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Travels through the Wild West: a Forgotten Realms Story
- Thread starter Lazybones
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Travels through the Wild West: A Forgotten Realms Story
Book II
Prologue
The old dwarf didn’t quite hurry—that would have been undignified—but his heavy boots made a rapid patter on the hard stone as he clambered up the narrow, twisting staircase.
He realized that something was wrong as he passed into the dwelling, could sense it on the faces of those dwarves in attendance. His brow furrowed as he pushed on into the birthing chamber, where the midwife looked up at him with something approaching relief in her eyes. The mother, he saw, was half-unconscious from exhaustion but looked otherwise hale.
“How is the child?” the dwarf elder asked, his voice like the rumbling of stones down a hillside.
“He is strong,” the midwife reported, and she held up the infant, partially covered in a thick wrap of coarse gray cloth.
The elder’s eyes widened.
“By the gods…”
* * * * *
A few days later, that same elder was sitting in a small audience chamber. His face showed that same pensive frown that had not left him since the day when he had first seen the child. That child was now before him, clutched tightly in the protective embrace of his mother.
Gira Deepforge still looked drained from the experience of giving birth, the otherwise animated young woman now wan and ashen. But the fire of the forges still burned in her, the old dwarf saw, evident in the way that she held her newborn son in her arms, and in the way she met his gaze with steel in her eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” the old dwarf said.
She spent a moment searching for the words that she wanted to use. “I… my husband, as you know, was serving his term on the Shield Wall,” she began, faltering a little.
“Oleg Deepforge’s axe was mighty, and tales of his bravery are still told in the gathering halls,” the elder prodded, to get her to continue.
Gira looked at him gratefully for the comment. “He came to me, my husband, one night,” the woman said, her thin veneer of self-control threatening to falter as she revisited the memories. “I thought he had returned from his duty, returned to me.” Her eyes fell for a moment, and when they came up again, they were rimmed with tears. “I did not find out until later that he had fallen that very day, holding the Shield Wall against the invaders.”
“Why did you not come forward, and tell someone of this?” the elder queried.
“I… I could not,” Gira said defensively. “I myself did not understand—someone must have made a mistake… I wanted that last memory of my husband, needed it…”
The elder nodded, and his gaze fell again to the child.
“What will happen to us?” Gira asked plaintively.
“Your child is touched by the gods,” the elder said. “There are tales among the urdunnir, the most ancient stories of our people, of such a thing, although it has never happened in the lifespan of any of our people currently living, or of their fathers, or fathers’ fathers.”
“With the guidance of Dumathoin, we will learn what we can, but something tells me that the fate of this child is not within our hands.”
* * * * *
“They have breached the Shield Wall!” the dwarf shouted, darting away a moment later deeper into the fortified warrens that were the dwellings of the urdunnir. His words spread fear among the small group of dwarves, mostly women and children clustered in the gathering hall outside of their residences. That fear was matched by hard-eyed determination, however, and most of the dwarves, weapons at hand, immediately went into action, following the outlines of the practiced defense plans of the community.
Gira Deepforge’s place was at the third redoubt, but instead of rushing off to her assigned position she instead turned back into the shelter of her dwelling. There, in the front room, waiting for her, she found her son. The boy looked up at her as she entered, his eyes wide with fear.
“What is it, mamma?” he asked.
“Hush, child,” she said softly, as she wrapped him up in her arms. She could barely lift him; even though the boy had only just reached his fourth birthday, he was already heavier than most children twice his size. Her desperation gave her strength, though, and she pulled her cloak over the child to conceal him, setting back out into the warrens.
She did not know why she had not taken the boy to be with the other children at the last redoubt, as soon as the alert had been sounded. She did not know what power guided her steps now, or what hidden sense told her that this time, the enemies of the urdunnir would not be stopped. Even as she ran on, the fear for her people filled her and threatened to overcome her, but the love she felt for her son drove her on.
She came to a landing where a steep staircase descended into the darkness. She let out a sudden cry as a pair of the dark ones suddenly appeared, startled that they had already penetrated this far into the fortress.
“Kill her!” one of the duergar cried out, and both came at her with their vicious axes at the ready. Before they could reach, her, though, a battle cry rang out from further down the corridor, and a trio of urdunnir warriors—all well past fighting age, she saw—charged into the duergar from the side.
Gira fled down another corridor, quietly praying to Dumathoin to shelter her from the view of her enemies. The sounds of battle seemed to come from all around, now, as she turned into another long passageway that was clear for the moment.
The corridor continued for an interminable length, until Gira could smell the faint hint of fresh air coming from up ahead. She slowed, her legs feeling thick from the exhaustion of carrying her son, and emerged from the passageway at the edge of a great vertical shaft.
The shaft extended both up and down as far as Gira could see, and was completely smooth, the surface of the stone worn down by air currents and the flow of water for centuries under the ground. Gira placed her son down on the ground beside her, and embraced him warmly.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” the boy asked.
