Travels through the Wild West: Book IV
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Lazybones
Adventurer
Book IV, Part 9
In a stone chamber deep within the network of dwarven tunnels under Citadel Adbar, Lok dreamed.
His unconscious mind traveled over a mottled landscape of dark browns and grays. It was the mountains he was seeing, mountains familiar from his youth, where he was raised by his foster father in the aftermath of the destruction of his people. Most people saw the mountains as harsh and forbidding, but Lok, who could feel the thrum of energies within the stone, they had always been a place of comfort and solidity. Now, however, as his dream carried him through over familiar terrain, a disembodied figure without form or substance, he saw that the picture in his memories had changed. The outline of the peaks and valleys was the same, but something… dark hung over the land, a taint that filled the winter landscape with a chill not born of the icy wind or the thick drifts of white snow.
There were forms, too, in the mountains as Lok traveled through them in his dream, figures that were shadows like him, shapes that emerged and then faded before he could fully recognize them. Numerous forms that he recognized even in that quick viewing: ogres, harsh, brutal, and powerful. Of its own volition the dream took him across familiar byways to a place he remembered, Caer Dulthain, home of the dwarves that had found him on a battlefield and taken him warily in to raise into manhood. Now, however, the dwarf town stood quiet and abandoned, yet as Lok drew nearer, he felt a tingle pass through him that raised a hackle of fear even through the dream…
But Caer Dulthain was not his destination, and even as he felt the dark presence lift he was penetrating deeper into the mountains. Abruptly he realized where the dream was taking him, but it seemed that he was powerless to affect its course as he was borne invisibly down a narrow shaft that appeared at a familiar place in the mountains, carried down into the deep ways that underlay Faerûn.
To a place that he had once called home. To the Underdark.
His progress slowed as he floated through the forgotten haunts of the Urdunnir, through the tunnels that had once been filled with the vibrant sounds of his people. Once there had been the laughter of children and the unceasing sounds of the work of the stone dwarves. Theirs had been a life of single-minded purpose, seeking to live simple and quiet lives in a place that was not hospitable to either. Their enemies were many, from the Deep Dwarves, the evil duergar, to the mysterious and powerful dark elves known as the Drow. Other things lived in these dark reaches as well, wondrous and mighty entities that possessed powers that would have staggered the minds of surface-world sages and arcanists.
Lok felt the burden of memories stir in him as he floated through the abandoned corridors of his dream. Why had he returned to this place, and why now? Was it simply a byproduct of being cast here upon the borders of his homeland? Was it the trips of memory he had taken of late, using the memory-stone that was the final gift of his mother to him?
He mused over such questions, but then he found himself moving again, traveling swiftly through a maze of darkened tunnels and underground chambers. He quickly left the borders of the urdunnir community and penetrated into areas that he’d never even heard of, let alone seen. He soon lost track of where he was or where he was going, but even as his mind swam with the barrage of stimuli he felt himself slowing, arriving at a new destination.
He was in a large natural cavern, hovering at the edge of one of numerous tunnels that led to other destinations in the vast Underdark. He could hear the faint tinkle of water falling from a height, and could see the hulking shapes of mineral formations accumulated by centuries of falling water. He did not know where he was, and he found that now, finally, he had some volition over his movements. Cautiously he moved forward into the place, his darkvision allowing him to see as clearly as if he were standing on a sun-bathed field in the realms above.
His own feet made neither mark nor sound on the stone as he crossed the great chamber. He paused as another sound came to his sensitive ears; a sound of metal striking metal. It was a familiar sound to the genasi, whose skill at metalworking was quite advanced. Curious, he followed the noises to one of the corridors that led off of the main chamber.
He followed the twisting curves of the tunnel for some time, his efforts rewarded as the noises he’d heard grew steadily louder. He rounded a corner…
And nearly stumbled in surprise as he regarded a guardian, a sallow-faced figure that he instantly recognized as a duergar, one of the Deep Ones. He reached reflexively for his axe before he remembered that he was in a dream, and that neither he nor the other had substance or reality. Even as he watched the enemy dwarf faded into insubstantiality, as if its form was just lightly etched onto the world of Lok’s dream.
Drawn forward now by a desire for understanding, Lok moved past the shadowy guardian into another chamber that opened off of the passageway. There was light, there, a red glow that caused his eyes to blink a few times in adjustment, and then he saw…
The light came from a working forge, but that only occupied one small corner of the chamber that spread out before him. Dozens of small tunnels branched off around the perimeter of the place, and Lok realized that they were mineshafts, penetrating deep into the uneven stone. After a moment Lok belatedly realized that the room was occupied by numerous clusters of shadow-figures, forms that were hunched over and wrapped in a cloak of misery as they trudged across the uneven floor of the chamber and came into and out of the mine openings.
Lok was moving before he could think about it, clambering down the rough slope that led down to the chamber floor from his vantage. He reached the nearest of the figures and tried to grasp it, but his fingers passed through the form as if it were made of smoke. He had already identified it, however—the shadowy dream-shape was one of his people!
He heard a voice, then, a voice that filled his consciousness and drove away any hint of doubt from his mind.
Long have you been away, my son, it said, the words deep and sonorous in his mind. You have returned, and now you are ready to take upon your shoulders the duty for which you have been marked. For it is you that I have chosen, Lok, to free my children…
Even as the mental echoes of the voice began to fade, Lok sensed something coming up from behind him. He spun around, frozen as he sensed a massive shadow rise up out of the darkness there, pressing close, tearing…
With a deep gasp torn from his chest, Lok shot up in his simple bed, looking around in confusion for a moment until he realized where he was. It was his room, deep under the dwarven citadel, still quiet in the fastness of the night. His axe was beside the bed where he’d left it, and his armor was laid out on the table just a few feet away.
Every moment of the dream remained fixed in his mind. He felt something in his hand, and opened his fingers to reveal the silver disk there, the memory-stone that had been given him by his mother and which remained the sole remaining legacy of his people to him. He knew that he had put the stone in the pocket of his coat before going to bed, the coat that still hung on the back of a chair beside the table a goodly six feet away.
In a stone chamber deep within the network of dwarven tunnels under Citadel Adbar, Lok dreamed.
His unconscious mind traveled over a mottled landscape of dark browns and grays. It was the mountains he was seeing, mountains familiar from his youth, where he was raised by his foster father in the aftermath of the destruction of his people. Most people saw the mountains as harsh and forbidding, but Lok, who could feel the thrum of energies within the stone, they had always been a place of comfort and solidity. Now, however, as his dream carried him through over familiar terrain, a disembodied figure without form or substance, he saw that the picture in his memories had changed. The outline of the peaks and valleys was the same, but something… dark hung over the land, a taint that filled the winter landscape with a chill not born of the icy wind or the thick drifts of white snow.
There were forms, too, in the mountains as Lok traveled through them in his dream, figures that were shadows like him, shapes that emerged and then faded before he could fully recognize them. Numerous forms that he recognized even in that quick viewing: ogres, harsh, brutal, and powerful. Of its own volition the dream took him across familiar byways to a place he remembered, Caer Dulthain, home of the dwarves that had found him on a battlefield and taken him warily in to raise into manhood. Now, however, the dwarf town stood quiet and abandoned, yet as Lok drew nearer, he felt a tingle pass through him that raised a hackle of fear even through the dream…
But Caer Dulthain was not his destination, and even as he felt the dark presence lift he was penetrating deeper into the mountains. Abruptly he realized where the dream was taking him, but it seemed that he was powerless to affect its course as he was borne invisibly down a narrow shaft that appeared at a familiar place in the mountains, carried down into the deep ways that underlay Faerûn.
To a place that he had once called home. To the Underdark.
