The Realms of Enlightenment: The Grey Companions

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #333] A Change if Plan

Feln growled in disgust and took a long step forward, his face twisted into an angry sneer. "Is there not a warning shot to be had or a blunted arrow to drive home your point?!" he bellowed, shaking his fist at the soldiers.

The captain turned back to face the group and regarded Feln coldly. Everyone - except maybe Feln, himself - saw the way the captain's hand drifted to the handle of his sword. "Do not question my actions, ogreling! My orders-"

"Your orders?" the half-ogre cut him off with a snort. "What good is it to block just this road? Could a vagabond or man of the wild not make his way past through the wilds?" The captain narrowed his eyes and drew his sword then, brandishing it at the half-ogre. Both Morier and Karak could tell from that motion that the guard captain knew his way around such a weapon and neither had any doubt that, if he'd wanted to, he could have given Feln a nasty wound as he drew the blade.

"Enough, half-caste! I've seen enough of your kind in my day to be intimidated by you!" the captain growled. "I gave you a chance because I'd heard rumors of an ogreling who traveled the duchy with an albino elf. And you've a merciful sister in your ranks as well. But don't think that I won't have my men take you down same as any plague-carrier if you try anything with me. Anything at all." The man emphasized his point by stabbing his sword in Feln's direction. Glancing up, the half-ogre saw that the archers at the barricade were looking his way with arrows nocked. He was fairly confident that he could take the sword away from the little soldier in front of him and new full well that he could take an arrow or three without serious injury, but Lela and the others...

He stepped back and bowed his head politely. "I understand the weight you carry, captain," Feln said calmly. "I too have had to carry out difficult orders, hard as that may be to believe. I was not always of this body. So recently in fact, I forget it at times." The captain's face softened a bit and he lowered his sword to a purely defensive position.

"You're better spoken than most ogrelings I've met," replied the man. "And you're right. This duty is an ugly burden to bear. But bear it I must for the sake of the duchy. For all of Pellham, maybe."



Shamalin knew the man was telling the truth - at least the truth as he knew it. She had quickly cast Detect Thoughts as soon as the soldiers' attention was diverted by the sick man and woman. She almost lost concentration on the spell when the archers had killed them both and then the donkey as well. But she'd endured much horror of late and watching the murders affected her somewhat less than it would have a moonsdance ago, And the more she concentrated, the more thoughts she could pick up from the man... and from Feln as well; the half-ogre was within the area of effect from her spell and there was no way to exclude him from its power.

When Feln spoke about carrying out 'difficult orders' Shamalin saw men murdered silently in their sleep or in the bath and she cringed. Still it was the fact that she had access to the half-ogre's thoughts that allowed her to discern where he was going as he spoke and warn Morier of his intention to reveal Lela's sickness.



"Lela, I think the choice is yours.," Feln was saying. "We all risk sickness if we go in, but I will gladly take that risk if you feel there is a chance you could be-"

"WOAH!" Morier shouted, raising his hands and stepping forward. He had a nervous and smile on his lips that looked positively strained. "Getting a little ahead of ourselves aren't we, Feln? Shouldn't we discuss this a bit? Privately?"

"What?" Feln scowled as Morier motioned him away from the captain.

"Did you not just see these guys shoot a sick couple on sight?" Morier hissed and Feln shrugged in reply.

"I understand, but the little sprite needs assistance," he told the albino. "And if these guys want to try and take us, they do so at their own peril."

Morier slapped his forehead in frustration.



"What news from the temple in Rhadcliffe?" Shamalin asked the captain, distracting him from the exchange between Morier and Feln.

"The temple of Flor, mi'lady?" the man asked as he sheathed his sword. When Shamalin nodded, he became quickly interested in the toes of his boots. "That's a good question... a very good question. And the truth is, I don't know. The Duke sent at least three riders to Rhadcliffe to contact the temple when people first started getting sick. But none of them's returned that I know of." Shamalin's expression grew troubled.

"How long since this outbreak began?" she asked and the captain answered quickly.

"Right after the Fall Festival," he said. "I remember it well because at first folk thought it might just be some bad mushrooms or some such got served up at the harvest feast. But when things didn't get any better after a week-"

"Sorry, sir, but we were in disagreement about whether or not we wanted to get involved... that plague looks right nasty," Feln interrupted, returning from his conference with Morier. The half-ogre smiled disconcertingly and went on, "Could we offer you some assistance and possibly bring word to a nearby healer? If not nearby, than the closest one? It woud be our honor to assist Duke Diliham in his quest to keep the Realm safe for all of us!"



"Good cover. I really believe that one." Huzair muttered sarcastically to Morier.

"Aye!" Karak grumbled. "Who elected the half-ogre to speak for us?"

"He's sure no Ledare," Morier sighed.



"Nearest healer'd be the herbalist, Mistress Feathertouch," the captain told Feln, pointing west. "About half a day in that direction. But this is well beyond her abilities, I'd reckon. She specializes in midwifery and the like." He fixed a suspicious eye on Feln and asked, "Why would you lot want to go risking your necks to help me and my men?"

Feln didn't have a ready answer to that, but luckily Shamalin did.

"My lord, it is evident that your men are steadfast in their conviction to you and to Duke Diliham. So, too, are we committed to our purpose," she said smoothly, a trifle surprised at how readily the lie came to her lips. "What my companion means is that we carry word from Holy Mother Mellona in Floxen, intended for High Matriarch Kosteny in Rhadcliffe. We are seeking anyone at the temple who may receive our news."

"Bad time to be delivering messages, mi'lady," the captain said grimly. "As I've already said, three of the Duke's own have gone missing. There's reports of undead and other abominations to the south, not just disease. What's so important that you'll risk all that?"

Shamalin raised an eyebrow and replied archly, "Certainly your duke respects the honor of the religious institutions within his borders. Or do your orders include the interrogation of messengers as well as the termination of breakers?" The captain nodded his acceptance and took a step back.

"Flor doesn't have quite the sway here as she does in Rhadcliffe, but I've no reason to question you further, mi'lady. The clergy's business is its own," He hooked his thumbs into his sword belt and nodded toward the barricade. "You can pass if that's your wish. I've warned you as well as I know how and I won't stop you from leaving. But If you leave by that road, there's no returning to Diliham Duchy no matter what tidings you bring back from Rhadcliffe."

