# Travels through the Wild West: the Isle of Dread



## Lazybones (Feb 23, 2002)

Greetings!

I’ve included a poll to open this thread, for my returning readers to comment on their favorite character(s) of the TttWW story hour.  Please elaborate on the reasons for your choice in a post, and feel free to add any comments about your reactions to the story thus far.  I’ve tried to include a mix of narrative, dialogue, and pure action in the story, along with a mix of evil plots and occasional twists.  

To read the first two books of the story to date, visit the following link: 

http://www.enworld.org/messageboards/showthread.php?s=&threadid=152

Book III of the chronicle takes the story in a new direction, out of the Realms altogether for an interlude to the first published module I’ve integrated into the tale.  It’s a classic: the old Expert Set _Isle of Dread_ (I used to love the old Sinbad movies, and the whole ‘lost world’ concept … at least until the “Jurassic Park” movies).  But fear not!  The brave exiles (or at least some of them ) will make it back to Toril in good time, and find that dire threats and evil plots are still waiting for them there.  

I will continue the story on this thread in a few days.  Until then, I look forward to reading your responses!

The Characters (group started out at ECL 3, with 2,700gp of equipment each): 



*Lok*: Earth Genasi/Half-Dwarf Fighter 5

*Balander Calloran (“Cal”)*: Rock Gnome Bard 2/Illusionist 2

*Benzan*: Tiefling Fighter 2/Rogue 2/Conjurer 1

*Delem*: Human Sorcerer 4/Cleric 2 (Kossuth)

*Lady Dana Ilgarten*: Human Cleric 2 (Selûne)/Monk 2 (joined the group in Book II)

The character stats and progressions are listed on my Rogues’ Gallery thread.


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 23, 2002)

Travels through the Wild West, Book III

Summary of Events so far: 

Four companions meet by chance at a desolate crossroads west of the city of Elturel, in the Western Heartlands of Faerûn.  Each of the four is a wanderer, by choice or by fate, and as they share a campsite upon an old ruin they are attacked, first by a group of brigands led by a dark cleric of Mask, and then by an ogre ghoul that had been entombed under the ruin.  

Brought together by shared danger and shared loot, the four travel eastward to Elturel, and reach the village of Dunderion.  There they learn that Benzan was the target of the bandits, seeking to recover a mysterious statuette that the tiefling had stolen from the cleric.  That same night the sheriff of the village, a man named Kevrik Telwarden, shows up and announces that he is forming a posse to chase down a group of raiders who attacked a merchant caravan nearby.  Among those captured by the raiders was the daughter of a powerful nobleman.  Cal offers to join the posse, and his new companions accompany him.  

The chase leads them south to the River Chionthar and beyond.  They track the trail to the encampment of a bandit leader named Steel Jack, who leads a mixed group of humans and hobgoblins.  Benzan’s scouting allows the posse to get the drop on Jack’s forces, and after a brief battle they emerge victorious.  

But the prisoners have already been taken on to the Wood of Sharp Teeth.  Faced with dissention within his ranks, Telwarden and the trapper Cullan go on alone with the four companions, sending the rest of the posse back to Dunderion with instructions to send more help after them.  The six companions warily enter the outskirts of the wood, and tussle with a group of bloodthirsty stirges.  That encounter costs them most of their horses, but they press on regardless.  Cal communicates with a badger to learn more about the location of the bandit base, and with that clue they are able to find their goal: a small fort hidden within the forest protecting a nearby silver mine.  Apparently a group of hobgoblins is using prisoners as slave labor to work the mines.  

The companions decide to attack the mine, to try to free the prisoners.  They are successful, but an alarm is raised and they find themselves in a desperate melee against more than a score of hobgoblins.  Working as a team, they are barely able to hold out, but the hobgoblin leader, a cleric of dark gods, retreats back to the fort, where the noblewoman prisoner is being held captive.  The companions, worried about what the cleric will do to his prisoner, hurry after in pursuit despite the fact that most of their spells have been depleted.  

The fort has only a few hobgoblins left in garrison, so the companions try a desperate all-out attack.  Benzan is able to scale the stockade and open the gate, but is mauled to within an inch of his life in the process by the hobgoblins’ war dogs.  Luckily, Delem is able to awaken his newfound clerical powers at this point, and save the tiefling’s life.  Lok and Telwarden meanwhile head into the fort and confront the evil cleric, and are able to defeat him at the cost of Telwarden’s life.  Saddened by the loss of the brave sheriff, but with the prisoners safe, the companions return to Dunderion.  

