Travels through the Wild West: the Isle of Dread

[Lazybones]

Book III, Part 25

The quiet of the morning in the great crater was broken only by the sound of oars dipping into the surface of the lake. Two small outriggers, each carrying four of the companions from Faerûn, approached the dark island that seemed to wait expectantly for their arrival. The sun had not yet fully breached the edge of the crater, and a thin mist still hung over parts of the lake, giving the whole scene a slightly surreal tinge of unreality. As they drew nearer to their destination, and the island resolved into clearer focus, they could see that a ring of cliffs warded the place, forming a sheer wall at least thirty feet high. Atop the cliffs they could see thick tangles of forest growth, as well as a few more angular formations that might have been old ruins.

They steered their craft around the western curve of the island, unwilling to risk ascending the cliffs unless no other options presented themselves. Logically, the renegades living on the island had to have a place where they had easier access to the lake, but logic also suggested that such a site might be defended against intruders.

They had made their way halfway around the circumference of the island when they saw what they were looking for. The cliff face was broken by a wide opening that penetrated well into the depths of the cliff face. Several short stone piers jutted out into the lake, and numerous small boats were moored there, outriggers not unlike the ones they were paddling. The piers gave onto a stone platform, beyond which flights of steps led up to progressively higher tiers. At the top tier, a good twenty feet above the level of the lake, the dark mouth of a passage could just be seen that ran directly into the core of the island.

“Looks quiet,” Benzan said, careful to keep his voice low as they steered their boats toward the stone piers. Nothing stirred as they disembarked, although in the distance they could hear the calls of birds out on the lake.

“This stonework is very old,” Lok said. Looking around, they could see the remains of what had once been pillars lying around, and they could just make out what looked like large-scale reliefs carved into the rear walls of the place. Creeping vines crawled out of cracks in the stone, and lichens clung to the damp walls. With the sun still rising to the east, the deeper areas within the chamber remained shrouded in deep shadows.

“Benzan,” Cal suggested, gesturing that he should lead. The tiefling nodded, recognizing that his darkvision and stealth combined gave him an advantage.

They crept cautiously up the first flight of stairs, tiny bits of stone crunching softly under their feet. They were alert for any sign of danger, their weapons at the ready, their magic waiting to be summoned.

As they started up the second flight of steps to the top landing they saw that the walls to each side of the central passage were carved in the form of a giant face, easily the size of a tall man, that seemed to stare at each of them as they reached the top tier. Their features were exaggerated, their eyes and mouths slightly oversized, giving the faces a somewhat disturbing appearance.

“Maybe them’s the gods of those villagers,” Varrus said. “Creepy-lookin’ bastards.”

“Quiet,” Dana said. “Something’s here, watching us… I can feel it.”

To either side of the stairs they could see a massive stone foot, as if a great statue had once straddled the staircase. Now there was only rubble, none of it recognizable as what it once might have been. Careful to avoid kicking any of the debris, Benzan obliquely approached the corridor, which although dark had some sort of light visible down its length, as if it opened onto a lighted area somewhere ahead. The others followed him in that direction, although they stopped short of heading into the darkened passageway.

“There’s a partial blockage of sort a fair ways down the passage, looks like a lot of loose rubble with a narrow space between, enough for one person to pass at a time,” Benzan reported. “But a larger area beyond, looked to have some natural light.”

“Maybe it’s a way up to the area atop the cliffs,” Elly suggested.

“Be careful,” Cal said. “It sounds like a perfect place for an ambush.”

Benzan’s reply was a wry grin as he headed into the corridor, the others a short distance behind. He’d barely managed a half-dozen paces, however, when the head and shoulders of a shadowy figure appeared around the edges of the barrier at the far end of the passage.

“Angreifern!” the figure yelled, the warning followed immediately by a familiar sound: the twang of a bowstring.

Although taken by surprise, Benzan still somehow managed to dodge, his uncanny reflexes enabling him to shift out of the path of the first arrow. The missile darted past his head and continued down the corridor, finally clipping Elly’s shoulder a few paces behind him. The woman cried out and staggered back, and Delem grabbed her and helped pull her out of the line of fire.

Benzan gave ground as additional missiles filled the air around him. He drew his own bow back and fired a quick shot in reply, but the missile was deflected by the partial wall of rubble that they now knew was no accidental collapse. Ducking another shot from that bulwark, he darted around the corner back into the entry room, where the others were gathered on either side of the passageway, out of the line of fire from the defensive position. With his back to the wall just beside the corner, he risked a quick look back down the passage, enough to see that the archers were holding their position behind the barrier. He could hear more voices coming from the chamber beyond, but they were impossible to make out—even if he could understand their language, which he didn’t. Clearly, though, an alarm had been sounded.

“Is she all right?” he asked Delem, who was standing over Elly on the opposite side of the corridor entrance. Ruath was there too, and together the two clerics were working on getting the arrow out of Elly’s shoulder and treating the wound.

“It’s not a serious wound,” Delem started to say, but then Ruath interrupted, “There’s poison on the arrow.”

“Poison? Can you treat it?”

“I’m working on it,” the halfling said, the blue glow of healing energy already forming around her hands.

While the clerics tended to their injured comrade, Lok and Cal regarded the tactical problem they now faced. “Looks like they’ve got the only way in sealed up nicely,” the gnome observed. “The question is, do we attack, or wait for them to come to us?”

“The longer we give them to prepare, the stronger they will get,” Lok said, and he hefted his axe, turning back toward the dark corridor. Delem, however, on the far side of the opening, forestalled him with a raised hand.