His progress slowed as he floated through the forgotten haunts of the Urdunnir, through the tunnels that had once been filled with the vibrant sounds of his people. Once there had been the laughter of children and the unceasing sounds of the work of the stone dwarves. Theirs had been a life of single-minded purpose, seeking to live simple and quiet lives in a place that was not hospitable to either. Their enemies were many, from the Deep Dwarves, the evil duergar, to the mysterious and powerful dark elves known as the Drow. Other things lived in these dark reaches as well, wondrous and mighty entities that possessed powers that would have staggered the minds of surface-world sages and arcanists.
Lok felt the burden of memories stir in him as he floated through the abandoned corridors of his dream. Why had he returned to this place, and why now? Was it simply a byproduct of being cast here upon the borders of his homeland? Was it the trips of memory he had taken of late, using the memory-stone that was the final gift of his mother to him?
He mused over such questions, but then he found himself moving again, traveling swiftly through a maze of darkened tunnels and underground chambers. He quickly left the borders of the urdunnir community and penetrated into areas that he’d never even heard of, let alone seen. He soon lost track of where he was or where he was going, but even as his mind swam with the barrage of stimuli he felt himself slowing, arriving at a new destination.
He was in a large natural cavern, hovering at the edge of one of numerous tunnels that led to other destinations in the vast Underdark. He could hear the faint tinkle of water falling from a height, and could see the hulking shapes of mineral formations accumulated by centuries of falling water. He did not know where he was, and he found that now, finally, he had some volition over his movements. Cautiously he moved forward into the place, his darkvision allowing him to see as clearly as if he were standing on a sun-bathed field in the realms above.
His own feet made neither mark nor sound on the stone as he crossed the great chamber. He paused as another sound came to his sensitive ears; a sound of metal striking metal. It was a familiar sound to the genasi, whose skill at metalworking was quite advanced. Curious, he followed the noises to one of the corridors that led off of the main chamber.
He followed the twisting curves of the tunnel for some time, his efforts rewarded as the noises he’d heard grew steadily louder. He rounded a corner…
And nearly stumbled in surprise as he regarded a guardian, a sallow-faced figure that he instantly recognized as a duergar, one of the Deep Ones. He reached reflexively for his axe before he remembered that he was in a dream, and that neither he nor the other had substance or reality. Even as he watched the enemy dwarf faded into insubstantiality, as if its form was just lightly etched onto the world of Lok’s dream.
Drawn forward now by a desire for understanding, Lok moved past the shadowy guardian into another chamber that opened off of the passageway. There was light, there, a red glow that caused his eyes to blink a few times in adjustment, and then he saw…
The light came from a working forge, but that only occupied one small corner of the chamber that spread out before him. Dozens of small tunnels branched off around the perimeter of the place, and Lok realized that they were mineshafts, penetrating deep into the uneven stone. After a moment Lok belatedly realized that the room was occupied by numerous clusters of shadow-figures, forms that were hunched over and wrapped in a cloak of misery as they trudged across the uneven floor of the chamber and came into and out of the mine openings.
Lok was moving before he could think about it, clambering down the rough slope that led down to the chamber floor from his vantage. He reached the nearest of the figures and tried to grasp it, but his fingers passed through the form as if it were made of smoke. He had already identified it, however—the shadowy dream-shape was one of his people!
He heard a voice, then, a voice that filled his consciousness and drove away any hint of doubt from his mind.
Long have you been away, my son, it said, the words deep and sonorous in his mind. You have returned, and now you are ready to take upon your shoulders the duty for which you have been marked. For it is you that I have chosen, Lok, to free my children…
Even as the mental echoes of the voice began to fade, Lok sensed something coming up from behind him. He spun around, frozen as he sensed a massive shadow rise up out of the darkness there, pressing close, tearing…
With a deep gasp torn from his chest, Lok shot up in his simple bed, looking around in confusion for a moment until he realized where he was. It was his room, deep under the dwarven citadel, still quiet in the fastness of the night. His axe was beside the bed where he’d left it, and his armor was laid out on the table just a few feet away.
Every moment of the dream remained fixed in his mind. He felt something in his hand, and opened his fingers to reveal the silver disk there, the memory-stone that had been given him by his mother and which remained the sole remaining legacy of his people to him. He knew that he had put the stone in the pocket of his coat before going to bed, the coat that still hung on the back of a chair beside the table a goodly six feet away.
Salthorae
Imperial Mountain Dew Taster
Oooo
Go Lok, Go Lok, Go Go Go....hehe okay sorry. Excellent writing LB. I know i've only posted here...umm once before, but I keep up with the story everyday and I can't wait to see what you're gonna do next with my fav. LOK!!
Is that a divine Champion PrC we just saw get attached to Lok? Dwarves rule da school!
Go Lok, Go Lok, Go Go Go....hehe okay sorry. Excellent writing LB. I know i've only posted here...umm once before, but I keep up with the story everyday and I can't wait to see what you're gonna do next with my fav. LOK!!
Is that a divine Champion PrC we just saw get attached to Lok? Dwarves rule da school!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Salthorae: doh! That would be a perfect prestige class for Lok... only I've been preparing him to take another and he doesn't have the prereqs. I could rearrange his skill set, I suppose. Well, either way, Lok will continue to rock as he reaches higher level. Look for more genasi goodness in the upcoming chapters, as the group gets in over their heads (again)...
Speaking of which, here's the chapter I posted on the "test" boards today...
* * * * *
Book IV, Part 10
The old dwarf’s name was Koll Wallbasher, and his garb, while intended to be ceremonial, was also functional, with a shirt of mail links forged from shining mithral and greaves of thick plate covering his arms and legs. His eyes were all but lost within the forest of his thick eyebrows and the ridges of wrinkles born of centuries of hard living here on the edges of civilization. But those shrouded eyes shone with a sharp cunning, and they measured the five adventurers who now stood before him in one of the small audience chambers that abutted the Council Hall under Citadel Adbar.
“Caer Dulthain—that be quite a hike, especially nowadays. Take a good tenday, if not more, to reach the place.”
Cal, once again serving as spokesman for the group, shrugged slightly. “We’ve traveled longer distances, honored elder.”
“So, yer set on this course, then, an’ nothin’ I be sayin’ be turnin’ yer way from it,” the old dwarf said to them, his fingers drumming idly on the surface of the stone desk in front of him as he spoke.
“Aye, sir, you have the way of things,” Cal said with a slight nod of deference to the aged dwarf.
Lok had only notified them of his decision to pursue the lingering question of the fate of his people that morning, obviously troubled even through the stony mask he normally wore over his emotions. At first, he’d tried to insist that the choice was his, and so thereby the risk of the undertaking. All of them had heard at least some tales of the treacherous Underdark, a place of shadows and secrets and dangers that the surface folk only whispered of even in the bright light of a sunny day. Lok’s intent was to travel aboveground to Caer Dulthain, where he’d been fostered, rather than head directly into the deep ways that connected with the lowest levels of the tunnels under the dwarven citadel. The genasi’s own knowledge of the Underdark came only from scattered memories, and he felt that the best place to start was where he’d first emerged upon the surface world, so many years ago.
While he admitted that he had little more to go on than a few scattered memories and his dream-vision of the past night, Lok’s conviction in his new mission was absolute. And thus his friends had made their decision unanimously, to join their companion as he sought out the truth of what fate had ultimately befallen his people.
“The Underdark is not a place to be trodden lightly,” Benzan had said, his own face darkening with some private memory of his own. But even the tiefling insisted on joining the genasi on his quest, agreeing with Cal’s simple assertion, “You’re our friend. Of course we’ll help.”
Now they stood in audience before the elder dwarf, a senior member of the council that advised King Uhren Dunhammer, the current monarch of the Citadel and the tunnel city beneath it. They had not revealed the full story to him, of course, only telling him of Lok’s desire to travel to Caer Dulthain, the place where he had fostered as a youth.
“We don’t be havin’ much contact with the far settlements anymore,” Koll said to them. “Fact is, we haven’t heard anythin’ from the neighborhood of Dulthain in near a year, now. What we have been hearin’ is word of orcs, and ogres, swarmin’ through them mountains north of ‘ere like they haven’t since my grandsire’s time. We’ve had a few run-ins, already, ‘tween them an’ our patrols, and they’re a tough lot, tough like stones themselves.”
