Travels through the Wild West: Books V-VIII (Epilogue)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Black Bard
First Post
Great Story, Lazy!!!
I really like the way Cal deals with Benzan...
It seems that our heroes detour from the big fight, too bad... But something tells me that a black sun will rise on this battle...
Poor Goran...
I really like the way Cal deals with Benzan...
It seems that our heroes detour from the big fight, too bad... But something tells me that a black sun will rise on this battle...
Poor Goran...
Lazybones
Adventurer
Maldur said:
Heh heh... I was noting where the future posts for the rest of Book Seven would fall, and I think I can promise several Friday cliffhangers in a row that will be quite satisfying...
And hopefully the events between won't be dull either, as we move toward the culmination of several confrontations that have been brewing for some time.
But first, a lighter update, before we get back into the dark and serious stuff:
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 38
Cal felt a surge of exhilaration as the rolling landscape passed quickly beneath him. As high up as they were, the ground was just an undulating expanse of hills and ridges, the colors muted in the gray of the fading afternoon. At least the rain had eased to a drizzle, although fat droplets still drove at his face, forcing him to close his eyes, and wind tore at his cloak, threatening to rip it from his body.
Dana, holding him by an arm wrapped around his body, helped shield him from the worst of it. At first he’d clung to her tightly, as the sight of the ground falling away rapidly had been disconcerting even with the reassurance offered by his feather fall spell. Now, though, even with the poor weather, he was amazed at the sensation of flying.
This was one spell he would have to add to his repertoire.
He glanced back over his shoulder, and caught sight of Benzan and the others. Benzan was clearly having to exert some effort, with both Lok and Lariel perched on his back, even though they’d tried to place as much of their miscellaneous gear as would fit within the extradimensional pockets of Cal’s magical backpack before he’d implemented his plan.
He had to admit, there was a certain graceful beauty in the tiefling’s new form, granted by the power of Cal’s polymorph spell. He’d gotten the idea from Dana, who was quite familiar with that magical horse known as the pegasus through her use of her divine summoning spells. Admittedly, it had taken a while for Benzan to get used to flying, but now he seemed to have the knack of it down.
The pegasus/tiefling flapped its wings in powerful strokes that carried it and its passengers over the rolling hills. Lariel seemed to be enjoying the ride, laughing and waving at Cal as he saw the gnome looking back, but Lok, holding on behind the slender elf, appeared to have his eyes closed, his body rigid. Cal, feeling a slight tinge of vertigo as he glanced down at the hills below, understood.
He’d suggested that they fly above the clouds, to leave the rain below them, but Dana had vetoed that idea. Not only did it get colder the higher one went, she explained, at a certain distance it became difficult to breathe, and furthermore they would have to be careful of the duration of her spell, lest it fail without leaving sufficient time for them to descend to the ground. Cal knew his feather fall would avail them in such a circumstance, but he deferred to her experience in the matter.
So they pressed onward flying just a few hundred feet above the ground, bypassing terrain that would have been very difficult had they remained bound to the earth. Their only regret was that they’d had to leave their mounts behind, but Lariel reminded them that frequent caravans of troops and supplies would be traveling the Vale Road in pursuit of General Goran’s force, and that the horses would be quickly found and put to use by their allies.
Finally Dana gestured and started a rapid descent. As far as Cal could tell they’d covered at least a dozen miles since they’d left the road, several times what they would have managed on horses, and they’d only been aloft a little more than an hour.
Dana directed them toward a likely campsite, on a protruding ridge not easily accessible from below. She landed smoothly on a stone outcropping, followed a few moments later by a clatter of rocks as Benzan bounced to a rather more awkward landing behind her.
“I saw a sheltered spot over there,” Cal said, pointing toward a cluster of huge boulders that jutted out from the ridge. “I doubt we’ll find anything to burn, but I have plenty of oil for my portable stove in my pack, so we’ll have hot tea, at least.”
Lok and Lariel started in that direction, but Benzan-the-pegasus interrupted with a snort and a not-so-subtle headbutt that knocked Cal forward a step.