“Hold a moment,” he said. “Maybe I can help open the way for you.” The sorcerer began chanting, calling upon the inherent magical power that resided inside him. A glowing red shield coalesced in the air in front of him, an effective barrier against the arrows of the renegade tribesmen.

“Here, catch,” Cal said, tossing the young man the wand of mage armor. Delem managed to turn the shield aside in time to catch the wand, and he bolstered his defense with the power of that item, tossing it back to Cal once he was finished so that the gnome could use it on himself and Dana. Dana added a blessing, bringing the benefit of Selûne’s grace upon their efforts.

“Ready?” Delem asked the others on the opposite side of the opening, although Lok’s determined expression was a clear enough reply. When they had all nodded—even Elly, who still looked pale although the arrow wound had been healed by Ruath—Delem stepped into the entry of the corridor, a clear target against the light filtering in from the lake behind him.

The response was immediate, as arrows filled the narrow confines of the passageway. Delem’s shield deflected all but one, and that one was turned at the last instant by his mage armor. He replied with a summoned ball of flame that he sent rolling down the corridor into the narrow space between the walls of rubble, forcing the defenders back to avoid the flames. Lok was already running after it, his axe ready for whatever foes might persist in defense. One defender who was out of the path of the flaming sphere sighted in on the charging genasi, but before he could release his poison-tipped arrow a shot from Benzan’s bow clipped him on the side of his head, knocking him down out of sight behind the wall.

Lok barreled through the gap after the flaming sphere and quickly disappeared into the space beyond the barrier, where the sounds of battle immediately issued. The others rushed after him, knowing that the genasi might quickly find himself overwhelmed on the far side of the natives’ defenses.

They needn’t have worried. Even as the three remaining defenders stabbed their spears at Lok, the genasi’s axe was cutting a swath through them. He connected with the first, slamming him up against the wall of the passage hard enough to crack ribs. Not that the native warrior noticed that, however, not with the gaping wound in his torso that ran from his belly to his shoulder. The genasi used the momentum of the blow to spin into a second attacker, knocking his spear roughly aside and burying his weapon deep into his hip. That warrior also went down, screaming as his blood spurted out over the dusty stone. The final warrior, clad in a shirt of armor apparently crafted of human or animal bones, gave way, retreating into the room beyond the barrier after thrusting once with an ineffectual blow that glanced off the genasi’s heavy armor.

Lok ran after the retreating fighter, even as the first of his companions reached the narrow opening and started pushing through to join him.

About ten feet beyond the piles of rubble used by the cannibals as a watchpoint, the narrow walls of the passageway opened onto a large chamber. The place clearly served as living quarters for a considerable number of people, based upon the litter left hastily discarded in the center of the room. A large opening in the domed ceiling some twenty feet above let in a shaft of natural light, indicating a possible exit to the island’s surface above. A net had been secured across the opening, and a rope dangled from the side of the opening to the floor below. Even as Lok and the others charged into the room, they could see the last of a string of small natives—children—scramble up the last feet of the rope and disappear through an opening in the net into the shaft above.

With Lok’s first step into the room it was clear that the renegade tribesmen were fully ready to repulse an assault. Narrow stone balconies ten feet above the floor of the chamber fronted the walls to the left and right, accessible by narrow flights of natural stone stairs. To their left, the northern balcony held over a dozen archers, clad in crude leather armor and with arrows ready to be drawn. To their right, the southern balcony was occupied by a quartet of heavily muscled warriors that all bore a vague resemblance to one another, dominated by a massive figure whose torso and bald head were covered with elaborate tattoos. And directly ahead, forming a defensive line in front of the dangling rope, stood at least a score of others, men and women alike garbed in crude garments of cloth, bone and leather, all armed with spears, clubs, or daggers, all fashioned of bone and wood. All of the tribesmen greeted the arrival of the intruders with menacing cries of feral anger, and the shouted command of the tattooed warrior, clearly their leader, echoed through the chamber.

“Beenden Sie die Eindringlinge!” he cried, and his followers hastened to obey the command.

Carnage ensued.

 

[Thorntangle]

Dang, Lazybones, you sure don't write like your namesake. I get swamped at work for a few days and I come back and have a book to read to catch up!

Great writing as always. I liked the way Elly's red shirt faded representing a transition to a more substantive character.

 

[Lazybones]

Thanks, Thorntangle. Posting once a day, I think I managed to ourpace a few readers (except Horacio, of course!) . I may have to slow down the pace a little in coming weeks (and post maybe once every other day or so). We'll see how it goes!

I have some edits left, but I'll post the conclusion of the battle tomorrow. On the plus side, however, I've updated my home page (see the link in my sig below) with some more chapters of my other work.

LB

 

[Lazybones]

Book III, Part 26

A dozen arrows, along with several hurled spears, darted at Lok and at the companions still emerging from the narrow gap in the entry corridor. The missiles bounced off Lok’s armor and shield, although at least one arrow found a gap and stuck, slightly injuring the nigh-unstoppable warrior. The poison that coated the arrowhead barely fazed him, little proof against the genasi’s incredible fortitude. Lok looked around at the dozens of adversaries that filled the room, hesitating for just a moment as he scanned out the nearest target for his battle-fury. The pause did not last long, however, and soon he was charging again to meet the onrush of enemies from the center of the room.

Benzan felt a painful jab in his side as an arrow bit through his protective mail-links, and he fought a momentary surge of nausea as its poison entered his system. Two more arrows flew past him, only to glance off the barrier of Delem’s shield. Benzan recognized the situation immediately—they were flanked on all sides by foes, who had the high ground and the advantage of heavy missile fire—but before he could recommend a retreat, Lok was already charging into the nearest knot of enemies.