“Mama’s got to send you away for a time,” she said, checking his person quickly to make sure that his clothes were in order, covertly tucking a small disk into a pocket of his jerkin as she did so. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she tugged him to her again, bending down to kiss his forehead.
“Dear spirits, protect him,” she whispered.
The boy stood confused as Gira stood, and closed her eyes in concentration, invoking the power that was a part of the tradition of her people, and their link with the deep earth. At her call the stone at her feet shifted, and a small form, barely larger than the boy, rose up out of the rock to stand before her on stubby legs.
She placed the boy into the embrace of the creature. “Take him to the surface,” she bid the elemental, which bowed slightly at her bidding.
“There is a clan of our people, surface dwellers, who live nearby,” Gira said to her son. “They will care for you.”
“Mama, please, don’t go!” the boy cried.
“I must,” Gira said. She could already hear the sounds of footsteps approaching down the long corridor, and she knew, instinctively, that they were not her friends and kin, arriving to tell her that the enemy had been defeated.
“Goodbye, my love,” she said, and gestured to the elemental. The creature moved effortlessly into the shaft, bearing the boy swiftly upward, the lower half of its body melded with the stone.
“Never forget who you are, Lok!” she cried out, before she vanished into the darkness of the tunnel.
“Mama!” the boy cried down into the shaft, but she was gone.
Book II
Prologue
The old dwarf didn’t quite hurry—that would have been undignified—but his heavy boots made a rapid patter on the hard stone as he clambered up the narrow, twisting staircase.
He realized that something was wrong as he passed into the dwelling, could sense it on the faces of those dwarves in attendance. His brow furrowed as he pushed on into the birthing chamber, where the midwife looked up at him with something approaching relief in her eyes. The mother, he saw, was half-unconscious from exhaustion but looked otherwise hale.
“How is the child?” the dwarf elder asked, his voice like the rumbling of stones down a hillside.
“He is strong,” the midwife reported, and she held up the infant, partially covered in a thick wrap of coarse gray cloth.
The elder’s eyes widened.
“By the gods…”
* * * * *
A few days later, that same elder was sitting in a small audience chamber. His face showed that same pensive frown that had not left him since the day when he had first seen the child. That child was now before him, clutched tightly in the protective embrace of his mother.
Gira Deepforge still looked drained from the experience of giving birth, the otherwise animated young woman now wan and ashen. But the fire of the forges still burned in her, the old dwarf saw, evident in the way that she held her newborn son in her arms, and in the way she met his gaze with steel in her eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” the old dwarf said.
She spent a moment searching for the words that she wanted to use. “I… my husband, as you know, was serving his term on the Shield Wall,” she began, faltering a little.
“Oleg Deepforge’s axe was mighty, and tales of his bravery are still told in the gathering halls,” the elder prodded, to get her to continue.
Gira looked at him gratefully for the comment. “He came to me, my husband, one night,” the woman said, her thin veneer of self-control threatening to falter as she revisited the memories. “I thought he had returned from his duty, returned to me.” Her eyes fell for a moment, and when they came up again, they were rimmed with tears. “I did not find out until later that he had fallen that very day, holding the Shield Wall against the invaders.”
“Why did you not come forward, and tell someone of this?” the elder queried.
“I… I could not,” Gira said defensively. “I myself did not understand—someone must have made a mistake… I wanted that last memory of my husband, needed it…”
The elder nodded, and his gaze fell again to the child.
“What will happen to us?” Gira asked plaintively.
“Your child is touched by the gods,” the elder said. “There are tales among the urdunnir, the most ancient stories of our people, of such a thing, although it has never happened in the lifespan of any of our people currently living, or of their fathers, or fathers’ fathers.”
“With the guidance of Dumathoin, we will learn what we can, but something tells me that the fate of this child is not within our hands.”
* * * * *
“They have breached the Shield Wall!” the dwarf shouted, darting away a moment later deeper into the fortified warrens that were the dwellings of the urdunnir. His words spread fear among the small group of dwarves, mostly women and children clustered in the gathering hall outside of their residences. That fear was matched by hard-eyed determination, however, and most of the dwarves, weapons at hand, immediately went into action, following the outlines of the practiced defense plans of the community.
Gira Deepforge’s place was at the third redoubt, but instead of rushing off to her assigned position she instead turned back into the shelter of her dwelling. There, in the front room, waiting for her, she found her son. The boy looked up at her as she entered, his eyes wide with fear.
“What is it, mamma?” he asked.
“Hush, child,” she said softly, as she wrapped him up in her arms. She could barely lift him; even though the boy had only just reached his fourth birthday, he was already heavier than most children twice his size. Her desperation gave her strength, though, and she pulled her cloak over the child to conceal him, setting back out into the warrens.
She did not know why she had not taken the boy to be with the other children at the last redoubt, as soon as the alert had been sounded. She did not know what power guided her steps now, or what hidden sense told her that this time, the enemies of the urdunnir would not be stopped. Even as she ran on, the fear for her people filled her and threatened to overcome her, but the love she felt for her son drove her on.
