Travels through the Wild West: Books V-VIII (Epilogue)
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Book VII, Part 27
Benzan could only watch in horror as the skeletal dragon came out of the fog. He was dimly aware of his companions, of Lariel’s words, Cal’s shouted warning, but his perceptions were filled with the dracolich, and the glowing red orbs that seemed to hold him captive in their fell light. That evil stare pierced him, and he could not move, could not act to save himself as the creature reared up, and unleashed its dire breath weapon upon the gathered companions.
Benzan felt burning agony explode through his chest as a cloud of white death blasted over him from the dracolich’s gaping maw. His natural agility was of no help, paralyzed as he was from the effects of the undead dragon’s terrible gaze. His vision swam out of focus as the corrosive gas blasted across his face, the pain stabbing like needles into his skull, but that was nothing to the pain that filled his lungs as they took the toxic vapors inside him. Some distant part of him was aware of the shouts of his friends. He was still conscious, but could not even move enough to wipe his eyes.
Then something hard crashed into him, and all he could see was the ground rushing up to meet him.
The cloud of chlorine gas blasted into the companions, driving them backward, searing their lungs and scorching their exposed flesh. Cal, following his own warning, was quick enough to dodge behind the stone slab, and that combined with the protection that Zev had placed on him earlier allowed him to escape most of the effects of the blast. Dana, her speed augmented by her magical boots, was even quicker, darting to the side and escaping the area of effect entirely. The other companions, however, could not escape, although Lariel and Zev, with their magical protections, suffered less than the others.
Lok took the force of the blast with his incredible fortitude of his mixed outsider and dwarven bloodlines. He’d felt the cold power of the dracolich’s gaze, but now that chill was replaced by a burning anger that flowed through his veins, blossoming as he hefted his axe with grim courage. He glanced over at Gorath, intending to coordinate his attack with the half-orc, but the ranger stood frozen, gripped by the effects of the dracolich’s paralyzing stare, his face blasted by its corrosive breath. The others had scattered, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Benzan, similarly affected.
Lok knew that the best way to help his friends was to bring the fight directly to their enemy. Raising his axe, he let out a grim cry and charged headlong into battle.
Zev shrugged off the effects of the dracolich’s gaze, and his resistance spell helped him weather the effects of its poisonous cloud, but he saw that his companions had not all fared as well. The tiefling archer looked ready to collapse, held in place by dark magic, completely vulnerable. The gnoll felt the raging rush of battle fury begin to pound in his veins, but he could not leave an ally to die. He halted in his rush to knock the man prone, and called upon his connection to the natural world around him. He felt a sick taint as the corruption all around him threatened to break his link, but he fought through it and finished the enchantment. A translucent hemisphere of force appeared over the prone warrior, a barrier shaped in the form of a giant turtle shell. Zev grunted—he’d done what he could—and rushed toward the evil being that had claimed the soul of his home. He knew that death awaited him, but he felt no fear.
Things started happening quickly. Lariel was plying his bow on the run, darting sideways to put distance between himself and the others. The dragon’s skeletal body had the hardiness of steel plate, but one of his shots struck bone and blasted a small hole in its thick spine. A small wound, but a beginning. Cal, sheltered by the reassuring mass of the stone behind him, called upon his haste spell to fortify himself, then launched into the remainder of his magical arsenal. He knew that the dragon would be immune to any attacks of the mind, being undead, but hoped that he could bolster his allies enough to last against this terrible adversary. He looked out over the battlefield and immediately saw both Benzan and Gorath, both just standing there in the open. He watched Zev take steps to protect Benzan, and as the druid rushed to aid Lok against the dracolich he lifted his hand and called upon the power of his ring. His telekinetic grip took hold of the paralyzed half-orc, and he quickly drew him back to his shelter in the lee of the thick stone. His attempt to dispel the paralysis holding him had no effect, however, and he bit his tongue in frustration while Gorath trembled with his effort to get his frozen body to obey his commands.
Dana kept running, calling upon the power of Selûne as she did so. After getting clear of the dragon’s breath she’d turned around, and what she’d seen had nearly frozen her the way that the undead creature’s dark gaze had threatened to. The others had scattered as the dragon’s breath had scoured them, but Benzan, her Benzan, had just stood there, caught by its paralysis, helpless. Indecision had gripped her with a paralysis more dangerous than that of the dracolich, until a voice had shouted inside her head.
