Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 201108" data-attributes="member: 143">Book IV, Part 23Gaera Silverheart slowly faded back into consciousness.  On earlier such occasions that return had always been accompanied by pain, but now she felt only a numbness that suffused her limbs and made her thoughts run slow like molasses.  The pain that cascaded upon the dwarf, however, was not primarily a physical one.  She knew that she was close to death, and regretted even that release from her suffering.  She was afraid of the reckoning that would come upon her death, of being confronted with the failures that had been begotten of her choices.  Rothar, I suppose you were right in the end, after all, she thought grimly.  The dwarf fighter had sought her aid in fermenting an uprising against their captors, but she had refused him.  Her beliefs, firmly rooted in the tenets of her faith, had led her to the choice to keep her vocation secret, to help her captive people by remaining at their side and easing their suffering.  Rothar’s revolt had been crushed, its leader’s very soul consumed by the evil appetites of the Beast.  In that, she had been right, but at least Rothar had ultimately had the courage to resist, to fight back even against impossible odds.  She could not feel the cold, although she was vaguely aware of the still-blowing wind.  Her spell had long since faltered, she knew—the last spell she had cast, the last spell she would ever cast.  She regretted that too, now, the spell of elemental resistance that had kept her alive through that first storm that had burst upon them right after the ogres had bound her to a thick beam and wedged her up here, dangling ten feet above the ground below.  She had gotten careless, her identity finally revealed after almost four months of working her arts in concealment under the very noses of their captors.  It had been an act of compassion that had betrayed her, an act of healing a broken friend where one of the guards could see.  The orcs usually weren’t that alert when it came to monitoring their slaves, but that day… how many days ago had it been?—her luck had finally run out.  Yes, maybe Rothar had been right… No, wait, it wasn’t Rothar, but Rogath, who had come to her, who had led the abortive revolt… She’d known Rogath for fifty years, how could she have made such a foolish mistake… Everything was so confused…She felt a stab of irony that pierced her befuddlement.  After her capture, but before the Warden could get his mangy hands on her, she had prayed to Berronar Truesilver for a potent spell, beyond any magic she had ever worked before.  And the divine one had answered her plea, given her the means to injure the Beast.  Of course, now she would never get a chance to use it…She looked up, and saw that the sky, typically an unbroken sea of drab gray clouds, had broken directly overhead.  Through a narrow wedge-shaped gap, shaped like a long dagger, Gaera could see blue so stark that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.  Never again to see the sky…Belatedly, fighting through the fog of her senses, she became aware of something else, a familiar sound.  Her eyes dropped back down—reluctantly—from the sky to the canyon before her.  A battle was raging there, between the orcs and ogres that were their jailors, and a mixed group of adversaries.  A dream.  It had to be a dream, Gaera thought in the deep part of her mind that was still capable of thinking.  As she watched, she could begin to make out scattered details about the battle and the combatants.  A pair of orcs, battleaxes raised above their heads, charged a young human.  The human stood his ground, and as he lifted his hands a blaze of fire erupted that engulfed both of the humanoid warriors.  When the flames cleared, both orcs were charred corpses, but the man had already turned toward a low stone building that was quite familiar to Gaera—the main barracks of the orc guards.  She watched as the young man pointed, and a ball of flame appeared in the sole doorway of the barracks, blocking any further orcs from exiting the structure.  Nearby, on a small outcropping of stone, a pair of archers stood back-to-back and fired a blizzard of arrows at their enemies.  The pair, one man and one woman, were already surrounded by an extended ring of fallen foes, some with as many as three or four arrows jutting from their crumpled forms.  Gaera saw a flicker of movement in time to spot a huge ogre, its two-handed maul nearly as big as it was, emerge from one of the other buildings to rush toward the pair.  Apparently they saw it as well, for the two spun in unison and sent a flurry of missiles into it.  The ogre pressed forward, despite its hurts, already raising its club to sweep the pair off of their perch.  Now Gaera knew her vision to be a dream, for she’d never seen a pair of archers fire so quickly, and with such deadly accuracy.  By the time the ogre reached the stone a half-dozen arrows already jutted from its body, and even as it staggered a final step within reach one of the archers—the woman—fired a last shot directly into its face.  The arrow exploded with flames as it hit, and the ogre slammed down hard onto the muddy earth.  Gaera spotted a flash of brilliant color that drew her attention once more.  There, a short figure—a gnome or a halfling, perhaps—was fighting beside a human woman against another cluster of orcs.  Several orcs, stunned by the spray of colors, fell to the ground dazed, while the woman intercepted another pair, knocking the first prone with a smooth snap-kick and then easily deflecting the powerful but crude swing of the second.  