She came to a landing where a steep staircase descended into the darkness. She let out a sudden cry as a pair of the dark ones suddenly appeared, startled that they had already penetrated this far into the fortress.
“Kill her!” one of the duergar cried out, and both came at her with their vicious axes at the ready. Before they could reach, her, though, a battle cry rang out from further down the corridor, and a trio of urdunnir warriors—all well past fighting age, she saw—charged into the duergar from the side.
Gira fled down another corridor, quietly praying to Dumathoin to shelter her from the view of her enemies. The sounds of battle seemed to come from all around, now, as she turned into another long passageway that was clear for the moment.
The corridor continued for an interminable length, until Gira could smell the faint hint of fresh air coming from up ahead. She slowed, her legs feeling thick from the exhaustion of carrying her son, and emerged from the passageway at the edge of a great vertical shaft.
The shaft extended both up and down as far as Gira could see, and was completely smooth, the surface of the stone worn down by air currents and the flow of water for centuries under the ground. Gira placed her son down on the ground beside her, and embraced him warmly.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” the boy asked.
“Mama’s got to send you away for a time,” she said, checking his person quickly to make sure that his clothes were in order, covertly tucking a small disk into a pocket of his jerkin as she did so. Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she tugged him to her again, bending down to kiss his forehead.
“Dear spirits, protect him,” she whispered.
The boy stood confused as Gira stood, and closed her eyes in concentration, invoking the power that was a part of the tradition of her people, and their link with the deep earth. At her call the stone at her feet shifted, and a small form, barely larger than the boy, rose up out of the rock to stand before her on stubby legs.
She placed the boy into the embrace of the creature. “Take him to the surface,” she bid the elemental, which bowed slightly at her bidding.
“There is a clan of our people, surface dwellers, who live nearby,” Gira said to her son. “They will care for you.”
“Mama, please, don’t go!” the boy cried.
“I must,” Gira said. She could already hear the sounds of footsteps approaching down the long corridor, and she knew, instinctively, that they were not her friends and kin, arriving to tell her that the enemy had been defeated.
“Goodbye, my love,” she said, and gestured to the elemental. The creature moved effortlessly into the shaft, bearing the boy swiftly upward, the lower half of its body melded with the stone.
“Never forget who you are, Lok!” she cried out, before she vanished into the darkness of the tunnel.
“Mama!” the boy cried down into the shaft, but she was gone.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
You k-k-killed C-c-c-cal!
Great story! A fight like that is bound to have casualties.
LB, touching story about Lok. Definitely, my favorite character, but I am glad to see all of the PCs being fleshed out in an amazing way. Benzan being self-sacrificing against the Bar-igura (his brother!...nice touch). Delem employing counterspell!
I thought Lok was going to die but he stood up to the demon.
I'll have to catch up on my story after reading yours a few times to improve my writing style. thanks for the offering.
Great story! A fight like that is bound to have casualties.
LB, touching story about Lok. Definitely, my favorite character, but I am glad to see all of the PCs being fleshed out in an amazing way. Benzan being self-sacrificing against the Bar-igura (his brother!...nice touch). Delem employing counterspell!
I thought Lok was going to die but he stood up to the demon.
I'll have to catch up on my story after reading yours a few times to improve my writing style. thanks for the offering.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Sheesh, I leave the story for one day, and it nearly falls off the first page! You guys gotta bump me when that happens! 
* * * * *
Book II, Part 1
The flutter of a flight of riverbirds lifting off from a nearby sandbar jolted Lok from his memories, and back to the present. He looked down and opened his stony fist to reveal the silver disk resting in his palm. The runes in its surface were all but worn away, now, but it still had the power to provoke memories of the distant past.
The genasi shifted slightly, and stared out over the river. Their keelboat was drifting swiftly with the current, but it would be his turn to take the oars again soon. The genasi’s arms were sore from working the oars through the morning and much of the afternoon as well, but he would never admit as much to his companions.
He hadn’t experienced the memories for some time, now. Why he’d chosen to revisit them now—he knew why, really, as his gaze turned reluctantly to the small box lashed to the top of the piled crates being moved downriver by Cobbledon’s boatmen. Benzan and Delem were nearby on the small boat, he knew, but they’d been avoiding each other somewhat, of late. None of them wanted to talk about what had happened.
Lok let more recent memories play through his thoughts as he put the disk back into its pocket.
The death of Cal had blighted whatever sense of accomplishment they could take in their victory over the evil cleric and his minions. Once the depth of Evan Rathman’s treachery had been uncovered, the city leaders had been stunned. Rathman had paid the ultimate price, however; upon the conclusion of the battle, the companions had discovered that he was dead, his heart stopped. Gergan Podranus immediately sent messengers to notify Lord Dhelt in Berdusk of what had transpired, but it would be days yet until the news reached him.
