Travels through the Wild West: a Forgotten Realms Story

[Lazybones]

Part 29

The four shadows drifted toward the adventurers, who, despite their trepidation at their chances against these undead horrors, rushed to defend themselves.

The shadow that had attacked Delem seemed larger and stronger than the others. Before any of them could react, it reached out for the sorcerer again, to sap yet more of his vital energy. Delem jerked back reflexively, but could not escape that draining touch. But even as the shadow greedily swept in, its insubstantial hand brushed against the protective force of Delem’s mage armor, and was stayed.

Benzan moved swiftly, drawing and firing an arrow. The missile passed harmlessly through one of the swiftly approaching shadows to slam hard into the wall behind them.

“Only magic will affect such as these,” Cal said, and Benzan grimly drew his enchanted scimitar. “Don’t let them touch you!” the gnome added, needlessly after what they had seen happen to Delem.

Delem’s sudden motion as he twisted desperately back caused the front of his coat to open, and his eyes caught on something glittering right before his eyes. It was the symbol of Kossuth that he had fashioned, freed by his movements—or perhaps by some strange volition of its own. Delem shook off that mad thought and grasped the symbol, drawn to it like he had been drawn by the voices that sometimes filled his head.

As his hand clasped over the symbol, its rough edges pricking the flesh of his palm, he felt power surging through him. The young man cried out a glowing nimbus of fire erupted from his hand. The fire didn’t harm him, but the brilliance that shone from the otherworldly flames filled the room with light, driving back the shadows.

But these creatures had their own dark power, the counter to the positive energy channeled by the cleric. Delem was still young, and his powers newly awakened. The light seemed to falter as the lead shadow swelled and came at him again, reaching out as if to seize the very fire from his hand.

Two of the weaker shadows hesitated, and retreated back through the walls. The last came on and reached for Lok with its strength-draining touch. The genasi’s armor had been proof against any number of physical attacks, but it could not stop this adversary as its cold fingers passed right through shield and mail and pressed against his hard flesh. The genasi shuddered, but did not falter, sweeping his axe through the thing. The magic in the weapon tore into the fabric of the undead creature, and sundered it into wisps of darkness that quickly faded into nothingness.

Cal knew that his illusions would prove of no use against these monsters, and he possessed no magical weapon that could harm them. But an idea did occur to him, and he drew one of his wands from its pocket. The little gnome rushed at the shadow still trying to get at Delem, thrust the wand into the outline of its body, and released its power.

The healing power of the wand slashed through the dark substance of the shadow, the positive energies of the magic injuring it. The shadow screamed, a horrible, screeching sound, and instantly turned on the gnome, lashing out for him. The gnome dodged back with great agility, and the attack was turned again by the magical field of force that surrounded him.

The companions surrounded the abomination, and before it could retreat to safety like the others, came at it as one from all directions. Benzan’s scimitar slashed right through it harmlessly, but Delem channeled a beam of positive energy into it that opened a great rent in its form. Then Cal thrust the healing wand into it once more, and with a final terrible screech it disintegrated.

“Is everyone all right?” Cal asked, worried. “Delem?”

“I am… I am ok,” the sorcerer said, although he belied his statement by leaning up against the wall for support. “Feel a little weak…” He gestured toward the genasi. “One of them touched Lok, as well.”

“I am fine,” Lok said.

“I’m sorry,” Cal said. “I should have put the mage armor on all of us—it might have protected you from the shadow’s touch, Lok.”

“You could not have anticipated this attack,” the genasi said.

“Look, I don’t want to interrupt this nice scene,” Benzan said, “but those shadows that Delem drove off might be back any minute, or there might be more of them, and Lok’s still injured from that trap.”

Taking that advice to heart, Cal quickly healed Lok with his wand and surrounded Benzan and Lok with the mage armor. Neither he nor Delem could do anything about the lingering effects of the draining touch of the shadows, though, but Cal insisted that they would recover fully in time.