“Man oh man,” he said, keeping to the at least partial cover of the corridor as he nocked an arrow and let fly at a random enemy archer.

Cal followed Delem through the gap in the rubble to find himself at the edge of a veritable storm of battle. Delem had darted to the side of the corridor entry opposite Benzan, as even his magical shield was not full proof against such a heavy attack. Cal followed him, using the tall sorcerer and his shield as cover. What they needed, he instantly recognized, was to even the odds. For all his ferocity Lok could not stand against more than twenty fighters alone, and more warriors were charging down the stairs from the balconies, rushing to join in the melee while their companions kept up their barrage of fire from above.

“Ah, I haven’t yet had a chance to cast this one,” Cal said to himself, summoning the power of one of his new spells.

The result was immediate and successful, as a burst of magical webs erupted around the staircase that led up to the southern balcony. The magical strands formed a dense tangle that ensnared all four of the muscled warriors, including the powerful chief, in their sticky grip. While the web wouldn’t hold them forever, the spell bought them at least a brief respite from an attack from that direction.

Lok met the surging rush of half-naked tribesmen in the center of the room with a sweeping cut of his axe, cleaving the first attacker from shoulder to hip before the man could even raise his spear. The others swarmed around him, however, urged on by the man in the bone armor that Lok had driven back from the rampart. All of their weapons seemed to be made of bone and wood, apart from the armored man’s spearhead, which was fashioned of gleaming bronze. Flanked on all sides, only brute strength kept Lok from falling under the rush. He tore free from the grasp of two attackers—a man and a woman—that tried to drag him down, and shrugged off a pair of hits from clubs that hurt even through the protection of his armor. He tried to keep one eye on the armored spearman, but failed to anticipate the thrust that finally slammed through the armored plate on his hip, digging deep into the softer flesh beneath. Lok staggered from the impact, but grimly held his ground.

“Lok’s in trouble!” Dana cried, as she joined the others at the mouth of the corridor. Before any of them could say anything to stop her, she charged boldly into the room, holding her kama raised in her good hand.

“Dana!” Delem cried, but it was too late to stop her. A pair of archers on the north balcony shifted their aim toward her, but both shots missed—the first deflected by a sweep of her bandaged hand, and the second glancing off of her mage armor.

“She can take care of herself!” Benzan shouted. “Just do something about those damned archers!”

Delem nodded grimly and focused his power on the northern balcony, calling into being another flaming sphere that rolled down its length, burning archers as it went. On the narrow confines of the balcony there was little room to dodge the rolling ball of fire, although several dangled themselves over the edge and let themselves fall to the floor of the chamber below, taking up their spears again and rushing quickly toward the melee that raged in the center of the room.

Ruath, meanwhile, had joined the embattled companions, and quickly sizing up the situation began casting a spell heedless of the arrows that were still falling into the corridor from the survivors along the balconies. Benzan continued to fire with almost mechanical precision, drawing back arrow after arrow and scoring a hit with nearly every shot. He saw a tall figure clad in what looked like colorful feathers appear from a door that opened onto the southern balcony, and trusting his instincts targeted that newcomer with an arrow. The shot missed, as the feather-clad man was surprisingly nimble, and the man pointed at him, spouting some wild gibberish that seemed meaningless.

Only it clearly wasn’t meaningless, as a thick cloud of mist began to billow up out of the very stones of the floor around them. While the obscuring mist covered them from the fire of the remaining enemy archers, it would also make it all but impossible for them to target the tribesmen with weapons or spells.

It looked as though the final part of the battle would be fought in close quarters, Benzan thought, as he dropped his bow and unlimbered his shield and sword.

Lok shrugged off blows as if he was made of the stone that he so resembled, and fought with unfettered fury. Ringed by foes that sought to make up for their limited skill with sheer force of numbers, he simply let fly with wild but powerful strokes of his axe. A tribesman fell back, his jaw shattered by one stroke, and the woman beside him went down as well as the continuing path of the weapon caught her weapon hand, sending the bone dagger she wielded flying along with the fist that clenched it. Two others slammed their clubs into Lok’s head from behind, drawing a grunt of pain from the fighter but also a sweeping arc of his axe that slashed deep gashes in their torsos. Only the bone-clad spearman was out of the range of that deadly axe, his own people serving as a shield as he thrust repeatedly at the gaps in the genasi’s defenses. Finally he saw an opening, as Lok’s desperate slashes and parries left momentarily vulnerable the stony skin of his throat, warded only by a torn scrap of chainmail that had partially fallen away.

The spearman yelled a challenge and raised his weapon in both hands, calling upon the vengeance of his gods to guide his hand in slaying this mighty adversary.

“Yee-ah!” Dana cried out as she tore into the spearman from his flank, leaping into a snap kick that caught him hard on the shoulder. The blow did little damage, but it was enough to drive him back, ruining his attack on the hard-pressed Lok. Dana had little chance to follow up, however, as a pair of native warriors detached from the mob surrounding Lok and rushed at her with spears, forcing her into a quick series of dodges and parries.

Benzan appeared from the shrouding mist to find himself facing the tribal leader, who’d managed to tear himself free from the enfolding layers of Cal’s webs. He was a massive figure of a man, his skin marked with dozens of tattoos, including one that covered his bald-shaven pate. He too was clad in elaborate bone armor, and his weapon was a heavy sword, not unlike the one that Benzan himself bore, its blade formed of bronze and marked with arcane runes along its length.

