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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 610960" data-attributes="member: 143">Oh.  You'll see.  [insane laughter]muwahahahahahaha[/insane laughter]* * * * * Book VII, Part 34On the dawning of the second day following his encounter with the succubus G’hael, Gorath rose bleary-eyed from a troubled rest that had done little to restore him.  His preparations had taken him deep into the night, and when the time had come to conduct his customary rites, offering dark prayers in the blackest depths of the night, he’d barely managed by rote.  He would not dare missing that obligation, however, that confirmation of the dark contract into which he’d willingly entered, and in any case he needed the power that flowed from that ritual.  There was still much to do to prepare the summoning chamber according to G’hael’s specifications, but first there was something that he needed to attend to immediately.  He started toward the surface, back toward the valley, but paused.  He didn’t really need fresh air and sunlight to work the spell, and in any case he felt too weary to make even the brief trudge up to the entrance and back.  Instead, he simply knelt on the hard floor where he was currently standing, and opened his mind to the black arts of his demon-granted lore.  The spell was arduous, and his exhaustion almost cost him the effort when he stumbled over the final incantation.  A sudden rush of energy born of anxiety restored him just in time, and he felt a surge of power as the magic poured into him.  Establishing the connection was simple.  He sent the message that he’d composed last night.  His mouth twisted slightly as he received the response; he’d expected as much from the hobgoblin priest, but the shaman served the same master Guthan did, and he knew that his command would be obeyed.  It took an effort of will to stand again, but Guthan only laughed.  Perhaps later he would venture down into the valley.  Fresh provisions might be just the thing.  Stumbling slightly, he returned to the Portal Chamber.  With luck, in a few days he would have the final thing needed for the ritual, have it in quantities that even he had never before contemplated.* * * * * The archer grimaced as he looked over his shoulder, over the ridgeline where the broad scope of Sunset Vale spread out before him in a dramatic panorama.  His eyes scanned that horizon, looking for telltale signs of pursuit.  There were none, but of more concern was the gathering line of clouds to the west, promising an end to the brief reprieve in the weather that had greatly eased their travels over the last few days.  A scuffle and a clatter of rock returned him to his current duty.  With another dark frown he ran forward to see what had happened.  One of the prisoners had fallen again, dragging down several of the others attached to him by the long rope that ran through the halter at his and every other captive’s throat.  He clucked his tongue in frustration—the man had been beaten, that much was obvious instantly.  While he spared no concern for any of the captives—mercy just wasn’t a part of what he was—he wished the fools who’d been assigned this duty with him would realize that battered slaves would only serve to slow them down further.  He understood the frustration of his colleagues.  He himself resented this duty fiercely, the more so in that it clearly ran counter to his own talents.  He was a scout, a sniper, and would be far better used marking the trail ahead, or warding the route behind them.  But one didn’t question the shamans, especially not in the mood they’d been in of late.He had certainly done nothing to earn their ire, not that he was aware of.  The raid had been a complete success, and his own role had been significant in preventing the town from gaining any advance warning of the attack.  The humans had put up a fierce defense, even with such little notice of the raid, but the appearance of the demon had broken their morale.  Even he had been appalled at the carnage wrought by that denizen of the lower planes, at the corpses that had been... shredded in its wake.  Even so, a quarter of the hobgoblins that had marched from the hidden valley in the mountains had been left behind for the carrion along with the slain defenders, and more would have joined them had it not been for the healing arts of the shamans.  The Riders in Red Cloaks had fought with particular determination, buying enough time with their lives for many of the townsfolk to escape the closing ring of humanoid invaders.  What had followed was a debauch of looting and destruction.  Perhaps it was that which had riled the shamans, the chaos that it had taken them three days to finally force back into a semblance of order.  The sack of Asbravn was a coup that would be told around the fires of the clans for many years, and the victors had known it.  But finally the survivors were gathered up and force-marched back into the mountains, slowed now by loot and slaves.  The trolls had been unleashed to cause further havoc in the Vale, and the archer fully supported that decision; now that the raid was over, the unpredictable brutes were more trouble than they were worth.  They still had two hill giants for muscle, the stupid thugs easily manipulated by the canny shamans even without magical compulsion, and nearly three full companies of fifty warriors each, even leaving aside the shamans and their hangers-on in the tally.  And four strings of fifty slaves each, the source of his current troubles.  It seemed his entire days since Asbravn had been taken up in driving the slaves to move faster, to keep up with the column.  The humans were broken, numb with fear and shock, and he suspected that a goodly number would not survive the journey through the mountains.  He had a good idea where they were headed; the other evening he’d inadvertently overheard a pair of shamans discussing their course.  He knew a little of their immediate destination.  Kolova Gorge stabbed like a knife into the Sunset Mountains, with a difficult trail navigating its twists and turns until it gave way to a treacherous route up into a tight but workable pass through the mountains to the far side.  Its existence wasn’t exactly common knowledge, partly due to the fact that a considerable red dragon had made its lair in the canyon for several decades, making travel through the pass a risky prospect indeed.  Now that the beast was gone, the Gorge offered a route of escape to less tumultuous lands.  The archer nearly laughed to himself in a grim humor.  Normally, the prospect of crossing the mountains, which would take them into territories nominally part of Cormyr, would be troubling.  But fortune played strange tricks on both individuals and nations, and shortly the western side of the mountains was going to get uncomfortably active, while the once-great nation of Cormyr was barely able to maintain order in its core, let alone on the frontier marches.  His mood quickly changed as he caught sight of one of the shamans moving swiftly back down the trail in his direction.  He quickly realized that the priest wasn’t just moving in his direction; rather, he was moving right for him.  The archer quickly made the proper gestures of deference, finally lifting his head to meet the flat stare from the shaman.  “What can I do for you, exalted one?” the archer asked. The hobgoblin—a scarred old veteran, with eyes that burned like coals—looked over the captives with an air of utter contempt.  “Two strings of slaves will be detached and taken south, back to the hidden valley.  Select twenty warriors as an escort.  Pak’norak will be in command, and you will depart at once.”The archer betrayed his surprise.  “Back to the valley?  But I thought that the whole point of this march was to draw pursuit away from there.”The cleric fixed him with a hard look, and the archer realized that he’d betrayed too much with his words.  But it was too late to back down, so he met the shaman’s stare squarely.  Finally, the priest replied, “It is enough that you do what you are told.  Situations change, and we have access to information that you warriors do not have.”The archer nodded, realizing that he’d been given an out.  “Then I obey instantly, exalted one,” he said, slapping his fist to his chest in salute, while he dipped his head in a quick bow.  The priest was already heading back up the line, ignoring the prisoners who huddled away from him as much as the line allowed.  Keeping the curse that came to his lips within his thoughts, he turned and started issuing orders to the nearest warriors.  Their compliance was grudging, but they’d seen him speaking with the shaman, and only a fool would cross them.      Within a few minutes, twenty hobgoblin warriors and a hundred human captives broke off from the main column, charting a course back to the south through the rough hills.  The main column continued to the northeast, where the Sunset Mountains loomed up like great sentinels before them.</blockquote>

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