They next travel to Elturel, where they are honored by Lord Dhelt for their efforts and feted by the wealthy merchant and noble elites of the city.  Clearly their troubles are not over, though, as assassins try to kill them right after an audience with the High Rider.  Lok is able to determine that the equipment used by the assassins is from the same source as that used by the hobgoblins in the forest, leading them to track down the source of the weapons—a smithy located there in the town.  

Their investigations at the smithy lead them to a warehouse along the city’s docks, where they find clues pointing them to one of the noble houses of Elturel.  They are also attacked by a shade assassin, whose strange powers nearly lead to their deaths.  After defeating the shade they decide to press on that very night to the estate of the nobleman who is apparently behind the whole thing—the raids, the mining operation, and the illegal trade in weapons and silver in Elturel itself.  They find the leader, all right, but it is not the nobleman, who was just a pawn, but a powerful cleric of the god Cyric.  They confront the cleric, who summons a demon to help him, and overcome him.  The cost is terrible, however, as Cal is killed in the battle.  

The companions have uncovered an evil plot and defeated a mighty adversary, but the victory is hollow with the loss of their friend.  Lok, Benzan, and Delem elect to go to Baldur’s Gate, and seek a cleric with the power to raise Cal from the dead.  They travel swiftly down the River Chionthar, fighting off an attack by kir-lanan gargoyles along the way.  Once in Baldur’s Gate, they meet with the high priestess of Tymora, who agrees to raise the gnome—for a service.  The companions agree to escort an emissary of the church to faraway Chult, on some unrevealed errand.  

Cal is raised, and reunited again, the companions prepare for their journey.  They upgrade their equipment, but before they can leave, they are approached by the same young noblewoman they rescued from the hobgoblins in the Wood of Sharp Teeth.  The young woman, Lady Dana Ilgarten, asks to accompany the companions on their journey for reasons of her own, and they reluctantly agree.  

The companions depart from Baldur’s Gate on a sailing ship, the _Raindancer_, along with the Tymoran emissary, a halfing cleric named Ruath.  Near the Nelanther Isles they are attacked by pirates, who are repulsed after a desperate battle.  The ship limps back to Velen, where the companions are accosted by thieves seeking to relieve them of some of their extra loot.  Leaving a bunch of battered thieves behind, they continue their journey.  The ship is attacked by a flock of strange birds that shoot bolts of lightning on the next leg of their journey, but these too are repulsed.  After a stop in Memnon, the ship continues on the final leg of its journey.  

Unfortunately, a severe storm strikes the ship in the Shining Sea.  Sensing that the storm is unnatural, the companions are able to discover a strange gem emanating green energy in the ship’s bilges.  Unable to approach the gem without suffering ill effects, they decide to destroy it using spells and acid arrows.  They are successful, but breaking the gem releases a vortex of energy that knocks them briefly unconscious.  They recover to realize that the storm is gone—and that the clerics’ links to their patron gods have been dramatically weakened.  Confused, they make their way up to the deck of the ship, where they realize that the stars above are unfamiliar…

The story continues from there…


----------



## Horacio (Feb 23, 2002)

I arrived!

My favorite character is Cal, but I cannot say why, because I don't know 

Please, read my post in the old thread about the website, and answer it if you can


----------



## Talindra (Feb 23, 2002)

*My Favorite Character*

Benzan, of course!  *sighs*  I just love the bad boys.


----------



## djrdjmsqrd (Feb 24, 2002)

*Comment*

First, as a writer myself I must apologize - I know how much feedback is wanted/needed.  I have, however, not been able to post till now.  RL keeps me from posting often, but not viewing.  I begun viewing the Story Hour of yours at the beginning, and I must say that is one of the best - and truly captures the feel of D&D 3E…

Thank You,
Djordje

PS. Thank you a lot for the Stat blocks in the RG


----------



## Salthorae (Feb 24, 2002)

*fav character*

Hey there, first time post to your thread...i think. I must say i love it so much i'm in bangkok on vacation right now and i'm still checking in to read it. 

