Travels through the Wild West: Books V-VIII (Epilogue)

[Lazybones]

Don't worry, Horacio, we'll get to uncharted territory soon enough, Monday in fact.

Assuming that the boards don't go kaput today, as they have each day for me this last week, I am going to double post today, once now and once this afternoon. I've got a juicy cliffhanger that I want to lay on you for the weekend...

Got a boring two-hour interdepartmental meeting this morning, on implementating new legislation, so I should be able to get a jump on starting to outline the main plots for book seven of TttWW. Yay Friday!

* * * * *

Book VI, Part 27

The companions found themselves in a dire predicament indeed, as they finally confronted the remainder of the community whose members they had first faced earlier. And the defenders had apparently used their time effectively, luring the companions into a well-designed ambush.

The net was a difficult enough challenge, weighed down with heavy stones and coated in a sticky substance that clung persistently to their bodies and gear. Added to that were the attacks of the ambushers, who were fixed upon their capture. Apparently they didn’t mind if their prisoners ended up a little bruised and battered, as the whip-crack of slings sounded and heavy stones started slamming into them as they fought against the imprisoning fibers of the net.

Benzan was the closest to the edge of the net, having dived out of the way even as the trap had been triggered. He managed to struggle out from under its edge, turning to unhook a strand that had caught on the hilt of his sword. Three of the dark-cloaked figures that had emerged from the secret door moved to intercept him as he finally stood, and he barely had time to draw his sword as they lashed at him with their clubs, trying to bash him into submission. At close range their hooded cloaks could not hide their identity; they were hobgoblins, fierce warriors whom Benzan knew all too well from his travels.

Pelanther struggled feebly against the weight of the net, the sticky strands catching in his hair and dragging him down so that he could barely stand. He managed to twist his head enough to see Fenrus, nearby, his friend struggling against the weight of the net. Their enemies that had come out of the invisibility field were focusing their attacks upon the great wolf, firing sling stones and arrows at him through the net. Fenrus let out a howl as the dark elf shot a bolt from a small crossbow deep into the wolf’s throat.

Sick with fear for his friend—for the druid had heard the enemy leader’s command all too clearly—Pel cleared his mind of all distractions, ignoring the imprisoning grip of the net as he tried to summon a spell. A heavy stone zinged off of one of the thick strands just inches from his face, but the gnome ignored it, lost within his concentration. His hands, gummed up by the net, were sluggish as he went through the gestures necessary for the completion of the spell, but his focus was so great that the natural power flooded into him at his calling anyway.

The result was immediate, as Fenrus began to grow. He grew until he formed a mountain within the layers of the net, until he was double his original size, towering over all of the other combatants engaged in the desperate melee. The net still held him, but now dragged after him as the enormous wolf shook himself forward through brute strength, fixed on only one thing.

Tearing apart these puny creatures that had so threatened them.

Cal, meanwhile, was having an even more difficult time. When the net had fallen on them it had snagged on his pack and dragged him down, pressing him roughly against the stone floor. He tried to at least push himself up enough for him to reach his components pouch, but he was not far from Fenrus, and the wolf’s struggles were causing the net to twist and jerk, further dragging him around. Finally his fingers closed on the haft of one of his wands, and after a quick glance to confirm that it was the one he wanted—it was—he managed with a great effort to point it at some of the strands that were pinning him.

The acid arrow splashed with a sizzle onto the thick cords. Cal stifled a cry as some of the acid sprayed on his exposed skin, focusing on the ropes as the acid continued to burn them away.

He wasn’t completely free, but it was a start.

Benzan found that the hobgoblins were tenacious opponents, moving to flank him as they pressed him from three sides. He managed to slash one with a weak cut that only dug a thin gash across its torso, armored with thick studded leather. In return he took a glancing shot to the head from a club that caused his vision to explode with stars for a moment. He managed to raise his arm to deflect the next blow, gritting his teeth as the force of the impact traveled up his arm and into his body. It hurt, but it could have been worse—had he not been wearing a bracer, the blow would likely have broken his arm.

