Travels through the Wild West: Books V-VIII (Epilogue)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Great update!
BTW, I've just beagun my own Story Hour, using the new superheroes supplement from Natural 20, Four Color to Fantasy:
Golden Apple Rescue Squad
If you have time, visit it, and drop a comment...
BTW, I've just beagun my own Story Hour, using the new superheroes supplement from Natural 20, Four Color to Fantasy:
Golden Apple Rescue Squad
If you have time, visit it, and drop a comment...
Lazybones
Adventurer
As always, thanks for the bumps. It's tougher keeping the story up on page 1, with so many new tales competing for space.
It's Friday, so you know what that means...
* * * * *
Book V, Part 26
“Well, that’s the last of the healing potions.”
Benzan lifted the vial once more, to make sure that he’d drained the last few drops of precious elixir within, then tossed the glass container aside. It shattered in a loud crash.
“Benzan!” Dana said.
“What? They know we’re here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re monitoring us. Let them see that we’re not worried ‘bout whatever they can muster.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m worried,” Cal said in an undertone.
The three of them crossed over to where Lok and the two quaggoths were checking the bodies of the fallen. Both of the shaggy creatures looked a sight, their fur matted in their own blood and the blood of those they had slain. Both were a lot better off since Dana had healed them, but although their wounds had closed it was clear that they were still weakened by their injuries.
“Are you sure about this?” Cal asked Lok as they gathered once again.
Lok nodded, his features grim. “I cannot explain how I know this, but my people are close. There is great danger here, and a critical transition nears.”
“I feel it too,” Benzan said. “It’s like a sick taint in the very air here… makes my skin crawl.”
Dana nodded in agreement. “Something really bad is about to happen.”
Cal looked up at the two quaggoths. “And our friends?” His spell had expired, so he could not longer directly communicate with them.
“I have spoken with them, and they have agreed to go on,” Lok said. As they looked up at him Taktak nodded solemnly, as if he understood the question in that look.
On the inside of the wall they had found the latticework construct of intricately woven metal strands that served as a retractable bridge across the chasm, offering them the opportunity to retreat if they desired. But even though they were battered, each of them could feel what Lok and Benzan and Dana had spoken of, a building tension that filled the air with anticipation.
Taking up their weapons, they headed toward the far end of the cavern, toward the exits they had spotted earlier. There had originally been three exits, but the duergar had collapsed the two narrower side passages on their retreat, leaving only a single open corridor for them to take. That passage was wide enough for three of them to travel abreast, and was buttressed by thick arches of solid stone at regular intervals along its length. Despite the seeming solidity, however, the companions tread cautiously, with Benzan taking the lead as he searched for any sign of a trap.
Cal was in the center of the group, the gnome looking wan as he struggled with the lingering effects of the duergar poison. He’d insisted on Dana using her lesser restoration spell on Benzan, however, citing the tiefling’s role as a more front-line combatant. The priestess had complied, but now she watched Cal with a concerned eye as they pressed still deeper into the duergar complex.
The corridor turned slightly before splitting at a broad fork that led off in two directions ahead of them. Benzan barely paused before heading into the right fork, the others close behind.
The corridor didn’t go very far, perhaps thirty paces, before it ended in a thick stone threshold that opened onto another long hallway beyond. This place was shaped like a long oval, like an egg that had been carefully cut in two lengthwise. The stonework here showed intent attention to detail, with the ceiling buttresses carved in flowing lines as they rose up to meet in the center of the domed ceiling above them. They entered carefully, their footsteps making little sound on the solid granite floor, but as they progressed they each thought they could hear a thrumming sound in the very stone around them, a vibration that seemed to pulse like some massive heartbeat.
* * * * *
In the vastness of the ritual chamber, the drow suddenly raised his head, scanning around him. The pulsating throb of power that had been building within the mithral stele filled his being, but that was not what had alerted him. His preternaturally sharp senses—senses that could detect far more than the average mortal being—were deluged by a wild mixture of sensations. Shemma’s droning chants, which had been going on for hours now, had almost faded into the background, overshadowed by the silent presence of the Avatar before the pillar. Silent perhaps to normal ears, that is, for to the drow the muscled form of the youth seemed to scream with the tendrils of manipulated power that he was drawing into his form and redirecting into the stele.