The gnome turned around. “Um, well, you see, Benzan... I’ve been thinking over our course of action during the trip here, and I’m afraid you’ll need to keep that form for another day. Dana’s spell doesn’t last long enough to carry us as far as we need to go, but tomorrow, I can polymorph Lariel into a pegasus as well, and the two of you can carry us all the way up into the mountains, until we find those prisoners...”
Benzan neighed loudly, and reared, shaking his head.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s all that bad,” the elf commented. “I am looking forward to the experience, actually—flying as a passenger was a unique experience, and to have the powerful form of such a noble...”
Benzan interrupted again, neighing and slamming his hooves hard on the stone. He drew back his equine lips to reveal his teeth in an angry grin.
“Benzan,” Cal said. “Honestly, I can transform you back now, but we’ll just have to use two spells tomorrow to get the job done, and it’ll mean one less invisibility, or stoneskin, if it comes to a confrontation. And I don’t think those hobgoblins are just going to let those captives go. Remember the slaves we freed back in the Wood of Sharp Teeth?”
The gnome and the pegasus fixed each other with a hard stare, neither flinching. Finally, Dana came up, and wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. “Please, Benzan. It’s just another day, and it’s not like you’re a monster—this form, it’s so beautiful... Please, I promise, once this is over, I’ll make it worth it...” The last was really just a whisper, not intended for anyone but his ears, but Cal, with his sharp gnomish senses, heard it.
With a final desultory snort at the gnome, Benzan let himself be led over to the campsite, with Dana stroking his mane.
Cal shot a glance at Lok, who shrugged. “Is it absolutely necessary that we change him back at all?”
The gnome smiled, and the two turned to join their companions in preparing their campsite.
Black Bard
First Post
Are you talking about "Handle Animal"??
And, Lazy, Great update!!! As always...
Lazybones
Adventurer
Readers: for those who still play Neverwinter Nights, I will be starting up a new mid-to-high level campaign around the beginning of February, called "Drums of War." Visit www.neverwinterconnections.com for more information--I should have the game postings up in a few days, but for now, check out the Realm Announcements topic in the forums there for details. I'm Lazybones there also. I will be running two groups through this module, on Tuesday nights and Sunday mornings (Pacific Standard Time), and at the moment there are a few slots still available in both games.
And now for your regularly scheduled update...
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 39
The crack of a whip broke the tired monotony of the day, the sound punctuated an instant later by a sharp cry of pain that hung in the wind before fading. The hobgoblin archer shifted from his position at the head of the line, and turned to look back over the column that stretched out behind him. He instantly spotted the altercation, the line of prisoners halted with one of their number lying prone along the side of the trail, holding his arms up in a desperate effort to hold off the hobgoblin warrior that was hurling shouted invective upon him, his whip raised threateningly in his hand.
Wearily the archer turned and trotted back down the line. They had set a grueling pace, and if he was tired, the slaves had to be near the point of breaking. But Pak’norak would not let up, even when it meant that slaves had to be cut from the line and dumped into a ditch to twitch out the last moments of their lives.
A scan of the prisoners as he made his way down the line confirmed his suspicions. They had taken advantage of the pause to slump to the ground, too weary even to beg for food or water. Getting them back up would likely take the whip. Or perhaps not, he thought, as he saw Pak’norak approaching from the opposite direction.
The archer held the command he’d been about to issue as the apprentice adept fixed him, the guard with the whip, and the slave with the same desultory stare. The archer was familiar enough with the ways of the priests to know that the sinister tightening of his mouth meant death for the hapless slave, but before the command came, his gaze happened to travel upward, to a flicker of motion in the sky back downslope in the direction from which they’d come. A pair of birds, flying closer...
No, not birds.
“Alarm!” he shouted, stringing his bow with a reflexive motion and drawing a long arrow from the quiver at his belt. “Enemies from above!”
The hobgoblins stirred into action even as the prisoners cowered in the muddy dirt, covering themselves with their arms and the tattered remains of their clothing as if that could hide them from notice.