“Geschmacktod, Ausländer!” he shouted, rushing at Benzan with a snarl crossing his already frightening features.

“Right back at you!” the tiefling responded, meeting the warrior’s first stroke with his own blade. With the first exchange it became clear that this foe, though his strength was obvious, was no common fighter. He pressed Benzan hard, taking his parry and then following with a vicious cut that came in low. When Benzan brought his blade down to parry that stroke, the native chief suddenly switched direction, sliding the weapon in an upward stroke that ran the length of the blade across Benzan’s chest. The tiefling managed to dodge back, and the mithral chainmail took most of the blow, but the tip of the blade drew a red line across his bicep as the two combatants parted.

He’d barely gotten his sword back up into defensive position when the chief came at him again.

Lok was still managing to hold his own, his remaining adversaries fighting with more caution after half a dozen of their peers were laid out bleeding on the ground. Some of the pressure on his flank eased as a pair of Ruath-summoned badgers appeared and started tearing into the lightly-armored tribesmen threatening Lok from the rear. Most of those left standing had spears, which they were using to pen him in and limit the number of attacks that he could make against them at any one time. Still, he managed to lash out at one that got too close, and the man fell back, trying to hold his spilling entrails in with one hand while he used the broken haft of his spear as a crutch with the other.

Lok heard a laugh out on the periphery of the battle, and his attention shifted momentarily to a figure standing a short distance away, impossible to miss even in the swirling melee what with the brightly colored feathers that he wore in his tunic and the plumed headdress that obscured his features. His eyes, however, locked onto the genasi’s, and Lok felt an indescribable fear fill him with that stare. He didn’t know how, or why, but he had to flee from that stare, had to get away. Ignoring the painful stabs that cut through his lowered defenses, he ran back in the direction of the entry, now hidden in thick, cloying mists.

Leaving Dana alone, surrounded by a dozen adversaries with a lot of fight left in them.

Cal emerged from the mists facing the northern balcony, and a half-dozen of the archers that were rushing down the stairs toward him, now holding spears that they trained immediately upon the diminutive gnome. Cal was prepared, however, and before the first could thrust he fired a color spray from his wand into their ranks. The first three staggered and collapsed, blasted into unconsciousness by the swirling colors, but ones behind barely hesitated, charging over their fallen comrades to attack. Realizing that he was alone on this flank, Cal darted back for the cover offered by the mists, but before he could make it he felt a spearhead cut through his mage armor and jab painfully into his side. The three tribesmen pressed in, flanking him as the darting spearpoints sought holes in his defenses.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the mists, Delem emerged to see battle on that flank as well. He saw Benzan being hard pressed against the tribesmen’s leader, but more to the point he saw that the other three warriors entrapped in the webs were nearly free, the first two pausing only to help the last fight his way free of the last clinging strands. With barely a pause to think, Delem sank into his magic and called forth a stream of fire, catching all three warriors in the blazing flames. The first two dove reflexively to the side, leaving the last, still entangled, to struggle against the webs that now flared up in an inferno around him.

He didn’t make it, but the two others—his brothers—drew bone daggers from their belts and, ignoring the burns that covered their upper bodies, charged at Delem with a raging scream that chilled the sorcerer’s blood.

Dana dodged back from the thrusting bone points of the two spearmen that she was facing. The movement gave her some breathing space for the moment, but left her even farther away from the others. To make matters worse, four other spearmen were heading her way, led by the same bone-armored leader she’d lightly injured earlier.

There was no time for thought, only action. Dana called upon the power of Selûne, her heart freezing momentarily in her chest as she nearly botched the final gesture needed to complete the spell. Even so, the delay caused by the distance between her and the source of her magic nearly cost her, as the nearest spearmen reached her and thrust at her exposed body with their crude but very functional weapons. Luckily for Dana, the mage armor held them off, and she could finally feel the power of the magic filling her body.

Without hesitation she spun and darted off, mere steps ahead of the onrushing attackers. Even so, she felt pain as a spearhead grazed her shoulder, drawing a line of blood that ran down her arm. With the discipline she’d learned as an initiate of the Sun Soul she shrugged off the pain, and continued her charge, the spell she’d cast greatly increasing her speed so that the spearmen fell quickly behind.

The only problem was, there was no place for her to go. The only route left open to her was toward the south wall, and access to the stair that led up to the balcony, to her right, was blocked by a pair of onrushing spearmen—and was still shrouded in webs, regardless.

And to make matters worse, the enemy witchdoctor, whose fell magic had sent Lok fleeing in magical terror, was right in front of her, a sinister smile twisting his features as he watched her approach.

He timed his own magical response to the monk’s apparently suicidal charge well, and as she neared him a fan of flames erupted from his fingertips, forming a fiery wedge that Dana could not hope to dodge or duck.

Except that she was no longer running toward him.

The witchdoctor started in shocked surprise as Dana leapt over the flames, the enhanced speed granted by her spell adding to her leaping ability as well. He grunted as she landed on his shoulders, and with the momentum added from her leap, she jumped again, catching the low stone railing of the balcony with her good hand and levering herself up atop it in one smooth motion.

Below her, the spearmen could only watch in stunned amazement as their quarry eluded their grasp.

Cal’s three opponents followed him into the mists, and soon he’d taken another hit, a shallow but painful cut that dug into his upper arm as he tried to twist away. He knew that if he tried to cast a spell, the momentary lapse in his defenses while he summoned the magic would leave him wide open to a deadly attack. He still held the wand of color spray, but his attackers had widely spread out, and he would only be able to catch one at most with its power.