Layered on those twin points of activity was the tangible dread of the hundreds of slumped forms gathered around the perimeter of the cavern, packed so densely that there was little clear space left on the floor between his vantage and the center of the chamber where the pillar stood. Only the area around the Avatar was bare, an empty ring as if his mere physical presence drove away everything living. The quivering bodies packed close together had been heavily drugged by their duergar captives through toxins placed in their food the night before, but even through their haze they could perceive fear deep within that part of their subconscious that could feel what was happening around them, could touch the outrage upon the very fabric of existence that the Avatar was building from within their midst. Every now and then one of the slaves cried out from within their drugged reverie, responding to the insidious tug of the flows that the alien youth was drawing, or to some twisted inner nightmare of their own.
Taken in all it was an overwhelming scene, but that which had alerted the drow had not come from within the ritual chamber. Not really trusting Grolac, and disturbed more than he had admitted even to himself by the duergar’s report, he had laid a ward in the antechamber outside as a precaution before he’d returned here.
The intruders were inside the Sanctum, and approaching the ritual chamber.
He cast out with his mind for the abashai, but the mental noise of the ongoing ritual numbed his usually sharp perceptions. He hadn’t seen the demon since the Avatar had appeared in any case; the damned thing was probably running some errand for the Great One, if it hadn’t already been sent back to the Abyss.
Of those few here who still had their minds intact, he was the only one that could leave without disrupting the ritual.
So be it.
He turned, and quietly left the chamber.
* * * * *
“What is this place?” Benzan whispered, running one hand along the smooth texture of one of the protruding buttresses. “It seems totally different than the chambers above, with all these smooth lines and curves.”
“It took a lot of effort to carve all this out of the rock,” Lok commented, his eyes darting into every shadowed corner as they pressed on deeper into the duergar complex.
“My skin is tingling,” Dana said. “This place… it’s not… right.”
Although he could not understand her speech, Rakkath, a few paces back, bared his teeth and growled as if he agreed with the sentiment.
“It’s like the interior of a beast,” Cal commented, staring up at the vaulting buttresses rising above them. “Like we’re looking up at its ribs from inside.”
“Now that’s a cheerful thought,” Benzan said, but as he turned back toward the far end of the chamber he suddenly stopped and raised his hand in caution.
“What is it?” Cal asked, as they all readied their weapons.
“We’re not alone…”
The shadow detached itself from the dark doorway at the far end of the empty chamber and stepped silently into the radius of the light from Dana’s continual flame. As the illumination fell over its form the newcomer was revealed to be a drow elf, clad in a simple suit of dark cloth that flowed over the lean lines of his body. He did not appear to be armed, but his eyes, dark pools that drank in the light, held danger in them as he regarded the group of intruders.
“Jannek?” Dana asked, half to herself, seeking something familiar in the dark stranger.
“No,” Benzan said quietly. “Something worse.”
Taktak growled, his body tense although he did not move any closer to this potential enemy.
“Who are you?” Cal asked, his voice unnaturally loud in the strange acoustics of the oval chamber.
The dark elf held the silence for a moment longer, then he spoke. “I am Draxaranthilus,” he said, his voice liquid and deep. “I know not why you have come here, but it is your doom.”
“Yeah, tougher guys than you have told us the same thing,” Benzan said, his hand tightening on the shaft of his bow. “And yet here we are.”
“We are willing to avoid a confrontation,” Cal ventured. “Just release the urdunnir, and we will leave in peace.”
“The urdunnir? I would gladly give them all to you, but their fate has already been sealed. Unfortunately, yours is as well, as I cannot allow you to progress further.”
“So be it, then,” Cal said.
As he spoke, several things happened. The companions, used to working as a team, reached for weapons and spell components, ready for the seemingly inevitable battle. But they did not get a chance to use them, however.
Even as Cal spoke, the form of the dark elf began to shimmer and distort, growing outward as it twisted and reformed into something… different. The transformation took only a few heartbeats, and even as the companions readied their weapons to fight the drow, they found themselves confronting an entirely different adversary.
The drow was gone, replaced by a sinuous, muscled form the size of a large horse. There was no mistaking its identity now, the long, reptilian lines as it drew itself up to its full height, its dark wings spreading out before it as if in benediction. Its limbs bore thick claws that flexed as the creature tested its new form, its true form. Its long neck tapered to a dagger-shaped skull that ended in a jaw full of razor-sharp teeth. The only thing that hadn’t changed were the dark pools of its eyes, eyes that now held only death in them as they looked out over the companions.
