Lazybones
Adventurer
Thanks for waiting, guys. I had a very busy weekend: dancing lessons, playoff basketball (Sacramento Kings 
), bicycling, WNBA game (that's our women's basketball league, for my European readers), bought Soldier of Fortune II for the PC, and cleaned the windows of our house (whew!), but now it's Monday and I have plenty of story for you this week. Oh, and lots of cliffhangers (I know you guys say you hate them, but I don't believe you! )
* * * * *
Book IV, Part 27
Less than an hour after the ghour demon had taken Delem and teleported away, the adventurers and their new companions left the canyon and set out again into the mountains. They headed roughly northwest, Lok leading them along a little-used dwarf trail that rapidly gained altitude along a jagged ridgeline before descending into a long, twisting ravine.
They were all on edge. After their experience in the canyon they were all fully aware that the demon had the power to appear at any time, and they already knew that these mountains were still crawling with ogres and orcs. The freed prisoners had equipped themselves with gear taken from the slain orcs, but even with bows and axes and clad in shiny breastplates they all looked frail and downtrodden. Cal and Dana had used their wands of healing to treat those with injuries, but most of them had just been beaten down for too long, and only time would enable them to fully recover.
In addition to Gaera, there were thirty dwarves, all of whom had toiled for months in the mines and clearly showed it. There were four humans: three ragged men of the Silver Marches who were all that remained of a caravan taken in an orc raid two months past, and an Uthgardt tribesman named Nanoc. Nanoc was nearly as thin and malnourished as the others, but when they handed him a spear something smoldered in his eyes, and unlike most of the others he had no difficulty keeping up with the pace that Lok set. Finally, there were several humanoids, three hobgoblins and a rather battered gnoll with mangy fur and a glint of madness in its eyes.
They didn’t give a weapon to that last one.
As their motley column made their way up the narrow trail, Benzan pulled Cal aside. “It’s the crew of the Raindancer all over again,” the tiefling said quietly.
“I know, I was thinking the same thing,” the gnome admitted. “We’ll try to keep them out of harm’s way, but…”
He trailed off, but he didn’t really have to finish. Both understood that in their current circumstances, there could be no guarantees.
As they watched the line of former captives file past, Benzan adjusted his new gauntlets. Their departure had been hasty, but the tiefling had not forgotten to search their fallen foes for items that might be useful in their cause. He’d immediately noticed the unusual gauntlets worn by the ogre leader, the one Gaera had called the “Warden.” The heavy leather fingerless gloves, backed with thick mithral rings, were obviously of exceptional make, and when they had shrunk down to the size of his hands on removal from the dead ogre his suspicions that they were magical were confirmed. Once he tried them on their function was obvious, as he could feel the surge of strength in his arms.
That would prove useful in the coming confrontation, he thought.
Benzan caught sight of Dana, bringing up the rear of the column, and the sight of her seemed to add a weight to his heart. “Do you think… I mean, Delem…”
Cal sighed. “I don’t know, I just don’t know.” He clapped Benzan on the side. “Come on, let’s get moving.”
Slipping back into a silence broken only by the constant whisper of the wind, they pressed on.
* * * * *
They day rapidly grew older as Lok led them over the back trails for an hour that became two, then three. Caer Dulthain was located only a few miles from the canyon mine, Lok told them, but the miles were difficult ones along the trail that he led them. There were easier routes to the dwarven town, but none of them suggested that route, knowing that they would be much more likely to run into orc or ogre patrols that way.
They saw nothing, however, save the occasional footprint or discarded trash that served as a reminder of their foes. The ogres had apparently picked the region fairly clean of any natural wildlife, leaving only a barren wasteland in their wake.
They stopped frequently to give the former captives a chance to rest and eat some of the provisions they’d stolen from the larders of the ogre jailors. After each successive break it became more difficult for them to rise up and hit the trail again, but with Gaera’s ceaseless urging none of them fell behind. The single-minded purposefulness of the adventurers was contagious, or maybe it was the way they cast wary looks constantly around them, as if each moment they lingered invited another attack.
The afternoon was well advanced when Jerral, who had been scouting ahead, returned to the head of the column where Lok, Benzan, and Cal were leading. “There’s a small box canyon up ahead,” the ranger reported. “It looks clear, but there’s a few structures near the entrance.”