Come on, you’re better than this! a voice whispered from somewhere deep within.

“Working on it,” he answered himself, careful to avoid being pushed back into the net as the three hobgoblins continued to press him.

Fenrus lunged forward, dragging the net with him as he forced his way through it by brute force. Half a dozen arrows and bolts stuck from his furry hide, but the noble wolf seemed possessed of an infinite reserve of energy as it pressed on toward his enemies. Those foes had formed a half-ring at the edge of the net, and continued to pour attacks down onto the wolf.

Then the mage stepped forward, and called upon his magic once again.

A jagged bolt of liquid energy erupted from his fingertips, slashing across the room and slamming into Fenrus’s chest. The lightning bolt actually aided the wolf’s cause slightly, by blasting away some of the net, but the damage that he took in turn was serious, searing Fenrus’s fur as it tore into him. The wolf let out another great cry, and in a rage lunged forward once more, fighting the resistance of the net as he drove himself almost to the edge of the ring of foes.

Valor, meanwhile, was caught near the southern edge of the net. Lacking Fenrus’s strength, the magical hound was unable to fight free of the restrictive bonds holding him. A pair of hobgoblins had marked him as a target and were blasting him with rocks from their slings. Unable to evade the attacks, the dog took a beating, and finally he dissolved back into a cloud of mist, returning to his planar home to rest and recover.

Pelanther, meanwhile, continued to fight for freedom. Unable to tear free with the mere strength of a gnome druid, he closed his eyes and called upon the forces of nature once again. This time, however, instead of casting a spell, he let the power course directly into him, tapping his druidic heritage to transform himself. His outlines began to shift and change, to grow...

Until Pelanther the gnome was gone, and Pelanther the grizzly bear was there in his place.

The massive bear tore at the strands of the net with powerful claws, rending the thick fibers. The strands resisted his efforts, but his strength was now incredible, and with a growl he pulled apart a large section of net, letting him start to push through the opening toward freedom.

Benzan, meanwhile, held his ground against his three enemies, letting his superior skill and speed come into play as the battle drew out. The hobgoblins were good, clearly experienced warriors in their own right, but he’d fought better, and he was using a magical sword against their clubs. He cut through one’s defenses to land a telling blow that staggered him, and as a second had sought to land another critical blow to his head he had spun into a smooth counter, bringing his sword around in a vicious arc that caught the hobgoblin solidly on his weapon arm, knocking the club free and nearly his hand along with it. A sane opponent would have retreated at that point, but the hobgoblin only drew a dagger with his good hand and came in again.

The third hobgoblin drew back a few steps, tossing his club aside and reaching under his cloak to withdraw a heavy length of chain, weighted at each end with a spiked ball of heavy iron. With this new weapon he came at Benzan again, forcing the tiefling to dodge the whistling sweeps of the chain in addition to keeping his other two foes at bay.

He knew that he could use the power of his sword to levitate free of the melee, but he also knew that his friends were still trapped in the net behind him, and he needed to buy them time to escape.

The line of attackers fell back as Fenrus finally tore free to the edge of the net, its dead weight dragging behind him as he bulled on forward. One of the humans didn’t retreat quickly enough as the huge wolf caught him up in his jaws, and with a single snap tore the hapless man nearly in two. The wolf shook his head and the corpse fell free in a splash of blood and gore a few yards away.

“Kill it!” cried the mage, leading from behind his line of warriors, and the mixed group hastened to obey. Magic missiles blazed from his fingertips, a trio of bolts that blasted into the wolf’s chest, opening up small wounds that added to the wolf’s already serious tally. The humans rushed at the wolf, slashing with their swords that seemed pitiful in contrast to the wolf’s massive size, but scoring hits nonetheless in Fenrus’s legs and lower body. The dwarf hefted his axe and ran ahead with a clank of metal, bringing his heavy weapon around and up in a perfectly-timed arc that tore deeply into the wolf’s huge chest. Fenrus roared in pain, and the stroke had clearly told, as hot blood splashed down onto the dwarf’s mailed form.

