement with Morier's words.

"We can take ten creatures!" she asserted. "It's a surprise attack and they're stupid! Let's get this over with. I feel certain it is for the greater good and we can explore the caves if we survive."

"Agreed," Morier said and started to turn back toward the clearing.

"Hold!" Winstryder commanded. "As much as I want to catch these bugmen unawares, I must stick to my mission which is to return the Holy One to Barnacus."

"The girl will get to Barnacus with or without you, Windstryder," Ixin said gravely. "I think we should flank the creatures and use ranged weapons. Then we burn the eggs. Then we explore the caves."

"I am pretty badly injured," the ranger admitted.

"All the more reason to use distance attacks," Ixin told him and fished in her belt pouch for a vial which she handed to Windstryder. "Here. It won't heal you, but it'll make you a harder target to hit."

The elf looked at the potion and slipped it away in her belt pouch for easy access. "Thank you," she said and Morier grunted.

"Since we are sharing," the albino said, slipping one of his wands out of his wrist sheath and handing it to Ixin. "Color Spray," he told the mage. "Command word's 'Contuliath'."

Windstryder grinned. "Okay," she said. "Here's the plan..."



The ranger signalled the attack by pumping two arrows into the largest creature. The first arrow nicked its right thigh and as it turned, the second slammed deeply into its chest. Obviously severely wounded, it shrieked in pain and Ixin fired her crossbow trying to drop it. Her shot flew off into the night, however and the bug creature had time to take a half step before a wolf spontaneously appeared in its path. It leapt at the bugman, sinking its fangs into the exoskeleton covering the bug man's thigh.

The creature shook off the wolf and drew its sword in one motion. The blade clipped the animal's foreleg making it yelp in pain, but it stayed on its feet. Seeing three of the small, four-legged bug men moving to join the combat against the wolf, Morier dropped a globe of darkness onto the two combatants, isolating them.

Isin moved out of the treeline and pointed her borrowed wand. "Contuliath!" she shouted and a cascading sheet of colors fell across the three large, scorpion men. Two of them fell immediately to the ground, dropping their glistening burden of egg sacs. The third resisted the effects of the Color Sray and turned to face Ixin with a defiant roar.

Windstryder dropped it with a pair of expertly-placed arrows to the torso.

The battle within the darkness continued to rage with neither side having much success landing a telling blow against the other. The three small bug men who had sought to engage in the battle now stood ringing the bubble of darkness, unwilling to enter it but ready to attack the wolf should it appear. Another of the things was hanging back near the hive, presumably guarding the eggs, while the remaining two moved to intercept Ixin, who was currently the only visible target.

Morier took a few steps out of the trees, moving close enough to the hive to get it within range of his other wand. "Irakulos!" he shouted and a cone of fire erupted from the wand, bathing the hive and its single guardian in roaring death. The bug man and most of the exposed egg sacs were reduced to blackened husks in an instant while the hive itself showed signs of melting under the flaming onslaught.

The two small bug men closed with Ixin and one of them managed to clamp its hooked mandibles down on her thigh. The wound itself was painful, to be sure, but it was the numbing poison that Ixin felt trying to take hold that caused her the most concern. She cried out the command word and pointed the wand again. The cone of color caught both of the closely-grouped creatures and they dropped unconscious.

Windstryder pumped an arrow into one of the things clustered outside Morier's globe of darkness, dropping it before it even had time to squeal in pain. The Eldritch Warrior stepped forward and finished off the other two, as well as the two creatures within the globe of darkness with another burst from the Wand of Burning Hands.

The whole battle had taken less than half a minute, and apart from Ixin's minor injury, they had emerged unscathed.

With a look of grim determination, Ixin loosened her morningstar and moved up to the nearest of her unconscious foes.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #249] Homecoming and The Mother of Monsters

The fortified walls of Arundel manor were a welcome sight to all of the companions, but most of all to Ledare who had spent the Moonsdance of Readying within the manor house's familiar walls for as long as she could remember. It seemed odd to be here without her parents and with the weather so mild. Not that she missed the sleet and freezing rain of winter, mind you, but there was a sense of strangeness about her current visit that she never associated with a visit to her great uncle's home.