My favorite character has to be Lok, it could be my partiality to the silent dwarf types....which for some reason i end up playing a lot...i just love readin about the strong man's axe biting into the baddies and the leaving a trail of frost. 

all that to say that lok rules and keep it coming lazybones!


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 25, 2002)

Yay!  New posters...

Thanks for your feedback, Djordje and Salthorae, glad to have you on board (thanks for the link in your sig, Djordje, I appreciate it!).  

Talindra: looks like several other readers agree with you!  I have to say, while I try not to play favorites when I'm writing, I really enjoy writing Benzan.  I have more "Benzan days" around the office than I probably should (especially Mondays-- brings out the cynic/smart-alec in me!).  

Horacio: yes, a number of my earliest readers noted that they liked Cal... maybe it was his upbeat personality, eternal optimism, and quiet leadership of the group.  He's had to come to grips with a real trauma lately what with coming back from the dead, but I think the support of his friends is going to help him rediscover his old zest for life.  His leadership will be needed in facing what's to come!

Any other posters/lurkers, feel free to chime in (and don't forget to vote in the poll), but now it's time for Book III!



* * * * * 

Book III, Part 1

The hot sun blazed down on the endless sea.  

The damaged _Raindancer_ limped along on the faint hints of breeze that drifted across the waters.  On the main deck, a few crewmembers moved about their duties in a lackluster fashion, conserving their energies in the same way that the crew was conserving their food and water supplies.  A full ten-day had passed since they had escaped from the strange storm, and each additional hour seemed to add a small measure to the growing uneasiness that pervaded the vessel.  

Their course bore southward and slightly to the east.  Their initial destination had lay on a southwesterly gradient, but after the storm Horath had shifted it slightly, reasoning that with the storm blowing them off course they might miss the peninsula entirely, and drift out into the Trackless Sea.  Better to sail deeper into the Shining Sea, he said, than risk that danger.  All of the sailors on board could see that the decision was increasingly meaningless, however, as the realization set in that they were far, far away from where they had been before the storm.  It was not only the sudden change in the weather, or the strange stars that hung in the sky above them each night.  Word of the clerics’ discoveries about the sudden distance between them and their gods spread quickly, but even beyond that, there was a strange something in the very world itself, a sense of wrongness that none of them could quite place.  

Without any alternative, however, there was little that the crew could do but grumble, although Horath did find himself breaking up a few brawls born of frustration and uncertainty.  

Without even the distraction of work aboard the vessel, its passengers had even more time on their hands to ponder what twist of fate had catapulted them here… wherever “here” might be.  They practiced their skills, passed hours playing cards or throwing dice, or listening to Cal as he spent time practicing with his new lute.  Delem retrieved the pieces of the gemstone that they had sundered, but there was nothing to be learned from them, now just shards of clear stone that radiated only a faint afterimage of magic.

So it was with relief early one morning that the companions hurried back abovedecks to the sound of the lookout’s call.  The crew was already gathering on the port rail, where they could just make out the faint line on the horizon that signaled land ahead.  

“Finally, a chance to get off this ship!” Benzan said with a grin to his companions as they made their way up to the aft deck.  

“Not to mention get a bath,” Dana snapped at him.  

“You aren’t exactly fresh yourself, princess,” the tiefling shot back with a smile.  

Cal disarmed the brewing clash by addressing Captain Horath, who was looking at the distant land through his spyglass.  “So, captain, what faraway shores have we at last stumbled upon?”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” the captain replied, giving an order for the helmsman to alter the ship’s course to the east, more directly toward the faint line on the horizon.  

“Where’s Cleric Talasca?” Cal asked, noticing that the halfling woman wasn’t present.  

“She was down in our quarters, last I looked,” Dana said.  Cal sensed that there was something more there, a current of disquiet between the two women, but didn’t press the matter.

As if to reinforce the encouragement bred by the sighting, a faint breeze picked up, speeding the _Raindancer_ toward the unidentified landmass.  As it drew nearer they could see that what looked like a line of cliffs rising up out of the sea before them, with a dense row of jagged peaks behind them.  It looked like a forbidding shore, but they had few other options to pursue at the moment, so they came inexorably onward.  

Horath posted lookouts ahead and ordered soundings, careful precautions lest a hidden reef or sandbar catch them unawares and damage the ship.  As they got closer they could see several islands separate from the main landmass to the south, and since they could detect no easy place to land ahead, they turned in that direction, following the wind.