The companions decided quickly that they were not going to wait. In the absence of the high priest of Helm, who was with the High Rider, Lady Darine Palintz was the highest ranking cleric in Elturel. Her power, however, was not sufficient to bring Cal back to life. His three friends unanimously agreed to set out immediately for Baldur’s Gate, to seek out the aid of the high priestess of Tymora in that city’s temple district. Lady Palintz, though she could not help Cal directly, placed a spell of preservation upon him, so that his friends could take his body to the city in time for divine intervention.
They had seven days until the spell faltered.
There had been other changes as well, minor things in the face of what they had lost. Their skills had improved, honed in the trials they had faced in Elturel. Their packs were full of wealth, gold granted by the grateful citizens of Elturel to those who had uncovered the diabolical cabal operating right under their noses. They had found a cache of precious gemstones in Dunn’s sanctuary; garnets, spinels, and opals that they hoped would prove sufficient to pay for Cal’s resurrection. They found a few of the silver trade bars, as well, but Benzan quickly noted that the gems were many times the value of the silver, and more portable to boot.
They had found other things, as well. The evil cleric had possessed several scrolls of divine magic, which were claimed by Delem. His armor and shield were likewise magical, and both were being worn by Benzan, for the moment. In one room they found a large bowl fashioned of blue porcelain, which radiated a potent magic. Lady Palintz told them that the device was empowered with scrying magic, allowing its user to see distant places and persons. That explained how Lamber Dunn had been able to keep track of them, Benzan observed. The bowl also radiated evil, however, its magic requiring the ability of a dark cleric to channel negative energy to function, and so the companions left it with the cleric of Oghma, to study—and if necessary, destroy.
With the press of time keenly felt by all three of the surviving companions, they had not tarried long in the city. By the time that the sun rose on the second morning after the confrontation at Rathman’s manor, the three of them—with the body of the gnome in their care—were riding a keelboat laden with goods down the River Chionthar, four days’ travel from the city of Baldur’s Gate. Ordinarily the journey took a week, as the river was dangerous to negotiate at night, but the companions had made it clear—backed by the writ of Lady Palintz and the Council—that they would brook no delays in getting to their destination.
The four boatmen, reluctantly, had no choice but to go along with the plan.
Lok watched as Benzan came around the pile of crates and stood in the bow of the craft, facing the setting sun. The bright rays of the day’s end shone brilliantly on his breastplate, an item of potent magic that he’d taken from the fallen cleric. The tiefling complained about the limitations of the armor on his speed and maneuverability, and had professed his intent to see about enchanting the coat of mithral chain they’d taken from the shade warrior, once they had seen to Cal’s restoration.
“Delem,” Benzan said, an edge of danger in his voice.
“What is it?” the sorcerer said, emerging from a shaded nook in between two of the supply crates. Lok, sensing that something was amiss, joined them at the bow.
Delem shaded his eyes and looked ahead. The riverbank to both sides was lined by a steep embankment, almost vertical at times, rising some thirty feet above the level of the river. To their right, a sandbar rose up out of the waters, stretching for several hundred yards. About half-way down its length they could see what looked like four man-sized piles of stone, sitting incongruously upon the sands. A fifth was just visible as a silhouette against the setting sun atop the far embankment, warding the river like a sentinel.
“Odd—they look almost like statues,” Delem said. “With wings…”
“Gargoyles,” Benzan hissed, already stringing his longbow. His assessment was borne out a moment later, as the four creatures stirred to life, their powerful wings lifting their stone-like bodies into the air.
“Stay down, and behind cover,” Lok cautioned the boatmen, who were already readying light crossbows taken from a storage locker along the gunwale of the boat. They were all too willing to take that advice, while the three companions awaited the apparent attack in the bow. In preparation, Delem used the power of the wand of mage armor upon himself, surrounding his body with the defensive magic.
The four gargoyles—the fifth, atop the embankment, had not yet stirred—flew through the air toward the boat as it drifted inexorably closer to the embankment. As they drew nearer they could all see that the creatures had wrapped themselves in strips of cloth that covered much of their bodies, save for their wings and powerfully muscled and clawed forelimbs.
“I think we can assume that they’re hostile,” Benzan said, and he let fly with an arrow as the gargoyles were still several hundred feet away. The missile narrowly missed its target, but the angry screech the creature made clearly indicated its reaction to the attack. The four creatures beat their wings in concert to lift them high into the air, and then they dove toward the boat.
Benzan fired again, as did several of the boatmen, and they scored the first blood of the encounter as Benzan’s arrow slammed hard into a gargoyle’s leg. Lok had loaded his crossbow but waited for them to draw closer, finally launching his bolt at the same time that Delem fired a pair of magic missiles. Both volleys struck the lead creature, staggering it but not halting its dive.
Benzan fired one last shot and then switched to his scimitar, waiting for the seemingly inevitable clash as the creatures dove into them. But to their surprise, the gargoyles pulled out of their dive while still thirty or so feet above them, flying in a broad circle above their heads.