On normal nights, there were never any guards stationed at the manor gates, but tonight was different. The raid the evening before had put everyone in the town on edge, and it was evidenced now by the two men standing outside the wall with crossbows raised.

"Who goes there?!" one of them yelled, and Ledare stepped ahead of her companions with her arms spread wide.

"I am Janissary Ledare," she said. "My companions and I have recovered the girl, Ilea, and we seek the protection of Arundel Manor."

"Ledare?" the other guard asked and the Janissary recognized his voice. She had played with him when they were children, before the chagmat came.

"Yes, Knooris," she answered. "It's me." The guard lowered his crossbow and motioned for his companion to do likewise.

"We had heard that you came into town and went after our gift of the star," Knooris told her, clasping wrists with Ledare. "Gellir wasn't very happy to hear that you went out at night. He told us to wake him if you showed up before dawn."

Ledare sighed and Knooris regarded her sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said and rang the bell set beside the gate.



"Of all tha repugnant, sliver-witted breadcrumbs I've e'er had tha misfortune ta meet, ye lot take home tha gold cup! O' that ye may be sure!" Gellir bellowed as he stomped into the great hall, his iron-shod boots striking the flagstones like hammer blows. He pointed at Feln, who was still disguised as a wood elf and was sitting near the hearth. "I'd expect this sort o' nonsense from an elf. An' a hobbit'll do whate'er seems fun at tha time with nae thought for tha consequences! But ye, lass? Ye shou' ken better'n tha!"

"Hello, Gellir," Ledare said, straining to her feet as the dwarf approached. "Well met."

"Well met?!" Gellir roared. "Well met, she says! Are ye daft? Ye might've been killed! Ye ken right an' true that nae search paty's go inta the wood at noche! Always wait for tha morn! Always!"

"We found the girl," the Janissary said, knowing from experience that it was best to just let the dwarf rant when his ire was raised.

"Oh, and ye were right lucky at that, weren't ya?" Gellir pressed on, wagging his squat finger in Ledare's face. "I kinna believe tha ye went off into the wood at noche! After what happened to ya as a wee lass an' all, I'd o' figgered ye'd have more sense! Ye take too much after yer tree-climbin' father, ye do!"

"Enough, Gellir," another voice called from the stairs set beside the hearth. A willowy man of perhaps sixty winters with gray hair and beard descended the stairs from above. He was slightly stooped with age, but his honey-colored eyes burned with vigor and there was still a great deal of lightness in his step as he came across the room. "Leave my niece be, you old fool. Can't you see that she's injured."

Gellir harrumphed. "Got off light if ye're askin' me," he said with a sideways sneer at Ledare's blood-stained armor.

"You can be quite sure that I didn't ask you - not that that ever matters. I think you love the sound of your own voice, too much to wait for an invitation to speak," Lord Arundel said and Gellir began to sputter. Before the dwarf could say anything more, the man gestured toward a doorway off the great hall. "Send someone to fetch Maerwynn from the shrine. My niece requires healing."

Gellir grumbled as he headed for the door. "An' now he be givin' me orders like I'm one o' his lackeys!" the dwarf muttered as he went. "I ken nae what keeps me here with that rickety, chasm-hearted old snake's egg. If I were-" His words were muffled by the closing of the door although his voice could be heard trailing off into the night.

Lord Arundel took Ledare's hand in both of his and smiled at her warmly. "I'm happy that you could be here, Janissary," he said. "But what brings you to Hillville Junction at our time of need?"


--------------------


Morier used another two blasts from the Wand of Burning Hands to destroy all of the remaining eggs and to melt the hive into waxy slag, while Ixin went about the grisly business of destroying the senseless bug men.

"I am sorry I doubted your combat abilities, Morier and Ixin," Windstryder said, stepping suddenly out of the trees nearby. The hawk, Anta, was perched on her left shoulder. The bird surveyed the area with an approving eye. "I knew with a fully trained Ranger Team we would have been able to do it but as Team Leader, I did not want to put you all into jeopardy when I am at less than full health."

Ixin snorted, wiping gore off her morningstar. "I'm tired of playing it safe," she announced. "What's that the smallfolk say? Risk is just a four letter word for opportunity."