"Thank you, captain," she said with a polite nod. Beckoning him closer you added conspiratorially, "In all honesty, good sir, the contents of our message are as dark as the taint which creeps over your lands. We bring news of... events... in Floxen."



"I didn't realize that you had such an interest in our manor project, Shamalin," Feln said as they marched westward away from the road leading toward Rhadcliffe and instead more directly toward the pull in Morier's head. As they'd left the roadblock, Shamalin had mentioned the manor project to the captain, but loud enough that his men probably heard as well. "It is commendable that your men serve their lord so faithfully in such difficult times," she'd said by way of farewell. "If ever they find their contracts to the duke fulfilled, there is a man by the name of Wyverneye in Floxen who is looking for such skill to oppose the evils of this land."

"As I've said before, Feln," the cleric told him now as they walked. "You're trying to turn a place of the darkest evil into a bastion of light. Those efforts shouldn't go unnoticed or unappreciated." Feln grinned down at her and said nothing more.



Later, as the road passed down through a narrow gully with steep, rocky walls, talk turned back to the debate over whether they should have pressed on to the temple of Flor. "I still say my dwarven constitution'd be enough to go in and fetch a cleric to heal up Lela proper," Karak reiterated but the sprite shook her head.

"We need to move on," she said. "There is no sense in all of us dying before we get to Rhadcliffe."

"I know I will probably die soon anyways from this disease, so I might as well not be afraid to go in there," Huzair quipped, trailing cigar smoke as he went. "People who adventure with you don't live very long, do they, Morier?"

The albino shot him an evil look and Karak had opened his mouth to say something when the first arrows started hissing down at them from above. The ambush but a quick end to further debate.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #334] The Killing Field

If they'd been thinking about the danger of ambush, or even considering the possibility that they weren't entirely alone in the wilderness, they might have noticed how ideal the site was for attack. The road descended here to the floor of a muddy gully between two steep hills crowned with a tangle of hardy nettles. and thistley brush. There was no quick way to the summit without climbing straight up the incline - a feat that was difficult in itself, and one that would leave the climber open to missile fire from the opposite hilltop.

The Order hadn't been thinking about an ambush - but somebody had.



Almost before they realized what was happening the sky was darkened by a swarm of arrows. In rapid succession two arrows slammed into Feln - one sinking deeply into the hafl-ogre's right knee and a second burying itself in the meat beneath his right ear. He had time to cry out before a third struck his forehead, careening harmlessly off his naturally armored flesh. A fourth arrow stabbed into the martial artist's muscular thigh; a fifth glanced off his right forearm, breaking into splinters against his leathery skin. A sixth shaft pierced the half-ogre's cheek and lodged there, protruding awkwardly from his face.

Feln was experienced enough to recognize the precision sneak attacks for what they were, but flat-footed on the floor of a gully without any cover, there was nothing he could do about it. Luckily for him, only the archers on his right side had been instructed to "bring down the giant". But Feln's gain was Huzair and Morier's loss.

Three arrows knifed through the air at the wizard and all three found their mark. Two plunged into his hip and thigh and the third sank deeply into his side, just below his ribs. He had time to let out a surprised grunt before he collapsed slowly to the ground with blood streaming down his trousers.

Two arrows whistled through the air around Morier's head, missing by less than a hand-span each. A third struck his magical leather armor and was turned aside. Three more were on target, however, striking his left leg and his left arm, and his hip just below his belt. The albino staggered, very nearly overcome by the sudden wave of pain.

Feln was in no position to see what was happening with the other party members. He yanked free the arrow sticking absurdly from his face and roared defiantly at the top of hill. He called on a surge of adrenaline, feeling the first stirrings of the inner power he would need to scale the steep incline of the hill.

Stirrings was all he felt before two more arrows stabbed into his gut, each a couple of inches from his navel. Then he fell down.

An instant later yet another shaft found its way to Morier's body, sinking deeply into the muscle on his chest and dragging another cry of pain from the eldritch warrior. He maintained his feet... but just barely.

 

[Jon Potter]

HM, Funeris, there's a re-post for each of you.

Thanks for stopping in to say, "Hi."

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #334] The Killing Field, part 2

Karak, standing untouched in the midst of the barrage, swiftly assessed the situation: it wasn't good. Glancing around quickly, he saw that only he and Shamalin were obviously uninjured. He didn't see Lela, but that wasn't surprising; she was damned hard to spot under the best of circumstances.

And as circumstances went, these were very far from best. "Aye, they've got the jump on us, lass," the dwarf bellowed to Shamalin, but loud enough that he hoped the archers above would hear also. "The Ogre and the white elf are down." He looked meaningfully at Morier and then at the ground, suggesting that the Eldritch Warrior play dead, but Morier didn't seem to take the hint. Karak spied movement along the ridge line above, but no obvious targets until one archer popped up - perhaps to assess the truth of the dwarf's announcement.

Karak slipped free one of the handaxes he kept threaded in his wide girdle, drew it back and let it fly. The dwarf was not, by his nature, a specialist with ranged weapons, but his attack proved true. The axe bit into the archer's side and stuck there. Screaming, the man - who looked to have some orcish blood in him - fell back down behind his cover.

Up until that point, the archers had dismissed both of the warriors in plate armor as secondary threats. Their leader reasoned that anyone in heavy mail would take far too long to reach bowmen high atop the hill. Time during which the archers could continue to pelt them with arrow fire. Finding that the dwarf could strike at range changed that.
Which was, of course, just what Karak wanted.



Karak hadn't spied her, but Lela was there. Despite the heavy constriction in her chest (which felt awfully like someone were trying to slowly squeeze the life from her fragile body) she knew she had to act. Death awaited all of them if she didn't do something to change the dynamics of the situation. Her wings a bright blur behind her, she rose 30 feet straight up to survey the battlefield and came quickly to the same conclusion that Karak had: they weren't in a good position. Feln and Huzair, she saw, were both down, bristling with feathered shafts and Morier looked like he was ready to join them in the mud at any moment.