Draxaranthilus, the deep dragon, was ready for battle.
It's Friday, so you know what that means...
* * * * *
Book V, Part 26
“Well, that’s the last of the healing potions.”
Benzan lifted the vial once more, to make sure that he’d drained the last few drops of precious elixir within, then tossed the glass container aside. It shattered in a loud crash.
“Benzan!” Dana said.
“What? They know we’re here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re monitoring us. Let them see that we’re not worried ‘bout whatever they can muster.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m worried,” Cal said in an undertone.
The three of them crossed over to where Lok and the two quaggoths were checking the bodies of the fallen. Both of the shaggy creatures looked a sight, their fur matted in their own blood and the blood of those they had slain. Both were a lot better off since Dana had healed them, but although their wounds had closed it was clear that they were still weakened by their injuries.
“Are you sure about this?” Cal asked Lok as they gathered once again.
Lok nodded, his features grim. “I cannot explain how I know this, but my people are close. There is great danger here, and a critical transition nears.”
“I feel it too,” Benzan said. “It’s like a sick taint in the very air here… makes my skin crawl.”
Dana nodded in agreement. “Something really bad is about to happen.”
Cal looked up at the two quaggoths. “And our friends?” His spell had expired, so he could not longer directly communicate with them.
“I have spoken with them, and they have agreed to go on,” Lok said. As they looked up at him Taktak nodded solemnly, as if he understood the question in that look.
On the inside of the wall they had found the latticework construct of intricately woven metal strands that served as a retractable bridge across the chasm, offering them the opportunity to retreat if they desired. But even though they were battered, each of them could feel what Lok and Benzan and Dana had spoken of, a building tension that filled the air with anticipation.
Taking up their weapons, they headed toward the far end of the cavern, toward the exits they had spotted earlier. There had originally been three exits, but the duergar had collapsed the two narrower side passages on their retreat, leaving only a single open corridor for them to take. That passage was wide enough for three of them to travel abreast, and was buttressed by thick arches of solid stone at regular intervals along its length. Despite the seeming solidity, however, the companions tread cautiously, with Benzan taking the lead as he searched for any sign of a trap.
Cal was in the center of the group, the gnome looking wan as he struggled with the lingering effects of the duergar poison. He’d insisted on Dana using her lesser restoration spell on Benzan, however, citing the tiefling’s role as a more front-line combatant. The priestess had complied, but now she watched Cal with a concerned eye as they pressed still deeper into the duergar complex.
The corridor turned slightly before splitting at a broad fork that led off in two directions ahead of them. Benzan barely paused before heading into the right fork, the others close behind.
The corridor didn’t go very far, perhaps thirty paces, before it ended in a thick stone threshold that opened onto another long hallway beyond. This place was shaped like a long oval, like an egg that had been carefully cut in two lengthwise. The stonework here showed intent attention to detail, with the ceiling buttresses carved in flowing lines as they rose up to meet in the center of the domed ceiling above them. They entered carefully, their footsteps making little sound on the solid granite floor, but as they progressed they each thought they could hear a thrumming sound in the very stone around them, a vibration that seemed to pulse like some massive heartbeat.
* * * * *
In the vastness of the ritual chamber, the drow suddenly raised his head, scanning around him. The pulsating throb of power that had been building within the mithral stele filled his being, but that was not what had alerted him. His preternaturally sharp senses—senses that could detect far more than the average mortal being—were deluged by a wild mixture of sensations. Shemma’s droning chants, which had been going on for hours now, had almost faded into the background, overshadowed by the silent presence of the Avatar before the pillar. Silent perhaps to normal ears, that is, for to the drow the muscled form of the youth seemed to scream with the tendrils of manipulated power that he was drawing into his form and redirecting into the stele.