Then a shadow came out of the mists to his aid. One of the spearmen sensed it and turned to face the new arrival, only to stagger when Elly’s crossbow bolt caught him hard in the side. The man thrust at her with his spear, but missed the young woman, who drew her cutlass for close combat.

The distraction was only momentary, with two antagonists still facing him, but it was all Cal needed. He reached down and took up the lute that rode on his hip, his fingers summoning a soft, lulling melody on its strands. He focused the power of the music right where he was standing, knowing that he would not be affected by the spell. The three warriors, however, stumbled and faltered, each finally collapsing in magically-induced slumber.

“Let’s help the others!” Cal immediately said to Elly, leaving the sleeping tribesmen for the moment as they charged toward the muffled sounds of battle that still echoed through the mists.

Benzan gave ground before the relentless attacks of his adversary, forcing him back almost to the edges of the mists. He had already suffered two more wounds, a shallow cut to his left leg and a slight, but bloody cut across his forehead that had very nearly been much, much worse. He’d managed at least one counter that had gotten through his enemy’s defenses, but the cut in the chieftain’s side didn’t seem to faze the man in the slightest as his sword kept tearing at Benzan’s defenses.

Benzan nearly gave it up, retreating back into the mists that were so close behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Delem, however, hard pressed against a pair of enemies, and knew that the sorcerer would not be able to stand against this attacker, despite the magic at his command. So instead of backing up he came forward, the two bronze blades meeting again in another violent exchange. The tribesman was incredibly strong, and Benzan suspected that his strength had somehow been augmented as the force of the parry sent tingles of pain surging through his arm muscles. The tiefling managed to duck the inevitable counter, and then, as the chief began another sequence of attacks, he summoned a globe of darkness around them both.

Delem was being hard pressed. The two young warriors he fought made a good team, flanking him so that his protective shield could not be used against both. Both men were burned, both by his initial stream of flames and by a fan of burning hands he’d managed to call up as they’d charged him. The two men fought on despite their burns, however, and Delem realized that nothing short of death would stop them.

He tried to oblige them.

He focused on the one not warded by his shield, but when he tried to summon his magic the man behind him darted around the ruby barrier and stabbed him in the shoulder. The wound wasn’t too serious, but it distracted him enough to ruin the spell he was trying to cast. The man before him took advantage of his plight to stab his own dagger into Delem’s gut. Delem’s mage armor caught the shaft of sharpened bone, but the point still poked several inches into his flesh, sending a fiery wave of pain through the young sorcerer’s body.

The pain burned away conscious thought, and Delem gave himself over to the magic. His eyes seemed to flare with an inner light as he lurched forward and clapped his hands together on the sides of the warrior’s head. He didn’t even feel the pain of another thrust as the young man’s eyes widened in terror, moments before the flames exploded from Delem’s hands, engulfing the warrior’s head in a bright nimbus of fire that left behind a blackened stub of roasted flesh and bone.

The other warrior behind him screamed in pain and fury at the death of another brother, and came at Delem again, but this time his magical defenses turned the blow. Delem calmly turned, until the young warrior could see the death that shone in his eyes. Even then the warrior did not falter, stabbing at Delem at the same moment that the sorcerer brought the shield around to intercept the blow. The warrior thrust repeatedly, trying vainly to circumvent the shield, until Delem sent a pair of fiery bolts into his chest at point blank range. The crippled warrior, his entire upper body blackened by flames, tried one last time to hurl himself at the sorcerer, but another pair of magic missiles sent him down for good.

Dana’s heart caught in her chest as she watched Benzan battle the chief, taking hit after hit with little to show for it save bloody wounds. She could do nothing to help him, however, forced herself to dodge several arrows and hurled spears that came up at her from below. She’d dropped her own crossbow somewhere below, and could barely it anyway, so all she could do was draw fire and hope that her companions, most of whom were still shrouded by the obscuring mist, could come to her aid. Below her the witchdoctor started toward the battle between Benzan and the chief, but hesitated when a globe of darkness surrounded the two combatants. Dana took advantage of the distraction to cast a spell, calling down a sphere of magical silence onto the spellcaster to disrupt any other spells he might have up his sleeve.

Benzan stayed in the darkness as long as he could, using his sharpened senses to stay clear of the still-dangerous enemy warrior. He swallowed one of his minor healing potions, but still felt weakened by the several wounds that he had suffered in his battle with the chief. Knowing that he could not hide in the darkness long, however, he swallowed and darted for the edges of the spell.

Right into a seeming wall of a half-dozen spearmen, accompanied by the tribal witchdoctor and a tall warrior in bone armor with a bronze spear.

“All right then,” Benzan said. “See you all in the hells, you bastards!” He raised his sword in challenge, ready to charge into the knot of deadly shafts.

He paused, however, when a roar built from within the mists, drawing both his attention and that of the gathered native warriors.

“Oh boy, you guys are in trouble now,” Benzan said, his grim expression giving way to a dark grin just as Lok erupted from the mist and barreled into the spearmen. His wounds partially healed by the divine power of Tymora channeled through Ruath, the tough warrior leapt heedless into the fray, his armor deflecting several strokes that tried to halt his unstoppable progress. In his wake came Benzan, slashing at the witchdoctor. The be-feathered spellcaster’s expression was quite amusing as his mouth twisted in several silent curses, his magic forestalled by Dana’s spell. The man tried to retreat, but not before Benzan injured him with a serious cut to his side.