She could also see the murderous figures who were raining death on them from above. There was a score of them divided more or less evenly between the two facing hills. Mostly they looked of human blood (or human blood diluted with some other ancestry), but there was a group of four halflings among the opponents on the right and a trio of dour-faced elves on the other. Behind the halflings stood a scruffy-looking man with a rather large sword strapped across his back who seemed to be directing the assault. Not ten feet from him was a hunched figure in heavy plate armor carrying a large wooden shield. As she watched he began the somatic passes of a Bull's Strength spell eager to swell his muscles with power.

She had her target, and she dropped an Entangle spell on the right hilltop. Immediately the nettles and bracken that crowned the hill sprang to clutching life and chaos reigned amongst the enemies there. They cried out in alarm as the scrub that had been providing them with partial cover suddenly sought to pin them in place. Most of the archers, including all four halflings managed to dance about and avoid the entangling foliage, but three of them were snared before they could react. Both the leader and the spellcaster were amongst them and Lela was happy to see the Bull's Strength spell fizzle. A sphere of translucent energy surrounded the caster and those near him momentarily as the magic went awry, but it rapidly faded away.

The archers on the facing hill were not unmoved by their compatriot's plight. The keen-eyed elves spotted Lela and targeted the sprite immediately. Two of the missiles flew wide, but the third transfixed the faen's right thigh making her shriek in pain.

With neither a ranged weapon nor access to healing magic of his own, there was little that Morier could do. He looked for cover, but there was none, so he dropped prone and began to scuttle away from the kill zone. Feathered shafts struck the ground near him, but none found his flesh as he frantically wormed away from the line of fire.

Two more arrows knifed toward Lela, but they were horribly wide of the mark, arcing uselessly away from the battlefield.



A few quick pokes out from behind Blackheart's shield confirmed Shamalin's suspicions - Feln, Huzair and Morier all had taken significant hits from the archers. She scanned the top of the cliffs, but could not make out any discerning shapes. Someone was up there... several someones, in fact, all with good aim. Pulling herself as close to the shield as she could, she closed her eyes preparing her mind to seek out the status of her comrades.

For an instant she faltered as images from her last attempt at the Deathwatch spell exploded inside her head. It was several moonsdances removed now, and yet the shock of what her divine inquiries had found on that fateful day was still sharp in her memory. Pushing those images aside to focus on the Order, she reached out first to Feln. And it was not good.

He was seriously hurt, the small tremor of his lifepulse fading quickly. The same was true for Huzair although somewhat less so. Morier was in better shape still, but not by much.

Shamalin took several deep breaths to steady herself as she considered the situation. "Karak, can you help Morier? I'll attend the other two," she called to him from behind her shield, hoping he was still within range to hear her.

She didn't have an opportunity to look, however for arrows began to clatter ineffectually off her heavy armor. If she'd looked up, she'd have seen a single arrow nick Karak's left ear and have witnessed the sneer of contempt that wound had elicited from the hardy dwarf.

Grinning darkly, he clanked forward across the muddy road, angling to come up the more gentle side slope of the hill. "Telnon," he growled as he came and the head of his waraxe glittered eagerly with ice crystals in the afternoon light.



In the sky above, Lela whirled in a circle to avoid another arrow sent her way from below. The shaft that had pierced her leg made the maneuver cumbersome, but she managed and looped down with a handful of Confusion Dust at the ready. Flying over their heads, she hurled it into the midst of the elven archers firing on her, but the wind caught it and blew it into the faces of three archers to their left. The first, clearly a half-orc dropped his bow and fled from Lela as fast as he could. The human woman in the center just grinned stupidly and began to babble nonsense. The third dropped his bow as the half-orc had, but he drew a great curved falchion from the sheath on his back and slashed at the nearest elf. The fey archer dodged the attack with apparent ease, but it forced him to divert his attention away from the sprite.

Scurrying painfully on his elbows and knees, Morier avoided two arrows that thunked down into the trail beside him. A third missed him only by virtue of his position slithering on his belly; it struck the ground less than half a foot from his head.

There was no place that was safe from all the arrow fire, but he managed to crawl to the base of one hill thereby limiting the number of archers who could target him.

Still, he knew, it would only take one arrow to send him on to the Walk of a Hundred Days.



Two more arrows pinged pointlessly against Shamalin's shield as she walked determinedly to Feln's body with the words to a Sanctuary spell on her lips. She made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the cliffs and those shooting at her. She knelt in the blood beside him and used her magically enhanced sight to check again for signs of life. But there were none. His body was nothing but a lifeless shell.

Feln, last surviving member of the massacred Gelgian Brotherhood had died a second time.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #334] The Killing Field, part 3

"Well, now! What do we have 'ere up on this hill, eh? A couple of weedy bandits for me to crack open!" Karak said as he clanked up the hill. "Takin refuge behind a hill and shooting your wee arrows, huh? Felled the big'un. Even a blind elf could have done that,. Not very sportin of ye." He spat threateningly and glowered up at his prey, adding, "No sir, I'll make sure you pay for that!"

The air in front of Karak grew dark with arrows as the five archers not otherwise engaged turned their bows on this new threat coming at them. But he was a juggernaut, heavily armored and undaunted as he hustled at them up the slope of the hill. And then, bellowing a foul dwarven oath, he was upon them, bringing death with him.

Karak struck the first foe he came upon, a raggedy human warrior with unkempt hair and wind-burned skin, slamming into him like the hammer of the gods. The unfortunate human had little opportunity to do anything before he died save grow wide-eyed with fear. Then the frost-rimed waraxe cleaved his left arm messily from his body. Karak's momentum carried him forward into the half-elf who stood behind the human. His weapon cut into the archer's guts, crushing his pelvis and sending him to the ground in stunned silence.



Across the gully, the folk entangled by Lela's spell wailed in impotent rage as they fought to break free. Those who hadn't yet succumbed to the clutching underbrush tried desperately to get outside the area of effect; some succeeded, but others mis-stepped and were dragged down. Lela saw the enemies who were near to escaping her trap and, sparing another handful of Confusion Dust on the elves that were still trying to pick her out of the sky, she moved to correct the situation.

Her toss with the dust was half-hearted - hurled even as she turned away - so it was little surprise that she missed her intended targets. Again she hit to the left of center, dosing once more the half-elf and woman who stood there, but the sprite also managed to sprinkle a portion on the dangerous-looking elf who was engaged with the half-elf.

The results were immediate. The elf dropped his composite bow and drew his rapier with murderous intent. He got little opportunity to do anything with the blade, however, before the other two confused warriors, half-elf and woman, tore into him with their falchions, ending his life quickly.

