Issue #14: The Rat Man Warren, Pt II - Episode 1 of 5
1st of February, 2003
Issue #14
The Rat Man Warren, Part II
We have found the warren of the Disease tribe which besieged Kratys Freehold. We attacked, capturing the hill upon which they had three small huts, each of which stood over holes into the warren. For a short period, the ratmen came up from their holes to die at our hands, but eventually, we had to go into the warren after them.
Exploring through the warren, we found that they had prepared their defenses in a great central hall, erecting what cover they could, and gathering as many fighters as they could to try and make a final stand against us. They fought valiantly, and died with courage.
After an epic battle, we have captured the great hall of the ratman warren. The shaman and the albino are dead, as are many of their best warriors. Most of us are gathered underground, in the hall. All of us are wounded, and fatigued to the point of utter exhaustion. We have used everything, and there seems nothing left to give. Hands of Fire lies unconscious, and neither Miriel nor Paks has been able to wake him. It seems as though Madriel no longer hears their prayers.
It is midday on the first Taniday of Madrer.
Too wounded to venture underground, Goldpetal and Novalia wait on the surface to gather those slaves the others have freed as they escape from the warren. More and more slaves keep showing up, though many minutes have passed since they last had word from their companions. There are now sixteen slaves milling about on the hilltop between the three huts. Novalia is on the roof of one of the huts, keeping watch with bow and arrow. Goldpetal stands on the ground, organizing the slaves. Though we had once though to collapse the other two huts, that plan is put by the wayside as caring for the slaves has become more important.
From her vantage point, Novalia can see large numbers of ratmen escaping the warrens through other holes which we had not yet found. At first, she took some shots at them, but it proved hard to hit fast-moving targets at such distance in the midday haze, and now she simply notes which direction they go. She is looking out into the swampy haze when she spots Stone and a lizard man, coming through the swamp. They are singing an old lizard man drinking song.
As they climb to the top of the hill, Stone calls out, “Sorry I'm late! That lizard berry wine is some strong stuff. Hey, this is my friend – they used to call him ‘Thinks Like Stones,’ but that got a bit confusing, so now we call him ‘Drinks with Orcs.’ You can call him ‘Drinks’.” Drinks is a smaller than some of the other lizard men, and has a particularly glazed look on his face. It is hard to tell if he, too, is hung-over, or if he is just naturally dumb.
When Stone reaches the top of the hill, ignoring a stern glower from Goldpetal and the slaves who shrink from him in fear, he steps over to Novalia’s hut to call up to her. “Drinks told me he likes to bop ratmen on the head with his club. We were playing a game last night, with mice popping out of holes. As they popped out, me and Drinks whacked their heads.
“Hey, where is everybody?”
“In the warren,” Novalia answers tersely. She quickly fills him in on the story of the battle so far – but she concludes, “I haven’t heard anything since the lizard men Red Scale and Swims With Fishes said ‘We hear fight,’ and rushed down the hole.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Maybe ten minutes,” she says. “I’m worried.”
“I’ll go check it out,” Stone says. “Maybe they’ll need these three potions of healing we brought.”
“The far hut,” Novalia says, pointing out the hole everyone has gone down. Stone and Drinks head down the hole.
Below ground, the rest of the group stand in a large oval cavern deep within the ratman warren. A torch flickers weakly on the floor of one end, and more illumination is provided by Chuck’s dagger, which glows with a faint blue light, and a crossbow bolt buried in the far wall.
The room appears to have once been the warren’s dining hall; it is filled with tipped troughs, tables, and the ‘food’ of the ratmen. The walls are lined with straw and reeds held in place by a mixture of dried mud and excrement. The smell is overwhelming. The corpses of twenty dead ratmen, including that of a great albino warrior and a black-robed shaman, surround the weary company.
“Everyone, gather around me,” Miriel says, after catching her breath. She is torn and bloodied from a number of wounds – a bite at her neck looks particularly painful. “Paks, Chuck, move some of these corpses to make a space. Telryn, ask Fists of Fury to drag Hands of Fire over here.”
After a minute of moving bodies, the group begins to gather around her in a small clear space in the center of the room. “Join hands in a circle,” she commands. Telryn translates, and the heroes form a circle, surrounding the unconscious body of the huge lizard man. Each is wounded, even the late-arriving lizard men, and most are bleeding from at least one visible wound. Paks and Chuck are still breathing hard.