The companions exchanged a quick look. For a dwarf to admit as much, particularly to outsiders, bore some significance, and they thought back to the ogres they’d encountered during their clash with the lamia sorceress.
“Fact is, even with the fruits of the Thunder Blessing, there just aren’t enough dwarves to man all the holds along the northern ranges,” the old dwarf went on. “We’ve got to hold on to what we can…” He trailed off, and they could see that his eyes were tired, worn down by long years of fighting to hold on to dreams once majestic and glorious, memories of a forgotten time when the dwarven race waxed great among the long-faded empires of the ancient past.
“Well, we’re not looking for trouble, but we’re prepared for whatever we might find on the journey,” Cal said after the silence drifted on for a few more moments.
The dwarf shook his head, and a hint of fire returned to his eyes as his thoughts returned to the present. “Aye, good then, for yer like as not to find it,” he said. “An’ since you’re goin’ to be makin’ the journey, then, maybe yer can be helpin’ us at the same time.”
The companions exchanged another quick glance, and Cal said, “Of course, anything that we can do to repay your generous hospitality…”
“Fact is, there’s more that we should be knowin’ ‘bout what’s been going on in the northern reaches than we do. For a long time Adbar’s been considered the end of the road to most warmlander folk, and it saddens me to say that many dwarves been takin’ on that line of thinkin’ too. Me, I’ve never been one to wait until yer enemies come knockin’ on yer door before yer start thinkin’ about ‘em.”
“Since yer goin’ that way anyway, I’d like yer to serve as scouts fer us, let us know what might be lurkin’ ‘round them hills up yonder.” The ‘hills’ he referred to were the Ice Mountains, a harsh, forbidding range that put anything short of the Spine of the World itself to shame.
“Of course, we don’t mind keeping our eyes open for anything that might threaten the dwarves,” Cal said, “but I’m not certain that we’ll be returning this way…”
“I’ve done a little diggin’ on yer all,” the old dwarf continued, as if Cal had not spoken, “and it seems like yer a tough lot yerselves, or I’d not be askin’ for yer aid on this matter. I’ve got someone I’d like to go ‘long with yer on this trip, another pair of eyes and a strong arm to boot. Someone who can get word back to us, whatever yer find up there in them mountains.”
Cal nodded. “A strong dwarven warrior would be a welcome addition…”
Koll snorted, interrupting him. “Jerral’s not a dwarf, but a human, a tracker originally up from down yonder in the Silver Marches out by Silverymoon. Fer a human, though, Jer knows the mountains, and owes me a favor to boot.”
Cal looked back at his companions, to gauge their reaction. Lok was clearly still thinking about the obligation laid upon him by his dream-vision, and Delem seemed distracted by some other concern, in fact barely seemed to be paying attention to the current scene. Dana just shrugged, trusting the gnome’s judgment. Benzan, however, had something to add.
“It is convenient for you that we’re heading in the direction that you want us to go anyway,” Benzan said. “What do we get out of it—other than mortal risk and great danger, of course.”
The dwarf’s eyes glinted in the light of the room’s torches as he fixed them on the tiefling. “Yer friend’s got a new hand,” he said, indicating Dana with a nod, “and yer weapons are better than they were.”
“Meaning no disrespect, of course, but we paid quite handsomely for those favors,” Benzan shot back. “And I’m sure Karroth enjoys his new blade very much.”
“Ah, the bronze spell-blade. Yes, the King does appreciate your… generosity… in providing him with such a fine weapon.”
For a moment, Benzan appeared to be taken aback, but Cal stepped smoothly into the gap before he could make a retort. “We are pleased that the King appreciates our gift. In turn, since the road ahead will be difficult, as you so eloquently noted a moment ago, perhaps His Majesty might be willing to part with some equipment that would help keep us… intact?”
The dwarf laughed, a gruff guffaw that filled the small chamber. “Har, you’ve a silver tongue, gnome! But I believe we can accommodate yer needs.”
He reached into a drawer and tossed a small cloth bundle onto the desk. It rattled slightly with the sound of metal clinking on metal. He tugged one edge of the wrapping free and unrolled it, revealing several small items that gleamed in the light of the torches.
“The rings are enchanted with an aura that provides protection against cold,” the dwarf said, indicating a pair of bronze rings each set with a single gleaming red stone. “Should be useful, where yer goin’.”
The dwarf next indicated a small amulet that dangled from a simple rawhide throng. The design was of a hammer and forge, done in silver, set with a pair of blue azurite squares that sparkled in the torchlight. “You’ll find this a potent boon,” the dwarf said. “It gives its wearer the gift of sturdiness and sound health—and the toughness to take a few more hits to boot.”
Finally, he pointed to the last item, a small and rather plain-looking flat stone. With obvious respect for the thing he turned it over, revealing angular dwarven runes etched on the opposite face. “This one’s a gift from our High Priest, and our highest gift. Keep it safe, fer you’ll be wantin’ it should the need arise.”
“What is it?” Cal asked.
“It’s a rune-stone,” the dwarf said. “It stores a spell like a scroll, only it can be used by anyone who touches the runes and calls upon their power. This one bears a potent magic indeed, for placed upon the chest of a fallen ally and its power invoked, it will summon him back to life.”
The companions examined the stone in wonder, already familiar first-hand with the powerful magic that could raise the dead. Benzan, however, was more pragmatic in his outlook.
“Well, we’ll probably be needing that last one,” he said.
“Your gifts are well appreciated, honored elder,” Cal said. “We would be happy to undertake your mission as part of our upcoming journey.”
“Excellent.” The dwarf took a last longing look at the items atop the cloth, then rewrapped them and pushed the bundle across the desk toward the companions. As Lok stepped forward to take it, the dwarf went on, “If yer ready, then, I’ll have Jerral meet yer on the morrow, at yer quarters, along with a dwarf who can show yer to a tunnel that’ll take yer to a trailhead that’ll speed yer journey.”
“Thank you,” Cal said, with a final bow.
As the companions left the audience chamber, Benzan chimed in, “So, who gets what?”
Speaking of which, here's the chapter I posted on the "test" boards today...
* * * * *
Book IV, Part 10
The old dwarf’s name was Koll Wallbasher, and his garb, while intended to be ceremonial, was also functional, with a shirt of mail links forged from shining mithral and greaves of thick plate covering his arms and legs. His eyes were all but lost within the forest of his thick eyebrows and the ridges of wrinkles born of centuries of hard living here on the edges of civilization. But those shrouded eyes shone with a sharp cunning, and they measured the five adventurers who now stood before him in one of the small audience chambers that abutted the Council Hall under Citadel Adbar.
“Caer Dulthain—that be quite a hike, especially nowadays. Take a good tenday, if not more, to reach the place.”
Cal, once again serving as spokesman for the group, shrugged slightly. “We’ve traveled longer distances, honored elder.”
“So, yer set on this course, then, an’ nothin’ I be sayin’ be turnin’ yer way from it,” the old dwarf said to them, his fingers drumming idly on the surface of the stone desk in front of him as he spoke.
“Aye, sir, you have the way of things,” Cal said with a slight nod of deference to the aged dwarf.
Lok had only notified them of his decision to pursue the lingering question of the fate of his people that morning, obviously troubled even through the stony mask he normally wore over his emotions. At first, he’d tried to insist that the choice was his, and so thereby the risk of the undertaking. All of them had heard at least some tales of the treacherous Underdark, a place of shadows and secrets and dangers that the surface folk only whispered of even in the bright light of a sunny day. Lok’s intent was to travel aboveground to Caer Dulthain, where he’d been fostered, rather than head directly into the deep ways that connected with the lowest levels of the tunnels under the dwarven citadel. The genasi’s own knowledge of the Underdark came only from scattered memories, and he felt that the best place to start was where he’d first emerged upon the surface world, so many years ago.