One of the two remaining elves sent an arrow ineffectually after Lela as she moved across to the opposite hilltop, but the other turned and fired point blank into the confused woman's chest. She staggered, but didn't fall, despite the sheet of blood that poured down her studded leather armor. The elf's expression was unreadable, emotionless as he reached for the quiver at his hip and made some tactical adjustments to keep the woman in position.



At the base of the hill, oblivious to events above, Morier looked longingly at Shamalin as the priestess bent over Feln with curative magics at her command. Clearly, he was in better shape than the half-ogre, but that didn't change the fact that he needed healing desperately. By Garn-Zanuth! He had an arrow sticking out of his leg! Did that mean nothing?

Grimly, he clutched at the wound with one hand and firmly grabbed the arrow with the other. Setting his blood-smeared teeth he yanked the shaft free with a groan of pain. For a moment the world teetered and grew dark around the edges as the wave of fresh pain spread through him. But he fought the unconsciousness down, wishing to the gods that he'd paid more attention to Malcolm's lessons on healing. He'd always been too excited to get back to Arwold's training with the sword.

The irony of that was hardly lost on the albino.



There were only two archers left on the one hilltop who weren't confused or fighting for their lives against one of their own confused comrades. Those two stood between those combatants and Karak. As the dwarf moved toward them, stepping over the bloodied remains of two of their allies, both decided to exercise discretion. They ran down the hill as fast as they could go, heading into the heath to the south.



Shamalin looked down at Feln's corpse and thought him lucky. He'd died an honorable death... not flayed alive and begging pitifully for the agony to end... saying things... anything to make the end come sooner... like Deas and Padgett.

Poor, poor Padgett. He'd deserved better. They all had.

A dagger of envy stabbed at Shamalin's heart. She'd touched the half-ogre's mind with her Detect Thoughts spell and she knew the sort of life he'd led. What made his dark life worthy of an honorable death? If anyone was owed such it should have been Antinua; the elf was selfless in her devotion to others. Righteous, even. And she'd died badly for it. The half-ogre was an assassin - or had been - and he'd died cleanly in battle. Where was the sense?

Pondering that thought, she moved toward Huzair and scanned his ravaged body with her death sight. She saw he yet lived, but it took longer to find the pulse and meter of his lifeblood. His rhythm was darker, and she noted curiously that it was accompanied by the glowing sensation of fire. Her cheeks were flushed red with heat by the time she was finally able to draw him back from the dark of death's door through divine grace.

"Announce that I am dead," he instructed her gravely, and she blinked at him as his intentions sank in.



Three of the four halflings Lela had spotted earlier had freed themselves from the Entangle. And they'd seen her now as well. Three arrows arced toward her and she was able to alter her flight to avoid two of them. The third clipped her leg, cutting a bloody groove in her thigh. It was on him that she dropped her Flaming Sphere.



Deprived of the two targets he'd expected, Karak barreled into the back of the half-elf that Lela had Confused. His waraxe took the man's right arm and a goodly chunk of his shoulder off without slowing down. The human woman, already bloodied by an elven arrow, fell from a glancing blow that trimmed her skull messily just behind her ears. That left the dwarven warrior alone on his hilltop with two elven archers.

The two fey wasted no time in adjusting their stance and targeting Karak, but his heavy armor turned aside their arrows with ease. Then, as if by some shared, unspoken accord, they both turned and bolted down the hill to the south, moving lithely amidst the bracken at a pace that Karak couldn't hope to match.



The halfling tried to jump out of the way as Lela's ball of flame materialized in front of him, but he was too slow and instead cried out in pain as fire met flesh with an awful sizzling sound. The scrub grass at his feet burst into flame, making him pinwheel his little arms and dance about from foot to foot in a way that would have been comical if not for all the screaming.

The sound of burning was music to Huzair's ears. And while he'd hoped to be the one doing the burning, he had a lovely spell that would assist the sprite's endeavors. He reached out with his magic, touching the fire started by the flaming sphere and calling on it to produce smoke. Lots of smoke.



Morier heard Huzair mutter the incantation of a Pyrotechnics spell and then the hilltop across from them disappeared behind a bank of expanding black smoke. There came panicked screams and choking coughs from within the cloud, but of the archers, nothing could be seen.

Which meant that the archers couldn't see them either.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #335] The Turning Tide

The effects of Huzair's spell blossomed atop the cliffs to her left right and Shamalin could hear confused cries from within the billowing smoke. She straightened and looked toward Morier. The spell afforded her a few precious moments which she fully intended to use. She was stopped, however, by Huzair's tight grip on her arm.

"Thank you for saving me, beautiful priestess of Flor. Allow me to return the favor," he hissed, moving little to maintain the pretense of his death with any that might still be able to see him. "I can cast an invisibility spell. Do not attack anyone and you will stay-" But Shamalin shook her head impatiently, cutting him off.

"Save your energy. My goddess will watch over me." And she moved purposefully toward Morier, hoping that the words were true.



The cloud of black smoke roiled below her, completely blocking Lela's line of sight to both her Flaming Sphere and to the entangled bandits. She could still sense her Sphere, of course, and continue to direct it, but it was a blind direction and she didn't much think that -

An arrow arced up suddenly from the left of the cloud, missing her, but still clearly aimed at her. One of the halflings had made it to the edge of the smoke cloud and was sniping at her. As she watched, a second of the four tumbled adroitly out of the smoke and drew a bead on her with his shortbow. It was the one that she had previously burned with her fire, and despite the difficulty of the shot, he managed to send his missile cleanly into her chest. The point of the arrow was turned aside by a rib before piercing her lung, but she felt a stab of hot pain indicating that rib had been cracked in the process. Her side was on fire, and she found her wings faltering as she struggled to remain aloft.

One more hit like that would be her end, she knew.



Karak heard Lela cry out and saw the two halflings that were still shooting at her as if they yet had a chance of prevailing. Deprived of his opponents by their own cowardice, he moved down the far side of the hill back toward the trail below. He loosened his last throwing axe as he went.

He grunted in surprise as an arrow found the gap between greave and poleyn on his right knee. His tough leather leggings absorbed most of the impact, but he could feel a trickle of blood begin working its way into his boot.



