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

[Lazybones]

Glad you caught that, Dungannon! I like to connect threads throughout the story; I've got a nice little list of "loose ends" that may come back either in this book or in later installments. For example, there's already one more character from Book I in the current plotline, and soon we'll be introduced to someone else who's linked to another major Book I figure...

Anyway, Part 11 is fairly short, and doesn't leave you with a proper weekend cliffhanger, so I'll post Part 12 later today. Next week we get to the action!

* * * * *

Book VII, Part 11


The quiet knock on the door was clearly audible, but Artemos Ilgarten didn’t look up from where he sat at his expansive desk of polished oak, his pen traveling a busy course across the pages of a ledger book easily an arm’s length high.

The door opened slightly, enough to admit Dana into the study. For a moment she looked around, memories washing over her as she took in the familiar sights, the smells of this place. And her father, hard at work—as always.

“Father.”

The pen went down, and Artemos’s face came up. “Dana.” She came closer, but didn’t sit in either of the comfortable chairs that faced the desk. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better company tonight, at dinner. Your friends seem like interesting people, though, competent.”

Dana frowned, although she knew that her father’s comments were meant as a compliment. No, she was thinking of the discussion that had accompanied the dinner, as her father had related to them the litany of disasters that had befallen the Western Heartlands in recent months. Cal had asked many pointed questions, his concern obvious, and while Lok had said little, Dana knew him well enough to see that the genasi shared his worry. After all, they had all had more than a little to do with helping the people of the Western Heartlands against such evils, back in the time when they had all just met, and coming to know their own abilities. Benzan, on the other hand, had said little, clearly distracted, and while her father had not pressed him, Dana had recognized the sharp attention that he’d paid to the tiefling.

But Dana didn’t want to bring up Benzan right now, when it was clear that her father had deeper things on his mind, problems that predated their arrival, and which penetrated deep. Even in her limited time since arriving she’d seen it on the faces of the people who lived and worked here, masks of worry that they no longer bothered to try to conceal.

“It is a time of crisis here in the west,” her father was saying, repeating the same sentiment that he’d expressed earlier during dinner. “And Iriaebor is ill-equipped to face it, at the moment. We’ve lacked strong leadership since Lord Bron died, and perhaps even before—even he could do little to halt the squabbling between the merchant houses. General Goran’s expanded the Guard to almost double its original size, and he’s pushing a measure through the Council that will authorize him to initiate additional recruitments through his mercenary connections.”

“There was something about him...” Dana said. “He made me uneasy, the way he looked at me.”

Dana didn’t realize that she had spoken aloud until her father responded. “Yes, there are those among the families that mistrust him, wary of another Bron to set himself up as Lord of the City. Even so, he’ll probably get his program approved, given the potential threat, but its unlikely that patrols will be extended much further beyond their current tight radius about the city. People are jumpy, nervous. There’s a feeling in the air, of dark things waiting to happen.”

Dana’s frown deepened. “If it’s as bad as all that, why aren’t the other civic leaders doing anything? The heads of the churches, or the Harpers, or even the Lords’ Alliance?”

“I am sure they are all doing their best,” Artemos acknowledged. “But if the Zhents march down from Darkhold, it will be us in the way, not Twilight Hall or the soldiers of the Lords.”

“I was planning on visiting the Moontower tomorrow,” she admitted. “Perhaps the priests there will have more information.”

“Perhaps.” For a moment his face clouded, then his eyes rose to see her again and softened. “I am sorry, daughter. I apologize for not being able to give you a more happy homecoming.”

Dana nodded, forcing a smile. While this was still her home, she was no longer part of this place, could no longer feel like anything more than a visitor for all that it felt good to see her father once more. That had been the case for a long time, even before she had finally made the decision to leave for good, perhaps all the way back to when she’d been fostered to the monastery of the Sun Soul for her education and training. All the way back to when her mother died, a memory that still bit with the pain of loss despite all the intervening years.

She saw some of that reflected in the eyes of her father, and knew that he felt it, too.

Sadly, he lowered his eyes again. “What will be, will be,” he said.

 

[Black Bard]

For example, there's already one more character from Book I in the current plotline, and soon we'll be introduced to someone else who's linked to another major Book I figure...