Ruath Talasca finally came up from her cabin, dark circles clearly obvious under her eyes as she took in their surroundings and headed directly to the captain.  Their conversation was brief and hushed, and when it was over she retreated to the rail alone, clearly subdued.  

The day passed slowly, with the intermittent breeze offering the only relief from the blazing sun.  As night approached they drew nearer to one of the larger islands, a rocky mound of barren hills several miles across and at least a dozen miles in length.  Horath decided to drop anchor near the island, and send a shore party out in the morning to seek food and water.  

The night passed uneventfully, and with the coming of the dawn Lok, Cal, Delem, Benzan, Dana, and a pair of crewmen crowded into one of the _Raindancer’s_ small boats and started for the island.  They reached the rocky shores without incident, and after securing the boat along with the empty water casks started inland to begin their search.  

The island’s surface seemed particularly rugged, with the predominant type of plant being a dry, thorny bush that choked the uneven dells that lay in the gaps between the hills.  Delem spotted a creature, a small furry beast that resembled a giant rat, but it vanished so quickly into a hole that he could not be certain of what he’d seen at all.  

“Doesn’t look like we’ll have much luck here,” Benzan said, as they made their way up to the summit of a steep hill.  Behind them, they could see the ship sitting at anchor, just a few miles distant.  

“Let’s look in the lows a little more,” Cal suggested.  “Maybe we’ll find a spring, or some edible plants.”

Even as they started out again, however, a harsh screech echoed through the hills around them, followed almost immediately by another.

“There!” Delem cried, pointing toward the summit of an adjacent hill.

 There was little chance that any of them would miss them.  Five creatures launched themselves into the air from nests hidden amidst the boulders around the hilltop, continuing their angry screeches as they winged toward the intruders.  The creatures were strange and wondrous, with the heads and upper bodies of eagles combined with the torso and hind legs of a large horse.  Powerful wings carried them quickly into the air, rapidly closing the distance to their position.  

“Take cover!” Cal cried out, and they scurried to find sheltered positions amidst the stones.  They were still dangerously exposed, however, as the five creatures arrived overhead, and with a final combined cry dove at them.  

“Here we go again,” Benzan said, as he reached for an arrow.


----------



## Horacio (Feb 26, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *“Here we go again,” Benzan said, as he reached for an arrow. *




That phrase was really superb! It expreasses very well all the character life in the last days, here they go again, always a new enemy to fight... They must be so tired. But I think it will pass some time until they find a resting place...
I love the story!


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 26, 2002)

Book III, Part 2

Five hippogriffs dove toward the adventurers, exposed atop the crest of a rocky hill.  

But the companions were far from helpless, and their attacks lanced into the diving creatures.  Benzan sighted and fired his bow, drawing and releasing the second even before the first had covered half the distance to its target.  His first arrow hit the lead creature in the breast, digging deep into its muscled flesh and dragging a screech of pain and fury from it.

The others, following his lead, targeted the same creature with their weapons.  Lok’s arrow, backed by the potent force of the minotaur pirate’s longbow, narrowly missed, as did the bolts from the crossbows of the two crewmen, but Cal’s crossbow scored a hit, the bolt burying into the creature’s wing.  It faltered, its momentum carrying it down quickly, but it managed to maintain control of its dive even when Delem sent a pair of magical missiles darting into its body.  

Benzan’s second arrow missed, and then there was no more time; the diving hippogriffs swept down out of the sky and tore into them.  

The tiefling hurled himself desperately aside as the injured leader lashed out at him with its powerful foreclaws.  He felt a claw rip into his tunic as he spun away, shredding the cloth but failing to get a grasp on the mithral links of chainmail beneath.  As he finished his dive he came up into a smooth crouch, his scimitar slicing out of its scabbard at the ready.  

Of the others, however, only Lok fared equally well in that first strike, holding his ground and absorbing the creature’s momentum with his shield as it tried to find purchase through his heavy armor.  Delem tried to duck under the rush of another but felt a hot sting across his back as its claws dug deep into his flesh.  It landed a few feet away and spun to come at him again, but Dana quickly moved to block its path to the vulnerable sorcerer.  