Huzair glanced furtively around and saw that the rain of arrows seemed to have let up - at least as far as he was concerned. Sparky was circling above the cloud, marking the position of the only identified enemy spellcaster and Huzair smiled. Producing a smooth chip of white stone from his spell component pouch, he drew on The Weave to send a Snowball Swarm into the midst of the smoke cloud. Spells of cold weren't the mage's specialty, but he was pleased by the multiple screams of pain that issued from beneath the smoke as his spell struck home.



Morier lay in the mud bleeding and waiting for Shamalin to arrive with healing. After what seemed like a lifetime, she finally reached his side. She met his gaze briefly, acknowledging the pain and urgency clearly visible there.

Thankful that it was not too late, Shamalin pushed away the surrounding chaos and turned her mind inward. It always surprised her initially - the sound of one's life, played out in rhythm and measure. It was the utterly unique song of a soul. And it never failed to move her with its beauty. Calling upon the mercy of her goddess, Shamalin took Morier's hand adding the soft sounds of healing to his rhythm in her mind.



Lela dodged arrow fire from the two snipers who seemed intent on knocking her out of the sky, Looping back away from the line of fire and calling on the Green, she managed to suffuse some much-needed healing into her small frame. It wasn't much, but the ache in her ribs abated some. She managed a wan smile, thankful for the reprieve from death she had given herself.

She heard laughter from below and saw that two of the halflings were chuckling despite the situation. They were laughing and pointing at Karak who had hurled his second throwing axe and sent the weapon sailing off into the distance rather than actually threatening anyone with it. The dwarf seemed nonplussed by his performance in ranged combat and he bellowed an unintelligible battle cry as he charged across the trail and started up the opposite hill toward the hobbits who had now turned their bows on him. An arrow pinged off of his breastplate before he'd moved five feet.



Huzair rolled to his belly and crawled toward Feln's arrow-ridden corpse, although what he was hoping to accomplish eluded Morier as the Eldritch Warrior got to his feet. He spared Huzair a disapproving scowl and laid a hand on Shamalin's shoulder. "Thank you," he said simply and hefted Ravager. The sword felt hungry in his hands as he started toward the far hill.

Shamalin watched him go and considered targeting him with a Shield Other spell. She could tell through the lingering effects of her Deathwatch spell that Morier's health was vastly improved by the application of her Cure Serious Wounds spell. Huzair was in worse shape, but the wizard wasn't making his way toward melee, either. It wouldn't do to have her healing all undone by an enemy's well-placed sword blow.

She targeted the albino's retreating form and then moved to keep him within range of the Shield Other spell.



Arrows from all three halfling archers struck and were turned away by Karak's thick plate armor as he advanced. As he closed with them, all three dropped their bows and drew shortswords, ready to meet the seemingly unstoppable dwarf with steel.

Lela drew her Flaming Sphere out of the smoke cloud , directing it at the halfling she had already burned. He cried out as the fire ball slammed into him from the side and danced away from the flames, but the smell of burning hobbit flesh was strong in the air.

The two uninjured halflings concentrated on Karak, They both assumed offensive postures, sizing up their enemy and awaiting the moment to react. There was little Karak could do except charge on as he had been, axe gripped in both hands and ready to split the hobbits in twain. As soon as he was near enough, the pair sprang into action. The halfling on his right dove forward into a somersault that brought him up behind the dwarf, opposite his companion. They stabbed with their shortswords as one.

Karak was able to dodge the blade in front of him, but the tumbler's sword slid underneath his pauldron and found the soft meat of his armpit, drawing blood and a roar of pain from the dwarf. It was a good plan- flanking the enemy so that he would have to divide his attention between two adversaries. Sadly, it also set up the halflings for Karak to lay into them with a full attack - which is what he did.

His waraxe separated the first halfling's guts from his body cavity, strewing the ground with frost-rimed entrails. The other halfling managed to avoid the follow through attack and the second blow that came in its wake. He tumbled backward out of Karak's reach, drank a potion and vanished.

The third halfling tried desperately to get away from Lela's Flaming Sphere... without luck. He fell, his clothing and the grass beneath his feet forming his funeral pyre.



At that moment, the black smoke that Huzair's spell had generated began to dissipate, revealing the remains of the ambushing force locked helplessly in the embrace of Lela's Entangle spell. There were only five of them left including one halfling, the man with the large sword who Lela had picked out as the leader, and the hunched and misshapen spellcaster in platemail. The man with the sword looked up as Morier crested the hill near him with Shamalin clanking along behind him. He cast a glance around at his decimated force and hung his head.

"We yield!" he choked, his voice raw from coughing. "We yield!"

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #336] Complicated Matters

"'We yield'? 'WE YIELD'?????" Lela screamed at the top of her tiny lungs. Her voice was shrill, edged with grief. "Are you out of your mind???? You don't get to YIELD!!!!" She flew toward the man and as she went she gestured at her Flaming Sphere and the fire ball obediently followed in her wake.

The scruffy man glanced up, saw the flames moving in his direction and quickly renewed his struggles. He was still weakened from smoke inhalation and securely entangled by thistles and grass, so his struggles were futile.

"We are beaten!" he choked at Morier. "We have gold... and magic!"

"You slew our friend," Morier hissed back at him across the expanse of writhing vegetation. Ravager wavered in his hands from a position of rest to one of attack as if neither it nor its wielder could decide on the proper course.

"Feln did not get to call yield!" Lela wailed as she circled down toward the bandit leader. "I'll tell you what, you bastard: how about you tell us why the hell you just attacked us and who exactly ordered it and we will kill you quickly and painlessly... well, quickly anyway!"

Fortunately for the helpless human, Lela's Flaming Sphere spell ran its course before it could reach him and the faen squeaked in frustration as the fire sputtered out.

Karak stalked forward through the Entangle spell - which had no effect on him thanks to his Ring of Freedom - and swung his axe in the air, muscles bulging, his teeth clenched in barely contained fury. "Well, now it seems what you'n all had in store for us did not go as planned, other than killing my old friend with your cowardly bow fire!" the dwarf panted as he came. "That an now you got one mighty angry sprite and a half-dead drow elf!"

The man looked around, apparently searching for a black-skinned elf, but, seeing only the albino Morier, quickly put one-and-one together. The look of despair on his face increased four-fold. Karak couldn't see it of course as he stalked effortlessly through the grasping vegetation toward the man's back.