Morier grinned.

"You two can fight by my side anytime," Windstryder told them both. "But for now, I suggest you examine the area and pull any supplies we could use. I will remain in visual range of you both and scout the area. Anta will survey from the trees." The ranger gave the bird a command, pointing to the sky and Anta took wing.

"I want to check out the caves and insure there is nothing left alive and no interesting tools or clues," Ixin said, slipping her weapon back into the folds of her cloak.

"Agreed," Windstryder said. "If we are lucky we will not encounter anything there. But we can't leave any stone unturned. So let's move." And say thus, she vanished once more into the underbrush.

"I'm not much of one for pawing over dead bodies," Morier told the mage after a moment spent looking at the burned and battered corpses. Ixin nodded and sighed.

"Nor am I," she admitted. "But I've done worse."



Ixin and Morier's search yielded nothing of interest, although they did spot some extremely large tracks that they called back Windstryder to examine. She couldn't readily identify the creature that had made them except to say that it was four-legged and at least thirty feet in length. It had entered and left the clearing by the same manner: it had flown. Leaving that mystery for another day, they back-tracked to the bolt hole entrance to the cave complex.

"Either of you any good with track?" Windstryder whispered as they paused around the concealed trapdoor. Morier and Ixin both shook their heads. "Okay then," the ranger said and indicated that Morier should open the hatch.

Windstryder and Ixin covered the hole with arrow and wand, but nothing came up to attack them. A dark, cramped tunnel led down into the ground crudely dug from the muddy soil.

"Who's first?" Ixin asked and Windstryder stepped up.

"I'm the quietest," she said. "It should be me."

"Can you see in underground darkness?" Morier asked, skeptically. "Without the moonslight, I mean?" She shook her head.

"Can you?" she asked with equal skepticism but the albino nodded.

"So can I," Ixin put in but Morier was already adjusting his sword so that he could more easily negotiate the confines of the tunnel.

"I'll go first," he said and descended the wet tunnel to the cave complex below, coming out into a squarish, high-ceilinged chamber roughly twenty-five feet on a side. The tunnel came out near the ceiling and a sloping mound of dirt rose up to meet it from the ground below. Fortunately for Windstryder, the wet walls of the cave were covered with a phosphorescent fungus that glowed with a pale bluish light. Of course, that also meant that she and her companions had a clear view of the horror that quivered grotesquely in the far corner of the chamber.

A thing that looked as if it were once a woman lay naked there atop a bed of dried grasses and leaves. Her head and torso seemed normal apart from the fact that they were drawn and emaciated. From her hips down, however, the woman was completely alien. Her legs were gone, replaced by a bloated eggsack that was sprawled across the floor. Strange webbing seemed to hold the sack up as if it would collapse under its own weight. A few white, puffy larva about half-a-hand long were squirming out of a swollen, pink orifice at the end of the sack. At the foot of the bed, almost entirely wrapped in a cocoon was a man, eyes wide with fear. The only thing keeping him from screaming were the gossamer strands that covered his mouth. Giant larva wriggled over him, working their way into the cocoon.

Morier recognized the man as his one-time mentor, Arwold Wyverneye and a gasped cry of "No!" escaped his pale lips before he could stop it. Ixin, who stepped out of the tunnel beside him, spotted what he hadn't seen: two more of the large sword-wielding bug men. They were busy stacking up more of the quivering pearlescent egg near the base of the dirt mound. But as soon as Morier's exclamation escaped his lips, they turned and drew their greatswords. An inhuman chittering filled the air as they charged.

The creature on the bed seemed to be lost in a trance but began to stir when the two bug men started their ascent up the dirt mound.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Draelond #8] At What Price, Victory?

Still reeling from the events of the last... how long had it been? Draelond suddenly realized that he had no concept of time. His mind swam with questions, visions, all shrouded by a thick fog that lay in his head. More substantial than any he had known, he tried to clear it by breathing deeply... the air hurt his lungs. A dull ache covered his entire body. Was it his body? Again... questions.