While he admitted that he had little more to go on than a few scattered memories and his dream-vision of the past night, Lok’s conviction in his new mission was absolute. And thus his friends had made their decision unanimously, to join their companion as he sought out the truth of what fate had ultimately befallen his people.
“The Underdark is not a place to be trodden lightly,” Benzan had said, his own face darkening with some private memory of his own. But even the tiefling insisted on joining the genasi on his quest, agreeing with Cal’s simple assertion, “You’re our friend. Of course we’ll help.”
Now they stood in audience before the elder dwarf, a senior member of the council that advised King Uhren Dunhammer, the current monarch of the Citadel and the tunnel city beneath it. They had not revealed the full story to him, of course, only telling him of Lok’s desire to travel to Caer Dulthain, the place where he had fostered as a youth.
“We don’t be havin’ much contact with the far settlements anymore,” Koll said to them. “Fact is, we haven’t heard anythin’ from the neighborhood of Dulthain in near a year, now. What we have been hearin’ is word of orcs, and ogres, swarmin’ through them mountains north of ‘ere like they haven’t since my grandsire’s time. We’ve had a few run-ins, already, ‘tween them an’ our patrols, and they’re a tough lot, tough like stones themselves.”
The companions exchanged a quick look. For a dwarf to admit as much, particularly to outsiders, bore some significance, and they thought back to the ogres they’d encountered during their clash with the lamia sorceress.
“Fact is, even with the fruits of the Thunder Blessing, there just aren’t enough dwarves to man all the holds along the northern ranges,” the old dwarf went on. “We’ve got to hold on to what we can…” He trailed off, and they could see that his eyes were tired, worn down by long years of fighting to hold on to dreams once majestic and glorious, memories of a forgotten time when the dwarven race waxed great among the long-faded empires of the ancient past.
“Well, we’re not looking for trouble, but we’re prepared for whatever we might find on the journey,” Cal said after the silence drifted on for a few more moments.
The dwarf shook his head, and a hint of fire returned to his eyes as his thoughts returned to the present. “Aye, good then, for yer like as not to find it,” he said. “An’ since you’re goin’ to be makin’ the journey, then, maybe yer can be helpin’ us at the same time.”
The companions exchanged another quick glance, and Cal said, “Of course, anything that we can do to repay your generous hospitality…”
“Fact is, there’s more that we should be knowin’ ‘bout what’s been going on in the northern reaches than we do. For a long time Adbar’s been considered the end of the road to most warmlander folk, and it saddens me to say that many dwarves been takin’ on that line of thinkin’ too. Me, I’ve never been one to wait until yer enemies come knockin’ on yer door before yer start thinkin’ about ‘em.”
“Since yer goin’ that way anyway, I’d like yer to serve as scouts fer us, let us know what might be lurkin’ ‘round them hills up yonder.” The ‘hills’ he referred to were the Ice Mountains, a harsh, forbidding range that put anything short of the Spine of the World itself to shame.
“Of course, we don’t mind keeping our eyes open for anything that might threaten the dwarves,” Cal said, “but I’m not certain that we’ll be returning this way…”
“I’ve done a little diggin’ on yer all,” the old dwarf continued, as if Cal had not spoken, “and it seems like yer a tough lot yerselves, or I’d not be askin’ for yer aid on this matter. I’ve got someone I’d like to go ‘long with yer on this trip, another pair of eyes and a strong arm to boot. Someone who can get word back to us, whatever yer find up there in them mountains.”
Cal nodded. “A strong dwarven warrior would be a welcome addition…”
Koll snorted, interrupting him. “Jerral’s not a dwarf, but a human, a tracker originally up from down yonder in the Silver Marches out by Silverymoon. Fer a human, though, Jer knows the mountains, and owes me a favor to boot.”
Cal looked back at his companions, to gauge their reaction. Lok was clearly still thinking about the obligation laid upon him by his dream-vision, and Delem seemed distracted by some other concern, in fact barely seemed to be paying attention to the current scene. Dana just shrugged, trusting the gnome’s judgment. Benzan, however, had something to add.
“It is convenient for you that we’re heading in the direction that you want us to go anyway,” Benzan said. “What do we get out of it—other than mortal risk and great danger, of course.”
The dwarf’s eyes glinted in the light of the room’s torches as he fixed them on the tiefling. “Yer friend’s got a new hand,” he said, indicating Dana with a nod, “and yer weapons are better than they were.”
“Meaning no disrespect, of course, but we paid quite handsomely for those favors,” Benzan shot back. “And I’m sure Karroth enjoys his new blade very much.”
“Ah, the bronze spell-blade. Yes, the King does appreciate your… generosity… in providing him with such a fine weapon.”
For a moment, Benzan appeared to be taken aback, but Cal stepped smoothly into the gap before he could make a retort. “We are pleased that the King appreciates our gift. In turn, since the road ahead will be difficult, as you so eloquently noted a moment ago, perhaps His Majesty might be willing to part with some equipment that would help keep us… intact?”
The dwarf laughed, a gruff guffaw that filled the small chamber. “Har, you’ve a silver tongue, gnome! But I believe we can accommodate yer needs.”
He reached into a drawer and tossed a small cloth bundle onto the desk. It rattled slightly with the sound of metal clinking on metal. He tugged one edge of the wrapping free and unrolled it, revealing several small items that gleamed in the light of the torches.
“The rings are enchanted with an aura that provides protection against cold,” the dwarf said, indicating a pair of bronze rings each set with a single gleaming red stone. “Should be useful, where yer goin’.”
The dwarf next indicated a small amulet that dangled from a simple rawhide throng. The design was of a hammer and forge, done in silver, set with a pair of blue azurite squares that sparkled in the torchlight. “You’ll find this a potent boon,” the dwarf said. “It gives its wearer the gift of sturdiness and sound health—and the toughness to take a few more hits to boot.”
Finally, he pointed to the last item, a small and rather plain-looking flat stone. With obvious respect for the thing he turned it over, revealing angular dwarven runes etched on the opposite face. “This one’s a gift from our High Priest, and our highest gift. Keep it safe, fer you’ll be wantin’ it should the need arise.”
“What is it?” Cal asked.
“It’s a rune-stone,” the dwarf said. “It stores a spell like a scroll, only it can be used by anyone who touches the runes and calls upon their power. This one bears a potent magic indeed, for placed upon the chest of a fallen ally and its power invoked, it will summon him back to life.”
The companions examined the stone in wonder, already familiar first-hand with the powerful magic that could raise the dead. Benzan, however, was more pragmatic in his outlook.
“Well, we’ll probably be needing that last one,” he said.
“Your gifts are well appreciated, honored elder,” Cal said. “We would be happy to undertake your mission as part of our upcoming journey.”
“Excellent.” The dwarf took a last longing look at the items atop the cloth, then rewrapped them and pushed the bundle across the desk toward the companions. As Lok stepped forward to take it, the dwarf went on, “If yer ready, then, I’ll have Jerral meet yer on the morrow, at yer quarters, along with a dwarf who can show yer to a tunnel that’ll take yer to a trailhead that’ll speed yer journey.”
“Thank you,” Cal said, with a final bow.
As the companions left the audience chamber, Benzan chimed in, “So, who gets what?”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Book IV, Part 11
In the end, they decided that Cal and Delem would take the rings of warmth. Dana’s cloak already protected her from cold, and Benzan’s unique heritage afforded him similar protection. As he already had two magical rings in his possession, Delem in turn gave his ring of protection to Dana, bolstering her defenses. Cal kept the stone with the rune of raise dead in his custody, and they ultimately voted to give the amulet to Lok, as their front-line fighter would likely have the most need of its power.
Their strength thus reinforced, the companions returned to their quarters to take whatever rest they could before the coming day marked the start of a new journey. Lok and Delem left to scrounge a few more last-minute items for the bag of holding, including bundles of extra arrows and crossbow bolts, while Cal returned to the temple of Moradin to acquire a few more potions of healing.