"I mean just look at 'em," he went on. "Why I seen him stick that bastard sword of his in a man just the size of you and blow him up with electric lightning. Guts went everywhere!"

"We've surrendered!" the human shrieked. "Certainly that means something."

"It doesn't mean as much as it might have a few moonsdances ago," Morier told him. "We've lost too many friends of late. And now you kill Feln and try to kill the rest of us." His words were threatening, but his voice seemed to have lost a measure of its earlier venom.

"See that one over there?" Karak said as he finally moved abreast of the man and could see his fear-filled face. The dwarf pointed at Shamalin with his waraxe. "She seen and lived through more horrors'n the likes of you can even think about with yer pea-sized hummie brains. Personally I think she be ready to snap, and you lot may well be as good a lot for her to snap on as any, I be thinkin'."

The man looked at Shamalin then quickly looked back at Morier, clearly considering a drow to be more of a threat than a woman in antique armor.

The hunched figure to his right, however, saw the cleric and let out a bark of recognition. "Ye be a Florian!" he croaked and a smile of sort played across his naked snout - something he had kept hidden by keeping his head down while his leader spoke. "We beg mercy in the name o' yer goddess!"

Shamalin looked at the misshapen figure more closely now and spotted for the first time the symbol of Neralas, god of thieves, dangling from his forward-thrust, over-long neck. The face above it was furless, but looked otherwise canine - full of sharp teeth and eager hunger. She recognized the presence of gnoll blood in the figure.

"Hamelin!" the priest of Neralas growled excitedly to the human imprisoned beside him. "A Mercybringer!" But Shamalin dashed his hopes by turning away.

"Sometimes living can be a far greater form of punishment than death," she said bowing her head.

"We can tell you things if you let us go!" the human called to her. "About your temple in Rhadcliffe! We been that way less'n a week ago! We saw things!" Shamalin turned back with obvious concern on her face and the man's expression brightened a bit. Until Lela put an arrow from her shortbow into the ground beside him.

"How about you tell us and then we decide what to do with you!" she shrilled circling above the cluster of earth-bounds, another arrow already in her bow.

"You'll kill me as soon as I give you the information," Hamelin argued, tracking Lela's flight as he spoke.

"Aye!" Karak agreed. "The pixie'd just as soon gut ye here and now. The ogre ye killed was 'er friend." The man whimpered and hung his head, but Karak leaned forward, slid the head of his waraxe under the man's chin and forced the captive to look him in the face. "As for me, I still got a bit o'the rage in me, and I sure be dyin' to avenge me friend on ye. So as I see it, you got two ways this can go down. You can tell us who you be? Why you attacked us? And who you be workin' for. If you do that, we let you live. The other way, well you just look around you and at my friends' faces and you figure it out, you lot of thievin' filth!"

Karak stepped back sweeping his axe around to indicate the carnage and then spit on the entangled man. "What's it gonna be?"

Hamelin looked around despondently. Only the half-gnoll priest was alive and nearby, and he regarded the man expectantly. He lowered his head, resolved to his fate. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he said.

"Tell your men to lay down their arms!" Huzair's disembodied voice called from nearby. The mage removed a ring from his finger as he walked toward them around the far side of the Entangle spell and became instantly visible again. Pointing to the half-gnoll, he added, "That spell-caster needs to be bound and gagged as well."



While they waited for Lela's Entangle spell to run its course, Hamelin spilled his guts. After the spell had expired and the prisoners had been rounded up and divested of anything Huzair determined was magical, he finished the tale. It was not particularly encouraging.

He admitted freely to he and his band being brigands, eking out what existence they could under the cruel talon of winged-folk rule in Pellham. Contrary to many of the rumors that seemed to be circulating in the area, however, Hamelin maintained that he and his band did not cause the disease infecting the surrounding lands, nor had they actively attempted to spread it. The temple to Flor at Rhadcliffe had been attacked several weeks ago by a military force of unknown origin, he explained, and this same group was now living at the temple. Hamelin had at one point thought that he might be forced into a confrontation with this other group, but so far they had not infringed at all upon the bandits’ activities, and so Hamelin left them alone. He had also heard that the group was accompanied by a dragon, but he didn't believe this rumor to be true. Shortly before the plague first broke out, there were stories of strange creatures attacking farms bordering on the Spiney Wood to the south but he didn't have any specific information beyond that. His group did attack and loot one shipment of healing supplies destined for the Duchy of Deliham, and it was these Potions of Cure Disease that had allowed them to range through the plague-ridden areas with little fear.

With regard to the invisible halfling and the others who had fled, Hamelin supposed that they had retreated to their camp some mile or so distant from their present location.



The sound of hoofbeats tore Shamalin's attention from the words the man was babbling - a string of vile acts committed in his lifetime for which he seemed to be seeking absolution. She knew that it was not in her power to grant or deny such pardons, and wondered if it was wrong to allow the man to think so. As such, she had been half about her own thoughts when the sound assailed her.

Seeking the source, her heart constricted to see a dark image astride an even darker warhorse approaching along the road. Her fingers grew slack, causing the flask of water in her hand to spill onto the ground as she quickly rose to her feet. The others had heard it too, and already Morier and Karak were scrambling into defensive positions along the base of the cliff walls. Grimly, she wondered what strength remained in them to confront this new attacker. Certainly her own resources were nearly depleted.

Her eyes took in the figure's appearance - spiked full plate armor of a dark metallic hue. A skull's image set grimly in the center of the breastplate. A human rider, wearing no helmet. His strong and handsome features were framed by silvery blond hair. And at the sight of his face, Shamalin let loose a scream of sheer and utter terror.

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #337] Entirely the Wrong foot

The bound man next to Shamalin was totally caught unawares, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her piercing scream. She choked off her cry and stared, open-mouthed at the rider. Her mind seemed to be spiraling inward as she struggled to understand what she was seeing. "It has his face," was all she managed to whisper repeatedly, causing her captive's eyes to bulge out even more.



"Halt rider! You've wandered into a powder keg here on this road," Morier snarled stalking forward with Ravager held ready at his side. "Give me a reason that my companions and I should not dispatch you as we were about to do with this band of common thieves?"