But the wolf somehow fought on.

Pelanther the bear had finally torn himself free from the folds of the net, although broken strands still clung to his matted fur, affixed by the gooey paste smeared on the thick fibers. He heard each cry of his canine companion, though, driving him to a near rage as he lumbered in almost crazy steps toward the edge of the net. He was Nature herself, the pure force of animal fury, and nothing would stop him.

But as he approached the edge of the net, he found himself facing the drow elf, an angular figure clad in flowing black chainmail, his milky white eyes empty of feeling as they looked upon the raging death coming at him. He held his small crossbow in one hand, loaded and ready with a poison-tipped bolt, but he did not raise it to fire. Instead, he lifted his other hand, holding what looked like a small black pearl, and with a flick of his wrist hurled it at the charging bear.

The bead hit Pelanther on the forehead and exploded with a concussive force that filled the chamber with the sound of its impact. Pel fell back, blasted by the full force of that concussion, but quickly stirred, and turned immediately back to the attack.

Only he could not attack, could not even move from his place. A sphere of force surrounded him, a bubble that he could not penetrate with either brute strength or magical power.

Pel raged in silent agony, able only to watch as the mage and his allies tore into his embattled friend.

 

[Maldur]

Im back as well.

And is was great reading such a big part all at once.

LB congrats on the wedding and on (several) great updates.

 

[Lazybones]

Welcome back, Maldur!

Here's the 2nd part of today's update, with cliffhanger:

* * * * *

Book VI, Part 28

Cal knew that the situation was growing desperate. He had fired off a second acid arrow from his wand, ignoring the pain that sizzled in his bare hands as he grabbed the acid-burned fibers of the net to tear the strands and hasten the process of gaining freedom. Finally he’d managed to damage enough of the net to stand, although the sticky strands still tugged at him.

He looked around, taking in the raging battle to all sides. Fenrus had reached the edge of the net, and was hard pressed, while Pelanther had taken on the form of a bear and was pushing toward his friend. Valor was gone, while to his right Benzan was engaged in a violent battle with three adversaries.

Thus far, he’d contributed exactly nothing to the battle, but that would change, starting right now. Focusing his thoughts, he called upon one of his most powerful spells, another haste that would allow him to start unleashing his magic in rapid succession...

Only as he started casting the spell, he felt a sharp prick in his shoulder as something small stabbed into him. He shrugged off the pain, trying not to lose the spell, but he felt a thick, soothing warmth spread into his body from that point, and his mind began to swim, the magic phrases blending together in a confused medley in his thoughts.

“No...” he said, trying to fight off the effects of the poison and failing as he toppled forward onto the net.

He never even saw the jermlaine that crept along the web of stone bolsters above him, cackling softly to itself as it loaded another poisoned dart into its tiny crossbow.

Benzan, meanwhile, had sunk into that zone of enhanced focus that was common among skilled warriors, every sense sharpening as he dueled against superior numbers. His armor had already absorbed a half-dozen blows that would have crippled him he not been protected by the mithral links, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before his adversaries overcame him. He could hear the battle raging at the opposite side of the net behind him, but did not dare shift his attention from his adversaries even for an instant.

“Cal!” he cried, as the hobgoblins came at him again. “Cal, you there?”

There was no answer.

The hobgoblin he’d crippled thrust at him with his dagger, still fighting strong despite having suffered a wound that would have dropped an ordinary foe by now. Benzan took the hit on his armor, trusting the mithral to hold as he drove his sword mercilessly into the hobgoblin’s side. The magically-sharp blade tore through the creature’s armor, puncturing his lung and driving him back to land awkwardly on the ground. The creature tried to rise, but slumped back a moment later, finished as his blood oozed from the deep puncture.

The second hobgoblin sought to take advantage of Benzan’s distraction as he lunged at him from behind, driving his club two-handed toward the base of his skull. But Benzan spun and slashed in a smooth motion, his sword tearing into the side of the hobgoblin’s head with a mighty crash. The creature didn’t even scream as his head tore apart, and he spun into a bloody heap onto the edge of the nearby net.