Two winged horses, bearing multiple humanoid creatures on their backs, knifed down from the gray skies to the attack. The shamans had given the archer the power to choose his companions for this mission, and while none of the warriors he’d selected could be considered his friends, they were all competent and all well-armed. Arrows sped upward into the sky to greet the intruders, including his own, but at this range most flew harmlessly past their targets. The archer thought he’d scored a hit on the first one, but he was already loading a second arrow to his bow, and looking around to see that his forces were properly positioned to repel the attack. There was good cover here, along the trail, but the fact that their foes were flying meant that they could attack wherever they chose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the adept was casting a spell, and a moment later he vanished from sight.
The archer snorted. The shaman might be using his invisibility to gain position on the enemy, but he doubted it.
The first flying horse jerked suddenly as an arrow struck it in the breast. One of its riders—a human woman, the archer’s sharp eyes noted—slipped and tumbled from its back, falling like a stone toward the ground several hundred feet below. The archer smiled grimly, while a few of the warriors shouted in triumph—one fewer foe to deal with—when suddenly she twisted in the air and arced around into a controlled dive, a longspear held in her hands like a lance.
“Spellcaster!” the archer shouted, just in case any of his troops had missed the obvious. A few arrows were already headed her way, but she managed to avoid them all easily.
The winged horse that had dropped the woman flew overhead, and the archer could see another rider, a gnome or halfling by his size, on its back. Suddenly a thick net of magical webs sprung up along a goodly length of the trail, anchored by the massive stones to either side, trapping warrior and slave alike in their confines. Cursing, even though he had not been caught in the spell, the archer darted clear of the trail and fired an arrow in the direction of the second spellcaster. His shot appeared to be true, but at the last minute it glanced aside as if it struck some sort of invisible armor.
Spellcasters. Having traveled more than many of his kin, the archer knew all too well that despite the apparently favorable odds, the situation was looking increasingly grim for his company.
Still the hobgoblins fought back, or at least most of them did. One fool near the head of the column actually started killing prisoners, hacking down two slaves that were only trying to get away, their halters keeping them from escaping. The second flying horse dove like a dart in that direction, a stout, heavily armored figure riding on its back. The horse caromed into the warrior, its momentum driving its hoof into the hobgoblin’s back with a audible crack. The warrior fell into a twitching heap, while the armored fighter fell free and landed hard in a clatter of metal. Two warriors were there in an instant with flashing swords, but the enemy was up with a speed that surprised the archer, and met their charge with a powerful swing of his axe.
The hobgoblins not trapped either moved toward the head of the column to join the battle there, or continued their fire at the woman or the still-flying horse and its wizardly rider. The archer scored another hit on said mount, an easier target than its protected passenger. The beast’s cry of pain was rewarding, but his next shot, only a few moments later, bounced off of the creature’s hide. Apparently the magic-user had belatedly decided to protect his mount as well.
The woman flew down into the ranks of the column’s rearguard, where half a dozen warriors gathered to meet her. She seemed to shine with an inner light that filled her with an aura of power, and drove her spear with great force into the first defender. The hobgoblin cried out and collapsed, electrical energy dancing around the wound in its chest. The other warriors could not reach her, hovering above them at the full length of her weapon, but they fired their bows at her point blank, snarling challenges. Somehow she was able to dodge even those shots despite the short distance, although two dug angry red gashes along her sides as they narrowly edged past. She was already stabbing again as they reached for more arrows, and wounded a second warrior with a thrust that glanced off its helmet, opening a bloody gash along the side of its head.
The archer leapt back as the orbiting mage pointed a wand in his direction and fired a glob that splattered onto the stones where he’d been standing. He didn’t need to hear the sizzling hiss as it struck to know that he didn’t want to get hit by one of those missiles. He fired another arrow, barely waiting to see that the shot was, like the one before, ineffective, before turning again and dashing deeper into the rocks. He already knew that the battle was lost. The armored dwarf had already slain the first two warriors to face him, and now met a charge from another three without hesitation, crushing the breastplate of the first and cleaving deep into his chest with a powerful overhead strike. The flying horse, too, had joined in the action, dropping another warrior with a pair of crushing slams from its hooves. The archer was not a coward, but he was not going to seek out his death when there was a more important mission at hand. The main column needed to be alerted of the fate of this group, and the presence of these dangerous enemies in the mountains.