In response to the albino's approach, the man's warhorse began prancing back and forth, snorting eager clouds of steam. Its hooves stabbed at the ground menacingly.

"Stand down sirs! What has happened here?" the rider commanded, his eyes flashing emerald-bright. He drew a morningstar from his side and it glowed like a firebrand in his fist. "Stay your weapons! Who speaks for you?"

"I'm feeling generous enough to give you a piece of advice rider, wanted or not... Explain yourself quickly, or turn your weapon on the dwarf or myself," Morier offered as he continued forward with a sardonic grin, "for if the angry pixie gets her hands on you... well, now THAT would be embarassing to try to explain to your next of kin while they tried to identify whatever was left of you after she gets through."

"Let us take a moment and breathe there, warrior," the rider urged, his voice flinty. He turned his mount crossways on the path, interposing his glowing morningstar between himself and the eldritch warrior. "It may appear you have the upper hand here, and if I were you, I would present myself in the same manner. What you need to know is that I do not travel alone. But even if I did, a party of wounded mercenaries might present a challenge... might.... But you will certainly not have me babbling along and answering your every demand!"

"Now I ask you again: what has happened here?" he demanded, his handsome features set in a grim mask. He nodded toward Feln's body. "Who killed that... thing... in the road?"

"Identify yourself now, rider!!" Morier bellowed in response. He was close enough now to charge and his body posture telegraphed that intent. He glanced back briefly to get a measure of Karak's preparedness. The dwarf was moving forward, his omnipresent axe clamped in his fist.

The rider adjusted himself to receive Morier's attack, his warhorse rearing up angrily on two legs while he pointed his bright morningstar at the albino. "I give you one last chance, sir! Stand down!" The man's eyes flashed with righteous fury and Morier felt his resolve crumbling beneath that withering gaze despite himself. "I have no wish to slay you, warrior. But if you wish to visit Purgatoriaum this day you will find me well-equipped to hasten your journey!"

Morier hesitated, delaying his attack, which was long enough for Karak to approach and forestall the melee. "Hold there, Dark One," the dwarf shouted as he came up. "If'n you be the leader or those rotten lads back at the manor house, let me be the first to tell ye, that we slew them all. And we recovered the Cleric there and you might recognize the armour to prove it." Karak cocked a thumb over his shoulder toward Shamalin. The rider took his eyes momentarily off Morier and his gaze locked with the half-elf's just long enough to force the cleric to look away in horror.

"If'n you thinkin' you are here to take her back, well I suggest you be thinkin' o' somethin' else," the dwarf added, thumping his axe against his breastplate. "Of course, I do admit that a leader of your stature among the Rot Queen's own would nae be ridin' aroun' the countryside all by his lonesome." At the mention of Aphyx, Karak spat into the dirt.

"I don't know of any manor house, and I am not presently looking for the services of a cleric," the rider said, addressing the dwarf, but keeping his eyes on the albino who still had his sword drawn and ready. "Thank you, though." Karak harrumphed.

"So that, along with you not recognizin' the cleric's plate mail leads me to think that you be someone else," the dwarf said and planted his axe between his iron-shod feet. "Who be you then? And why do you so suddenly appear after this ambush gone awry?"

 

[Jon Potter]

Double Post

Double Post

 

[Jon Potter]

[Realms #338] Farewell to Feln

The rider backed his horse up slightly and, favoring Morier with another appraising look, he hooked the morningstar back in its place. Its light faded away as his hand left the weapon's haft.

"My name is Ayremac," he explained, pressing his left fist against the skull symbol worked into his breastplate. "I am but an Officer of Umba. Why I stumbled across you at this time, only the gods know. Will you tell me now what has happened here?"

"We were ambushed," Morier told him, sheathing Ravager reluctantly as he spoke, "by an admitted band of renegade thugs and common thieves." Ayremac looked at the defeated bandits and his scowl deepened.

"Listen up, lad, you have decided to prance on up 'ere right at hot time," Karak grumbled. "As you can see we just dispatched this 'ere band o' bandits who'n decided to ambush us. Things are a little tense. We do nae know who you are, why you showed up here, and especially at this time. It seems you've touched the nerve o' our cleric and you look a fright."

At mention of Shamalin, Ayremac turned to look at the half-elf, his face betraying nothing. "Cleric, I am sorry to have startled you," he called, pausing for a moment until Shamalin raised here eyes and looked on his face. Then he winked and mouthed the words: 'Are you okay?' before finishing aloud with, "Would you prefer that I ride on?"

Shamalin had been teetering back and forth between belief and disbelief. Her mind flashed to a warm summer day many years gone by, and the face of the man before her as she had known it in her youth. Could it really be? After so long? Such evil as she had known could steal bodies, certainly. But no one except Arland Penibel could take such a serious moment and dispel her tensions in a wink. Perhaps it really was him. All eyes were on her, and for some reason she was compelled to continue his anonymity.

"I am sorry. I thought you were..." she began but she could not find the words to describe her fears. It was enough that they were, at least for the moment, unfounded. She relaxed her shoulders a bit and shook her head in response to his question: no.

"We've more important duties to attend to and a fallen comrade to honor," Morier told Ayremac, his voice dripping with unconcealed sarcasm. "So do with this pile of murdering detritus as you will, Sir 'Officer of Umba'." Ayremac shot the albino a glance that plainly indicated that he had noticed the eldritch warrior's mocking tone.

"I appreciate your candid nature sir, but I am not that kind of Officer," he said diplomatically. "Although I do believe these men will need to be brought to justice, I am unable to do so at this time. What is your intention with them?"

"My preference is to kill all of these who have 'yielded,'" Lela chirped, swooping in to land on the trail. Glaring at Karak and Morier she added, "I understand I do not have everyone's support in that but certainly we need to disarm them." Karak harrumphed, scowling down at Lela.

"This 'ere is what we are gonna do," he said, stamping the butt of his waraxe on the ground for emphasis. "We are gonna strip these bandits down and take thier gear for the cause against Chaos. We are gonna leave 'em bound so they can nae follow us."

Ayremac dismounted and ambled closer to Karak. The holy warrior eyed the prisoners and lowered his voice so that they would not overhear his words. "I am sorry, my way may not be like yours, but in good conscience I cannot leave men tied in the wilderness. They would surely die."