The third hobgoblin had drawn back a step as his companions had rushed in, unwilling to risk an attack in such close quarters, so Benzan risked a quick look back over his shoulder. He immediately saw Cal lying in a heap atop the net, unmoving.

“Cal!”

Even as he turned back, though, the remaining hobgoblin lashed out with his chain, using its reach to catch him unawares. The weighted ball whipped around his sword, locking back on itself, and as it drew taut the hobgoblin yanked back, tearing the sword from Benzan’s grip and sending it flying halfway across the room.

Fenrus looked like a marauding demon, his lower body dripping long trails of red blood from his many wounds, his jaws bloody from the man he had slain. But the wolf was hurt, hurt bad, and his sides heaved with the effort of staying upright as he tore once more into his adversaries. A human lunged at him with his sword, only to crumple as the wolf snapped his head and shoulders up in the deadly grip of his jaws. One crunch ended his struggles, and Fenrus snapped his head to the side, slamming the hapless victim into one of his fellows, knocking the second man flying. The wolf spit out the dead man and lunged at the armored dwarf. His speed and strength had been sapped too much by his wounds, however, and the wolf’s jaws closed only on empty air as the dwarf dodged back. Even as Fenrus wearily lifted his head, the dwarf raised his axe to strike again...

...within the force bubble, Pelanther, who had shifted back again into his true form, screamed a silent scream of denial...

...and brought the heavy steel crescent solidly into the wolf’s neck, releasing a spray of red blood that hung into the air a moment before falling to the ground.

The great wolf swayed for a moment, and then crashed to the ground in a bloody heap.

Benzan stared in surprise at his empty hand, but had to duck a moment later as the hobgoblin sent the spiked chain around again in an arc aimed at his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the remaining pair of hobgoblins had replaced their slings with clubs and were coming around the net toward him. He also felt rather than heard the shudder as Fenrus fell to the ground, and knew instinctively that things on that side of the battle had gone very, very wrong.

He drew his dagger and feinted an attack, and as the hobgoblin adjusted he turned and darted back out over the net, rushing and trying to avoid stumbling on the sticky web all at the same time. He only had a dozen strides to cover, but it felt like an eternity as his senses took it all in at once—the sticky strands trying to snag his feet, Cal’s body lying unmoving before him, Pelanther trapped helplessly in a bubble of force, Fenrus’s huge form lying unmoving, their enemies circling around the edges of the net to surround him while the mage shouted commands. He felt something small hit his back and stick in his armor, but he did not divert from his objective. He finished the gauntlet of the net and knelt down beside Cal, relieved as it seemed that his friend was alive, only asleep or unconscious.

He looked across the room, to where his sword had landed. The hobgoblins blocked his path to it, but they had not started across the net as of yet. He hesitated, uncertain.

A sling bullet crashed off his armored shoulder from behind, adding urgency to his movements.

With a curse he called upon his own limited magical training, uttering the words of a simple spell. For a moment he held his breath as he nearly botched the critical gesture at the end of the casting, but then thick, billowing clouds of obscuring mist sprang up around him at his call. A few more missiles darted through the cloud anyway, seeking him out, but they missed him as he reached down and carefully picked up his friend.

“Don’t let them escape!” came the voice of the enemy mage, sounding distant and muted in the cloud of mists.

The surviving ambushers pressed in around the edges of the cloud, waiting for him to seek his escape. The hobgoblin leader paused to recover Benzan’s sword, holding the weapon only briefly before shoving it into his belt. He sensed something and spun around, wary as he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, but when he had turned he saw only shadows there, not an enemy.

The hobgoblin barked out a command, and moved to join his companions, even as the human warriors came around the edge of the net to aid them in surrounding the thick cloud of mists.

Reluctantly, Benzan darted away, covered in the shroud of his ring of shadows, picking one of the side corridors at random, trying to run as silently as possible as he carried the unmoving form of Cal tightly against his chest.