“You have to act! If that thing isn’t killed, none of us will leave this place alive!”
The voice jolted her into action, and she ran. He course took her on a tangent around the dracolich, and as the power of the goddess flowed into her, she lifted into the air, streaking above the battlefield. She did not go far, however, and spun back to face the dragon once she had moved sixty feet or so off the ground, facing its flank with her spear held tightly in both hands.
They would need help.
Once again she opened her mind to the goddess, but even as she established the link for her summoning, pain blasted into her as a bolt of jagged electricity slammed into her from behind. The spell vanished as she was flung forward, and she nearly lost her grip on her spear as she spun about, trying to reestablish control.
The fur-clad sorcerer of the Cult of the Dragon nodded to himself in satisfaction, flying back to the mists as he called upon another invisibility spell to cloak him from sight. This battle belonged to Utharax, but he was not above striking from the shadows, whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Lok charged the dracolich, and the contest seemed laughable as the diminutive genasi neared the huge outline of the undead dragon. As he entered its reach the dracolich’s iron jaws lashed down at him, its powerful bite glancing off his shoulder. Lok staggered as the icy cold of its touch cut him to the bone, but he shrugged its paralysis off with a roar and leapt at the creature’s nearest leg. His axe came down in a powerful arc, crushing one of its leg bones, causing the massive creature to lurch under the impact. For a moment its glowing eyes flickered, but when its stare fixed upon the fighter once more, they burned with an unabated hatred.
Lok ducked under its leg as the dracolich shifted in response to his attack and reset its claws on the hard ground. He raised his axe to strike at the thick bones of its ribs rising up like a cage above him, but before he could connect with his first attack the creature suddenly reared back on its hind legs and unleashed a full assault upon him. Its jaws clasped with crushing force on his shoulder, lifting him even as claws as sharp and as strong as daggers tore through his magical plate into his sides. Then he was flying, his axe gone from his hands, the cold that seeped into his body from his wounds stealing his energy like a nimble thief. Mercifully, he could barely feel anything when he slammed hard into the ground ten paces away, barely clinging to consciousness.
All he could do was stare impotently up at the gray sky as the desperate battle raged on around him, awaiting his turn to die.
With only four of the seven who’d come to Nar’dek’alok still able to act, and all of those injured, it seemed that perhaps he would not have too long to wait.
Benzan could only watch in horror as the skeletal dragon came out of the fog. He was dimly aware of his companions, of Lariel’s words, Cal’s shouted warning, but his perceptions were filled with the dracolich, and the glowing red orbs that seemed to hold him captive in their fell light. That evil stare pierced him, and he could not move, could not act to save himself as the creature reared up, and unleashed its dire breath weapon upon the gathered companions.
Benzan felt burning agony explode through his chest as a cloud of white death blasted over him from the dracolich’s gaping maw. His natural agility was of no help, paralyzed as he was from the effects of the undead dragon’s terrible gaze. His vision swam out of focus as the corrosive gas blasted across his face, the pain stabbing like needles into his skull, but that was nothing to the pain that filled his lungs as they took the toxic vapors inside him. Some distant part of him was aware of the shouts of his friends. He was still conscious, but could not even move enough to wipe his eyes.
Then something hard crashed into him, and all he could see was the ground rushing up to meet him.
The cloud of chlorine gas blasted into the companions, driving them backward, searing their lungs and scorching their exposed flesh. Cal, following his own warning, was quick enough to dodge behind the stone slab, and that combined with the protection that Zev had placed on him earlier allowed him to escape most of the effects of the blast. Dana, her speed augmented by her magical boots, was even quicker, darting to the side and escaping the area of effect entirely. The other companions, however, could not escape, although Lariel and Zev, with their magical protections, suffered less than the others.
Lok took the force of the blast with his incredible fortitude of his mixed outsider and dwarven bloodlines. He’d felt the cold power of the dracolich’s gaze, but now that chill was replaced by a burning anger that flowed through his veins, blossoming as he hefted his axe with grim courage. He glanced over at Gorath, intending to coordinate his attack with the half-orc, but the ranger stood frozen, gripped by the effects of the dracolich’s paralyzing stare, his face blasted by its corrosive breath. The others had scattered, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Benzan, similarly affected.