I guess you're talking about the priest of Mask, Benzan's pal, don't you??

 

[Lazybones]

Former priest of Mask; remember, Guthan worships demons now. Hmm... demons... what a coincidence!

Muwhahahaha...

 

[Maldur]

Please, don't give hints. They are about as bad as cliffhangers

 

[Lazybones]

Book VII, Part 12

Dana reined in her horse as Cal called their little column to a brief halt. The horse skittered a bit before she could bring it under control and quiet it. It was her fault that the horse was still a little skittish, really; in the last four days since they’d left Iriaebor the saddle had been vacant far more often than not. With her new magical boots she could easily keep up with the pace that the rest of them set mounted, without tiring, and she had to admit that she enjoyed jogging with the magically-enhanced stride that ate up the miles beneath her feet.

Those four days of travel had gone by quickly, despite the fact that they’d set out cross-country directly toward the Reaching Wood instead of taking the more-traveled road up the Sunset Vale to Asbravn. The only trouble they’d faced was a fast-moving storm that had passed by to the north, dropping only a few scattered drizzles on them that had cleared up within a few hours. The horses provided for them were hardy, strong beasts, used to bearing burdens long distances on the roads that stretched between the widely separated city-states of the West. And between Cal’s magical backpack and her own ability to create foodstuffs, they could travel light, enabling them to press on faster than most travelers would have been able to manage.

Not for the first time since their hasty departure from Iriaebor, she thought back over their journey, and the reason they were here. Her brief conversations with her father had prepared her, but it had been her visit to the Moontower the following day that had ultimately led to this course. The visit had stirred many memories for her, the sight of the familiar stone columns and marble galleries of the massive structure. It had been her mother who had brought her there for the first time, when she was still a child. She had fallen into the atmosphere of the place with an intensity surprising in someone her age, and had brought home with her a trinket—a tiny silver moon on a string of delicate chain links—given to her by Astyaril Hulenese herself.

But now Astyaril Hulenese was long since gone, and the new Moonwarden of the temple had been a rail-thin figure of a man named Avril Lessalon. Once the initial wave of memory had passed, she had noticed how empty the temple seemed, its staff of clerics reduced from the nearly three-dozen of her childhood to little more than a score now. The elder priest had welcomed her warmly, placing the facilities of the temple at her disposal, but their conversation had quickly turned to the ills facing the region. Lessalon was one of a triad of leading clerics in the city—leaders of the churches of Selûne, Eldath, and Chauntea—and focused on an issue that was of forefront concern to that council, the Reaching Wood.

“We are concerned about developments in the Wood,” he’d told her. “Historically the forest has been inhospitable to bandits and raiders, for the druids within have been vigilant in patrolling its borders. We have little commerce with them, for they prefer the solitude of the deep wood to the byways of civilized men. But since the troubles have begun, we have heard nothing from them, despite several attempts to establish contact. Some have even suggested that the druids are part of the threat, finally turning against even the peaceful trade that passes under the forest boughs.”

“I find that difficult to credit,” she had replied, though her father’s words had echoed in her mind then, and now. “I’ve heard that the denizens of the Wood can be rough, isolationist and fiercely protective of the forest, but I’ve never heard of open assaults on travelers using the Scornubel road.”

“Indeed. The merchants, as you might imagine, are quite upset—that road is a busy avenue for the trade down from Scornubel. But with everything that is happening, they are unwilling to send soldiers to investigate, and their General Goran has been quite vocal in his support of this policy.”

And so she and her companions were here. Lessalon had not quite gone so far as to ask her, but the request was clear if unspoken. It meant that she would have to wait until the next full moon, if not later, to seek new answers in their quest to aid Delem, but she could not turn her back on those in need, especially here in her homeland. She’d told herself that many times now, in the days since, but still she felt a gnawing guilt that tore at her newfound equilibrium. It helped that her friends had been completely supportive, lending their aid without hesitation. It helped some.