Gaera tried to speak, to hail these imaginary warriors for their bravery, but she could not will her mouth to move to form the words.  As he gaze traveled once more over the battlefield, however, she noticed one more combatant.  It was hard to see how she could have missed him the first time.  The final warrior had the squat shape and heavily armored outlines of a dwarf fighter, and he faced off against another ogre.  As the ogre lifted his two-handed axe to strike Gaera felt a momentary pang of sadness for the warrior, but to her amazement the dwarf took the solid blow to his torso and, instead of going down, countered with a swing of his own axe that dug a deep gash in the ogre’s shin.  The ogre reflexively stepped back, favoring its savaged limb, and the dwarf took advantage of the opening to strike again, tearing a mighty hole in the ogre’s belly with an overhead strike that laid the massive brute out on the cold stone of the canyon floor.  In a matter of moments she’d witnessed a tiny group of warriors accomplish more than Rogath and his brave but outmatched band had managed.  But as she heard a familiar bellow and saw a familiar form emerge from one of the buildings, she knew that the battle was far from over.  The ogre known as the Warden had appeared on the battlefield, accompanied by a pair of his enforcers.  All three were big even for ogres, and the Warden was clad in a coat of iron mail that only increased the aura of menace that hung over him.  Although she couldn’t see it clearly from this distance, Gaera knew that his face was a horrible mask, the right side a mess of scar tissue from burns he’d suffered long ago, the eyesocket on that side an empty pit.  The ogre bore a massive double-bladed axe, which he raised as he and his allies waded into the battle.  They barely managed a half-dozen paces when a storm of fire exploded around them.Gaera blinked at the intensity of the fireball, but she was not surprised to see all three ogres still standing after the flames dispersed.  The Warden did not hesitate, ignoring the new burns covering his body as he gestured for his enforcers to split off and attack the different groups of adversaries.  He himself charged directly for the dwarf warrior, who set his feet firmly on the ground and stood his ground before the terrible force of the mighty ogre’s charge.  Gaera winced as the clang of steel on steel resounded through the canyon.  For all his obvious skill and fortitude, the dwarf clearly felt the impact of that first stroke, staggering and nearly stumbling on the slick mud.  Before the Warden could follow up with another attack, however, the dwarf suddenly lunged forward within his reach, scoring with a glancing blow that nonetheless drew blood through the heavy armor that the ogre fighter wore.  It was clear that their battle was far from over, but both combatants had now drawn blood.  On the flanks of that confrontation, the dwarf’s companions had engaged the other enforcers.  The archers fired their arrows at the first ogre, but this one was better protected and several of the missiles stuck in the layered leather protecting its joints or bounced off of the thick breastplate it wore.  Still, it took several telling hits, apparently shrugging off the hurts as it closed to attack.  It drew a massive two-handed sword and swept it over the outcropping.  The male archer managed to jump away a moment before the blade arrived, but the woman took a glancing hit to the shoulder, knocking her roughly to the ground below.  She was quickly up again, however, and the pair immediately dropped their bows and drew melee weapons, closing to flank the dangerous ogre swordsman.The second ogre fighter menaced the wizard who had conjured the fireball.  This ogre’s weapon was a massive glaive, with which he could easily strike at a foe ten paces distant.  The wizard held his ground, however, and even as the ogre thrust his weapon at the bold young man he released a stream of flame that washed over the ogre like a tidal wave.  The wizard paid for his attack, however, as the glaive in turn tore into his shoulder, staggering him.  The wizard was hard-pressed, but his companions sprang quickly to his aid.  The gnome marched boldly forward, and for an instant Gaera swore that she could hear the martial stirrings of a war song on the fickle currents of the wind.  Then it was gone, but as she watched the gnome fired a crossbow bolt into the ogre’s side.  The woman’s action was even more brash, as she darted with impossible speed across the battlefield toward the ogre, an almost ridiculous little blade clutched in her hand.  As she drew within the ogre’s incredible reach it slashed out at her with its glaive, but somehow she was able to twist out of the deadly arc of the weapon and sweep close within its reach, lashing out with a clearly ineffective blow to its armored torso.  Gaera recognized the woman’s strategy, for all that it was suicidal, as she drew the ogre’s attention away from her companions.  The ogre obliged her, dropping the glaive and drawing a long, wickedly curved blade from the scabbard at his hip.  The dwarf and the Warden continued to trade blows, and it was rapidly becoming clear that the dwarf could not hold out long against this adversary.  Even as he absorbed the punishment from the double-bladed axe, however, he managed to lash out with counters that soon left the ogre’s legs dripping with blood.  Gaera knew all too well that the Warden was no ordinary ogre, however, and she despaired at the chances of the brave dwarf against this implacable opponent.  