Lok knew that the best way to help his friends was to bring the fight directly to their enemy. Raising his axe, he let out a grim cry and charged headlong into battle.
Zev shrugged off the effects of the dracolich’s gaze, and his resistance spell helped him weather the effects of its poisonous cloud, but he saw that his companions had not all fared as well. The tiefling archer looked ready to collapse, held in place by dark magic, completely vulnerable. The gnoll felt the raging rush of battle fury begin to pound in his veins, but he could not leave an ally to die. He halted in his rush to knock the man prone, and called upon his connection to the natural world around him. He felt a sick taint as the corruption all around him threatened to break his link, but he fought through it and finished the enchantment. A translucent hemisphere of force appeared over the prone warrior, a barrier shaped in the form of a giant turtle shell. Zev grunted—he’d done what he could—and rushed toward the evil being that had claimed the soul of his home. He knew that death awaited him, but he felt no fear.
Things started happening quickly. Lariel was plying his bow on the run, darting sideways to put distance between himself and the others. The dragon’s skeletal body had the hardiness of steel plate, but one of his shots struck bone and blasted a small hole in its thick spine. A small wound, but a beginning. Cal, sheltered by the reassuring mass of the stone behind him, called upon his haste spell to fortify himself, then launched into the remainder of his magical arsenal. He knew that the dragon would be immune to any attacks of the mind, being undead, but hoped that he could bolster his allies enough to last against this terrible adversary. He looked out over the battlefield and immediately saw both Benzan and Gorath, both just standing there in the open. He watched Zev take steps to protect Benzan, and as the druid rushed to aid Lok against the dracolich he lifted his hand and called upon the power of his ring. His telekinetic grip took hold of the paralyzed half-orc, and he quickly drew him back to his shelter in the lee of the thick stone. His attempt to dispel the paralysis holding him had no effect, however, and he bit his tongue in frustration while Gorath trembled with his effort to get his frozen body to obey his commands.
Dana kept running, calling upon the power of Selûne as she did so. After getting clear of the dragon’s breath she’d turned around, and what she’d seen had nearly frozen her the way that the undead creature’s dark gaze had threatened to. The others had scattered as the dragon’s breath had scoured them, but Benzan, her Benzan, had just stood there, caught by its paralysis, helpless. Indecision had gripped her with a paralysis more dangerous than that of the dracolich, until a voice had shouted inside her head.
“You have to act! If that thing isn’t killed, none of us will leave this place alive!”
The voice jolted her into action, and she ran. He course took her on a tangent around the dracolich, and as the power of the goddess flowed into her, she lifted into the air, streaking above the battlefield. She did not go far, however, and spun back to face the dragon once she had moved sixty feet or so off the ground, facing its flank with her spear held tightly in both hands.
They would need help.
Once again she opened her mind to the goddess, but even as she established the link for her summoning, pain blasted into her as a bolt of jagged electricity slammed into her from behind. The spell vanished as she was flung forward, and she nearly lost her grip on her spear as she spun about, trying to reestablish control.
The fur-clad sorcerer of the Cult of the Dragon nodded to himself in satisfaction, flying back to the mists as he called upon another invisibility spell to cloak him from sight. This battle belonged to Utharax, but he was not above striking from the shadows, whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Lok charged the dracolich, and the contest seemed laughable as the diminutive genasi neared the huge outline of the undead dragon. As he entered its reach the dracolich’s iron jaws lashed down at him, its powerful bite glancing off his shoulder. Lok staggered as the icy cold of its touch cut him to the bone, but he shrugged its paralysis off with a roar and leapt at the creature’s nearest leg. His axe came down in a powerful arc, crushing one of its leg bones, causing the massive creature to lurch under the impact. For a moment its glowing eyes flickered, but when its stare fixed upon the fighter once more, they burned with an unabated hatred.