Lok nodded, and something unfathomable crossed his expression briefly at the news. They moved on, and soon emerged at a vista overlooking the canyon. To their left, the trail ran down a short defile to the canyon floor below. Lok hesitated, gazing out over the barren terrain.
“What is it?” Cal asked him.
“I have returned home,” the genasi said. “This was my home.”
The companions exchanged a look but did not speak further as Jerral led them down the trail into the canyon. The walls of the canyon sheltered them from the full force of the wind, and although the canyon floor seemed just a rocky expanse of drifted snow and plain stone there was also a sense of peace here, as if this place could somehow keep the troubles of the world outside at bay.
“There’s another trail that leads up through a cleft in the rocks, about two hundred paces back from the canyon entrance,” Lok said, gesturing toward the point he indicated. “It leads up to another ridge trail that will take us to a back way into Caer Dulthain.” Jerral looked at Cal, who nodded, then she hurried off to scout the trail. Behind them, the freed prisoners milled about, uncertain what lie ahead for them.
Dana, who was still bringing up the rear, came over to join them. “This isn’t a good place to rest,” she said. “Too exposed.”
“I know,” Cal replied. He looked to Lok, whose attention was fixed on the two simple stone structures half-hidden among the boulders near the entrance to the canyon about a bowshot distant.
“Lok?” Cal prodded.
“We should start up the trail,” the genasi said. “There’s a place we can rest a few hundred yards up along the ridge.” He turned to face them. “I’d like a moment alone, if I may.”
“We shouldn’t split up,” Cal said. “Benzan, why don’t you stay behind, then catch up to us along the trail.”
The tiefling nodded, and he and Lok headed toward the stone buildings. Behind them, the others crossed the canyon and started up the narrow trail that ran up the cleft in the far cliff.
As the two friends neared the buildings, Lok looked up at Benzan.
“Go ahead,” the tiefling said. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
With a grateful nod Lok crossed to the first building, feeling the first surge of returning memories drift into his mind. He thought back to the years he’d spent in this place, just him and his adoptive father, rarely seeing the other dwarves of Caer Dulthain even though the town was just a short hike away. That had been fine with him; the other dwarves had rejected him due to his unique heritage, and while that had stung him at the time, he now realized that their reaction was just confusion at something that they could not understand.
He rounded the first building and looked inside through the wide opening in the front. He felt a brief surge of anger when he saw that his father’s workshop had been thoroughly looted, with only a few shattered remnants of workbenches and a few bent pieces of metal left as scraps. The anger quickly faded, though—what else could he have expected—and was replaced with a soft sadness. There would not have been much left here, anyway, as the practical dwarves would have reclaimed the valuable metalworking tools shortly after he’d announced his decision to leave. He realized that his disappointment was more because he’d hoped to see some reminder here, something familiar to spark more memories of the good times that had once been.
The house was in much the same condition, so he quickly bypassed it and crossed to the small plot of cleared land nestled in a ring of stones behind it. The summer garden was just a wide drift of snow, but Lok recognized instantly what he’d been looking for. He crossed to the single flat stone that just protruded from the snow, and knelt beside it. He ran his hand over the surface, brushing aside the snow and revealing the dwarven runes that had been painstakingly etched into its surface.
“Father,” he said. “I have returned.”
For a moment he just knelt there, alone with the whispers of the wind.
“I’ve tried to live as you taught me, father. Our there, in the world, people have judged me because of who—because of what I am. I have tried to remember the words that you said to me, to accept who I am and to use the abilities given to me to always live with honor and fight for the greater good.”
“It hasn’t been easy, father, but I have done my best. I have found good companions, a strange lot, to be sure! As if I should speak so…”
“I once asked you about my purpose, father, why I was here. You said that every man has it within his power to answer that question for himself, and in the end, the balance of his choices mark the kind of man that he is, and the kind of life that he has lived. I am still not sure what my tally will be, father, but I hope… I believe that you would have been proud of me.”
Lok bowed his head in a gesture of respect, and then slowly rose. As he turned to head back, he caught sight of something and paused in surprise.
At the edge of the patch of snow-covered earth, although he hadn’t spotted it before, a single flower—a small iris with tiny violet-blue blooms—could just be seen jutting through the snow.