Cal and Elly came out of the mists as well, their appearance preceded by the sound of a rousing battle song by the gnome. Elly fired her crossbow at a native spearman, dropping the already wounded warrior, and she reloaded, wary lest any others threaten her or Cal.

But Lok was tearing through the enemy ranks once again, and this time there would be no spell to stop him. His initial rush caught one spearman with a killing blow to the head, and as two others tried to flank him he swept his axe out in a wide arc, slicing one’s leg to the bone and sundering the second’s spear in two as he tried to thrust into him. The bronze head of the leader’s spear thrust again at his exposed throat, but this time Lok was ready, bringing his shield up to deflect the attack. The genasi growled and charged at the armored spearman, ignoring the few feeble thrusts that tried to penetrate his flanks.

“Benzan, look out!” Dana cried, as the cannibal chief rounded the sphere of darkness and charged at the tiefling’s back.

Benzan spun to met the determined attack, parrying the first stroke. The warrior chief immediately launched into a full series of attacks, but Benzan held his ground, fighting on the defensive but taking another cut regardless of his efforts. This time, however, his look of determination held a glint of confidence in his eyes that seemed to mock the enemy warrior.

“Too late for you,” he said, “you had your chance.”

The warrior could not understand the words, although he wondered at why his adversary, clearly outmatched, did not give way this time. His answer came a moment later, as Benzan’s friends, no longer fighting for their lives against the other tribesmen, came to his aid.

Delem sent a pair of magic missiles into the man’s back, which didn’t do much damage but added to the overall impact of his several wounds. Cal added a spell of his own, a storm of illusory bats that appeared around the warrior’s head, distracting him and blocking his vision. Ruath and Elly both came forward as well, wary of the warrior but forcing him to divide his attention between them and Benzan, giving the tiefling the opening he needed for his deadly sneak attacks.

Their remaining foes fought with furious determination, however. The warriors still facing Lok kept up their attacks even as the genasi cut down their numbers. The armored leader stood up against him the longest, stabbing with his spear until Lok hacked him to pieces. The chief lashed out blindly at Benzan, and even managed a sudden spin and slash that nearly hit Elly as she tried to stab at the man’s exposed flank. Delem sent another pair of magic missiles into him, followed by a series of attacks from Benzan that left deep gashes in his body. Even then he refused to retreat, until finally Benzan took his head from his shoulders in a single powerful sweep.

And then, the battle was over. Of the initial four-dozen men and women that had challenged them, only a handful had retreated, climbing the rope to the shaft above or slipping into the mists toward the exit corridor. Hacked bodies lay all around them, leaving the stone floor of the chamber slick with their blood.

“It’s like a slaughterhouse,” Elly said, her face pale.

“They fought like madmen,” Benzan said, looking down at the body of the native warrior that lay at his feet. “Even when they were clearly beaten, they refused to retreat.” The companions shared a look that signified the same thing—the tales of the villagers of Mantru had more credence, now.

“Maybe they made a bad choice, living here,” Cal said, putting the thoughts of several of them to words.

Behind them, Varrus crept tentatively out the mists. Benzan looked about to challenge the man again, but he saw that the sailor’s cutlass was in his hand, and wet with blood. At least he did something, the tiefling thought, unaware that the blood had come from those tribesmen that Cal had incapacitated, and whom Varrus had slain while helpless.

Exhausted, wounded, and sickened by the carnage—but glad to be alive—the companions retreated to a corner of the room where the violence had not reached to tend their injuries and clean their battle-parched throats of the taste of battle.

Though they had won the battle, somehow none of them felt that all of the challenges that waited here had been beaten.

 

[Horacio]

Behind them, Varrus crept tentatively out the mists. Benzan looked about to challenge the man again, but he saw that the sailor’s cutlass was in his hand, and wet with blood. At least he did something, the tiefling thought, unaware that the blood had come from those tribesmen that Cal had incapacitated, and whom Varrus had slain while helpless.

Oh, Varrus is still alive I really hate that scum!
But Elly is still alive too, and that's good!

It was a bloody battle. Did you fully simulate it ?

 

[Rel]

Lazybones, I need to appologize. You have been a long-time supporter of my story hour and I have neglected, partly due to time constraints and partly due to just laziness, to return the favor.

Boy was that a mistake!

Your story and your writing are fantastic (if you'll pardon the pun). I love the dialogue between the characters and the action has got a supremely adventuresome feel. Really, really, great stuff. I am completely kicking myself for not reading sooner.

But on the up side, now I have lots of great reading to look forward to before I am caught up and have to endure the wait between posts that plagues all the best Story Hours.

Anyhow, thanks again for being a supporter of mine, but thanks even more for crafting such a great Story Hour.

 

[Lazybones]

Horacio: don't worry, Varrus will get his (heh heh)... though maybe not in a way you might expect . As for the battle, I did run most of it out on a round-by-round basis (I'm sure all of you have noticed the D&D combat rules system running quietly behind the action, although I don't bind myself slavishly to it in every instance). I generally don't roll dice, though, although I try to keep to the appropriate percentages (for hits and criticals, damage, saves, etc.).

Rel: welcome aboard! I'm always happy to get as a reader the author of one of the story hours I read regularly. The Faded Glory storyhours are always at the top of my list when I check the board for updates--and you've got an even tougher job than I do, since I can make my characters do whatever I want .

I'll get the next update up sometime tomorrow. We're approaching the end of the Isle of Dread, and I will (hopefully) deliver a grand climax for the end of Book III!