Lok ducked under its leg as the dracolich shifted in response to his attack and reset its claws on the hard ground. He raised his axe to strike at the thick bones of its ribs rising up like a cage above him, but before he could connect with his first attack the creature suddenly reared back on its hind legs and unleashed a full assault upon him. Its jaws clasped with crushing force on his shoulder, lifting him even as claws as sharp and as strong as daggers tore through his magical plate into his sides. Then he was flying, his axe gone from his hands, the cold that seeped into his body from his wounds stealing his energy like a nimble thief. Mercifully, he could barely feel anything when he slammed hard into the ground ten paces away, barely clinging to consciousness.
All he could do was stare impotently up at the gray sky as the desperate battle raged on around him, awaiting his turn to die.
With only four of the seven who’d come to Nar’dek’alok still able to act, and all of those injured, it seemed that perhaps he would not have too long to wait.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Book VII, Part 28
Lariel glanced down at his quiver, at the six arrows that he had remaining. Too few, but nothing to be done for it now, as he drew and fired, and then again. Half his shots were passing through the dracolich’s skeletal frame, or glancing off of steel-tough bone without causing harm, but already a second crack showed where an arrow had told, and now a third as his most recent shot caromed off its thick skull. His jaw clenched as he tried to fight through the fear that continued to make his hands shake, but he was an arcane archer, bred to the bow, and he would not let up his assault until his bow was pried from his dead hands.
Unfortunately, the dracolich seemed to hear his thoughts, for it turned from where it had just devastated Lok—and if it could crush the durable genasi so swiftly, the elf had no illusions about his own chances—and turned toward him. It looked almost fragile, a framework of bones that hung together only through the power of ancient lore and dark magic, but it shook the ground as it charged toward him. It barely paused as it almost casually flicked aside the attacking gnoll druid with a powerful swipe of his tail that laid Zev out flat on the ground, then continued its charge, gathering momentum as it came.
Lariel nodded to himself, then drew his arrow—the last he would ever shoot?—to his cheek. He did not waver as the dragon drew nearer.
Cal stepped out behind the stone column, a good fifty paces to his right. “Lariel, run!” he shouted.
The elf did not hesitate; he’d spent enough time with these new friends to trust them, and their tactics. He sprinted, knowing it would never be fast enough to outrun the dracolich. Not without a spell, and there was no time to cast his expeditious retreat. But even as he started he saw images of himself appear, and he spared himself a smile as he continued, the images fanning out around him, all with arrows nocked to silver bows. With a dozen illusionary archers to deal with, perhaps he might buy some time for his companions before the dragon caught up with him.
Except his momentary reprieve vanished as the illusions suddenly wavered, and disappeared. Lariel felt a familiar touch as the dispel magic cut through his own defenses, undoing the resistance that Gorath had earlier given him to the dracolich’s fell breath.
Perhaps it was time for that expeditious retreat after all.
Once again, the dark sorcerer laughed as he flew back, tucking the now-blank scroll into his belt while he renewed his invisibility spell.
Cal spat a very uncharacteristic curse as his spell was ruined. He caught a glimpse of the enemy wizard—the same one they’d briefly spotted at the beginning of the battle—but there was nothing he could do about him at the moment; his full attention was on the deadly creature that dominated the battlefield. His spells weren’t doing much good, he had to admit, despite his ability to churn them out rapidly under his haste. The dracolich had resisted his polymorph, and an acid arrow from his wand had failed to even grab its attention. He now considered another illusion, but even as he started to call upon the magic he heard a sound from behind that turned him around. It was Gorath, his acid-blasted features slick with sweat from his efforts to fight off the dragon’s paralysis. He was starting to move, hard grunts coming from deep inside of him as he fought through the effect through sheer force of will. Staggering against the stone pillar, he started forward.
“We don’t have much time,” Cal said, moving with magically-enhanced speed as he came to the half-orc. “Let me give you something to help protect you...” He considered invisibility, but dismissed it—it was too likely that the dracolich would penetrate it. Instead, he quickly cast displacement on the ranger.
Their gazes met as the image of the half-orc began to distort, shifting. “It might give you a few moments,” Cal said grimly. Both understood; they knew what they were facing.
With a mighty roar, the half-orc Harper rounded the stone and charged into battle.