They waited for several minutes, but the shadows did not return, nor did anything else come to investigate the noise they’d made in the brief combat. They all felt the same sense of expectation, however, as if an even more dire threat awaited them further ahead. A careful examination of the next room through the arch revealed some old, empty crypts, and a single heavy wooden door. Now, they faced another decision.

“We are being worn down,” Cal said. “We’re all tired, Delem and Lok have been weakened, and our spells and items are being drained. Do we press on, or retreat to recover our strength?”

“It’s the same choice that we had back at the warehouse,” Benzan said. “I don’t know how I know this, but I just feel that if we retreat now, we’ll never get a chance to confront whoever is behind all this.”

“Fight onward,” Lok said, hefting his axe.

“Yeah,” Delem said, adding his assent.

“All right,” Cal said. “Victory or defeat together, then.”

With Benzan in the lead, scouting for more traps, they crossed to the door.

 

[Horacio]

Hey, Lazybones, another great update...
What a practical cynical is our Benzan! I've loved this line:

“Look, I don’t want to interrupt this nice scene,”

So waiting for the chapter 29

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks Horacio-- I think Benzan is the most fun to write (I'm something of a cynic myself, so I let it come out in that character).

Going hiking today and the theatre tonight, so I'll get the next update up either late today or early tomorrow (PST). Part 30 is the culmination of this plot thread, and is going to be a monster post (I think it's about five pages in Word at this point). I can promise an all-out battle... and a surprise ending...

Thanks for reading!
LB

 

[Horacio]

Hey, Lazybones, I don't want to press you, take your time, I can wait until... Monday?

Good weekend!!

 

[Broccli_Head]

Part 29


“Fight onward,” Lok said, hefting his axe.

.

That's my favorite quote! now that's practical.

 

[Lazybones]

Part 30

The door opened, revealing a large chamber beyond.

All four of the companions could feel the taint that hung over the place like a miasma, floating in the air and seeped into the heavy stones of its walls. The room was of considerable size, at least twenty-five feet across, with a heavily buttressed stone ceiling about fifteen feet above them. The walls were carved with designs in faded bas-relief that seemed very, very old, whatever images or writings they had once indicated now lost to time. Several thick candles in sconces along the walls cast a ruddy light over the place, bolstered by the brilliant radiance of Cal’s sunrod as they entered.

But they noticed all of these things only in passing, for their attention was immediately drawn to the far side of the room, where a slightly raised platform fronted a dark alcove. Atop the platform, facing out into the room, was a heavy stone block that seemed to serve as an altar of sorts, and to the side and behind the altar was a slumped figure bound to a stone chair.

And above the altar, carved into the sloping ceiling directly above, was a symbol.

They took in a collective breath of surprise, both at their recognition of the prisoner and of the dread symbol. For the carving, that of a jawless skull in the center of a black sunburst, was well known—and dreaded—throughout Faerun.

“The Dark Sun,” Cal breathed. “Cyric, the Father of Lies.”

As if called by the mention of that name, a figure walked out of the shadows of the alcove to face them. He was a man well into middle-age, his features decidedly average, with a close-cropped beard and eyes that seemed to blaze as they stared out at them. He was ready for a confrontation, dressed in a shiny breastplate and carrying a light shield fashioned of steel. A morningstar hung from his belt, but none of them believed that the weapon was most dangerous threat from this man. The air around him seemed to roil slightly with faint wisps of dark shadow, indicating the possible existence of some sort of magical barrier, as well.

“I suppose you would be Lamber Dunn,” Benzan growled.

“Just one name, of many,” the man said to them. “Welcome, adventurers. You have done well, better than I would have thought, to make your way here.” He walked a few more steps behind the altar, to where the bound prisoner sat unconscious. “I believe that you already know my former associate, here. I call him by the elf-name that he has forsaken, Enialis… but you know him, of course, as Lord Evan Rathman.”

The nobleman did not stir, lost deep in whatever nightmares Dunn had prepared for him.

“It’s over, Dunn, or whoever you are,” Benzan proclaimed. “We’ve taken apart your little operation in the Wood of Sharp Teeth, and now we’re here to finish the job.”