Without a specific chore to attend to, Benzan felt a little restless. He stopped by Cal’s quarters to find that the gnome had already left, but as he was walking down the hall in the part of the fortress reserved for the infrequent guests of the dwarves, he found himself drawn to another door a short distance off.
He hesitated for a moment, his hand hanging above the door to knock. Why did he suddenly feel nervous?
You’re being an idiot, he told himself harshly, and then he knocked deliberately on the door.
“Come in,” came a voice from beyond the portal.
He opened the door to see Dana sitting on the edge of her cot, threading a new set of laces onto her calf-high leather boots. She looked up as he entered, and he couldn’t quite read the hinted feelings that quickly crossed her expression.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi. Leave the door open, will you?”
“Afraid I might try something?”
If her earlier expression was ambiguous, the dry look she shot him now was anything but. “Hardly. It’s just… well, after a tenday down here in these tunnels, I’m feeling a bit… crowded. I’m glad we’re leaving, if only to get out into the open air again.”
“Once we get further north, you might miss the warm comforts of this place,” he pointed out.
“Like Cal said, whatever we find, we’ll deal with it,” she said.
“You sound confident.”
“I suppose. Maybe I’ve just gotten comfortable with you guys and what we’re capable of, as a group.”
His aimless walking into the room had brought him to the small table adjacent to her bed. “I never got a chance… I mean, I never thanked you for saving my life, when we were fighting that lamia.”
“That’s not necessary. We’re adventuring companions, we look out for each other. You’d do the same for me, or any of the others—you’ve stuck your neck out a number of times, in fact, if I recall correctly.”
Dana had spread her gear out on the table, and he drew a crossbow bolt out of her quiver, twirling it between his fingers. “You know, when I was dying there… I remember looking up and seeing you. I thought you were a celestial or something, come to claim me.”
“I don’t expect a celestial would be the one to come for you,” she said idly.
His brow tightened and his expression darkened, but he didn’t reply. He half-turned from her as he slid the bolt back into the quiver, but she’d already seen the change.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was… it was a thoughtless thing to say.”
With an effort, he brought back his trademark grin. “I’ve said more than a few thoughtless things in my time,” he said. “Or so someone keeps telling me.”
She laughed with him, and he came a step closer, leaning against the edge of the table as he faced her.
“I know we haven’t gotten along at times. But, well… I’m glad you decided to come with us. Back in Baldur’s Gate, I mean.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, and when she looked up at him this time, something flashed in her eyes.
He saw it, for when he came closer there was no resistance, no wry comment, no turning away. She half-rose up from the edge of the bed as he started to bend…
“Hello! Hope I’m not interrupting anything…”
The two friends turned toward the door, the feelings that had built up between them in past few moments evaporating at the intrusion. Standing there in the threshold was a woman. She was somewhere in that borderland between youthfulness and maturity, perhaps in her early thirties by the look of her, although her face wore the mark of both a hard life outdoors and the signs of other, less tangible strains. Her hair, tied back into a functional ponytail, was jet black, as yet untouched by gray, and her eyes were a striking emerald green. She was tall and muscular, no more than an inch short of six feet if that, her body lean and gifted with the tone that comes only with regular and sustained exercise. Her fur-lined tunic did not fully conceal the tell-tale gleam of mail links underneath, and she carried herself with the air of one who knows how to use the weapons she carried—in this case, a heavy composite longbow and two axes, one somewhat larger than the other.
“Hello,” Dana said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is there something we can do for you?”
“If you are the ones I’m supposed to meet, then I reckon so,” she said. “Seems like that rat bastard Koll has a little plan cooked up for a scouting mission north, and just my luck, I happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Story of my life, I suppose.”
“I’m guessing you would be Jerral, then,” Benzan ventured.
“Ah, so I see that wiry old tunnel worm did mention me, then,” she said. She came forward, her stride long and confident, her grip strong when she gave Benzan a clout on the shoulder. “That’s me, all right. I understand you’ve been suckered into this little expedition too, and I’m going to be holding your hands while we take a little stroll into the dragon’s maw, so to speak. Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“They’re around,” Benzan said. “We were planning on leaving tomorrow morning, with the dawn.”
“The dwarven elder said that one of his men would guide us to a pass that leads in the direction we’re headed,” Dana said.
“Yeah, well, that old brick would be lucky to find his way out of a closet—I’d wager he hasn’t been more than a few miles away from this place since I was crapping myself in diapers. Don’t worry, though, I’ll steer you right. Listen, there’s a few things I wanted to pick up before we leave, but I just wanted to come by and say hello while I was up here. I’ll be by in the morning to collect you, so be ready to go and all.”
Without pause she turned and left. Belatedly, they realized that they hadn’t even told her their names.
“Well, that was something,” Benzan finally said. “I don’t mind having a little more muscle on this trip, especially if she can back up all the talk, but she seems a little pushy, if you ask me.”
“There’s something going on underneath all that bluster,” Dana said. “She isn’t as good at hiding it as she thinks.”
A pause followed, then Benzan said, “Dana…”
“I know,” she said, without turning. “Look, we’ve got a long road ahead of us tomorrow…”
He hesitated, his arm hanging in the air between them for a moment, then he let it fall. Finally, without saying more, he turned and left, letting the door close behind him as he departed.
Dana just stood there for a long moment, and when she finally turned back toward the exit, the conflicting feelings were written clearly on her face. Finally, almost reluctantly, she turned toward the table and started packing up her gear.
In the end, they decided that Cal and Delem would take the rings of warmth. Dana’s cloak already protected her from cold, and Benzan’s unique heritage afforded him similar protection. As he already had two magical rings in his possession, Delem in turn gave his ring of protection to Dana, bolstering her defenses. Cal kept the stone with the rune of raise dead in his custody, and they ultimately voted to give the amulet to Lok, as their front-line fighter would likely have the most need of its power.
Their strength thus reinforced, the companions returned to their quarters to take whatever rest they could before the coming day marked the start of a new journey. Lok and Delem left to scrounge a few more last-minute items for the bag of holding, including bundles of extra arrows and crossbow bolts, while Cal returned to the temple of Moradin to acquire a few more potions of healing.
Without a specific chore to attend to, Benzan felt a little restless. He stopped by Cal’s quarters to find that the gnome had already left, but as he was walking down the hall in the part of the fortress reserved for the infrequent guests of the dwarves, he found himself drawn to another door a short distance off.
He hesitated for a moment, his hand hanging above the door to knock. Why did he suddenly feel nervous?
You’re being an idiot, he told himself harshly, and then he knocked deliberately on the door.
“Come in,” came a voice from beyond the portal.
He opened the door to see Dana sitting on the edge of her cot, threading a new set of laces onto her calf-high leather boots. She looked up as he entered, and he couldn’t quite read the hinted feelings that quickly crossed her expression.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi. Leave the door open, will you?”
“Afraid I might try something?”
If her earlier expression was ambiguous, the dry look she shot him now was anything but. “Hardly. It’s just… well, after a tenday down here in these tunnels, I’m feeling a bit… crowded. I’m glad we’re leaving, if only to get out into the open air again.”
“Once we get further north, you might miss the warm comforts of this place,” he pointed out.
“Like Cal said, whatever we find, we’ll deal with it,” she said.
“You sound confident.”
“I suppose. Maybe I’ve just gotten comfortable with you guys and what we’re capable of, as a group.”
His aimless walking into the room had brought him to the small table adjacent to her bed. “I never got a chance… I mean, I never thanked you for saving my life, when we were fighting that lamia.”
“That’s not necessary. We’re adventuring companions, we look out for each other. You’d do the same for me, or any of the others—you’ve stuck your neck out a number of times, in fact, if I recall correctly.”
Dana had spread her gear out on the table, and he drew a crossbow bolt out of her quiver, twirling it between his fingers. “You know, when I was dying there… I remember looking up and seeing you. I thought you were a celestial or something, come to claim me.”
“I don’t expect a celestial would be the one to come for you,” she said idly.