A few hundred paces away, Lariel fell against another of the stone pillars with a loud crack. He fell, fumbling for the hilt of his sword even as unconsciousness claimed him. He’d bought his allies a few precious moments, but this enemy had been too much for him. He did not see the undead dragon as it reared over him, ready to finish it...
Dana streaked down past the dracolich’s head, darting past it so swiftly that she had already gotten clear by the time that it lashed out with a skeletal wing at her. She landed at Lariel’s side, calling upon divine power to aid her. The dracolich let out a roar and opened its jaws to blast her and the elf with another dose of its deadly breath, but even as it did so a slash of light appeared, widening into a portal that Dana hurled herself through, Lariel slung under one arm. The portal closed even as the cone of corrosive gas seared the stone.
The dracolich turned, enraged at being cheated of its kill, seeking out another foe. It saw Gorath emerge from beyond the stone, and spread its huge wings. They could no longer serve to carry it aloft, but with its new form provided by the Cult of the Dragon, it no longer needed them. It leapt into the air, carrying itself up and forward with powerful magic. Remembering the habits of its past existence, it dove at the lone warrior, ready to grab it off the ground with a single snap of its jaws. The warrior stood his ground, and laughed—laughed!—as if taunting the great drake.
Utharax had not been an old dragon, by the standards of its kind, when the Cult of the Dragon had transformed it into what it now was. In fact, it had been pride, and envy of its more powerful brethren, that had drive the dragon to accept the bargain that the Cult had offered, stripping away its life and its flesh in exchange for the power offered by this new, undying form. It found that while it could no longer feel, at least as it once had, it could still hate, and hate was what drove it now as it lashed out at its foe. At the last moment, it realized its mistake, recognizing the spell that protected the half-orc as its jaws snapped around a figment that wasn’t there. The gnome, it had to be, with his troublesome little spells. No matter. The dracolich spread its mighty wings—it no longer had to, but it was still used to the motions of its living life—and swiveled into a solid landing. Immediately it spun to face the half-orc.
And found itself facing twenty identical warriors, all charging toward it.
Keeping a close eye out for the enemy wizard, Cal watched as his second illusion seemed to be holding, at least for now. This one would remain for a time even after he shifted his attention from it, so he turned to where he’d seen Dana and Lariel emerge from the cleric’s dimension door a few hundred paces back along the trail they’d traveled earlier. Dana was already lifting back into the air, while Lariel remained. Either he too was under the effects of the dracolich’s paralysis, or—
He didn’t finish the thought, trying to think of what else he could do against this implacable adversary.
Zev slowly rose, fighting the cold that threatened to pull him back down again. He found his spear and used that to prop himself up, gathering his strength as he turned toward the demon-dragon. His jaws twisted in a grim snarl. One hit. One hit had taken him out of the battle, had defeated him while these others these strangers to the Wood fought on. He saw the dragon land and turn toward the half-orc warrior. That one, at least, had some woods-craft, but even he would not stand long against such an adversary. Grimly, the druid turned once more toward the fray.
He paused as he heard a groan to his left. He turned aside to see the genasi warrior lying there, his metal armor pierced in several places, his stony face pale. He too had fallen, but his eyes were still open, and they shone with pain.
“You fought bravely, companion,” the druid said. “I cannot aid you further, but once the cold touch passes, you will be needed once more in the fray.” He bent to touch the genasi, calling upon a spell to pass healing into the battered warrior, then he took up his spear, and started running once more toward the death that awaited him.
Gorath growled in rage, leaping once more at the dracolich as the images of himself darted around him, each offering its own feint at the creature. His battleaxe clove bone, slamming hard into the creature’s neck as he leapt, and as he came back down he rolled to the side, bringing both weapons up as he regained his footing.
But the dracolich was a cunning adversary. As soon as it felt the touch of a genuine attack it had shifted and was charging, and as Gorath landed it struck. Claws tore at him—one passed through empty air, fooled by the displacement, but the second tore into armor and flesh, and drew back dripping blood. The dracolich kept up its attack, buffeting the half-orc with a wing, knocking him back. Gorath fought the effects of its touch through sheer fortitude, and as the jaws came down again he lashed out, chipping a fist-sized piece of its skull away with a powerful stroke of his axe. He roared defiance, lost in the fury of his rage.