“Over? No, my stupid little demon-spawn, nothing is over, save for your interference in things you do not understand. Do you think that I would let you find your way here, defeat my guardians, intrude upon my sanctuary, had I not allowed it? Did you really think that a quartet of pathetic younglings like yourselves could upset all that I have built?” He drew himself up, seemed to grow bigger, stronger, more malevolent in their sight as darkness flared in his eyes. “No, nothing is over, fools, save your petty lives!”

Only Delem saw it, a rippling in the very walls themselves, in the dark shadow of one of the stone bolsters that ran up the wall to the ceiling above. The stone shifted, moved…

“Look out!” the sorcerer cried, as a powerful form leapt into their midst, and attacked.

The demon-ape tore into Lok, its weight adding to the force of its blow as it slashed across his face with a vicious claw. The genasi stumbled as the weight of the demon struck him, but he held his ground, pushing it back with his shield and raising his axe.

The cleric made a motion that was partially concealed by the altar, and a portcullis came crashing down in the doorway behind them, trapping them in the room.

There would be no fleeing from this confrontation.

Benzan drew back his bow, and in a blur fired one, and then a second steel-tipped arrow. The first missile struck the cleric’s shield and glanced off, but the second stabbed into his leg just below the hip, staggering him.

Delem raised his hands and fired a pair of magic missiles at the demon, but the bolts faded harmlessly as they struck it, dissipated by its innate resistance.

Cal dug out his wand of color spray and pointed it at Lamber Dunn, but before he could activate its magic, the priest spoke an incantation and invoked the full force of his dread power. A greasy cloud of fell blackness erupted throughout the room, engulfing all four of the companions within its murky depths. It only lasted for a few moments, but when the blight cleared, Cal was staggered, his face pale as he fought for gasps of clean air. Lok, as well, had been hard hit, his already bleeding face burned by the evil vapors. Delem and Benzan had managed to weather the storm far better. The demon was unharmed by the cleric’s magic, and if anything, seemed energized by the dark storm. It lunged at Lok again, tearing at him with its claws and biting with its massive, jagged maw. Lok deflected the first attack, but the second claw latched onto his weapon arm and twisted painfully, and its bite punched two deep gashes in his armored shoulder. With a tremendous and desperate surge of strength Lok pulled his arm free and slammed his axe into the creature, but the blow lacked power and glanced off the thing’s unnaturally tough hide.

Cal finally managed to stagger forward and launched his color spray at the evil cleric. The colors splashed all around the altar and into the dark alcove, but when they had faded the cleric stood unfazed. He called upon his dark master yet again, and uttered a bane upon the brave companions. The spell filled them with dread and fear, hindering them as they struggled to fight off the attacks of the cleric and his demon minion.

Benzan stood torn, recognizing the danger posed by the cleric, but realizing that Lok was in grave peril from the attacks of the demon. With a curse of frustration he tossed his bow aside and drew his scimitar, rushing at the demon’s flank to the aid of his friend. The weapon struck hard, drawing a red gash across its hide that splashed hot drops of black ichor to sizzle and steam on the floor. The demon shifted to look at Benzan, and its eyes were dark with fury.

Delem, seeing that his magic had no effect upon the demon, turned instead toward the evil cleric. His power surged again, but he held it, waiting for the dark priest to begin another spell. He did not have long to wait, and as Lamber Dunn called upon his god again the twin bolts sizzled into him, disrupting his concentration and ruining his spell.

“That’s it, keep him busy!” Cal shouted in encouragement to the sorcerer. He fought back the lingering sickness from the unholy blight to cast his own spell, creating an illusionary cloud of bats that fluttered wildly around the cleric, distracting him and making it all but impossible for him to see them.

The battle seemed to be turning for the companions, but then, without warning, the demon suddenly sprung backward ten feet, putting Benzan, Lok, and Delem in front of it, and released a horrible, keening wail.