He strained to sit up, but Harcourt placed a hand on his shoulder and despite their size difference, Draelond didn't feel as though he could muster the strength to overcome the halfling's resistance. He fell back to the stone slab with a thud, his head hitting last, adding to the mother-of-all-headaches that clamored to break his skull open from the inside.

"I hope you won't mind telling me what you mean when you say this is the 'ultimate trick'?" the warrior said.

Harcourt exchanged a look with someone to Draelond's left and the halfling seemed to be non-verbally asking for opinions. "It can't hurt," a female voice said.

"We owe him a debt of gratitude," the other woman added and Harcourt dismissed her comment with a wave.

"We brought him back from the dead, didn't we?" the halfling asked, then looked at Draelond and shrugged. "Well, sort of at least. I think that should be thanks enough for what he's doing for us. Don't you agree?"

"Where did you find me?" Draelond growled and Harcourt rolled his eyes.

"We didn't find you, did we? That would be SkyFox. The bounty hunter?" Harcourt seemed annoyed with Draelond's lack of understanding. "He did explain things to you, did he not? You did come of your own free will, didn't you?"

Draelond nodded. "But how did I get here?"

"Didn't we just go over that?" Harcourt asked and looked to his unseen companions for support.

"Maybe there's somethin' wrong with his brain?" the other male, Chemb offered.

"Well, you'd know," one of the women retorted and Draelond heard the sound of a fist striking flesh followed quickly by the woman's indignant shout, "Ow!"

"No," Draelond said with as much strength as he could muster. "I mean here... in this body!"

"Oh..," Harcourt said sagely. "Well, have you heard of the Followers of Calaam?"

Draelond thought for a moment and nodded. Calaam was the son of Myrkul, the goddess of death. He stood at the gateway between life and death, preventing souls from returning to Oerune as undead. His followers were few, but those who embodied the god's edicts to smite the undead whereever they might be found had attained near mythical status.

"Well, Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg was a member of the Order of Endings," Harcourt explained, nodding eagerly as he did so. "A real scourge against the undead, that one. Example to thousands, that sort of thing. Except he died and... well... Calaam isn't too keen on his worshippers returning to Oerune once they've passed on."

A human woman suddenly appeared in Draelond's field of vision, leaning over the halfling. Her tawny hair cascaded down over Harcourt's face as she leaned in, smiling. "And Harcourt, here, thought that the best thing to do would be to put another soul into Sir Alechtus' body. That way-" Harcourt pushed her away angrily, spitting out her curls as she went.

"That way," he said loudly, "those people who took comfort in seeing him traipsing about the countryside could continue to enjoy the solace of knowing he was still on the job, smiting the undead, righting wrongs, that sort of thing."

"Even if he isn't," the attractive woman added and Harcourt shot her a dirty look. "I mean not really..."

"This body..," Draelond started to say as his fog-shrouded brain began to put the pieces together.

"Is Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg, minus the parts that make him Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg, with your soul running the show," Harcourt explained merrily. "All we need you to do is to be seen and don't tell people who you really are. Who are you anyway?"

Draelond licked his unfamiliar lips. "Draelond Khemir," he croaked and Harcourt made a face as if he smelled bad cheese.

"Yuck!" he grimaced. "You won't mind losing THAT stinker, now will you... Sir Alechtus."

 

[Hairy Minotaur]

Ah the greatest roleplay challenge, to be someone else. This is going to be exciting. I'm looking forward to reading this.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Draelond #9] The Worst Laid Plans

Ah the greatest roleplay challenge, to be someone else. This is going to be exciting. I'm looking forward to reading this.

And as you're about the see, these guys aren't particularly interested in making it easy for him.

--------------------------------

"My name is..." Draelond stopped himself short and swallowed the surge of anger that had risen from his gut. He looked at Harcourt and loosened the tension from his face. "It... it's going to take some getting used to," he sighed.

"Sir Alechtus of Gudiberg..." the halfling said with a great deal more pomp and circumstance in his voice than he needed. There was applause from the two as-yet unseen members of Harcourt's entourage. The halfling smiled winningly and bowed at them before addressing Draelond once more.

"I'm just saying... you could have done worse," he explained. "I mean, you could have ended up a half-orc or a bugbear or something. You lucked out to be honest. The parchment we read from suggested trying the whole process out on a grimmelfish first. Lucky for you we didn't have time."