Unfortunately, his luck had run out.
The dracolich came in again, its head darting down with incredible speed, snatching up the half-orc and lifting its head high with Gorath’s struggling form pinned in its jaws. Even trapped, even with teeth stabbing into his body like daggers, the Harper continued to attack, bashing his handaxe into the side of its skull. The dracolich reared, tightening its grip on the half-orc...
....and breathed.
Lariel glanced down at his quiver, at the six arrows that he had remaining. Too few, but nothing to be done for it now, as he drew and fired, and then again. Half his shots were passing through the dracolich’s skeletal frame, or glancing off of steel-tough bone without causing harm, but already a second crack showed where an arrow had told, and now a third as his most recent shot caromed off its thick skull. His jaw clenched as he tried to fight through the fear that continued to make his hands shake, but he was an arcane archer, bred to the bow, and he would not let up his assault until his bow was pried from his dead hands.
Unfortunately, the dracolich seemed to hear his thoughts, for it turned from where it had just devastated Lok—and if it could crush the durable genasi so swiftly, the elf had no illusions about his own chances—and turned toward him. It looked almost fragile, a framework of bones that hung together only through the power of ancient lore and dark magic, but it shook the ground as it charged toward him. It barely paused as it almost casually flicked aside the attacking gnoll druid with a powerful swipe of his tail that laid Zev out flat on the ground, then continued its charge, gathering momentum as it came.
Lariel nodded to himself, then drew his arrow—the last he would ever shoot?—to his cheek. He did not waver as the dragon drew nearer.
Cal stepped out behind the stone column, a good fifty paces to his right. “Lariel, run!” he shouted.
The elf did not hesitate; he’d spent enough time with these new friends to trust them, and their tactics. He sprinted, knowing it would never be fast enough to outrun the dracolich. Not without a spell, and there was no time to cast his expeditious retreat. But even as he started he saw images of himself appear, and he spared himself a smile as he continued, the images fanning out around him, all with arrows nocked to silver bows. With a dozen illusionary archers to deal with, perhaps he might buy some time for his companions before the dragon caught up with him.
Except his momentary reprieve vanished as the illusions suddenly wavered, and disappeared. Lariel felt a familiar touch as the dispel magic cut through his own defenses, undoing the resistance that Gorath had earlier given him to the dracolich’s fell breath.
Perhaps it was time for that expeditious retreat after all.
Once again, the dark sorcerer laughed as he flew back, tucking the now-blank scroll into his belt while he renewed his invisibility spell.
Cal spat a very uncharacteristic curse as his spell was ruined. He caught a glimpse of the enemy wizard—the same one they’d briefly spotted at the beginning of the battle—but there was nothing he could do about him at the moment; his full attention was on the deadly creature that dominated the battlefield. His spells weren’t doing much good, he had to admit, despite his ability to churn them out rapidly under his haste. The dracolich had resisted his polymorph, and an acid arrow from his wand had failed to even grab its attention. He now considered another illusion, but even as he started to call upon the magic he heard a sound from behind that turned him around. It was Gorath, his acid-blasted features slick with sweat from his efforts to fight off the dragon’s paralysis. He was starting to move, hard grunts coming from deep inside of him as he fought through the effect through sheer force of will. Staggering against the stone pillar, he started forward.
“We don’t have much time,” Cal said, moving with magically-enhanced speed as he came to the half-orc. “Let me give you something to help protect you...” He considered invisibility, but dismissed it—it was too likely that the dracolich would penetrate it. Instead, he quickly cast displacement on the ranger.
Their gazes met as the image of the half-orc began to distort, shifting. “It might give you a few moments,” Cal said grimly. Both understood; they knew what they were facing.
With a mighty roar, the half-orc Harper rounded the stone and charged into battle.
A few hundred paces away, Lariel fell against another of the stone pillars with a loud crack. He fell, fumbling for the hilt of his sword even as unconsciousness claimed him. He’d bought his allies a few precious moments, but this enemy had been too much for him. He did not see the undead dragon as it reared over him, ready to finish it...