They understood the gargoyles’ strategy when one pointed at Lok, and a twisting gray shaft of energy darted from its fingers to strike the genasi. Lok shuddered as a wave of weakness swam out into his body through the contact, much like the draining touch of the shadows they had fought under Rathman’s mansion.
“Look out!” Delem cried, as the others fired their own rays at the occupants of the boat. Delem was struck and he staggered against the rail of the boat, barely catching himself before he plunged into the river. Another lanced past Benzan, who was barely able to duck back out the beam’s path. Behind them, they could hear one of the boatmen cry out as he was struck.
“Let them have it!” Benzan cried, hefting his bow again and firing at the one he had injured. He hit again, but the creature still remained in the air, ignoring the twin arrows jutting from its muscular frame. The boatmen added bolts from their crossbows, but none of the panicked men found their mark.
Delem fought off the weakness and stood, and saw the final gargoyle alight from the embankment and start toward them. “That last one—it’s coming too!” he cried in warning.
“Tell him to wait until we can take care of these four!” Benzan returned as he nocked yet another arrow.
Delem sighted in on one of the leering gargoyles, the one that he and Lok had injured, and summoned his magic once again. He pointed and a stream of liquid flame erupted from his hand, arcing across the water to strike the gargoyle in the chest. The creature screamed and fell as the flames surrounded it, splashing into the water and vanishing into the cold depths of the river.
“That’s one!” Benzan shouted in encouragement, then cursed as his next arrow missed.
The three surviving gargoyles launched more beams of gray light at the boat. Lok was struck again, although he cried out in defiance as he fought off the draining touch of the gargoyles’ magic. The boatmen were not so fortunate, and one crumpled to the deck of the boat, barely able to move after being hit by his second ray.
“Slay the god-slaves!” the last gargoyle cried out, as it reached the fray. They could see that this last creature was significantly larger than the others, and it carried a longsword that gleamed in the bright light of the setting sun. The other gargoyles cried out their own battle cries, and then dove at the occupants of the boat.
The first, already wounded by two of Benzan’s arrows, took a third to the throat, and it splashed into the water a few feet shy of the boat, dousing the companions with water. Lok took the full impact of the second’s diving charge on his shield, holding his ground and slashing into it with a devastating blow from his axe. On the far flank, the last gargoyle dove at Delem, ripping into him with a vicious cut from a clawed arm. Delem cried out in pain as black energies rippled from the creature’s claw into him through the wound, drawing life-energy from the sorcerer and transferring it to the gargoyle.
Benzan came to Delem’s aid as the sorcerer fell back, slashing at the gargoyle with his scimitar. The blade cut deep, slashing through the wrappings into its torso.
The last gargoyle swept down out of the sun and landed heavily on top of the crates. One of the boatmen tried to back away from it, but too slowly as its sword came down and cut deep into the poor man’s skull. He spun away from the force of the impact and fell into the water with a bloody splash. Another of the boatmen fired his crossbow at the creature, but the way his hands were shaking in fear caused the missile to fly harmlessly wide of his target.
Now that the gargoyles were aboard the craft, the battle degenerated into a furious melee, with neither side willing to grant quarter. The wounded gargoyle facing Lok grasped his shoulder with a claw and drained power from him much as its colleague had done to Delem. The stolen energy clearly aided the thing, as the bleeding from its wound stopped, and the torn flesh of the cut came partially together.
The thing cackled in satisfaction, but that ended as Lok hefted his axe, and with the full power of his still-considerable strength behind the attack, dashed the gargoyle’s head from its shoulders with a single stroke.
“Heal that one, wretch,” he said as he kicked its headless body into the water.
“Look out, Lok!” Delem cried in warning, as the gargoyle leader jumped down from atop the crates and slashed into him with his blade. The blow caught the genasi hard on the shoulder, tearing through his mail and digging deep. Lok grunted from the impact, but kept his footing as he staggered against the rail of the boat.
Delem fired a pair of magic missiles into the creature from the side, gouging two smoking pits in its powerful frame. But its focus seemed exclusively upon Lok, and at the moment the genasi was far more injured than the powerful gargoyle.
Delem looked back at Benzan, but the tiefling was having problems of his own. He’d hit again with his scimitar, but the gargoyle had countered with its energy-draining touch, weakening the warrior and healing its own wound. Its claws could not penetrate the combination of Benzan’s new armor and shield, however, so he was otherwise uninjured.
Lok swung his axe at his new adversary, but missed. The gargoyle feinted with its sword, scoring a glancing blow against Lok’s shield, but then suddenly lunged with its other hand and locked its claw around the genasi’s armored throat. Black energies rippled from Lok’s body through the contact into the gargoyle, and it laughed as the life force replenished it.
“Let… me… go!” the genasi said, struggling. He brought his axe around, but couldn’t get an angle for an attack.