The three companions felt the dark power of that unnatural cry sound all the way to the depths of their souls. Lok withstood it, fighting off the sinister visions that swam through his mind through a sheer effort of will, and Delem, reinforced by both his innate powers and his newfound faith, resisted as well. But Benzan, tormented by the overwhelming suggestion within that howl, cried out in sudden terror and fled, dropping his scimitar as he crashed futilely into the iron portcullis and collapsed into a huddled ball, sobbing in terror.

Lok came on again with determination, slashing at the creature again with his axe. This time the blade bit deep, ripping a deep gash in the demon’s torso, and it shrieked, this time in pain as well as fury.

Delem moved to aid Benzan, crouching beside the huddled tiefling and calling upon his own divine magic to intercede. The sorcerer could feel the demon’s magic on him like an oily skin, and he channeled his power into it, giving Benzan another chance to resist the demonfear.

Benzan stopped shaking, and the terror in his eyes cleared as he looked up at Delem. “Thanks…” he croaked.

Cal knew that he had to buy his companions some time, and he strained to keep focus on his illusion as nausea continued to flash through his body. The dark cleric, however, maintained his focus and cast another spell. Cal looked down in horror as a trio of tiny snakes slithered up out of the floor around him, their eyes little pinpoints of baleful red fire as they lunged at him.

The demon and Lok continued to trade blows, and while the genasi held his ground, it was clear that the attacks that got through were wearing him down. The demon, conversely, while it had taken several serious wounds, seemed possessed of an inhuman fortitude that did not suffer with each new splatter of its black blood upon the stones.

And then the cleric pointed at the genasi, and Lok’s eyes widened in horror as his limbs suddenly stopped functioning. His axe stopped in mid-swing, and the demon, quickly sensing what had just transpired, chuckled and came forward, jaws slavering eagerly.

But before it could reach its now helpless prey, Benzan and Delem charged to their friend’s aid. Benzan slashed at the demon, driving it back with a frustrated screech, while Delem touched Lok, surrounding him with a protective ward that would keep the demon’s attacks at bay—or that, at least, was his hope.

Cal, meanwhile, desperately rushed forward and rolled onto the low platform, just a short distance from where the cleric stood behind the altar. He felt giddy, a numbness spreading through his body from the point on his leg where one of the snakes had breached his defenses and bitten him. As his spells were not proving of much use against the tough discipline of the cleric, he hefted his crossbow, loading a bolt into place as he tried to fight off the growing wave of dizziness that threatened to overcome him.

Benzan spun at the demon, his agility foiling its efforts to grasp him and rend him to pieces. Its shoulder bled from another deep gash, and now it was beginning to show signs of weakening, its motions a little slower as it tried to catch up to the darting tiefling.

Then, suddenly, it halted, and dark power flared in its beady eyes.

Benzan shouted in alarm as a great force caught him up and hurled him across the room, slamming him hard against the far wall. His breath was driven from his lungs with the impact, and he fell to the ground, staggered. He looked up to see the demon charging straight for him.

Delem, meanwhile, saw that Cal was in trouble, and moved to his aid. The snakes were slithering after him up the edge of the platform, but they turned toward the sorcerer as he charged up. He spread out his hands and cast a fan of burning fire upon the fiendish serpents. Their unnatural hides resisted the magic, but Delem’s power burned through them to their cores, consuming all three of the foul creatures.

Cal faced off against the evil cleric, who looked down at him with contempt obvious in his eyes. To be sure, it looked like quite an imbalance, with the armored human against the gnome who could barely keep on his feet. As the cleric took a step toward him, though, Cal fired his crossbow at point blank range into his leg, opposite the place where Benzan’s arrow already jutted. The cleric staggered, his face a rictus of barely controlled fury.

“Prepare to die, gnome,” he hissed.

He lunged with surprising speed at Cal, invoking yet another dark spell as he reached out and touched the gnome lightly on the shoulder with his fingertips.

Cal staggered as a fresh rush of burning weakness seemed to pour into him through the brief contact. He looked up at the look of triumph and anticipation in the cleric’s eyes, and fired off a color spray right into his face.