Dana streaked down past the dracolich’s head, darting past it so swiftly that she had already gotten clear by the time that it lashed out with a skeletal wing at her. She landed at Lariel’s side, calling upon divine power to aid her. The dracolich let out a roar and opened its jaws to blast her and the elf with another dose of its deadly breath, but even as it did so a slash of light appeared, widening into a portal that Dana hurled herself through, Lariel slung under one arm. The portal closed even as the cone of corrosive gas seared the stone.
The dracolich turned, enraged at being cheated of its kill, seeking out another foe. It saw Gorath emerge from beyond the stone, and spread its huge wings. They could no longer serve to carry it aloft, but with its new form provided by the Cult of the Dragon, it no longer needed them. It leapt into the air, carrying itself up and forward with powerful magic. Remembering the habits of its past existence, it dove at the lone warrior, ready to grab it off the ground with a single snap of its jaws. The warrior stood his ground, and laughed—laughed!—as if taunting the great drake.
Utharax had not been an old dragon, by the standards of its kind, when the Cult of the Dragon had transformed it into what it now was. In fact, it had been pride, and envy of its more powerful brethren, that had drive the dragon to accept the bargain that the Cult had offered, stripping away its life and its flesh in exchange for the power offered by this new, undying form. It found that while it could no longer feel, at least as it once had, it could still hate, and hate was what drove it now as it lashed out at its foe. At the last moment, it realized its mistake, recognizing the spell that protected the half-orc as its jaws snapped around a figment that wasn’t there. The gnome, it had to be, with his troublesome little spells. No matter. The dracolich spread its mighty wings—it no longer had to, but it was still used to the motions of its living life—and swiveled into a solid landing. Immediately it spun to face the half-orc.
And found itself facing twenty identical warriors, all charging toward it.
Keeping a close eye out for the enemy wizard, Cal watched as his second illusion seemed to be holding, at least for now. This one would remain for a time even after he shifted his attention from it, so he turned to where he’d seen Dana and Lariel emerge from the cleric’s dimension door a few hundred paces back along the trail they’d traveled earlier. Dana was already lifting back into the air, while Lariel remained. Either he too was under the effects of the dracolich’s paralysis, or—
He didn’t finish the thought, trying to think of what else he could do against this implacable adversary.
Zev slowly rose, fighting the cold that threatened to pull him back down again. He found his spear and used that to prop himself up, gathering his strength as he turned toward the demon-dragon. His jaws twisted in a grim snarl. One hit. One hit had taken him out of the battle, had defeated him while these others these strangers to the Wood fought on. He saw the dragon land and turn toward the half-orc warrior. That one, at least, had some woods-craft, but even he would not stand long against such an adversary. Grimly, the druid turned once more toward the fray.
He paused as he heard a groan to his left. He turned aside to see the genasi warrior lying there, his metal armor pierced in several places, his stony face pale. He too had fallen, but his eyes were still open, and they shone with pain.
“You fought bravely, companion,” the druid said. “I cannot aid you further, but once the cold touch passes, you will be needed once more in the fray.” He bent to touch the genasi, calling upon a spell to pass healing into the battered warrior, then he took up his spear, and started running once more toward the death that awaited him.
Gorath growled in rage, leaping once more at the dracolich as the images of himself darted around him, each offering its own feint at the creature. His battleaxe clove bone, slamming hard into the creature’s neck as he leapt, and as he came back down he rolled to the side, bringing both weapons up as he regained his footing.
But the dracolich was a cunning adversary. As soon as it felt the touch of a genuine attack it had shifted and was charging, and as Gorath landed it struck. Claws tore at him—one passed through empty air, fooled by the displacement, but the second tore into armor and flesh, and drew back dripping blood. The dracolich kept up its attack, buffeting the half-orc with a wing, knocking him back. Gorath fought the effects of its touch through sheer fortitude, and as the jaws came down again he lashed out, chipping a fist-sized piece of its skull away with a powerful stroke of his axe. He roared defiance, lost in the fury of his rage.
Unfortunately, his luck had run out.
The dracolich came in again, its head darting down with incredible speed, snatching up the half-orc and lifting its head high with Gorath’s struggling form pinned in its jaws. Even trapped, even with teeth stabbing into his body like daggers, the Harper continued to attack, bashing his handaxe into the side of its skull. The dracolich reared, tightening its grip on the half-orc...
....and breathed.
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