Miriel draws out Madriel’s Tear in her right hand. It reflects the light of Chuck’s dagger with crystalline clarity. Clutching her holy symbol with her left hand, she intones the words of prophecy which Verenia had spoken to her in Southport. “At your time of greatest fear, surrounded by suffering and pain, remember Madriel’s Tear.”
She holds the great artifact, a small phial of crystal with a glint of gold inside, into the center of the circle. She prays to Madriel for healing for everyone, but nothing happens. Not even a spark of light illuminates the room.
“I think we need to leave,” she says, shaking her head wearily. “I, for one, need to rest.”
Chuck glances at Paks. “Shall we look at the corpses, first?”
Telryn shakes his head vigorously. “I need to go,” he says.
“Let’s get back upstairs as quickly as we can,” Miriel suggests
“I want to search the corpses,” Chuck says. “Especially that albino.”
Red Scale says something in Draconic. “He says he’ll stay with you,” Telryn says.
“I should go up,” Paks says, “But here, Chuck, take this longsword. Its better than the one you’re using.” She offers the Vigilant the masterwork longsword, and draws the masterwork bastard sword. “Miriel, I can use this two-handed if you’ll lend me the ‘shield’ ring.”
“Sure,” Miriel says, taking off the ring. “Let’s send the most wounded upstairs. I’ll stay here with you, Chuck.”
We settle on that plan, sending Telryn, Paks, Fists of Fury, Swims with Fishes up to the surface. The two lizard men are to carry Hands of Fire. Chuck, Miriel, and Red Scale will remain below to search the bodies.
“Send help down,” Miriel admonishes as the two wounded lizard men pick up Hands of Fire. They have just started staggering towards the passage to the exit when four ratmen enter the southeast corner of the great hall. They are each armed with crossbows and they fire at us before we can react. One bolt penetrates Chuck’s leather armor, while another hits Swims With Fishes. The lizard man collapses on the ground.
Telryn and Paks have opposite reactions. The mage sprints down the tunnel towards the entrance, while Paks charges towards the ratmen, the bastard sword in both hands. She lands a mighty blow with the fine weapon, killing the first before it can unload. The other three all fire at her, point blank. One bolt pierces her mail, hitting her in the stomach, and she falls to floor curled fetal around the wound.
Fists of Fury and Miriel charge at the ratmen, putting themselves between Paks and harm’s way. Fists of Fury’s blow is wild, but Miriel’s spear catches one in the shoulder, wounding it. Chuck, too, leaps to the attack, but he is not used to the balance of Paks’ long sword, and his first swing misses awkwardly. His viper bites the wounded ratman, but it shrugs off the poison.
Red Scale watches our backs, alert to any other threat entering the hall. On the floor, although nobody is there to pray for healing, or to witness it, Madriel quietly works one more miracle. Swims with Fishes and Paks both stabilize and stop bleeding profusely, though they both remain unconscious.
The ratmen draw scimitars and square off, one each facing Miriel, Chuck, and Fists of Fury. The wounded ratman catches Miriel in the ribs with his scimitar, but she stays on her feet despite the wound. The second one swings at Chuck, but he parries with the magical dagger, which is illuminating the battle.
The third one swings at Fists of Fury, but it slips on the blood and corpses of its fellows. Stunned and off balance, it loses his grip on his weapon, flinging it backwards. The wayward scimitar hits the hapless injured ratman, further wounding him. Chuck and Fists of Fury take advantage of its slip to press the attack. Chuck’s sword thrust misses, but Fists of Fury clubs it over the back of the head and kills it.
On her end of the line, Miriel stabs the injured one with her spear, and kills it. Chuck leaps at the last ratman, dealing a slicing blow with his sword, and when it parries too late, it leaves its chest exposed. The Vigilant follows up by stabbing his dagger deep into its heart. The ratman collapses at his feet, dead.
As Chuck fells the last ratman, a deep voice calls “Hey!” from one of the corridors behind them.
Chuck turns to look around, swords at the ready, but no threat is offered. He can see Red Scale lowering his club back near the exit tunnel. “It’s Stone!” Miriel exclaims joyously.
“I brought some drinks!” Stone calls.