His brow tightened and his expression darkened, but he didn’t reply. He half-turned from her as he slid the bolt back into the quiver, but she’d already seen the change.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was… it was a thoughtless thing to say.”
With an effort, he brought back his trademark grin. “I’ve said more than a few thoughtless things in my time,” he said. “Or so someone keeps telling me.”
She laughed with him, and he came a step closer, leaning against the edge of the table as he faced her.
“I know we haven’t gotten along at times. But, well… I’m glad you decided to come with us. Back in Baldur’s Gate, I mean.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, and when she looked up at him this time, something flashed in her eyes.
He saw it, for when he came closer there was no resistance, no wry comment, no turning away. She half-rose up from the edge of the bed as he started to bend…
“Hello! Hope I’m not interrupting anything…”
The two friends turned toward the door, the feelings that had built up between them in past few moments evaporating at the intrusion. Standing there in the threshold was a woman. She was somewhere in that borderland between youthfulness and maturity, perhaps in her early thirties by the look of her, although her face wore the mark of both a hard life outdoors and the signs of other, less tangible strains. Her hair, tied back into a functional ponytail, was jet black, as yet untouched by gray, and her eyes were a striking emerald green. She was tall and muscular, no more than an inch short of six feet if that, her body lean and gifted with the tone that comes only with regular and sustained exercise. Her fur-lined tunic did not fully conceal the tell-tale gleam of mail links underneath, and she carried herself with the air of one who knows how to use the weapons she carried—in this case, a heavy composite longbow and two axes, one somewhat larger than the other.
“Hello,” Dana said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is there something we can do for you?”
“If you are the ones I’m supposed to meet, then I reckon so,” she said. “Seems like that rat bastard Koll has a little plan cooked up for a scouting mission north, and just my luck, I happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Story of my life, I suppose.”
“I’m guessing you would be Jerral, then,” Benzan ventured.
“Ah, so I see that wiry old tunnel worm did mention me, then,” she said. She came forward, her stride long and confident, her grip strong when she gave Benzan a clout on the shoulder. “That’s me, all right. I understand you’ve been suckered into this little expedition too, and I’m going to be holding your hands while we take a little stroll into the dragon’s maw, so to speak. Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“They’re around,” Benzan said. “We were planning on leaving tomorrow morning, with the dawn.”
“The dwarven elder said that one of his men would guide us to a pass that leads in the direction we’re headed,” Dana said.
“Yeah, well, that old brick would be lucky to find his way out of a closet—I’d wager he hasn’t been more than a few miles away from this place since I was crapping myself in diapers. Don’t worry, though, I’ll steer you right. Listen, there’s a few things I wanted to pick up before we leave, but I just wanted to come by and say hello while I was up here. I’ll be by in the morning to collect you, so be ready to go and all.”
Without pause she turned and left. Belatedly, they realized that they hadn’t even told her their names.
“Well, that was something,” Benzan finally said. “I don’t mind having a little more muscle on this trip, especially if she can back up all the talk, but she seems a little pushy, if you ask me.”
“There’s something going on underneath all that bluster,” Dana said. “She isn’t as good at hiding it as she thinks.”
A pause followed, then Benzan said, “Dana…”
“I know,” she said, without turning. “Look, we’ve got a long road ahead of us tomorrow…”
He hesitated, his arm hanging in the air between them for a moment, then he let it fall. Finally, without saying more, he turned and left, letting the door close behind him as he departed.
Dana just stood there for a long moment, and when she finally turned back toward the exit, the conflicting feelings were written clearly on her face. Finally, almost reluctantly, she turned toward the table and started packing up her gear.
Maldur said:
Very well, thanks for asking!
I went to Nantes, a fairly bigger city some 300 km from Brest, to see some friends. In Nantes there are three good RPG stores, so I came back with a good bag with new stuff (Seafarer's Handbook, Twin Crowns, Hollowfaust).
Lazybones
Adventurer
Glad to have you back, Horacio. My story hour keeps slipping to page 2 when you're not around.
Maldur: the lamia was initially a random encounter that I created for flavor, but she (and more particularly, her companions) are related to what's going to be happening further down the line...
I couldn't post earlier today since the internet was down at work
. I did manage to sneak in some writing time (sometimes the Monday funk pays off) and wrote up drafts of a few more chapters. Let's just say that the group is going to be looking at more or less constant battle for a while (and something BAD is going to happen to one of them... muwahahaha).
Anyway, here's the update. Since I'm ahead now I might even be able to manage a post-a-day for a while. Thanks everyone for following the thread, and as always, post any feedback or questions and I'll get back to you in a day or two.
* * * * *
Book IV, Part 12
They got an early start the next morning, leaving even as the dawn was brightening the eastern horizon in the mountains above the dwarven citadel. It was well into the afternoon, however, when the group emerged from the tunnels into the fresh air, guided by a pair of dwarven scouts to a watchpoint in the mountains miles from where they’d started their day. There they parted company with their guides, and Jerral led them into the mountains proper.
It was a cold, blustery day, and the companions were grateful for their magical protections from the cold. Only Lok was without such boon, and even he did not complain when Dana laid a minor spell upon him to mirror the benefit she and the other enjoyed from their magical items. Jerral seemed unhindered by the cold as well, and Dana suspected that she also possessed some item that kept the worst of the effects of the weather at bay.
They spent the rest of that day and all of the next penetrating deeper into the mountains. True to her word, Jerral’s guidance allowed them to stick to the fastest route through the harsh range, their gradual but constant pace allowing them to eat up the miles. They set camp in valleys located below the treeline, where fuel and food could be found to help speed the cold and lonely nights.
For the first two days of marching they encountered no hostile foes, either natural or more sinister in origin. Jerral kept them all informed about the hazards around them, but they all noticed that she kept a distance between herself and them, and emotional wall clearly designed to keep them out. She rebuffed several attempts to discuss herself or her history in more detail, but there was one thing that she didn’t bother to keep hidden, and which became abundantly clear after even a short distance along the trail.
Jerral hated the ogres and other giants that lived in these mountains, hated them with a fiery passion that was evident in the way her face changed whenever one of such creatures was mentioned. Maybe that was what kept her warm, that burning hatred that the ranger clearly kept well stoked deep in the confines of her heart.
The reason for such hatred remained, for now, a mystery.
By the third day of their trek, each of the companions was beginning to feel the wear of the hard travel and the chill of the mountains, even through their magical protections. They had thus far been lucky and avoided any major storms, although the wind never seemed to let up, shifting and blowing from different directions from one hour to the next. There was snow on the ground now more often than not, and they spent longer stretches of each day in desolate landscapes devoid of anything but alternating patches of white snow and gray stone.
“We’re getting close,” Jerral said, as they afternoon turned into evening on that third day, but she didn’t elaborate. All of them noticed the way she kept searching the landscape with her eyes, however, and the attention she spent finding them a sheltered, out of the way spot to camp that evening. Their fire that night was small and carefully banked, and they slept under double watches in a dell sheltered by the stony hand of a massive outcropping of ancient rock.
But their luck held, and no hazard threatened their rest that night either. Still, they pressed on, heading incrementally closer to their destination, charging a winding but constant course steadily to the northwest.
Another day passed with cold winds and tired feet.
* * * * *
“Looks like a forage party,” Jerral muttered.
“Yeah, a pretty damned big one,” Benzan agreed, shifting slowly, careful not to dislodge any of the stones that cradled his prone form.
The two lay across the crest of a small hill overlooking a barren, stony dell. Gathered in the area below their vantage were at least a score of orcs, their coarse grunts and foul curses clearly audible even more than a hundred paces away. While several of the creatures were keeping a casual watch on the surrounding mountains, most were engaged in butchering and dressing a massive carcass. Whatever their prey had been was now impossible to discern, but from the bones that were left it had obviously been a goodly twenty feet in length when alive. The smell of roasting meat hung thick in the air, drifting across the clearing on the smoke that rose off of a small but persistent fire. That smell had been what had alerted Jerral half an hour previous, and had allowed the companions to creep up on the site undetected.