If they even yet lived.
The archer nimbly leapt down into a narrow defile, darting in and around a screen of heavy boulders as he left the sounds of battle behind him. Finally he emerged from cover at the base of an uneven slope, his boots finding sure purchase on the damp and rocky ground as he ran quickly to the north.
He sensed the shadow that fell over him a moment before the attack came. Instinct saved him as he threw himself aside, just in time to avoid the assault of the flying horse as it slammed into the ground where he’d been running a moment before. The magic-user—a gnome, he now saw—was still mounted on its back, and its wand came up toward his face as the mount turned to face him.
“Surrender,” the gnome said in the common tongue. The archer knew that speech, but even if he had not, there was no mistaking the grim intent in his features. The horse, too, stamped angrily, looking eager to attack.
The archer nodded, and tossed down his bow.
And now for your regularly scheduled update...
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 39
The crack of a whip broke the tired monotony of the day, the sound punctuated an instant later by a sharp cry of pain that hung in the wind before fading. The hobgoblin archer shifted from his position at the head of the line, and turned to look back over the column that stretched out behind him. He instantly spotted the altercation, the line of prisoners halted with one of their number lying prone along the side of the trail, holding his arms up in a desperate effort to hold off the hobgoblin warrior that was hurling shouted invective upon him, his whip raised threateningly in his hand.
Wearily the archer turned and trotted back down the line. They had set a grueling pace, and if he was tired, the slaves had to be near the point of breaking. But Pak’norak would not let up, even when it meant that slaves had to be cut from the line and dumped into a ditch to twitch out the last moments of their lives.
A scan of the prisoners as he made his way down the line confirmed his suspicions. They had taken advantage of the pause to slump to the ground, too weary even to beg for food or water. Getting them back up would likely take the whip. Or perhaps not, he thought, as he saw Pak’norak approaching from the opposite direction.
The archer held the command he’d been about to issue as the apprentice adept fixed him, the guard with the whip, and the slave with the same desultory stare. The archer was familiar enough with the ways of the priests to know that the sinister tightening of his mouth meant death for the hapless slave, but before the command came, his gaze happened to travel upward, to a flicker of motion in the sky back downslope in the direction from which they’d come. A pair of birds, flying closer...
No, not birds.
“Alarm!” he shouted, stringing his bow with a reflexive motion and drawing a long arrow from the quiver at his belt. “Enemies from above!”
The hobgoblins stirred into action even as the prisoners cowered in the muddy dirt, covering themselves with their arms and the tattered remains of their clothing as if that could hide them from notice.
Two winged horses, bearing multiple humanoid creatures on their backs, knifed down from the gray skies to the attack. The shamans had given the archer the power to choose his companions for this mission, and while none of the warriors he’d selected could be considered his friends, they were all competent and all well-armed. Arrows sped upward into the sky to greet the intruders, including his own, but at this range most flew harmlessly past their targets. The archer thought he’d scored a hit on the first one, but he was already loading a second arrow to his bow, and looking around to see that his forces were properly positioned to repel the attack. There was good cover here, along the trail, but the fact that their foes were flying meant that they could attack wherever they chose. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the adept was casting a spell, and a moment later he vanished from sight.
The archer snorted. The shaman might be using his invisibility to gain position on the enemy, but he doubted it.
The first flying horse jerked suddenly as an arrow struck it in the breast. One of its riders—a human woman, the archer’s sharp eyes noted—slipped and tumbled from its back, falling like a stone toward the ground several hundred feet below. The archer smiled grimly, while a few of the warriors shouted in triumph—one fewer foe to deal with—when suddenly she twisted in the air and arced around into a controlled dive, a longspear held in her hands like a lance.