Behind him, as his summoned mists began to thin to reveal only empty netting within, the mage gathered his forces around the bubble where Pelanther was trapped. The three hobgoblins, along with the three surviving humans, the drow elf, and the dwarf, joined the mage as they waited, patiently, their weapons at the ready. A few of the injured ones paused to drink minor healing potions, curing their wounds.

Inside the bubble, Pelanther waited as well, his eyes burning with rage as he reached behind his back and slowly drew his scimitar.

 

[Broccli_Head]

Aaaaarrrrghhh!

The heroes got blasted!

I wish I could remember who the badguy is, but it's been so long since I read Undermountain stuff. They have to be working for the Eye! I recognize the horned-dwarf, I think.

 

[wolff96]

Yep, he's back from his honeymoon alright... and nailing us with more horrible cliffhangers!

Nice updates, Lazybones. I'm looking forward to what happens next, though I'm sorry to see Fenrus perish.

 

[Lazybones]

Broc: don't worry, everything from this point on is pretty much my own creation, using the unkeyed areas on the right side of the level 1 map. I tweaked a few areas as well to suit the story; given that Undermountain is so changeable as it is I'm sure Halaster might have redone some areas over the course of 20 years.

wolff: yeah, it's always bittersweet when I slaughter an NPC, but Fenrus would not have kicked as much @$$ as he did without your suggestions; thanks again.

Everyone else: I only got two replies to my little contest, and no one won despite the extra hint I gave last week. Oh well. We'll find out what happens in Undermountain soon enough (I can promise a MAJOR twist coming up in that plotline, heh heh), but first we take a little side trip:

* * * * *

Book VI, Part 29


The heavy portals swung open, slabs of black iron that had to have weighed thousands of pounds each. They were decorated with crude, seemingly unfinished designs of twisting, writhing figures in bas-relief, faces and limbs and bodies melted into the metal of the doors. Delem noted them, no longer horrified by what they represented, and strode into the long hallway beyond.

His metal-soled boots clacked loudly on the polished black marble of the hall, announcing his coming to the shadowed forms along the sides of the long corridor that marked his passage with dark looks. Uneven flares of jagged flame shed a fitful illumination, highlighting the scars that crisscrossed his bare torso. He was now lean, muscular, his body more defined than it had ever been in the past, and he exuded a sense of barely contained power as he strode with determination toward his audience.

His powers had grown. He didn’t know how long he’d been here; he knew enough to know that time flowed differently than he was accustomed in this place, and familiar units like days and tendays and months—years, even?—had lost all meaning here. Some times it felt as though just hours had passed since the last time he had been here in this hall, and at others, just a few heartbeats later, it seemed that an interminable eternity had transpired between that point and time and the now. That was his only reality, anymore; the Now, the Present Moment. Everything else was fleeting, unreal, here in a place where even his own memories could not be trusted, where even his most private thoughts could betray him.

He was there, in his great throne, watching as the sorcerer approached. The place wasn’t quite crowded, but there were numerous demons and other creatures from across the Planes in attendance, some of whom watched his entry with interest, and others that barely noted him before returning to their own private conversations.

He walked into the vastness of the audience chamber, into the huge circle, a full ten paces across, that formed a spiraling design that formed the ensign of the Prince whose palace this was. Delem barely noticed the design, either, although it was formed of solid gold inlaid into the floor, a quantity sufficient to buy a kingdom, where he was from.

“You summoned me.”

The Prince made a subtle motion, and the different voices throughout the chamber grew silent, and all attention focused upon the man. The attention didn’t bother Delem, not with him seated there facing him.

“Yes, Delem. I have been watching the progress of your training, and I am pleased. You have interested me... almost so that I would keep you here, at my side.”

Delem did not respond. It was a familiar game that the demons played, to dangle a reward before a victim, and then to jerk it back. He didn’t have to feign his nonchalance; he truly no longer cared what whims the demons subjected him to.