Layered on those twin points of activity was the tangible dread of the hundreds of slumped forms gathered around the perimeter of the cavern, packed so densely that there was little clear space left on the floor between his vantage and the center of the chamber where the pillar stood. Only the area around the Avatar was bare, an empty ring as if his mere physical presence drove away everything living. The quivering bodies packed close together had been heavily drugged by their duergar captives through toxins placed in their food the night before, but even through their haze they could perceive fear deep within that part of their subconscious that could feel what was happening around them, could touch the outrage upon the very fabric of existence that the Avatar was building from within their midst. Every now and then one of the slaves cried out from within their drugged reverie, responding to the insidious tug of the flows that the alien youth was drawing, or to some twisted inner nightmare of their own.
Taken in all it was an overwhelming scene, but that which had alerted the drow had not come from within the ritual chamber. Not really trusting Grolac, and disturbed more than he had admitted even to himself by the duergar’s report, he had laid a ward in the antechamber outside as a precaution before he’d returned here.
The intruders were inside the Sanctum, and approaching the ritual chamber.
He cast out with his mind for the abashai, but the mental noise of the ongoing ritual numbed his usually sharp perceptions. He hadn’t seen the demon since the Avatar had appeared in any case; the damned thing was probably running some errand for the Great One, if it hadn’t already been sent back to the Abyss.
Of those few here who still had their minds intact, he was the only one that could leave without disrupting the ritual.
So be it.
He turned, and quietly left the chamber.
* * * * *
“What is this place?” Benzan whispered, running one hand along the smooth texture of one of the protruding buttresses. “It seems totally different than the chambers above, with all these smooth lines and curves.”
“It took a lot of effort to carve all this out of the rock,” Lok commented, his eyes darting into every shadowed corner as they pressed on deeper into the duergar complex.
“My skin is tingling,” Dana said. “This place… it’s not… right.”
Although he could not understand her speech, Rakkath, a few paces back, bared his teeth and growled as if he agreed with the sentiment.
“It’s like the interior of a beast,” Cal commented, staring up at the vaulting buttresses rising above them. “Like we’re looking up at its ribs from inside.”
“Now that’s a cheerful thought,” Benzan said, but as he turned back toward the far end of the chamber he suddenly stopped and raised his hand in caution.
“What is it?” Cal asked, as they all readied their weapons.
“We’re not alone…”
The shadow detached itself from the dark doorway at the far end of the empty chamber and stepped silently into the radius of the light from Dana’s continual flame. As the illumination fell over its form the newcomer was revealed to be a drow elf, clad in a simple suit of dark cloth that flowed over the lean lines of his body. He did not appear to be armed, but his eyes, dark pools that drank in the light, held danger in them as he regarded the group of intruders.
“Jannek?” Dana asked, half to herself, seeking something familiar in the dark stranger.
“No,” Benzan said quietly. “Something worse.”
Taktak growled, his body tense although he did not move any closer to this potential enemy.
“Who are you?” Cal asked, his voice unnaturally loud in the strange acoustics of the oval chamber.
The dark elf held the silence for a moment longer, then he spoke. “I am Draxaranthilus,” he said, his voice liquid and deep. “I know not why you have come here, but it is your doom.”
“Yeah, tougher guys than you have told us the same thing,” Benzan said, his hand tightening on the shaft of his bow. “And yet here we are.”
“We are willing to avoid a confrontation,” Cal ventured. “Just release the urdunnir, and we will leave in peace.”
“The urdunnir? I would gladly give them all to you, but their fate has already been sealed. Unfortunately, yours is as well, as I cannot allow you to progress further.”
“So be it, then,” Cal said.
As he spoke, several things happened. The companions, used to working as a team, reached for weapons and spell components, ready for the seemingly inevitable battle. But they did not get a chance to use them, however.
Even as Cal spoke, the form of the dark elf began to shimmer and distort, growing outward as it twisted and reformed into something… different. The transformation took only a few heartbeats, and even as the companions readied their weapons to fight the drow, they found themselves confronting an entirely different adversary.
The drow was gone, replaced by a sinuous, muscled form the size of a large horse. There was no mistaking its identity now, the long, reptilian lines as it drew itself up to its full height, its dark wings spreading out before it as if in benediction. Its limbs bore thick claws that flexed as the creature tested its new form, its true form. Its long neck tapered to a dagger-shaped skull that ended in a jaw full of razor-sharp teeth. The only thing that hadn’t changed were the dark pools of its eyes, eyes that now held only death in them as they looked out over the companions.
Draxaranthilus, the deep dragon, was ready for battle.
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