This time, the cleric wasn’t ready, and the blast stunned him. He staggered back, crying out in surprised pain as two bolts of fire from Delem’s hands slammed into him.

Benzan knew that this was it, as the demon charged him. If he fell, then Lok was surely dead, and likely his companions after that. He held his ground, waiting, and then, as the demon leapt, he darted ahead and to the side, his blade coming around in a sweeping arc.

The magically enhanced scimitar bit into the side of the demon’s neck, its own momentum driving the blade deeper as Benzan swept past it. One claw caught him hard as he passed, drawing a line of blood across his hip, but he spun with the impact and landed safely a few feet away.

The demon took by far the worst of that exchange, yet somehow managed to remain standing. It turned and locked gazes with the tiefling, and to Benzan’s horror he could hear the thing’s voice in his mind.

Your flesh will yet be mine, brother, the voice said, and it came at him yet again, sheer hate alone driving it now.

Benzan was waiting for it, and one more stroke ended its final rush. As it fell its form became insubstantial, until it melted away into a greasy black stain that lingered on the stones.

The cleric, meanwhile, had apparently decided that he’d had enough, for he moved back into the shadows of the alcove, where a hidden portal clicked open at his touch. Before he could move into the narrow corridor beyond, however, Cal, somehow still on his feet, drew his sword and charged into the surprised cleric. The two got tangled up in each other’s legs, and the cleric stumbled, falling against the threshold of the doorway.

“Why won’t you die already?” the cleric said, slamming his armored hand into the gnome’s face. The blow, backed by the power of yet another spell, ripped a tear across Cal’s forehead, baring the stark white of the bone beneath. Unable to see with blood flowing into his eyes, Cal latched onto the cleric’s leg, refusing to go down, until the cleric literally tore him free and hurled him bodily to the side.

He looked up to see Benzan and Delem standing in front of him, murder in their eyes.

Delem’s last two bolts of fire tore into the cleric, driving him back again into the narrow space of the doorway, and before he could act again, Benzan was on him, thrusting his scimitar into the hollow point of his throat just beneath the edge of his helmet. The cleric gurgled and staggered, his lips moving as he still tried to summon his magic, but finally he took a step forward and fell to the ground at their feet, dead.

They heard Lok come up behind them, finally free of the cleric’s spell of paralysis. He joined Benzan and the two walked over to where Delem was crouched over Cal’s motionless form.

The sorcerer looked up, tears streaking his face.

“He’s dead.”


END OF BOOK I

 

[Talon]

WOW!
What a great story. Keep it up Lazy Bones. I'm waiting with anticipation for the aftermath of that battle.

Talon

 

[MasterOfHeaven]

Excellent update. That was quite a surprise at the end. Great job, as always.

 

[Horacio]

No!!!!!
He cannot be dead!!!!!


Lazybones, you're the master of the bittersweet ends of adventure, aren't you?

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks for the kudos, readers.

I gave two clues to the identity of the nobleman who was sponsoring the activities of the cult of Cyric in Elturel. FreeZ0r hit right on the first, that Evan Rathman was involved in luxury trade in spices, coffee, wine, etc... and that the warehouse where the companions were ambushed by the shade smelled of those things. Rathman's trade contacts allowed Lamber Dunn to ship silver and weapons between his hobgoblin allies and other connections in the region. The second clue was the name "Enialis," which Dunn used to refer to Rathman. That name I got right from the Player's Handbook's list of suggestions of names for elves (as a general rule I always come up with my own names, but this time I made an exception for the sake of the clue ). And of course, we know that Evan Rathman was a half-elf, who rejected his elvish heritage...

The other nobles were all false leads. Lord Fariq is going to reappear later in the story, but I won't say anything more about him right now, save for the fact that he has affiliations that we don't know about at the moment. The companions have made some powerful enemies as well, and there are some other past characters who will be making new appearances as well in the story as the plot develops.

I've already started Book II of the story, and will post the prologue, which fleshes out the background of a somewhat neglected character, shortly. Then we'll find out how the three surviving friends are dealing with the loss of a comrade.

Lazybones