He saw it, of course, and was pleased. “But such is not my desire. Look there, Delem—do you see that portal?” He indicated a small door sunk into one of the walls to the side, almost invisible in a deeply shadowed alcove where the light from the flame plumes did not reach.

Delem looked, saw, and nodded.

“Beyond that door lies a gateway to another place upon this layer, and that place in turn wards a planar gate. The gate is of no use to us, as it only functions to transport one to their plane of origin. If you can defeat the guardians of that gate, you are free to use it to return to Faerûn.”

“That’s it?” Delem asked. “No catch, no conditions?”

The Demon Prince laughed. “I have given you the conditions, Delem. You must pass the guardians to find your escape. Everything else is up to you.”

Even though this was just another variant of the same game, Delem could not fully stifle a tremor of excitement as he walked across the hall toward the indicated door, aware now of the stares fixed on his back as he departed. He knew that the demons would be watching every step of his progress, and knew that they were likely watching for entertainment, to watch him fail. In all probability the guardian was some terrible being that he could not possibly defeat, or the “gate” just another trap that would transport him into some terrible new danger.

Yet as he reached the door and pushed it easily open, there was that faint glimmer inside him...

Beyond the door was a translucent shimmer, a transport device. Delem was familiar with them, as they were a not uncommon means of movement within and between the many and varied layers of the Abyss. He took a breath, called upon his power, and stepped inside...

...and found himself in a large natural cavern, a vast bubble enclosed on all sides by crumbling black rock. The air was stale and hot, hot enough to make breathing almost painful, and sizzling pools of liquid lava broke through the surface of the floor at uneven intervals, filling the chamber with a ruddy light.

He had emerged at the top of a broad ledge, with a natural stone stair leading down to his left down to the cavern floor. He paused to cast a minor spell upon himself to shield himself from the oppressive heat, which was already causing his head to swim, and thus protected headed down the stairs.

The place was even hotter along the floor, with wisps of steam rising from cracks in the rough black rock, but cocooned in the shelter of his spell Delem paid the quirks of the environment little heed. He knew that if he spent and amount of time here, the environmental effects would begin to overcome the protection of his spell, but he didn’t intend to wait around for that to happen.

Looking around for the “guardian” that he had to face, he quickly crossed the chamber, careful not to stumble on the deep cracks and keeping his distance from the crumbling edges around the lava pools. He saw a dark opening in the far wall that seemed to lead into another chamber, and after a quick examination, darted through the narrow space.

The next chamber was dark, and only fractionally cooler than the place he’d just left. He called upon his innate powers once more, summoning a series of dancing lights that he sent out to explore the limits of the place.

The room was only about twenty paces across, but penetrated deep into the rock ahead of him, sloping gradually upward across a series of jagged terraces. As the lights approached the edge of their range he thought he saw another opening at the far edge of the highest tier, so he headed in that direction.

It took a goodly amount of time to make his way up the slope, and by the time he clambered up to the highest terrace his hands were cut and bleeding from the sharp edges of the rock. He’d had to renew the dancing lights several times to illuminate his way, but even so he crawled the final stretch in darkness, letting his memory and his ravaged hands pick out the best course.

As he reached his destination, though, and stood, he saw a faint glow coming from what indeed was another exit, a narrow crack in the back wall of the cavern. Cautiously, he approached the opening.

There was a fairly steep chute that led down to what looked like another chamber perhaps twenty feet below his current location. The glow seemed to be coming from someplace down there. He started down, but made it only a few feet before he heard voices from below, and froze.

“What are wasting time for here, anyway? We should be looking for him...”

“The oracle said that we had to stay here, to defend the gateway. Otherwise the demons might be able to break through into our world...”

Delem smiled wryly to himself. Either he had been lying, or the speakers below were misinformed. Either way, he wasn’t going to let them stand between him and his goal. There was something familiar about the voices, however, something that nagged at him as he slowly crept down the chute.

The slope was steeper than he thought, however, and the heel of his boot slipped as he sought purchase, causing him to slide down a lot faster than he had intended.

He landed at the bottom of the chute with a jarring thud. He came up quickly, though, his power flowing into him at his call.