 

[Broccli_Head]

Hey LB, wonderful battle. I liked what happened behind the scenes...like Lok (THE BEST CHARACTER in the story) recovering from the fear and being healed and Varrus doing his despicable deeds.

Always an enjoyable read.

How come B. didn't use his levitation? Is Delem a spellfire wielder?

 

[Lazybones]

Broccli_Head: I think Benzan knew that he could have levitated out of reach of the chief during his battle, but it would have left Delem completely vulnerable. Thus he stuck it out. Delem's not a spellfire wielder, but he does like burning hands and Aganazzar's scorcher... He is tracking toward a prestige class, and should take it around 11th level.

* * * * *

Book III, Part 27

They didn’t rest long. The room where they’d confronted the tribesmen quickly filled with a stench of death, and in the hot, stale air it would not be long until the bodies started to rot. Now that the tribesmen were broken they could have returned to Mantru to rest and recover, but all of them felt the same restlessness, the same desire to be done with this place and return to their homeland. If the Well of Worlds was to be found here, they wanted to find it now.

They conducted a quick search of the area used as a lair by the tribesmen. Cal’s cantrip of magic-detection revealed that the bronze spear and sword that the native leaders had used both radiated magical auras, and the group claimed them, with Elly taking the spear and Lok the sword. Otherwise they found only crude personal items fashioned from bone, wood, and leather, and some foodstuffs that seemed, given what they knew about the culinary habits of the tribesmen, decidedly unappetizing. The chambers that opened off the balconies were likewise decorated only with similar trash, although in the room formerly occupied by the chief and his sons they found an entire wall given over to crude wooden shelves that held rank after rank of polished human skulls. Shuddering at the grim display, the companions left that chamber behind and continued on their search.

They finally ended up at the only other exit from the central chamber, a passage located directly across from the entrance that led yet deeper into the island. Cal lit a sunrod to illuminate their way, and thus equipped they started down the corridor, with Benzan again in the lead.

The corridor continued on for a short distance before turning sharply to the right, heading southward. They followed the passage in that direction, until Cal’s light indicated a steep staircase that descended for about thirty feet before ending in a stone wall that blocked the passage. They quickly descended the stairs toward the obstacle, and saw that the wall was of more recent construction in comparison to the ancient stone blocks of the corridor, apparently fashioned of loose rubble piled together almost haphazardly.

“Crude construction,” Lok said, examining the wall. “We can break through fairly easily, if we want to.”

“No doubt the tribesmen built it,” Cal observed.

“Maybe they wanted to keep out something that lives beyond,” Delem suggested.

“Well, only one way to find out,” Cal said, and he nodded to Lok. The genasi put aside his axe and went to work on the wall, his thick fingers finding gaps in the piled stone and tugging free large slabs with brute strength. With Benzan and Delem helping clear the debris, they’d made a hole large enough to squeeze through in a short while, and soon they were in the area beyond the wall, where the corridor continued deeper into the island. The air was stale but breathable, and the dust on the floor here was undisturbed, indicating that they were the first to come this way in quite some time.

A few dozen paces after passing the wall the corridor turned again to the right, now bearing to the west.

“It feels like we’re intruding here,” Elly said. “Like robbers breaking into a tomb.”

“We’re not robbers,” Benzan said. “Well, maybe if we find something valuable… But our main focus is just to find this Well, and make our way back home.”

“I know what you mean, though, Elly,” Dana said. “I can feel it too… there’s something here…”

She was interrupted by a sudden noisy creaking that filled the corridor around them. Without warning the floor underneath the lead members of their group began to crumble and give way, the heavy stone blocks falling into an open space below. Benzan’s nimble reflexes allowed him to leap ahead even as the floor under him collapsed, barely outracing the continuing collapse and ending up a goodly distance ahead where the floor of the corridor held. Lok, Cal, and Delem were less lucky, as all three fell into the dark opening revealed by the collapse. Elly and Dana barely managed to retreat back from the crumbling edge, joining Ruath and Varrus back in the length of corridor they’d just traversed.

The three companions did not fall far, landing in a chamber below them with a loud splash. The room, which was significantly larger than the space taken up by the corridor above, was apparently flooded with water. That was all they could tell at the moment, for the fall had snuffed out Cal’s sunrod, leaving them in pure darkness.

“Is everyone all right? Lok, Cal?” Dana’s voice came from the dark, her words nearly drowned out by the sounds of splashing that continued from below.

“Don’t move, you’re right by the edge,” Benzan cautioned, warning the others away from the weakened edge of the passage. A opening fully thirty feet across now separated them, the width of the flooded chamber below.

“Benzan! Can you see them?” Dana cried.

Delem’s voice drifted up from below. “The water’s only about five feet deep—I’ve got Cal.”

“What about Lok?”

Ruath completed a minor spell, and a pale glow sprung up around her fingers, illuminating the area around them enough for them to see. They looked down into the space below—the level of the water below was only about eight feet below the corridor above—and saw Delem, only his head showing above the water, holding onto Cal. Of Lok, there was no sign for an anxious moment.

“There!” Dana cried, pointing to where the top of a helmet just broached the water a short distance away from Delem and Cal.

“With his armor and weapons, he’s too heavy to swim!” Ruath shouted. “Delem, can you get to him?”

The sorcerer nodded and started pushing through the water, but before he could reach the submersed genasi Lok’s helmet shot up a foot out of the water, lifting the genasi high enough so that he could take a breath.

“Lok! Are you all right?” Delem asked.

“I’m okay,” he replied. “I’m balancing on my axe and shield, however, so I’d appreciate it if we could quickly get out of here.”