Delem fired a stream of fire into the back of the gargoyle, the flames splashing over its wings and burning its flesh. The gargoyle screamed, but it was clear that the attack had done little more than enrage it as it twisted its head to regard the sorcerer.
“I will drain all the life from your friend, and then I will kill you, magi,” it spat at him.
Benzan, who had finally defeated his adversary, leapt over the crates, his scimitar cutting a swath before him as he dove into the gargoyle from behind. The blade tore deep into the scorched back of the creature, staggering it. Lok took advantage of the distraction to drive the edge of his shield into the gargoyle’s elbow, forcing it to release its hold on him. With a roar he brought his axe up and slammed it into the gargoyle’s chest. The sound of its breastbone cracking was audible even over its gibbering cries, but the dark fire of its hatred still flared in its eyes, and it reached for Lok still, a dark nimbus of negative energy forming again around its claws.
But before it could touch him, Delem fired another pair of missiles into its head, and it collapsed in a blackened and bloody heap on the deck of the boat.
The three of them regarded the creature for a moment, each of them drained and battered from the brief but vicious battle. Finally, Benzan looked over at Delem.
“I think we need some healing.”
* * * * *
Book II, Part 1
The flutter of a flight of riverbirds lifting off from a nearby sandbar jolted Lok from his memories, and back to the present. He looked down and opened his stony fist to reveal the silver disk resting in his palm. The runes in its surface were all but worn away, now, but it still had the power to provoke memories of the distant past.
The genasi shifted slightly, and stared out over the river. Their keelboat was drifting swiftly with the current, but it would be his turn to take the oars again soon. The genasi’s arms were sore from working the oars through the morning and much of the afternoon as well, but he would never admit as much to his companions.
He hadn’t experienced the memories for some time, now. Why he’d chosen to revisit them now—he knew why, really, as his gaze turned reluctantly to the small box lashed to the top of the piled crates being moved downriver by Cobbledon’s boatmen. Benzan and Delem were nearby on the small boat, he knew, but they’d been avoiding each other somewhat, of late. None of them wanted to talk about what had happened.
Lok let more recent memories play through his thoughts as he put the disk back into its pocket.
The death of Cal had blighted whatever sense of accomplishment they could take in their victory over the evil cleric and his minions. Once the depth of Evan Rathman’s treachery had been uncovered, the city leaders had been stunned. Rathman had paid the ultimate price, however; upon the conclusion of the battle, the companions had discovered that he was dead, his heart stopped. Gergan Podranus immediately sent messengers to notify Lord Dhelt in Berdusk of what had transpired, but it would be days yet until the news reached him.
The companions decided quickly that they were not going to wait. In the absence of the high priest of Helm, who was with the High Rider, Lady Darine Palintz was the highest ranking cleric in Elturel. Her power, however, was not sufficient to bring Cal back to life. His three friends unanimously agreed to set out immediately for Baldur’s Gate, to seek out the aid of the high priestess of Tymora in that city’s temple district. Lady Palintz, though she could not help Cal directly, placed a spell of preservation upon him, so that his friends could take his body to the city in time for divine intervention.
They had seven days until the spell faltered.
There had been other changes as well, minor things in the face of what they had lost. Their skills had improved, honed in the trials they had faced in Elturel. Their packs were full of wealth, gold granted by the grateful citizens of Elturel to those who had uncovered the diabolical cabal operating right under their noses. They had found a cache of precious gemstones in Dunn’s sanctuary; garnets, spinels, and opals that they hoped would prove sufficient to pay for Cal’s resurrection. They found a few of the silver trade bars, as well, but Benzan quickly noted that the gems were many times the value of the silver, and more portable to boot.
They had found other things, as well. The evil cleric had possessed several scrolls of divine magic, which were claimed by Delem. His armor and shield were likewise magical, and both were being worn by Benzan, for the moment. In one room they found a large bowl fashioned of blue porcelain, which radiated a potent magic. Lady Palintz told them that the device was empowered with scrying magic, allowing its user to see distant places and persons. That explained how Lamber Dunn had been able to keep track of them, Benzan observed. The bowl also radiated evil, however, its magic requiring the ability of a dark cleric to channel negative energy to function, and so the companions left it with the cleric of Oghma, to study—and if necessary, destroy.
With the press of time keenly felt by all three of the surviving companions, they had not tarried long in the city. By the time that the sun rose on the second morning after the confrontation at Rathman’s manor, the three of them—with the body of the gnome in their care—were riding a keelboat laden with goods down the River Chionthar, four days’ travel from the city of Baldur’s Gate. Ordinarily the journey took a week, as the river was dangerous to negotiate at night, but the companions had made it clear—backed by the writ of Lady Palintz and the Council—that they would brook no delays in getting to their destination.
The four boatmen, reluctantly, had no choice but to go along with the plan.