Chuck begins to clean his sword, and hollers back, “Tell me you didn’t trade the crown for booze.”
“Not that drink,” Stone answers, as he enters the room. “This one!” He gestures to Drinks With Orcs, who stands behind him. “I’ve also got some healing potions.”
“Great,” Miriel says. “Paks could use one.”
The half-orc comes over to where Paks lies on the floor, and pours a potion of healing down her throat. She wakes up, but she looks very groggy. Stone hauls her to her feet, and she starts staggering towards the exit.
“Grab the unconscious lizard men,” Miriel orders. “Chuck, come on, we don’t have time to loot the bodies.” Stone gestures towards the bodies of the two fallen lizard men, and when he goes to pick up the feet of Swims With Fishes, the surviving lizard men get it. Drinks With Orcs helps him pick up Swims With Fishes, while Fists of Fury and Red Scale pick up Hands of Fire to carry him.
Miriel yells, “Chuck, guard our backs!” and takes the lead as the motley crew begins to work their way back towards the light of day.
The wounded group escapes up the tunnel and out onto the hilltop without encountering any ambush. Miriel offers a brief prayer of thanks to Madriel.
Outside, Telryn has updated Goldpetal and Novalia about our situation. Goldpetal is close to as exhausted as Miriel is, but he offers, “I think I can work some minor healing.” He prays to Denev, asking healing for Hands of Fire. The druid’s healing is different from the flashy healing which Miriel can offer, but it is enough to bring Hands of Fire to consciousness, although he continues to look grievously weak.
Miriel, meanwhile, has taken Paks out of her armor, but she is shaking her head. “It looks like you’ve broken two ribs,” she tells the warrior. “And I don’t have the strength to heal them.”
“That would have been the scimitar,” Paks says, remembering the blow she took from the albino.
“Bind them,” Goldpetal says, “And I will ask Denev’s assistance.” Miriel makes a firm bandage around them, and Goldpetal prays to Denev again. Novalia, too, works some minor healing on the warrior, asking Tanil’s assistance. The minor healing seems to make little difference to Paks.
Miriel continues around the rest of the party, bandaging and tending to wounds as best as she can. Everyone is wounded in many places, and it takes her the better part of an hour to make her way to everyone. While she works, she starts a conversation about what to do next. “Does Red Scale know of a place nearby where we can rest and recover?” she asks.
Telryn confers with Red Scale in Draconic for a moment before answering, “He knows of a place where we could hide, but he thinks there are too many humans here, and the ratmen would be able to track them.”
Paks suggests, “Let’s rest on the roofs of the huts. We’ll be able to see anything long before it gets to us.”
Miriel asks, “Can we make blinds to rest behind?”
Chuck nods. “I think we can work something out.”
“We need to help the slaves,” Novalia reminds us. “Maybe the lizard men could take them to safety somewhere.”
“There’s nowhere safe in the swamp,” Telryn says ominously.
With help from Stone and the tall lizard men, we lift everyone up to the rooftops, including the eighteen slaves. One of the slaves is a dwarf, but the rest are human, mostly male, with a few women. About ten people can fit comfortable on each hut, so we are split nearly evenly among the huts, with the typical hut holding one or two lizard men, two or three of the companions, and six slaves. Most of us lie down to rest – Miriel, Telryn, Goldpetal, Novalia, and Paks are all exhausted. Stone, Chuck, and Drinks With Orcs stand watch, one on each hut.
Stone cuts a hole in the roof of his hut and watches down the hole for ratmen. Chuck and Drinks see what Stone has done, and likewise cut holes in the roofs of their huts. Chuck watches the edges of the clearing most of the time, glancing down the hole every once in a while.
Stone and Drinks With Orcs have brought some of the lizard-berry wine with them, which they begin to drink. The dwarf is atop Stone’s hut, and though at first he looks at the half-orc with distrust and suspicion, he becomes much more friendly when Stone offers to share the drink with them. His name is Dorian Silvershield, and when he learns that Stone follows Hedrada, he is much happier to share a drink with him.
Several hours pass. Every now and then, Chuck and Stone see ratmen peering at us from the swamp. Chuck looses a few arrows at them, but like Novalia before him, he doesn’t hit anything. It seems like they might be planning something, but nothing happens.