She glanced at her companions as her horse snorted a final protest before settling down—reluctantly, it seemed to her. Inevitably her gaze shifted to Benzan, riding a short distance away. He was looking ahead, at the line of trees that had been visible since midday, the line that they’d been paralleling as they made their way gradually north. The line marked the border of the Reaching Wood, a vast primordial forest whose southern spur formed a wide belt along the eastern bank of the River Chionthar. The forest was reputed a wild, untamed place, but under the stewardship of its druids malevolent only toward those who brought evil under its boughs. And yet since they’d caught sight of it the place had seemed foreboding, even from a respectable distance.

As if he sensed her watching, Benzan turned toward her. As his gaze met hers, he smiled. He wheeled his horse around and started back toward her, but was interrupted as Cal addressed them.

“Smoke on the air,” he told them, “from the north.” They all looked in that direction, looking off into the distance where the wood ran as far as they could see until a line of hills broke the far horizon. They couldn’t see anything, but there was a fair breeze that would have rapidly dispersed a column of smoke.

“Do you want me to scout ahead?” Dana asked. With her boots, let alone her ability to call upon Selûne’s power to fly, she was the most mobile of any of them. Benzan frowned, and she could see the sentiment in his eyes at the idea. Dana felt a twinge of anger. It was only the latest in what might become a trend, if she let it go unsquashed; a tendency for him to overprotect her. But Cal shook his head as well.

“I’d rather we stayed together, at least for now,” he said. There was no objection, and they pressed on to the north at an easy trot.

The maintained a brisk pace for perhaps half an hour. Soon they could all detect the faint scent that the gnomes had detected; an acrid tang of smoke mixed with something else, an odor of death and destruction that all those who bore arms for a living were familiar with. Benzan’s sharp eyes were the first to note the column of smoke, really just a long trailer of wisps that scattered quickly in the breeze. The smoke originated from just within the edge of the treeline, ahead to their left.

“Be wary,” Cal said.

As they drew nearer, they realized that the smoke’s point of origin intersected a road that emerged from the wood and stretched out to the north, rapidly disappearing in the bends and twists in the land in that direction. The could also make out the vague forms of what had been wagons, most of them now just scorched hulks, and smaller mounds that promised a grim scene even before they reined in and dismounted a short distance away, leading their reluctant mounts forward.

It had been a considerable merchant train, by the looks of it. The remains of eight wagons littered the stretch of road, a few surrounded by the bloated and stinking corpses of horses. Small forms marked the remains of men, some little more than shredded cloth and bones. Too few for a caravan of this size, indicating that some had escaped... or been taken by whoever had done this.

Cal wore his feelings clear on his face as he walked through the area, and Lok wore a hard look that seemed etched from stone. Benzan bent to examine one of the corpses, and paced off a circle around one of the wagons, his sharp eyes alert as he scanned for traces.

“How long, do you think?” Cal asked.

“Better part of a day, I’d guess,” Benzan said, kneeling to examine something in the turf beside the road.

“Any signs of who... or what... did this?” Dana asked, her voice tight. She had stopped beside a body that was only barely recognizable as that, a few white shards showing from a blackened heap. She had seen a lot of death since she’d first left Iriaebor two years ago, but she doubted that she’d ever get used to seeing sights like this.

Benzan hadn’t responded, but he looked thoughtful as he knelt there beside the burned-out wagon. Abruptly, his head shot up, and his hand darted into the quiver at his belt for a long arrow.

Before any of them could ask, they all heard it too, a loud crashing noise that erupted from within the forest to their left, off the road. Dana, who was closest to the noise, retreated quickly to where the rest of them were readying weapons and spells with the calm ease of experience. Whatever it was, it was approaching fast, but the dense forest undergrowth masked it from clear view. Cal first summoned a magical shield, and even as the barrier sprung into being he turned to Benzan, shrouding him within the protection of improved invisibility. That tactic they’d agreed upon in advance, after witnessing its effectiveness back in Undermountain. Invisible, Benzan’s ability to find weak points in a foe’s defenses became that much more deadly. Dana, in the meantime, enhanced Lok with bull’s strength.

The approaching noise grew closer, and the undergrowth facing the road started to quiver. They heard rather than saw Benzan draw and fire, his arrow suddenly appearing as it lanced through the brush, the missile trailing a line of burning flame as the power of his new bow imparted its magical energy to the arrow. They saw a flash of fire and heard an angry roar that indicated that the shot had struck home.

Or at the very least, ticked off whatever was there.