"So?" Lela cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "There's balance in that! They killed Feln without provocation; let them die!"

"Lela!" Karak scolded. "We're nae the murderers that this lot be." He looked up at Ayremac and added, "If you be an officer of Umba and want to take 'em in your care, so be it."

"I am in no position to give up my current pursuits and take these men to the proper authorities," Ayremac admitted to the dwarf.

"Just what are your current pursuits, holy man?" Morier asked petulantly. Ayremac considered for a moment, his lips pressed tight together.

"Well, I don't mean to be cryptic, but suffice it to say that the people of my temple and my town are being devistated by disease and we do not think it is a random occurence," he said at last. "I am just trying to see if any other towns have been affected by the same plight."

"We have seen much plague, sickness, and rot," Morier told him, his tone one of commiseration. "More than perhaps most could imagine. It seems to be washing across the Realms faster each day. Barnacus, Relfren, Floxen."

At mention of Floxen, Ayremac looked questioningly at Shamalin. The cleric was standing near the man's horse, stroking its neck. Her face had a haunted quality that he didn't much care for. She'd been so full of life when last he'd seen her; it was like a dagger of ice in his heart to see her like this. "Where have you been, man, to not know of Aphyx's latest deeds?" she asked, her voice almost a moan. Ayremac arched a delicate eyebrow. Where had her song gone?

"Are you telling me that you believe that there are forces rising that serve the Rot Queen?" he asked and Shamalin nodded.

"We know it to be true," Morier added and the Officer of Umba snorted dismissively.

"I find that hard to believe," he said. "Her power was stripped bare when she fought Flor during the early days of Pellham. More likely this is the work of some demon of wizard. I have heard tales of a necromancer that has taken up lairing in the forest near Rhadcliffe."

"This is Aphyx's doing," Morier said. "No matter how hard you find it to believe."

"Aye, her power be on the rise," Karak said, spitting. "An' we've been tryin' to stand in her way as much as we can."

"That's why we can't waste time worrying about these bandits," Lela said. "Let us deal with them with much haste and move on to caring for Feln!"

"Aye! We are gonna put our comrade Feln on his walk 'o the hundred days," Karak said with a sad shake of his head. "We will then be on our way."

"So we take all of their weapons and leave the bandits with their shoes and clothing and that's all?" Morier asked. "Let them go and we go about our business?"

"If one of them killed your friend, then by holy law it would be just to take his life in exchange," Ayremac said, looking particularly at the Sprite as he spoke. "Lela, who would you hold responsible for Feln's death?" Without hesitation, Lela took to the air and circled above Hamelin's head.

"Him," she said firmly. "This one was the leader of the group." Hamelin began to weep.

"Then so be it," Ayremac said loosening his morningstar and moving toward the helpless prisoner. "Let justice be done."



"I did not know this man in life, but I knew men like him," Ayremac said as they stood beside the body surrounded by the wooden pyre they had built for the half-ogre. He and Shamalin and Lela were gathered beside the corpse intending to use their various faiths to speed Feln's soul on its journey. "Brought into the world with a martial purpose but having a heart large enough to care for life's smallest creatures." He looked at Lela and smiled, but the faen screwed her face up in disgust.

"Look, I am small but I am not a child," she chirped. "Watch the condescending tone, please."

"My appologies," Ayremac said, obviously taken aback by the sprite's ire. "I intended no disrespect."

"Crude are the bodies which house souls in this lifetime," Shamalin said, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling between the Lela and Ayremac. "May Feln be at peace in a place where such... packaging... is of no consequence." Taking his cue from the cleric, Ayremac turned his attention back to the body.

"It has been explained to me that he is taking the long walk for the second time, but this time, Feln, you will not be interupted," he said, placing his hand reassuringly on Feln's massive arm. "May you find peace in the eye's of Umba at your final destination."

"Having been raised and schooled in darkness, he sought out and became one with the light," Shamalin added, her eyes downcast and her hands pressed tightly together. "It was a path which required more strength of will than most could ever hope to know. And it will not go unnoticed."

"Open your heart and allow yourself to be judged not only on your deeds, but your intent, your spirit, and your nature," Ayremac said as a benediction and then turned toward Karak, Morier, and Huzair (who had finally turned visible once it became clear that the newcomer was not out to kill them), saying, "Friends of Feln, say your farewells, for the warrior has taken to the path. If his life was just, and you live your life in the same way, you shall meet again in the afterlife."

One by one, they filed up and stood briefly at the body's side and then they moved away leaving Lela a moment to say her own farewells.

"You were a great friend to me and you deserved to live a long life," the sprite cried, wiping tears away from her tiny cheeks. "You... I just wish you hadn't died so soon. I will miss you, my friend, but I look forward to meeting you again in the next world. We will continue your battle here. You have not died in vain."

At her signal Huzair conjured a Flaming Sphere and directed it along the perimeter of the pyre, igniting the sticks and grasses that they had amassed around the body. The fire licked up, obscuring the half-ogre's corpse and sending thick black smoke into the darkening sky.



"Ye said that ye did nae travel alone," Karak muttered to Ayremac a bit later as they all stood watching Lela watch the body get consumed.

"Yes," the Officer of Umba admitted. "I was traveling with another man. We separated just before I happened upon you. He followed some folk he'd spied fleeing southward - most likely the bandits you say escaped."

"I am getting tired of being attacked by invisible bandits and things I can nae see or reach," the dwarf snorted. "It's makin me a bit jumpy, not knowin' where 'e be."

"He is not bound to me, sir dwarf," the Officer of Umba explained. "We share a common hatred for undeath, but I cannot say when he will return or truly if he will at all. He comes and goes as he pleases."

"What do we do now?" Huzair asked, puffing on a cigar. "I mean I like a good fire as well as the next man, but are we just going to stand here all night watching the ogre burn?"

"We'll stay as long as the sprite needs us to," Karak grumbled. "Then we'll need to make camp."

"I don't particularly want to sleep here," Morier said. "After being ambushed here, the place seems... cursed."

"There is a wood a bit west along this road, back the way I came. There's a sign indicating the presence of a healer, 'Mistress Feathertouch'," Ayremac explained. "That spot would make a good defensible position for a campsite."

"Are you joining us, then?" Shamalin asked without looking up at him.

"For tonight at least," he said. "I would hear more of your tales of Aphyx."