“They don’t seem worried about being detected,” Benzan commented, as they watched the orcs going about their work.
“They think they own these mountains, now,” Jerral said, as she scanned the entire scene, casting every detail to memory.
“Ah, the ogre’s coming back,” Benzan said, twitching as his hand crept reflexively toward the thick staff of his bow.
The ogre, a massive brute of a thing, was indeed approaching the site from the far edge of the dell, carrying a huge battleaxe across his shoulders. It was obvious that the thing was in command of the group, from the way that he shouted orders at the orcs and they way they leapt to obey. They seemed to be hurrying their activities here, taking down the most recent strips of half-cooked meat that were hanging over the fire and bundling that and other packages of meat torn from the dead beast for travel.
“They’ll be leaving soon,” Jerral said. “We’d better tell the others.”
Benzan copied her moves as she slowly crept back from the crest, and then moved swiftly but cautiously down the far slope of the hill to where the others were waiting for them. Benzan noted that she moved with a smooth grace along the uneven surface, and that her chosen route took her almost naturally from one source of cover to the next. His estimation of her skills took another notch upward, and he found himself almost anticipating the confrontation that would likely come very shortly.
The others were waiting where the two scouts had left them, huddled in a natural bowl within a ring of six huge boulders at the base of the hill.
“Well, what is it?” Cal said, his curiosity unable to await their report.
“Orcs,” Benzan said. “About a score, led by a rather nasty-looking ogre. They’ve killed something big, and they’re about to pack it up and head back to wherever they came from.”
They digested that for a moment, then Dana said, “Well, do we take them, or let them go?”
“Maybe we can follow them back to wherever they’re lairing,” Delem offered.
“That might get you a little more trouble than you’re ready for, boy,” Jerral said wryly.
Delem bristled, but Lok spoke over whatever retort he might offer. “What is your recommendation, ranger?”
Jerral turned to the genasi, the slightest hint of surprise on her face quickly replaced by cool control. “If there are orcs and ogres in this area in numbers, we can’t hope to keep dodging them forever. If we do take them, however, we have to make sure that none escape to notify the others of our presence. For all we know this area is crawling with them, and we don’t want to bring more down on us than we can handle.”
“Fine, we’ll take them out quickly, then,” Cal said. “Delem?”
“I have just the thing,” the young sorcerer said. “If they stay in a close group, I should be able to take out most of them in one blow.”
“Whatever you do, we’d better act quickly,” Jerral said. “They looked like they were getting ready to leave, and we don’t want to be chasing after them on the trail.”
“Perhaps I can help ensure that none escape,” Dana said. She didn’t elaborate, but all of them knew how effective she was at moving quickly, especially when magically enhanced by one of her spells.
“Good,” Cal said. “Delem, why don’t you go back up the hill with Benzan and Jerral. Lok, Dana, and I will circle around the base and prepare to cut off their retreat if they strike for the trail. Your fireball will be the cue to strike.”
“No offense, boyo, but Delem’s not the most… stealthy of the group. They’re not paying much attention, but they do have guards posted. One shout of alarm, and this’ll get a whole lot harder.”
“Unless you’ve suddenly learned to cast fireball…” Delem began.
“Quiet,” Cal said, cutting off the brewing debate. “If we linger here any longer, they’ll be away before we get started. I’ll make Delem invisible; that should give us an edge at getting surprise.” He took his wand of mage armor out of his pocket, summoning its protection around himself, Delem, and Dana as a standard precaution. “Dang thing’s near empty,” he said to himself as he put the wand away and began uttering the flowing syllables that would trigger the power of his spell.
The result of Cal’s spell was immediate, as he finished his invocation the sorcerer faded from view until he could not be seen at all.
“Let’s go, then,” Jerral said. “Stay behind us, Delem, and try not to shift any loose rocks.” She and Benzan—and presumably, Delem—quickly retraced their steps, working their way back up the slope of the hill.
“All right, let’s get going too,” Cal said, but before they left he paused once more. “Here, Dana, this might help you,” he said, quickly casting another spell. The young woman felt a tingle of power as the effects of cat’s grace filled her lithe frame, enhancing her innate agility.
“Thanks,” she said. She followed Cal and Lok as they began picking their way around the base of the hill.
* * * * *
The orcs barely knew what hit them.
They had nearly packed up their burdens, moving quickly under the attentive gaze of the ogre, when one of the sentries heard a sound, a faint hint of words that carried to him on the wind. The orc turned, its crossbow coming up reflexively as it sought out the source of the sound, but it saw nothing but bare stone as far as he could see.
He turned back just as the world around him exploded into fire.
“Wow,” Jerral said, as the fireball collapsed in on itself, revealing a flame-blasted ring that radiated outward from the center of the dell. While not every orc had been within the radius of the blast, a dozen blackened corpses marked the potency of the spell, and the plaintive cries of several wounded orcs that had been on the edges of the fireball sounded pitifully on the wind.
The ogre had been caught within the periphery of the blast, but as the flames faded away it still stood, and it was angry. It started shouting commands to the remnants of its troop, trying to rally them against their still-unseen adversaries. Whether it could have stopped the rout became moot a moment later, as a pair of long arrows slammed into its chest a mere handspan apart, and the brute staggered back, falling with a loud crash onto the scorched stones.
“Nice shot,” Benzan said.
“And yours,” Jerral said, already fitting another arrow to her bow. She marked her target, an orc fleeing for the trail, and dropped it with a solid hit between its shoulder blades.
A few of the orcs had spotted their attackers, and their cries of alarm were drawing the attention of the others, but most of the survivors of the initial attack were now focused only on escape. Four made it to the edge of the trail and nearly escaped the deadly line of fire from the far hill, only to find their way blocked by a thick wall of dense webs that sprung up between two flanking boulders. Two managed to retreat quickly enough to avoid being tangled, only to find themselves facing an axe rimmed in a deadly sheen of magical frost.
They tried to fight back. They really did.
Maldur: the lamia was initially a random encounter that I created for flavor, but she (and more particularly, her companions) are related to what's going to be happening further down the line...
I couldn't post earlier today since the internet was down at work
. I did manage to sneak in some writing time (sometimes the Monday funk pays off) and wrote up drafts of a few more chapters. Let's just say that the group is going to be looking at more or less constant battle for a while (and something BAD is going to happen to one of them... muwahahaha).Anyway, here's the update. Since I'm ahead now I might even be able to manage a post-a-day for a while. Thanks everyone for following the thread, and as always, post any feedback or questions and I'll get back to you in a day or two.
* * * * *
Book IV, Part 12
They got an early start the next morning, leaving even as the dawn was brightening the eastern horizon in the mountains above the dwarven citadel. It was well into the afternoon, however, when the group emerged from the tunnels into the fresh air, guided by a pair of dwarven scouts to a watchpoint in the mountains miles from where they’d started their day. There they parted company with their guides, and Jerral led them into the mountains proper.
It was a cold, blustery day, and the companions were grateful for their magical protections from the cold. Only Lok was without such boon, and even he did not complain when Dana laid a minor spell upon him to mirror the benefit she and the other enjoyed from their magical items. Jerral seemed unhindered by the cold as well, and Dana suspected that she also possessed some item that kept the worst of the effects of the weather at bay.
They spent the rest of that day and all of the next penetrating deeper into the mountains. True to her word, Jerral’s guidance allowed them to stick to the fastest route through the harsh range, their gradual but constant pace allowing them to eat up the miles. They set camp in valleys located below the treeline, where fuel and food could be found to help speed the cold and lonely nights.
For the first two days of marching they encountered no hostile foes, either natural or more sinister in origin. Jerral kept them all informed about the hazards around them, but they all noticed that she kept a distance between herself and them, and emotional wall clearly designed to keep them out. She rebuffed several attempts to discuss herself or her history in more detail, but there was one thing that she didn’t bother to keep hidden, and which became abundantly clear after even a short distance along the trail.