They didn’t have to wait much longer to see the identity of their foes, as several huge forms appeared and tore through the undergrowth in a ponderous rush. They were beetles, huge things each the size of a considerable wagon, their sheer mass punching holes in the thick shroud of brush as they skittered forward onto the road. Their bodies were covered by armored carapaces colored in a drab medley of dark colors that formed a sort of camouflage, and it was hard to see what was more dangerous, the hard chitinous horns that jutted from their heads like a massive spike, or the snapping mandibles that looked large enough to take a head or an arm off with a single powerful bite.

There were six in all, and without hesitating they immediately turned as one and came menacingly forward toward the companions.

 

[Lazybones]

Book VII, Part 13

The half-dozen massive stag beetles scuttled forward. They didn’t move very fast for their size, but they didn’t have that far to go before reaching the companions.

The four adventurers did not wait for them to close the range. Even as Lok stepped forward and hefted his axe, the others were launching spells and attacks. Flaming arrows appeared from empty air as Benzan rapidly plied his bow, and even though the beetles’ carapaces seemed as hard as armor, a violent screech told of at least one hit telling.

Cal cleared his mind for another spell. Beside him, Dana looked about to do the same, but she found herself fighting the reins in her hand as her horse backed away, panicked by the appearance of the beetles. The others had already either dropped their reins as they prepared for battle, or hastily lashed them to whatever was nearby. Benzan’s horse was tied to a wagon shell close to the approaching beetles, and the animal neighed in desperate fear as it reared and tried to get free. Its struggles only attracted one of the beetles, which made its way toward the trapped horse.

Dana cursed as her horse dragged her off balance. She dropped her spear and hurriedly wrapped the reins around a sapling that tilted at an angle just off the road. Leaving the horse, she quickly recovered her spear and returned to the fray.

Lok stood his ground, waiting for the first beetle to reach him. The ground shook with the combined weight of the six giant vermin, but as the first loomed over him he felt a surge of magic flow into him. With his speed boosted by Cal’s magical haste, he tore into the beetle’s head with his axe. Even without the rime of magical frost from his old familiar weapon, now resting in a room deep under the ground hundreds of miles away, his new blade tore deeply into the thing’s hide. Fetid ichor sprayed onto his arm as the beetle snapped at him with its mandibles, but with his enhanced speed he easily brought his shield around in time to block. The thing’s sheer weight threatened to drive him back and overpower him, but with a yell he unleashed a flurry of powerful strokes, his axe tearing vicious gashes in the beetle’s head. Before the thing could manage another attack it shuddered as a final blow slammed hard into its braincase, and collapsed to the ground in a quivering heap.

Before he could rejoice in his victory, though, he turned just in time to see a second beetle that surged over him, trampling him into the ground.

Cal found himself unpleasantly exposed as a pair of beetles surged toward him. In a flash he quickly catalogued his remaining spells; while a polymorph could transform one into a harmless form, casting the spell on an unwilling foe depended largely on overcoming its inherent fortitude—and these beetles looked pretty tough, from his current vantage. A web might immobilize them briefly, but with them already on the road there was no way to place the spell that would not capture Lok and possibly Benzan as well. Reluctantly, he drew out his wand of color spray, and as the beetles entered its range unleashed a barrage of blinding light. Even if the beetles were too tough to knock out, the display should stun them for at least a few seconds, give him and Dana time to act...

Only when the colors dissolved, the beetles were lumbering toward him, unaffected.

Benzan continued to ply his bow at his chosen target, even as it turned aside and chittered eagerly toward the wagon where his horse grew increasingly and understandably desperate in its struggles. He trusted in Cal’s invisibility to protect him as the creature trampled past within a few paces of where he was standing. Three smoldering arrows already jutted from holes he’d blasted in its armored form, but the stupid thing seemed ignorant of its pains as it focused on its prey. The tiefling shouted in a last-ditch effort to draw its attention, but instead of turning it swept forward and snapped its mandibles firmly around the torso of his hapless horse. The horse screamed as a loud snap filled the clearing, then went down thrashing as the beetle drove it forward from the wagon. The reins, still fastened to the burned out shell, tore a huge chunk of wood free and dragged after the vermin and its meal.