Lok watched as Benzan came around the pile of crates and stood in the bow of the craft, facing the setting sun. The bright rays of the day’s end shone brilliantly on his breastplate, an item of potent magic that he’d taken from the fallen cleric. The tiefling complained about the limitations of the armor on his speed and maneuverability, and had professed his intent to see about enchanting the coat of mithral chain they’d taken from the shade warrior, once they had seen to Cal’s restoration.
“Delem,” Benzan said, an edge of danger in his voice.
“What is it?” the sorcerer said, emerging from a shaded nook in between two of the supply crates. Lok, sensing that something was amiss, joined them at the bow.
Delem shaded his eyes and looked ahead. The riverbank to both sides was lined by a steep embankment, almost vertical at times, rising some thirty feet above the level of the river. To their right, a sandbar rose up out of the waters, stretching for several hundred yards. About half-way down its length they could see what looked like four man-sized piles of stone, sitting incongruously upon the sands. A fifth was just visible as a silhouette against the setting sun atop the far embankment, warding the river like a sentinel.
“Odd—they look almost like statues,” Delem said. “With wings…”
“Gargoyles,” Benzan hissed, already stringing his longbow. His assessment was borne out a moment later, as the four creatures stirred to life, their powerful wings lifting their stone-like bodies into the air.
“Stay down, and behind cover,” Lok cautioned the boatmen, who were already readying light crossbows taken from a storage locker along the gunwale of the boat. They were all too willing to take that advice, while the three companions awaited the apparent attack in the bow. In preparation, Delem used the power of the wand of mage armor upon himself, surrounding his body with the defensive magic.
The four gargoyles—the fifth, atop the embankment, had not yet stirred—flew through the air toward the boat as it drifted inexorably closer to the embankment. As they drew nearer they could all see that the creatures had wrapped themselves in strips of cloth that covered much of their bodies, save for their wings and powerfully muscled and clawed forelimbs.
“I think we can assume that they’re hostile,” Benzan said, and he let fly with an arrow as the gargoyles were still several hundred feet away. The missile narrowly missed its target, but the angry screech the creature made clearly indicated its reaction to the attack. The four creatures beat their wings in concert to lift them high into the air, and then they dove toward the boat.
Benzan fired again, as did several of the boatmen, and they scored the first blood of the encounter as Benzan’s arrow slammed hard into a gargoyle’s leg. Lok had loaded his crossbow but waited for them to draw closer, finally launching his bolt at the same time that Delem fired a pair of magic missiles. Both volleys struck the lead creature, staggering it but not halting its dive.
Benzan fired one last shot and then switched to his scimitar, waiting for the seemingly inevitable clash as the creatures dove into them. But to their surprise, the gargoyles pulled out of their dive while still thirty or so feet above them, flying in a broad circle above their heads.
They understood the gargoyles’ strategy when one pointed at Lok, and a twisting gray shaft of energy darted from its fingers to strike the genasi. Lok shuddered as a wave of weakness swam out into his body through the contact, much like the draining touch of the shadows they had fought under Rathman’s mansion.
“Look out!” Delem cried, as the others fired their own rays at the occupants of the boat. Delem was struck and he staggered against the rail of the boat, barely catching himself before he plunged into the river. Another lanced past Benzan, who was barely able to duck back out the beam’s path. Behind them, they could hear one of the boatmen cry out as he was struck.
“Let them have it!” Benzan cried, hefting his bow again and firing at the one he had injured. He hit again, but the creature still remained in the air, ignoring the twin arrows jutting from its muscular frame. The boatmen added bolts from their crossbows, but none of the panicked men found their mark.
Delem fought off the weakness and stood, and saw the final gargoyle alight from the embankment and start toward them. “That last one—it’s coming too!” he cried in warning.
“Tell him to wait until we can take care of these four!” Benzan returned as he nocked yet another arrow.
Delem sighted in on one of the leering gargoyles, the one that he and Lok had injured, and summoned his magic once again. He pointed and a stream of liquid flame erupted from his hand, arcing across the water to strike the gargoyle in the chest. The creature screamed and fell as the flames surrounded it, splashing into the water and vanishing into the cold depths of the river.
“That’s one!” Benzan shouted in encouragement, then cursed as his next arrow missed.
The three surviving gargoyles launched more beams of gray light at the boat. Lok was struck again, although he cried out in defiance as he fought off the draining touch of the gargoyles’ magic. The boatmen were not so fortunate, and one crumpled to the deck of the boat, barely able to move after being hit by his second ray.
“Slay the god-slaves!” the last gargoyle cried out, as it reached the fray. They could see that this last creature was significantly larger than the others, and it carried a longsword that gleamed in the bright light of the setting sun. The other gargoyles cried out their own battle cries, and then dove at the occupants of the boat.
The first, already wounded by two of Benzan’s arrows, took a third to the throat, and it splashed into the water a few feet shy of the boat, dousing the companions with water. Lok took the full impact of the second’s diving charge on his shield, holding his ground and slashing into it with a devastating blow from his axe. On the far flank, the last gargoyle dove at Delem, ripping into him with a vicious cut from a clawed arm. Delem cried out in pain as black energies rippled from the creature’s claw into him through the wound, drawing life-energy from the sorcerer and transferring it to the gargoyle.