The woman exchanged glances with one of the others. The look on her face made it clear to Draelond that she didn't know if Harcourt was joking or not.

Draelond smiled a bit and was happy that he had at least that much control over his muscles. He thought under different circumstances that he could have taken a liking to Harcourt.

"So I am to parade around... around... wherever I am.." Draelond began and Harcourt nodded. "...pretending to be someone I know absolutely nothing about..." Harcourt nodded "...in a place where I know nobody." Harcourt nodded again.

"Now you've got the idea," the halfling grinned and gave Draelond a playful nudge on the shoulder. His face fell when he saw that Draelond wasn't smiling back.

"Surely you've thought this plan through a little better than that?" the warrior asked looking closely at Harcourt's eyes, waiting for his answer, trying to determine how much of what he heard was to be believed. To his surprise he found that he had no trouble believing Harcourt's response at all.

"Um. No. Not really," he said, making an exaggerated production of thinking. "That's about it."

"And that seems like a good plan to you?" Draelond asked.

"It seems like a good plan to me," Chemb said, dully and Harcourt shushed him.

"You're not helping, Chemb," the woman said.

"Sorry," Chemb replied.

"I told you we should have saved his stuff," the other woman said and Harcourt snapped at her.

"And what would we have paid Skyfox with?" the halfling asked. "The money you gambled away in the Merchant's District?"

The woman made a huffing sound and said in a sulky voice, "How was I to know he was a Fatespinner?"

"The holy symbol of Lukane might have been a clue!" the human woman said smugly.

"That's it!" the other woman said angrily. "When I'm through with you, people won't be able to tell the difference between your face and a troll's butt!"

"Just try it, shorty," the human woman replied with a laugh. "Although, I'm sure at your size you're awfully familiar with people's butts!" The other woman roared angrily.

"Enough, Resseka," Harcourt intervened. "You know how much Claret hates short jokes. And they grate on me as well after a while. Why don't you two entertain yourselves in the market. They should be just setting up right about now, and it's still fairly dark. I'm sure the two of you can find some way to amuse yourselves."

The human woman nodded and slid out of Draelond's sight. "Good idea," she said. "I'm getting bored here anyway. Nice to see you again, Sir Alechtus." Her laughter trailed her out of the room.

"Now. Where were we?" Harcourt pondered then thrust his finger at the ceiling. "Right! I was getting ready to tell you that you're pretty much on your own from here on out."

"What?" Draelond tried to process.

"My associates and I have places that we need to be, but you're welcome to stay here," Harcourt said with a wave. "I'm afraid there's not much left with any portable value, but you'll have the run of the place, at least until the guy who owns it gets back."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #250] Knight Takes Queen. Checkmate!

Windstryder worked her way out of the dark earthen tunnel and blinked in the relative brilliance of the chamber. She made an immediate assessment and stepped back into the bolthole.

"Retreat," she hissed, but she saw at once that Morier had other ideas.

"Arwold!" the albino growled, gesturing with his left hand at the bound man. In his right, he gripped the Wand of Burning Hands. He glared at the two bug men laboring up the earth mound and his intentions were plain. "We cannot leave him like this!"

Windstryder disagreed. "Leave him," she said. "We... no, I cannot jeopardize the original mission. I must see the girl back to Barnacus."

"Then you go!" the albino spat and took a few awkward steps toward the advancing bug men. The mound of dirt shifted and collapsed beneath his feet, but he gracefully maintained his balance even as one of the bug men below him lost its own and rolled fifteen feet to the floor. Morier pointed his wand at the one target that remained within range of his wand and turned it into a thrashing pillar of fire with a word, "Irakulos!" The bug man squealed and then went tumbling down the mound to join its fellow at the bottom.

Ixin raised her own wand and went to join Morier farther down the slope, but the earth fell away beneath her boots and she was forced to pinwheel her arms in order to avoid falling down the mound entirely. She wavered there, but made no progress.