), bicycling, WNBA game (that's our women's basketball league, for my European readers), bought Soldier of Fortune II for the PC, and cleaned the windows of our house (whew!), but now it's Monday and I have plenty of story for you this week. Oh, and lots of cliffhangers (I know you guys say you hate them, but I don't believe you! )* * * * *
Book IV, Part 27
Less than an hour after the ghour demon had taken Delem and teleported away, the adventurers and their new companions left the canyon and set out again into the mountains. They headed roughly northwest, Lok leading them along a little-used dwarf trail that rapidly gained altitude along a jagged ridgeline before descending into a long, twisting ravine.
They were all on edge. After their experience in the canyon they were all fully aware that the demon had the power to appear at any time, and they already knew that these mountains were still crawling with ogres and orcs. The freed prisoners had equipped themselves with gear taken from the slain orcs, but even with bows and axes and clad in shiny breastplates they all looked frail and downtrodden. Cal and Dana had used their wands of healing to treat those with injuries, but most of them had just been beaten down for too long, and only time would enable them to fully recover.
In addition to Gaera, there were thirty dwarves, all of whom had toiled for months in the mines and clearly showed it. There were four humans: three ragged men of the Silver Marches who were all that remained of a caravan taken in an orc raid two months past, and an Uthgardt tribesman named Nanoc. Nanoc was nearly as thin and malnourished as the others, but when they handed him a spear something smoldered in his eyes, and unlike most of the others he had no difficulty keeping up with the pace that Lok set. Finally, there were several humanoids, three hobgoblins and a rather battered gnoll with mangy fur and a glint of madness in its eyes.
They didn’t give a weapon to that last one.
As their motley column made their way up the narrow trail, Benzan pulled Cal aside. “It’s the crew of the Raindancer all over again,” the tiefling said quietly.
“I know, I was thinking the same thing,” the gnome admitted. “We’ll try to keep them out of harm’s way, but…”
He trailed off, but he didn’t really have to finish. Both understood that in their current circumstances, there could be no guarantees.
As they watched the line of former captives file past, Benzan adjusted his new gauntlets. Their departure had been hasty, but the tiefling had not forgotten to search their fallen foes for items that might be useful in their cause. He’d immediately noticed the unusual gauntlets worn by the ogre leader, the one Gaera had called the “Warden.” The heavy leather fingerless gloves, backed with thick mithral rings, were obviously of exceptional make, and when they had shrunk down to the size of his hands on removal from the dead ogre his suspicions that they were magical were confirmed. Once he tried them on their function was obvious, as he could feel the surge of strength in his arms.
That would prove useful in the coming confrontation, he thought.
Benzan caught sight of Dana, bringing up the rear of the column, and the sight of her seemed to add a weight to his heart. “Do you think… I mean, Delem…”
Cal sighed. “I don’t know, I just don’t know.” He clapped Benzan on the side. “Come on, let’s get moving.”
Slipping back into a silence broken only by the constant whisper of the wind, they pressed on.
* * * * *
They day rapidly grew older as Lok led them over the back trails for an hour that became two, then three. Caer Dulthain was located only a few miles from the canyon mine, Lok told them, but the miles were difficult ones along the trail that he led them. There were easier routes to the dwarven town, but none of them suggested that route, knowing that they would be much more likely to run into orc or ogre patrols that way.
They saw nothing, however, save the occasional footprint or discarded trash that served as a reminder of their foes. The ogres had apparently picked the region fairly clean of any natural wildlife, leaving only a barren wasteland in their wake.
They stopped frequently to give the former captives a chance to rest and eat some of the provisions they’d stolen from the larders of the ogre jailors. After each successive break it became more difficult for them to rise up and hit the trail again, but with Gaera’s ceaseless urging none of them fell behind. The single-minded purposefulness of the adventurers was contagious, or maybe it was the way they cast wary looks constantly around them, as if each moment they lingered invited another attack.
The afternoon was well advanced when Jerral, who had been scouting ahead, returned to the head of the column where Lok, Benzan, and Cal were leading. “There’s a small box canyon up ahead,” the ranger reported. “It looks clear, but there’s a few structures near the entrance.”