“Damn...” Benzan said. He raised his bow to fire again, but turned as he heard a familiar cry from behind him.

Lok felt the mass of the beetle over him, pressing him down roughly into the damp ground, threatening to smash him through sheer weight. Grunting he shifted his arms and planted his weight firmly, heaving up with a strength that forced the beetle off two of its legs as it pivoted and tried to get at the crunchy morsel it had trampled. The beetle slid off his armored body and twisted to bring its mandibles to bear, but staggered as Lok slammed his axe into its side. Its carapace cracked as the axe tore through into the soft flesh underneath, and the beetle let out a screech that grated like fingernails on slate.

Lok raised his axe to strike again, but before he could attack he sensed another large form looming behind him. Before he could fully turn he felt something like iron bands snap around him, and a massive weight crushing his body squeezed him tightly within his armor, the metal plates bending under the stress. He tried to twist free, but it was like fighting against the inexorable press of a mountain. Looking up, he saw the wounded beetle had turned and was coming forward, its own mandibles working eagerly as they sought to tear free their own bit of flesh from this troublesome snack.

Cal gave way as the beetles surged at him. He leapt aside as the first nearly trampled him, and even though he avoided being caught under it he felt a thick leg clip his side and knock him roughly aside. He managed to roll with the impact and come back onto his feet, just in time to see the second beetle charging straight toward him, mandibles snapping toward his head.

The battle was not going well.

 

[wolff96]

Demons, devils, and the avatar of a rogue god. And now they're getting hammered by a sextet of beetles.

Humility is a good thing, right?

Love the battle description as always, Lazybones.

 

[Maldur]

Yeah, great as ever!

thanks, LB.

 

[Lazybones]

In Neverwinter Nights, stag beetles are one of my favorite monsters to use as a DM/builder. With a 4d6+9 bite, even high-level characters have to respect 'em (and low-level characters had best run!).

* * * * *

Book VII, Part 14

Cal realized belatedly that the cry he heard was his own, drawn out by the surprise of having a beetle the size of a wagon rumbling rapidly toward him. The beetle’s mandibles snapped down at his head. Blue light flared as its jaws snapped on the edges of his magical shield, the barrier holding just long enough for him to leap back. The beetle came on, however, but the momentary delay gave Cal just enough time to utter the syllables of a spell. He felt the familiar prickling of his flesh as the stoneskin settled in around him, girding his frame with protection stronger than the most skillfully forged set of plate armor.

Lok was caught between two beetles who seemed intent on tearing him into two roughly equal portions. The combination of his magical armor and Cal’s haste had thus far kept the pair from succeeding, but pinned between the two of them, the genasi warrior knew that even his considerable fortitude would not keep him safe for long. With his enhanced speed and strength he managed to tear free of the first beetle’s grasp, ignoring the pain that twisted through his torso as he lifted his axe to strike the wounded one in front of him. He scored a hit that tore a deep gash in its head, but the beetle seemed nonplussed by the hurt as it snapped at him again. This time it failed to get a good hold on him, but his trained instincts warned him that the one behind him was coming on again, seeking to regain its hold.

Still, he started when he heard a warcry sound out somewhere behind him and to his right, and he sensed rather than saw the beetle behind him suddenly shudder and then shift its massive frame to the side. He could not turn to see what was happening, though, as the wounded beetle lurched forward again, and he had to put all of his attention into ducking another vicious snap of its powerful jaws.

Dana rushed to Cal’s aid, engaging the beetle that had tried to trample him with her longspear. She thrust the head of her weapon at its head, biting off a curse as it glanced off of the creature’s thick hide. The attack certainly got its attention, though, and she danced back swiftly, able to easily outpace it even without the boost from her magical boots, drawing it away while she continued to thrust at it with the spear.

Cal found himself hard-pressed. The beetle attacked him again, and even with his stoneskin he felt pain as its mandibles snapped onto his shoulder, dragging him upward. He managed to pull free before it got a firm grasp, and staggered back, knowing that he would not be able to outdistance it.