She willed him to hold out just a few more moments, and she realized that she was muttering the words of a prayer under her breath.  The two archers had now engaged their ogre adversary directly, and it soon became clear that their skills were not limited to the bow.  The ogre had struck the man with a blow that would have sliced him in twain had he not been just a little bit too quick.  Even so, the glancing hit knocked him roughly back against the stone outcropping, blood seeping from his ravaged side.  The ogre sought to press its advantage, but the woman took advantage of its distraction to strike from behind, tearing a deep gash in its back with her battleaxe.  The ogre roared and turned to face her, only to open itself to a deep thrust from the man as he sank the entire length of his sword into the ogre’s body.  The ogre’s yell of anger became a cry of pain, and the two drew back as the ogre fell in a bloody and thrashing heap to the ground.  On the opposite flank the other ogre continued its attacks against the nimble woman.  She dodged a sweep of the sword but too late recognized it as a feint.  She flipped backward in a surprising evasion, but the tip of the sword still drew a deep gash across her torso.  She cried out but kept her footing, favoring her side as she drew the ogre after her.  As the ogre connected, however, the young wizard was already summoning another spell.  Another blast of flame erupted from his hands and splashed over the ogre’s back.  Gaera could almost feel the young man’s rage from where she hung as he played the flames over the ogre’s torso, neck, and head, and when the flames died the ogre died with them.  The Warden’s enforcers, terrible creatures that had slain more than their share of dwarves, had been defeated.  But the dwarf warrior battling the Warden had come to the end of his endurance.  Gaera’s heart skipped a beat as the mighty ogre lashed into the dwarf with a devastating series of blows.  As the last stroke connected he was knocked sprawling, and although he fought to rise it was clear that he was barely holding onto consciousness.  The Warden let out a roar of triumph and stepped forward to finish it. But he found himself confronted by the tiny form of the gnome, who looked up at him with defiance writ clear on his face.  The Warden did not hesitate, bringing up his axe.  Before he could strike, however, the gnome sang a brief but discordant melody, a few notes that sounded with the potency of magic.  The ogre hesitated, and then swayed, caught up in a daze that held it there for a moment, incapable of action.  But the daze only lasted a few seconds, and when the ogre cleared its head, its anger was a terrible thing to behold.  But so was the ferocity of the companions, who had not been idle during the delay.  The archers had recovered their bows, and even as the Warden took his first step forward arrows started tearing into his armored form.  One shot punctured the armor at his hip and dug deep into the muscle underneath, the wound flaring with the flame infused in the magical arrow.  The woman archer held her ground and kept up a steady barrage of arrows, while the man fired once and then rushed forward, ready to bolster his friends against the ogre’s still-dangerous rush.  The wizard added his own voice to the barrage, launching a series of magical bolts that blasted through the ogre’s defenses and dug fiery pits in his body.  The other woman had rushed to the dwarf’s side and was already tending to him, while the gnome had retreated to stand over them, as if challenging the ogre to try to get through him.  The Warden, unused to foes that resisted his cruelty, released a yell of frustration and anger and pain that echoed off of the walls of the canyon.  He rushed the gnome and swept his axe in a mighty curve that sought to simply pound the life out of him.  The gnome, however, smoothly dove forward and rolled, and the axe passed scant inches harmlessly above him.  As he came up he lifted a wand, firing another blast of dazzling colors into the ogre’s face.  The Warden cried out once more, but the cry became a gurgle as another, final long arrow buried itself to the feathers in his throat.  The terrible ogre that had been the bane of the slaves of Caer Dulthain fell, bleeding the last of his life from the many wounds that scored his body.  Gaera became aware that tears were flowing freely down her face as she watched the ogre lying there.  It was too bad that none of this was real, she thought, but as she felt her body begin to shake she at last felt ready for what would come, at the judgment that she would have to face when she made the transition into Truesilver’s radiant realm.  At least there would be no pain, there.Her vague thoughts were interrupted, however, as she felt a dark, forbidding presence—a familiar presence—appear nearby.  Her heart twisted in her chest as she recognized its significance, realized finally that this was no dream. If anything, it was a nightmare.She closed her eyes and heard the roar, a bestial, inhuman sound that originated from somewhere above her but quickly filled the canyon and the surrounding mountains with its evil cadence.  Despair crashed down around her as she faded back into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.  There, at least, she would not be forced to watch the brave adventurers she’d just seen as they confronted their doom.  The Beast, the being that the ogres called the Master, had arrived.</blockquote>

Verification