Jerral hated the ogres and other giants that lived in these mountains, hated them with a fiery passion that was evident in the way her face changed whenever one of such creatures was mentioned. Maybe that was what kept her warm, that burning hatred that the ranger clearly kept well stoked deep in the confines of her heart.
The reason for such hatred remained, for now, a mystery.
By the third day of their trek, each of the companions was beginning to feel the wear of the hard travel and the chill of the mountains, even through their magical protections. They had thus far been lucky and avoided any major storms, although the wind never seemed to let up, shifting and blowing from different directions from one hour to the next. There was snow on the ground now more often than not, and they spent longer stretches of each day in desolate landscapes devoid of anything but alternating patches of white snow and gray stone.
“We’re getting close,” Jerral said, as they afternoon turned into evening on that third day, but she didn’t elaborate. All of them noticed the way she kept searching the landscape with her eyes, however, and the attention she spent finding them a sheltered, out of the way spot to camp that evening. Their fire that night was small and carefully banked, and they slept under double watches in a dell sheltered by the stony hand of a massive outcropping of ancient rock.
But their luck held, and no hazard threatened their rest that night either. Still, they pressed on, heading incrementally closer to their destination, charging a winding but constant course steadily to the northwest.
Another day passed with cold winds and tired feet.
* * * * *
“Looks like a forage party,” Jerral muttered.
“Yeah, a pretty damned big one,” Benzan agreed, shifting slowly, careful not to dislodge any of the stones that cradled his prone form.
The two lay across the crest of a small hill overlooking a barren, stony dell. Gathered in the area below their vantage were at least a score of orcs, their coarse grunts and foul curses clearly audible even more than a hundred paces away. While several of the creatures were keeping a casual watch on the surrounding mountains, most were engaged in butchering and dressing a massive carcass. Whatever their prey had been was now impossible to discern, but from the bones that were left it had obviously been a goodly twenty feet in length when alive. The smell of roasting meat hung thick in the air, drifting across the clearing on the smoke that rose off of a small but persistent fire. That smell had been what had alerted Jerral half an hour previous, and had allowed the companions to creep up on the site undetected.
“They don’t seem worried about being detected,” Benzan commented, as they watched the orcs going about their work.
“They think they own these mountains, now,” Jerral said, as she scanned the entire scene, casting every detail to memory.
“Ah, the ogre’s coming back,” Benzan said, twitching as his hand crept reflexively toward the thick staff of his bow.
The ogre, a massive brute of a thing, was indeed approaching the site from the far edge of the dell, carrying a huge battleaxe across his shoulders. It was obvious that the thing was in command of the group, from the way that he shouted orders at the orcs and they way they leapt to obey. They seemed to be hurrying their activities here, taking down the most recent strips of half-cooked meat that were hanging over the fire and bundling that and other packages of meat torn from the dead beast for travel.
“They’ll be leaving soon,” Jerral said. “We’d better tell the others.”
Benzan copied her moves as she slowly crept back from the crest, and then moved swiftly but cautiously down the far slope of the hill to where the others were waiting for them. Benzan noted that she moved with a smooth grace along the uneven surface, and that her chosen route took her almost naturally from one source of cover to the next. His estimation of her skills took another notch upward, and he found himself almost anticipating the confrontation that would likely come very shortly.
The others were waiting where the two scouts had left them, huddled in a natural bowl within a ring of six huge boulders at the base of the hill.
“Well, what is it?” Cal said, his curiosity unable to await their report.
“Orcs,” Benzan said. “About a score, led by a rather nasty-looking ogre. They’ve killed something big, and they’re about to pack it up and head back to wherever they came from.”
They digested that for a moment, then Dana said, “Well, do we take them, or let them go?”
“Maybe we can follow them back to wherever they’re lairing,” Delem offered.
“That might get you a little more trouble than you’re ready for, boy,” Jerral said wryly.
Delem bristled, but Lok spoke over whatever retort he might offer. “What is your recommendation, ranger?”
Jerral turned to the genasi, the slightest hint of surprise on her face quickly replaced by cool control. “If there are orcs and ogres in this area in numbers, we can’t hope to keep dodging them forever. If we do take them, however, we have to make sure that none escape to notify the others of our presence. For all we know this area is crawling with them, and we don’t want to bring more down on us than we can handle.”
“Fine, we’ll take them out quickly, then,” Cal said. “Delem?”
“I have just the thing,” the young sorcerer said. “If they stay in a close group, I should be able to take out most of them in one blow.”
“Whatever you do, we’d better act quickly,” Jerral said. “They looked like they were getting ready to leave, and we don’t want to be chasing after them on the trail.”
“Perhaps I can help ensure that none escape,” Dana said. She didn’t elaborate, but all of them knew how effective she was at moving quickly, especially when magically enhanced by one of her spells.
“Good,” Cal said. “Delem, why don’t you go back up the hill with Benzan and Jerral. Lok, Dana, and I will circle around the base and prepare to cut off their retreat if they strike for the trail. Your fireball will be the cue to strike.”
“No offense, boyo, but Delem’s not the most… stealthy of the group. They’re not paying much attention, but they do have guards posted. One shout of alarm, and this’ll get a whole lot harder.”
“Unless you’ve suddenly learned to cast fireball…” Delem began.
“Quiet,” Cal said, cutting off the brewing debate. “If we linger here any longer, they’ll be away before we get started. I’ll make Delem invisible; that should give us an edge at getting surprise.” He took his wand of mage armor out of his pocket, summoning its protection around himself, Delem, and Dana as a standard precaution. “Dang thing’s near empty,” he said to himself as he put the wand away and began uttering the flowing syllables that would trigger the power of his spell.
The result of Cal’s spell was immediate, as he finished his invocation the sorcerer faded from view until he could not be seen at all.
“Let’s go, then,” Jerral said. “Stay behind us, Delem, and try not to shift any loose rocks.” She and Benzan—and presumably, Delem—quickly retraced their steps, working their way back up the slope of the hill.
“All right, let’s get going too,” Cal said, but before they left he paused once more. “Here, Dana, this might help you,” he said, quickly casting another spell. The young woman felt a tingle of power as the effects of cat’s grace filled her lithe frame, enhancing her innate agility.
“Thanks,” she said. She followed Cal and Lok as they began picking their way around the base of the hill.
* * * * *
The orcs barely knew what hit them.
They had nearly packed up their burdens, moving quickly under the attentive gaze of the ogre, when one of the sentries heard a sound, a faint hint of words that carried to him on the wind. The orc turned, its crossbow coming up reflexively as it sought out the source of the sound, but it saw nothing but bare stone as far as he could see.
He turned back just as the world around him exploded into fire.
“Wow,” Jerral said, as the fireball collapsed in on itself, revealing a flame-blasted ring that radiated outward from the center of the dell. While not every orc had been within the radius of the blast, a dozen blackened corpses marked the potency of the spell, and the plaintive cries of several wounded orcs that had been on the edges of the fireball sounded pitifully on the wind.
The ogre had been caught within the periphery of the blast, but as the flames faded away it still stood, and it was angry. It started shouting commands to the remnants of its troop, trying to rally them against their still-unseen adversaries. Whether it could have stopped the rout became moot a moment later, as a pair of long arrows slammed into its chest a mere handspan apart, and the brute staggered back, falling with a loud crash onto the scorched stones.
“Nice shot,” Benzan said.
“And yours,” Jerral said, already fitting another arrow to her bow. She marked her target, an orc fleeing for the trail, and dropped it with a solid hit between its shoulder blades.
A few of the orcs had spotted their attackers, and their cries of alarm were drawing the attention of the others, but most of the survivors of the initial attack were now focused only on escape. Four made it to the edge of the trail and nearly escaped the deadly line of fire from the far hill, only to find their way blocked by a thick wall of dense webs that sprung up between two flanking boulders. Two managed to retreat quickly enough to avoid being tangled, only to find themselves facing an axe rimmed in a deadly sheen of magical frost.
They tried to fight back. They really did.
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