Suddenly, a long arrow slammed into the thing’s head, just below one dark, alien eye. For an instant, he thought of Benzan, but then he saw that this arrow flared with silver tendrils of electrical energy that spread out into a deadly nimbus around the creature’s head. The discharge only lasted a second, but it was clear that the beetle felt the pain. It lifted its head just in time to take a second arrow placed only a handspan from the first, driving just as deep. The beetle screeched in pain, confused, and Cal took full advantage of its distraction to draw his wand and fire an acid arrow point-blank into its open mouth.

That seemed to get its attention, anyway, and it came at him again, charging blindly forward. This time there was no chance to escape, and he went down, trying to protect his head as it trampled him.

Benzan ground his teeth with frustration as he rushed toward Cal and his massive adversary. Thus far he’d scored several hits, but even with his sneak attacks and flaming arrows they seemed to do little more than annoy the lumbering creatures. For a moment he felt divided as he saw another beetle chasing after Dana, but he forced himself to focus on his current target. He knew—he hoped—that she could handle herself.

He saw the arrows streak out from the forest cover on the opposite side of the road and hit the beetle, and he saw a hulking man-sized form appear from the same location and charge into melee with the beetles threatening Lok a short distance away. He did not spare any more time for these new allies, if allies they were, for the beetle swept forward over Cal, the gnome disappearing under its sprawling body. Benzan charged, drawing and firing one more arrow before he drew his sword. The arrow glanced off the beetle’s thick carapace, but his sword bit deep into its body, staggering the beetle as it lurched forward another step, then a second, before it stumbled and fell to the ground.

Benzan dropped his bow and heaved at the creature, trying to lift it enough to get to Cal. The gnome finally appeared, looking haggard but otherwise intact, and crawled out to safety. Fortunately the creature’s full weight hadn’t landed on him, only the edge of its shell that had dragged him down when it had finally fallen.

“Thanks,” he said, trying to shake off the slicks of mud that covered his clothes. Benzan realized that he must be visible; he looked down and saw streaks of mud and blood from the beetle covering him, partially outlining the lower half of his body.

“We’re not done yet,” Benzan said, dropping the beetle and looking for his bow.

But the battle was already drawing to a close. Lok and his newfound ally had tore into their two adversaries with equal vigor, and even as the tiefling and gnome moved clear the last shuddered and fell. Dana had drawn her beetle into a fruitless chase, whittling it down with thrusts of her spear; finally the realization of pain had reached its tiny brain and it broke away, turning back into the forest to vanish in a flurry of scattered underbrush. The final beetle had spent its time devouring Benzan’s horse, but now lay unmoving beside what was left of the carcass, at least a half-dozen arrows jutting from its body.

The archer who had plied those arrows now emerged from the forest, moving to join his companion beside Lok. As the adventurers came together to face them, they recognized the strangers, among the last people they’d expected to find in this place.

“Lariel! Gorath!” Cal exclaimed. “Tymora’s luck, your timing is exceptional, but we’d not expected to see you here!”

“Indeed,” the elf archer—an arcane archer of Evereska, he’d introduced himself the last time they’d met, in another isolated place far, far from here. He and his companion, a half-orc ranger, were agents of the Harpers, that self-appointed group of watchers who monitored the activities of evil organizations throughout much of Faerûn. Some viewed them as heroes, others as meddlers expert at manipulation behind the scenes, but only fools dismissed them.

Gorath watched them without bothering to hide the suspicion that marked his features. He held his axes easily, not threatening but ready to spring into battle again without a moment’s warning. They already knew him to be a man of few words, but the huge gashes in the beetle he’d slain testified to his combat prowess.

“Yeah, real lucky, that you showed up just at that moment,” Benzan added. If the two Harpers were nonplussed at his appearance, his still-invisible form just vaguely outlined by splashes of mud and gore, they gave no sign of it. Of course, Harpers were known as much for their lore as for their other skills, and these two had already shown that they were at least as well traveled as the companions themselves.

For a moment the tension hung in the air between the two groups, then, finally, Lariel’s expression softened. “Perhaps we should talk,” he said, gesturing a short distance down the road with his silver bow. The six of them moved together in that direction, leaving fresh carcasses for the forest carrion to clean up in their wake.

 

[Black Bard]

Part 14...

A great post!! As always...

Lazy, maybe you could provide us with the stats of Lariel and Gorath... Would you??