Relieved that his companions seemed all right, Benzan could chuckle a little at their predicament. “How’s the water, guys?” he called down to them.

“Cold!” Cal yelled, moderating his tone when his words echoed in the confined space. “Don’t just stand there, get us out of here!”

“Lok’s the one with the rope,” Benzan said, but then, to the surprise of the others, he lowered himself cautiously over the still-uncertain edge the opening, and dropped down to the water below!

“What are you doi—” Cal began, but he stopped when instead of splashing into the water beside them, Benzan landed softly on the water, standing on the surface as if it were a solid floor beneath his feet.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you,” Cal said.

“Horath’s ring!” Delem said. “You took the captain’s ring!”

“Well, he didn’t need it anymore,” Benzan said with an unapologetic shrug. “Here, let me help you,” he said, reaching down and taking hold of Cal’s sodden form, lifting the gnome up until he could reach the edge of the opening and pull himself back up to the level of the passageway above.

“Hmm… I think maybe you might be a little too heavy, Lok,” Benzan said.

“Delem, reach down and grab the bag of holding,” the genasi said, unable to let go of his weapon and shield lest he tumble back under the water. Once Delem had recovered the bag, Lok said, “There’s rope, pitons, and a small hammer inside. If Cal can secure a line above, Delem and I can pull our way out.”

After handing the bag to Benzan, Delem summoned a few dancing flames around him, illuminating the water-filled chamber. The room was approximately thirty feet square, with a half-open stone door in the middle of the north wall that revealed a flooded corridor beyond. With the light he could now see that the entire ceiling was discolored, and most of the support struts had crumbled away, which explained the collapse of the corridor. Hopefully, it didn’t mean that the entire complex was unstable.

Benzan leapt back up to the edge of the corridor and pulled himself up beside Cal, and the two of them quickly secured the rope to a piton driven into a gap between the stone blocks that made up the wall of the corridor. Lok pulled himself up first, and then Delem tossed up the genasi’s shield and axe before following.

“What about us?” Dana asked from across the gap.

“We’ll tie the end of the rope around the bag, and toss it to you,” Benzan suggested. “Then you can drive in a piton on your end, and use the rope to cross.”

It wasn’t an elegant operation, but after a short while they had rejoined their company on the far side of the gap. The three of them who had fallen into the flooded room dried out their gear as best they could, although their clothes were still sodden and dripping as they started down the corridor again. Benzan again took the lead as they continued their exploration, with another sunrod lighting the way.

“It’s my last one, so we’d better try to avoid another dousing,” the gnome said.

“I’ll try to keep an eye out for signs of another weakened floor,” Benzan promised.

The corridor made a series of quick turns to the left, until they were heading back to the east. After the final turn, though, the passageway quickly culminated in a door fashioned from a single heavy slab of stone.

“Hold on,” Benzan said, pausing to examine the door closely. “I don’t see anything that looks like a trap,” he reported. “Looks like a raw strength deal—Lok?”

The genasi handed his shield and axe to Delem, and confronted the door. He pressed his powerful hands against the portal, his muscles straining as he pushed against the stone. Finally, the door protesting against centuries of disuse, the heavy slab turned on its pivot, ultimately freezing again after a two-foot gap had been opened into the area beyond.

After pausing to rearm, Lok led the way through the door. The others followed him into a square room, also about thirty feet square, with another similar door in the opposite wall.

The room was virtually empty, save for an unadorned altar-table of heavy stone slabs that stood near the center of the north wall. Placed atop the table was a small stone box, about the size of a man’s head.

“Well, what have we here,” Benzan said, crossing toward the altar and the box.

“Careful,” Cal cautioned.

“Always,” Benzan said, but his attention was already fixed on the box. While the others gathered around—careful to keep their distance, lest the box be a trap—the tiefling gave the exterior of the box a thorough once-over. The box was hinged in the rear, so that its two halves would swing apart when pulled open. Benzan managed that without difficulty, but as he opened the box he sucked in a breath of surprise.

The bright light of Cal’s sunrod glimmered on the contents of the box, a small statue apparently fashioned largely from coral set with precious stones and pieces of crafted silver. The statue was of a strange, unfamiliar creature. Its upper torso was man-shaped, although its hands were webbed and its face unlike anything any of them had ever seen. Its eyes were wide and bulbous, and its mouth round and puckered, surrounded by a ring of tiny tentacles. Its lower body was divided into three long tentacles, each of which was topped by a sharply hooked claw, like a curved dagger.

“Amazing,” Benzan said, as he reached for the obviously quite valuable item. Suddenly, however, he flinched, his face twisting in an expression that was half confusion, half pain.

You are a child of the Blood, a voice came in his mind, smooth and sensual as it played against his perceptions. You bear a blade forged by the Elders, and stride the world without full awareness of your birthright. Do not be ashamed of what you are, Mighty One! You are better than those around you… those weak ones, those who hated you in their jealousy and fear…

Do not be afraid of your destiny… It is given unto you to walk the roads of kings, and to be the bane of nations…

What? Benzan shook his head at the last words, a phrase that seemed somehow familiar. The strange voice faded, its final words indistinct, sounding somewhat… angry? He looked around, confused, and saw his companions, their gazes all fixed on the statue, their expressions ranging from dazed looks to almost… dreamy? He shook his head again, feeling as though a fog were lingering in his thoughts, as he tried in vain to remember the things he’d just heard, promises…

He didn’t see Lok come up directly behind him, his axe coming up, ready to strike…

 

[Maldur]

Wow, after having a week of RL this was a great story!