“Spellcaster!” the archer shouted, just in case any of his troops had missed the obvious. A few arrows were already headed her way, but she managed to avoid them all easily.
The winged horse that had dropped the woman flew overhead, and the archer could see another rider, a gnome or halfling by his size, on its back. Suddenly a thick net of magical webs sprung up along a goodly length of the trail, anchored by the massive stones to either side, trapping warrior and slave alike in their confines. Cursing, even though he had not been caught in the spell, the archer darted clear of the trail and fired an arrow in the direction of the second spellcaster. His shot appeared to be true, but at the last minute it glanced aside as if it struck some sort of invisible armor.
Spellcasters. Having traveled more than many of his kin, the archer knew all too well that despite the apparently favorable odds, the situation was looking increasingly grim for his company.
Still the hobgoblins fought back, or at least most of them did. One fool near the head of the column actually started killing prisoners, hacking down two slaves that were only trying to get away, their halters keeping them from escaping. The second flying horse dove like a dart in that direction, a stout, heavily armored figure riding on its back. The horse caromed into the warrior, its momentum driving its hoof into the hobgoblin’s back with a audible crack. The warrior fell into a twitching heap, while the armored fighter fell free and landed hard in a clatter of metal. Two warriors were there in an instant with flashing swords, but the enemy was up with a speed that surprised the archer, and met their charge with a powerful swing of his axe.
The hobgoblins not trapped either moved toward the head of the column to join the battle there, or continued their fire at the woman or the still-flying horse and its wizardly rider. The archer scored another hit on said mount, an easier target than its protected passenger. The beast’s cry of pain was rewarding, but his next shot, only a few moments later, bounced off of the creature’s hide. Apparently the magic-user had belatedly decided to protect his mount as well.
The woman flew down into the ranks of the column’s rearguard, where half a dozen warriors gathered to meet her. She seemed to shine with an inner light that filled her with an aura of power, and drove her spear with great force into the first defender. The hobgoblin cried out and collapsed, electrical energy dancing around the wound in its chest. The other warriors could not reach her, hovering above them at the full length of her weapon, but they fired their bows at her point blank, snarling challenges. Somehow she was able to dodge even those shots despite the short distance, although two dug angry red gashes along her sides as they narrowly edged past. She was already stabbing again as they reached for more arrows, and wounded a second warrior with a thrust that glanced off its helmet, opening a bloody gash along the side of its head.
The archer leapt back as the orbiting mage pointed a wand in his direction and fired a glob that splattered onto the stones where he’d been standing. He didn’t need to hear the sizzling hiss as it struck to know that he didn’t want to get hit by one of those missiles. He fired another arrow, barely waiting to see that the shot was, like the one before, ineffective, before turning again and dashing deeper into the rocks. He already knew that the battle was lost. The armored dwarf had already slain the first two warriors to face him, and now met a charge from another three without hesitation, crushing the breastplate of the first and cleaving deep into his chest with a powerful overhead strike. The flying horse, too, had joined in the action, dropping another warrior with a pair of crushing slams from its hooves. The archer was not a coward, but he was not going to seek out his death when there was a more important mission at hand. The main column needed to be alerted of the fate of this group, and the presence of these dangerous enemies in the mountains.
If they even yet lived.
The archer nimbly leapt down into a narrow defile, darting in and around a screen of heavy boulders as he left the sounds of battle behind him. Finally he emerged from cover at the base of an uneven slope, his boots finding sure purchase on the damp and rocky ground as he ran quickly to the north.
He sensed the shadow that fell over him a moment before the attack came. Instinct saved him as he threw himself aside, just in time to avoid the assault of the flying horse as it slammed into the ground where he’d been running a moment before. The magic-user—a gnome, he now saw—was still mounted on its back, and its wand came up toward his face as the mount turned to face him.
“Surrender,” the gnome said in the common tongue. The archer knew that speech, but even if he had not, there was no mistaking the grim intent in his features. The horse, too, stamped angrily, looking eager to attack.
The archer nodded, and tossed down his bow.
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