"He is lost, Morier! Let us go!" Windstryder grumbled even as she threaded an arrow into her composite longbow, drew and fired. Her shaft sank fletchings-deep into the remaining bug man's groin, ripping a scream of pain from its inhuman throat. A second arrow pierced its outstretched hand and pinned the limb palm-up to the thing's armored chest. It fell over dead atop the smoldering remains of its fellow. "Now!" the ranger urged. "Move!"

Morier turned to shout back, but never got the chance for at that moment, the disgusting queen raised her swollen egg sack and ejaculated a noxious gout of wriggling larvae and amniotic fluid onto the flat-footed eldritch warrior. He didn't vomit from exposure to the foul-smelling stuff, but it was a near thing, and he was retching visibly as he clawed ropes of cloudy mucous off his face. The larvae were on him and moving, seeking openings in his armor through which they could get to the meat beneath. Their bites were like bee stings and the albino dropped his wand in order to slap at them. Two of the revolting things burst like boils beneath his fingers.

Ixin, meanwhile had finally regained her balance, but it was short-lived. No sooner had she taken another step than her feet went out from under her and she went somersaulting to the bottom of the earthen mound. She landed, predictably, on her back and lay dazed there, gasping for air.

"We should retreat!" Windstryder reiterated from the top of the mound. But even as she was shouting it, she was sending arrows at the queen. One struck the throbbing egg sack while a second nicked her left bicep. She keened in pain and anger and with a tremendous slurping sound began to detach herself from the sack.

Morier neither saw nor heard anything but the squirming larvae that were working their way toward his unarmored flesh. He worked feverishly to get them off. He clawed and beat at them with both hands, but he couldn't seem to kill them fast enough. They seemed to be everywhere. And once they got beneath his mail...

Ixin got to her feet, surprised to hear the seemingly fearless eldritch warrior whining with horror a dozen or so paces above her on the mound. The look on his face told her he was near to panic and she dashed upwards as quickly as she could. She slashed two of the larvae on Morier's back to bloody ribbons with her claws.

Behind the mage, the queen finally slucked free of her egg sack, which lay, deflated on the cave floor like a discarded piece of rotten fruit. Her mucous-slicked lower body was armored like a huge black millipede; her belly bristled with numerous tiny legs that pawed at the air as her tail uncoiled. A black stinger easily as long and sharp as a scythe blade snapped to attention at the end of the queen's thorax, glistening with a wet sheen of poison. The smell was horrible.

Windstryder fired at the queen again, but now, free of her encumbering egg sack, she avoided both arrows sent at her with ease. Her wicked tail lashed out at Ixin, but managed to miss her, despite the mage's preoccupation with Morier's situation. She and the albino succeeded in destroying the last of the larvae just as the queen lurched forward, with her jaws unhinged impossibly wide. Rather than bite them, however, she vomited a cloud of noisome vapors on the pair that immediately sent Ixin into paroxysms of gagging.

The mage doubled over, her eyes streaming uncontrollably, her gorge seething. Whether because his experience with the larvae had inured him to nausea or because he was made of sterner stuff than Ixin, Morier resisted the effects of the queen's breath weapon and drew his greatsword. He stepped forward and swung the silver blade at the creature that swayed before him like some strange cobra. His sword, which crackled with impotent electrical energy, found only air as the queen writhed to the side, dodging the attack.

She couldn't avoid Windstryder's arrows at the same time, and one buried itself between her withered breasts. She wailed and jerked toward the ranger. The elf took a chunk of meat from the queen's left arm as she turned. In retaliation, the abomination lashed at the helpless Ixin with her stinger. The massive barb transfixed the mage's left thigh and Ixin screamed and clutched at the bloody wound with both hands. She fell on her side against the mound of dirt, grinding her teeth as her already weakened constitution sought to fight off the poison that burned in her blood.

Morier roared a challenge to the queen, dodging her filthy claws and snapping fangs, even as he brought his greatsword to bear. Sparks of lightning danced along the length of the blade as he drove it into the queen's writhing thorax all the way to the weapon's ricasso. Electricity arced back and forth between the weapon and the queen's spasming body for a moment before she sagged and slumped to the side. She let out a last coughing sigh before she lay, still and smoking on the cavern floor.

Morier turned and looked grimly up at Windstryder. "Now we can leave," he told the ranger before turning to check on the health of Arwold Wyverneye.