This final room was smaller than the first two, but still a good thirty paces or so across. The glow he’d seen earlier was coming from a massive stone archway that stood independent of the surrounding walls, the half-circle of stone filled with a shimmering aura that obviously marked the gate that he had spoken of.

But before the gate, turning as one to face him at his sudden entrance, were the guardians of the portal.

Four familiar faces.

 

[Maldur]

Now that is cruel and unusual punishment !


LB your one sick puppy (said in a friendly sort of way).

 

[Reg Dword]

You don't disappoint Lazybones. When you promise an update you deliver. Another great update as usual.

 

[Horacio]

Wow...

Really, that''s all I can say...

Wow...

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks for the praise, guys. And now for the payoff:

* * * * *

Book VI, Part 30


“Benzan! Cal! Lok! ... Dana!”

He tried to call out to them, but all that came from his lips was a string of gibberish, unintelligible. Their faces transformed as they got a good look at him, and they were looks of pure hatred.

“Foul demon!” Dana hissed. Benzan drew an arrow and fitted it to his string, Lok hefted his axe, and Cal dug into a pouch for the components of a spell.

“No!” Delem tried to cry, but they could not understand him as they leapt to the attack, using the familiar moves that Delem knew all too well. An arrow slammed into his shoulder, knocking him back against the wall, but the pain in his body was nothing to the pain in his heart.

“Another masterful play, you bastard!” Delem shouted up the chute, his curse coming out as an incoherent roar. As Lok rushed at him he swept out his hands in reflexive self-defense. To his surprise he was able to bat the genasi roughly aside, and Lok went sliding along the floor of the chamber, his armor clattering against the stone.

He came forward, his legs not quite sturdy under him from the aftereffects of his fall. Cal hurled an illusion at him, some sort of display intended to distract him—Delem didn’t really pay attention to the details, once he’d seen the figment for what it was. Benzan shot another arrow at him, but this time he saw it coming and was able to deflect it by summoning a magical shield.

And then Dana was charging at him, leaping forward and thrusting her spear with the weight of her body behind the attack. Delem was barely able to dodge out of the way of the thrust, and as the spearhead glanced hard off the wall behind him he grabbed the haft of the weapon. His hands felt thick and awkward, but strong—in fact, he felt as though strength was flowing through him, giving him a physical power that he had never before possessed. He swept the spear before him, catching Dana in the side and hurling her halfway across the room. She was able to land in a hard roll, stunned but not really hurt.

With an angry, defiant cry he charged forward, toward the glowing lure of the planar gate. But Benzan, his sword now out and ready, stepped into his path, the bronze blade already carving the air as the tiefling tried to block his advance. Delem barely hesitated as he lashed into his former friend. He took a gash along his side that sent a sharp pang of pain through his body, but he had already been well-schooled in ignoring pain, and the wound was not serious enough to stall his rush. He balled his hand into a fist and slammed it into Benzan’s face, laying the tiefling out on the hard ground.

For just a moment, Delem stared down at the prone, semi-conscious form of his friend. It looked like his nose had been broken by the punch, and perhaps his jaw as well.

That had felt... good.

But the portal still called him, escape just a dozen long strides away. He lumbered toward it, gaining speed...

And then stumbled, his feet locking under him as he crashed forward and landed hard on the rough stone. He looked down and saw that a length of gleaming silver chain had wrapped around his legs, each end of which was weighted by a heavy metal ball.

He also saw that Dana had risen to a crouch, having apparently hurled the weapon that had successfully entangled him. Lok had regained his footing as well, and Cal was helping Benzan, who was still pretty groggy from the effects of Delem’s strike.

Delem reached down and tugged at the chain, which resisted even his considerable strength as his clumsy fingers tried to work free the bindings. He did not remember Dana, or any of his friends, ever having such a weapon.

“You’re cheating!” he yelled up at the ceiling as he tried to free himself. The cry only came out as a incomprehensible roar, but Delem knew that he would understand him.