Lok nodded, and something unfathomable crossed his expression briefly at the news. They moved on, and soon emerged at a vista overlooking the canyon. To their left, the trail ran down a short defile to the canyon floor below. Lok hesitated, gazing out over the barren terrain.
“What is it?” Cal asked him.
“I have returned home,” the genasi said. “This was my home.”
The companions exchanged a look but did not speak further as Jerral led them down the trail into the canyon. The walls of the canyon sheltered them from the full force of the wind, and although the canyon floor seemed just a rocky expanse of drifted snow and plain stone there was also a sense of peace here, as if this place could somehow keep the troubles of the world outside at bay.
“There’s another trail that leads up through a cleft in the rocks, about two hundred paces back from the canyon entrance,” Lok said, gesturing toward the point he indicated. “It leads up to another ridge trail that will take us to a back way into Caer Dulthain.” Jerral looked at Cal, who nodded, then she hurried off to scout the trail. Behind them, the freed prisoners milled about, uncertain what lie ahead for them.
Dana, who was still bringing up the rear, came over to join them. “This isn’t a good place to rest,” she said. “Too exposed.”
“I know,” Cal replied. He looked to Lok, whose attention was fixed on the two simple stone structures half-hidden among the boulders near the entrance to the canyon about a bowshot distant.
“Lok?” Cal prodded.
“We should start up the trail,” the genasi said. “There’s a place we can rest a few hundred yards up along the ridge.” He turned to face them. “I’d like a moment alone, if I may.”
“We shouldn’t split up,” Cal said. “Benzan, why don’t you stay behind, then catch up to us along the trail.”
The tiefling nodded, and he and Lok headed toward the stone buildings. Behind them, the others crossed the canyon and started up the narrow trail that ran up the cleft in the far cliff.
As the two friends neared the buildings, Lok looked up at Benzan.
“Go ahead,” the tiefling said. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
With a grateful nod Lok crossed to the first building, feeling the first surge of returning memories drift into his mind. He thought back to the years he’d spent in this place, just him and his adoptive father, rarely seeing the other dwarves of Caer Dulthain even though the town was just a short hike away. That had been fine with him; the other dwarves had rejected him due to his unique heritage, and while that had stung him at the time, he now realized that their reaction was just confusion at something that they could not understand.
He rounded the first building and looked inside through the wide opening in the front. He felt a brief surge of anger when he saw that his father’s workshop had been thoroughly looted, with only a few shattered remnants of workbenches and a few bent pieces of metal left as scraps. The anger quickly faded, though—what else could he have expected—and was replaced with a soft sadness. There would not have been much left here, anyway, as the practical dwarves would have reclaimed the valuable metalworking tools shortly after he’d announced his decision to leave. He realized that his disappointment was more because he’d hoped to see some reminder here, something familiar to spark more memories of the good times that had once been.
The house was in much the same condition, so he quickly bypassed it and crossed to the small plot of cleared land nestled in a ring of stones behind it. The summer garden was just a wide drift of snow, but Lok recognized instantly what he’d been looking for. He crossed to the single flat stone that just protruded from the snow, and knelt beside it. He ran his hand over the surface, brushing aside the snow and revealing the dwarven runes that had been painstakingly etched into its surface.
“Father,” he said. “I have returned.”
For a moment he just knelt there, alone with the whispers of the wind.
“I’ve tried to live as you taught me, father. Our there, in the world, people have judged me because of who—because of what I am. I have tried to remember the words that you said to me, to accept who I am and to use the abilities given to me to always live with honor and fight for the greater good.”
“It hasn’t been easy, father, but I have done my best. I have found good companions, a strange lot, to be sure! As if I should speak so…”
“I once asked you about my purpose, father, why I was here. You said that every man has it within his power to answer that question for himself, and in the end, the balance of his choices mark the kind of man that he is, and the kind of life that he has lived. I am still not sure what my tally will be, father, but I hope… I believe that you would have been proud of me.”
Lok bowed his head in a gesture of respect, and then slowly rose. As he turned to head back, he caught sight of something and paused in surprise.
At the edge of the patch of snow-covered earth, although he hadn’t spotted it before, a single flower—a small iris with tiny violet-blue blooms—could just be seen jutting through the snow.