Benzan came to Delem’s aid as the sorcerer fell back, slashing at the gargoyle with his scimitar. The blade cut deep, slashing through the wrappings into its torso.
The last gargoyle swept down out of the sun and landed heavily on top of the crates. One of the boatmen tried to back away from it, but too slowly as its sword came down and cut deep into the poor man’s skull. He spun away from the force of the impact and fell into the water with a bloody splash. Another of the boatmen fired his crossbow at the creature, but the way his hands were shaking in fear caused the missile to fly harmlessly wide of his target.
Now that the gargoyles were aboard the craft, the battle degenerated into a furious melee, with neither side willing to grant quarter. The wounded gargoyle facing Lok grasped his shoulder with a claw and drained power from him much as its colleague had done to Delem. The stolen energy clearly aided the thing, as the bleeding from its wound stopped, and the torn flesh of the cut came partially together.
The thing cackled in satisfaction, but that ended as Lok hefted his axe, and with the full power of his still-considerable strength behind the attack, dashed the gargoyle’s head from its shoulders with a single stroke.
“Heal that one, wretch,” he said as he kicked its headless body into the water.
“Look out, Lok!” Delem cried in warning, as the gargoyle leader jumped down from atop the crates and slashed into him with his blade. The blow caught the genasi hard on the shoulder, tearing through his mail and digging deep. Lok grunted from the impact, but kept his footing as he staggered against the rail of the boat.
Delem fired a pair of magic missiles into the creature from the side, gouging two smoking pits in its powerful frame. But its focus seemed exclusively upon Lok, and at the moment the genasi was far more injured than the powerful gargoyle.
Delem looked back at Benzan, but the tiefling was having problems of his own. He’d hit again with his scimitar, but the gargoyle had countered with its energy-draining touch, weakening the warrior and healing its own wound. Its claws could not penetrate the combination of Benzan’s new armor and shield, however, so he was otherwise uninjured.
Lok swung his axe at his new adversary, but missed. The gargoyle feinted with its sword, scoring a glancing blow against Lok’s shield, but then suddenly lunged with its other hand and locked its claw around the genasi’s armored throat. Black energies rippled from Lok’s body through the contact into the gargoyle, and it laughed as the life force replenished it.
“Let… me… go!” the genasi said, struggling. He brought his axe around, but couldn’t get an angle for an attack.
Delem fired a stream of fire into the back of the gargoyle, the flames splashing over its wings and burning its flesh. The gargoyle screamed, but it was clear that the attack had done little more than enrage it as it twisted its head to regard the sorcerer.
“I will drain all the life from your friend, and then I will kill you, magi,” it spat at him.
Benzan, who had finally defeated his adversary, leapt over the crates, his scimitar cutting a swath before him as he dove into the gargoyle from behind. The blade tore deep into the scorched back of the creature, staggering it. Lok took advantage of the distraction to drive the edge of his shield into the gargoyle’s elbow, forcing it to release its hold on him. With a roar he brought his axe up and slammed it into the gargoyle’s chest. The sound of its breastbone cracking was audible even over its gibbering cries, but the dark fire of its hatred still flared in its eyes, and it reached for Lok still, a dark nimbus of negative energy forming again around its claws.
But before it could touch him, Delem fired another pair of missiles into its head, and it collapsed in a blackened and bloody heap on the deck of the boat.
The three of them regarded the creature for a moment, each of them drained and battered from the brief but vicious battle. Finally, Benzan looked over at Delem.
“I think we need some healing.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks, Horacio! I was debating spending the extra 300gps, but it really paid off I guess . Yes, the story of Arthur's birth through deception does resonate in my account of Lok's origins, but I can promise that our genasi won't be drawing any swords out of big rocks...
I've added some more bad guys to the Rogues' Gallery page, including the shade and Lamber Dunn. As always, feel free to give feedback either there or here.
The story continues tomorrow, as the companions arrive in Baldur's Gate, and find out that getting Cal raised isn't as simple a proposition as they thought...
. Yes, the story of Arthur's birth through deception does resonate in my account of Lok's origins, but I can promise that our genasi won't be drawing any swords out of big rocks...I've added some more bad guys to the Rogues' Gallery page, including the shade and Lamber Dunn. As always, feel free to give feedback either there or here.
The story continues tomorrow, as the companions arrive in Baldur's Gate, and find out that getting Cal raised isn't as simple a proposition as they thought...
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Mwhahahaha! Kir-lanan!
You know, LB my players made the comment "You've delved into the Lords of Darkness, and you haven't come out!"
do you feel the same way?
"god-slaves"...chuckles...
You know, LB my players made the comment "You've delved into the Lords of Darkness, and you haven't come out!"
do you feel the same way?
"god-slaves"...chuckles...
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