They were charging him again, so he called upon his innate power once more, summoning a wall of fire that sprang up directly in front of him, forming a barrier that ran across the width of the chamber between them. The flames roared eagerly, up to a height of nearly ten feet, driving his enemies back. He used the respite to finally tear the damnable chain from his legs, and rose unsteadily to face the glowing gateway once more.

Behind him, the wall of flames wavered and then faded. Cal’s work, no doubt, Delem thought. But they would not catch him, as he lumbered across the remaining distance toward the portal...

A shining line of light appeared between him and his goal, widening to form a glowing doorway through which Dana stepped, her spear held at the ready. Delem lifted his hand to strike her down, knowing that he had the power to destroy her within his grasp.

But he hesitated, unable to finish that killing blow, even if it meant achieving the one thing he had striven for since being trapped in this place, even if the woman before him was a mere simulacrum, created to torment him.

“It’s me, Dana... Delem,” he said, willing her to understand him through whatever glamour had been laid upon him. He locked his eyes on hers, those dark pools that had captured him from the first time he had ever seen her.

He realized that there were tears already in those eyes, and understanding. She knew; they all knew. “I know... and I’m sorry.”

Pain exploded through him as she thrust the spear into his lower body, its magically-sharp head tearing through his gut and savaging the organs within. Even he could not fully resist this pain, and he staggered back as she drove the weapon yet deeper into him, tearing him, hurting him.

He was barely aware of the impacts of Benzan’s sword and Lok’s axe, slamming with brutal and merciless force into his back. He was falling, the last thing that he could see her face, the tears glistening in the glow from the gateway...

* * * * *

Awareness returned slowly, and he hovered on the boundary between consciousness and oblivion. He was not yet fully restored, and he felt acutely the crippling injuries that his body bore, wounds that would have slain him instantly had he been back on his home plane.

Home...

But even in this vague state he could feel the presence that overshadowed his own, that dominated this place. He was here, and as he focused his attention upon Delem the young man began to shake, and his awareness began to dwindle until there was only one thing in the world, that being which owned his soul.

“So close, and yet a world away. A disappointing conclusion, not that I expected anything different. Clearly you are not yet ready, Delem. Your training is not yet complete...”

And then Delem was drifting, falling away into a darkness so pure that it enveloped him like a pool of deep water.

* * * * *

Delem stirred, and opened his eyes. For a moment, images of horror and evil and violence flashed through his mind, but as his conscious mind took stock of his surroundings those feelings quickly faded, like a nightmare that gave way before the light of the day.

He looked around. It was morning, by the bright slash of sunlight that came in through the window and illuminated the foot of the bed. Tiny motes of dust hung suspended in that radiance, dancing in the air as if they sought to greet the morning with their own festive expression of joy.

That was a silly thought, Delem thought to himself as he lifted himself up on his elbows and looked around the room. He felt uneasy, perhaps the lingering feelings of the nightmare.

The room wasn’t large, but it was homey and clearly lived in, full of soft touches and little details that clearly indicated a woman’s presence. It was familiar and strange at the same time, and as he looked around at the various items of furniture and the little knickknacks scattered around the young man felt a buzzing in the back of his skull, as if his subconscious were trying to tell him something.

No... he cried out in his thoughts, in the part of his mind where memory was intact, where he realized with dawning horror what was happening.

He heard a woman’s voice, elsewhere in the house. As if borne by the sound he also became aware of a hearty smell of cooking food, a tasty medley of odors that somehow did not awaken his appetite. He didn’t feel hungry, although there was a strange emptiness deep inside him that he couldn’t quite identify.

No, not again... I can’t do all of it again...

He heard the sound of footfalls, and knew the woman was approaching. And then she was there, standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

“Well, sleepyhead, are you going to stay in bed all day, or are you going to get up and have some breakfast?”

Delem screamed, a terribly cry of despair that echoed through the room. The woman simply stood there, watching him with a look of unconcern on her face, then she smiled and came slowly and sinuously toward him, while he lay there, unable to move.

He screamed for a long, long time.