Another dove into one of the _Raindancer_ crewmen, catching the hapless sailor as he tried to dodge out of its path.  Both claws ravaged the man, and as the hippogriff’s momentum carried it forward it knocked him roughly down the far slope of the hill, coming to rest finally in a bloody tangle at its base.  

The last creature attacked Cal, who for once would not have minded being overlooked.  Cal tried to dodge out of its path, but at the last instant once claw latched onto his shoulder and yanked him roughly up into its grasp.  Electing not to land at all, the hippogriff instead spread its wings and continued on past the hilltop back up into the air, bearing the struggling gnome with it.  

“One of them’s got Cal!” Lok shouted in warning, but the rest of them were too busy defending themselves to intervene.  The genasi tore into his attacker with his axe, cutting a great wound in its chest, but that only seemed to drive the creature on into a frenzy as it tore at him with claws and beak.  None of the attacks hit, deflected by Lok’s magical armor and shield, but neither was he able to break free from its surging rush.  

Benzan had a better chance, fighting an already critically wounded adversary, but as he slashed at it he stumbled on some loose stones, and only barely kept his footing.  The hippogriff was quick to take advantage of his misfortune, lashing into him with its claws and beak.  His agility and armor protected him against the first lashing claw and the stabbing beak, but its final claw scored his unprotected leg, drawing multiple gashes across the limb as he dodged backward from the creature’s grasp.  

Meanwhile, Delem and Dana also had their hands full with their attacker.  Dana successfully drew its attention away from Delem, but then had her hands full dodging its powerful attacks.  One claw slashed her despite her efforts, trailing a line of blood across her torso.  Her own blows seemed to have little effect, but Delem used the distraction to launch a stream of fire into its flank, injuring it.  

The last hippogriff turned on the remaining crewman, who tried to fight off the creature with his mace, but fell before it as it stabbed its long beak into his chest.  The man’s screams, combined with the sound of rending flesh, sent a chill down the spines of each of the remaining combatants as they fought desperately to repulse the vicious creatures.  With two allies down, and another carried off, and none of the creatures yet dispatched, the situation looked grim for the companions.  

Cal, meanwhile, dangled in the grasp of the hippogriff, high above the rocky ground below as it carried him back toward its lair.  He had a good idea of what it intended for him when it arrived, and the thought gave him an additional burst of energy as he reached one of his pockets and drew out a wand.  Without hesitating he twisted around and fired a color spray up into the beast’s face.  The angle was bad, so the colors didn’t hit the creature’s eyes directly, but the sudden display was enough to get the hippogriff to release him.  

Cal fell, and the ground, eighty feet below, rushed up to meet him.  

Benzan lashed out again at his wounded opponent, and this time the magically keen scimitar cut deep, tearing a wide gash in its throat.  Even as the creature fell he was running in the direction that the creature carrying Cal had headed, sheathing his sword and drawing his bow as he went.  He saw the burst of color and Cal’s fall, and his breath caught in his chest.  

Lok, meanwhile was trading blows with his adversary.  The hippogriff got through his defenses with a powerful slash of its claws, but took in turn a devastating attack that ripped open its chest.  Staggered, but still managing to fight on, the creature swarmed over Lok, who held his ground stoically against its attacks.  

Dana and Delem continued their two-pronged attack on their opponent.  Dana could have retreated from the hippogriff as it turned back at Delem, but instead she came in at it again, raining a flurry of blows at it that drew it angrily back to her.  The move cost her, as it tore into her with beak and claw, nearly dragging her under it to be torn to pieces.  She was able to dodge free, although her steps were no longer sure and bright red blood spotted her garments in several places.  Delem attacked it again, sending a pair of magic missiles into it, but could not follow up as the last creature, having finished off the _Raindancer_ crewmen, leapt to attack him.  Unarmored and virtually unprotected, the sorcerer suddenly felt very vulnerable.  

Cal fell half of the distance to the ground before he recovered enough to utter a word of magic, hastily invoking a spell.  The result was immediate, and his fall eased to a gentle drift, like that of a falling feather.  

He landed just in time to see the hippogriff he’d stunned wheel around and dive at him again.  

Lok finally finished off his adversary with a defiant roar, and immediately charged to the aid of the hard-pressed Dana and Delem.  Delem had drawn his wand of sleep, and only narrowly dodged out of the way as the onrushing hippogriff collapsed where he had been standing only moments before.  Dana, meanwhile, continued her retreat, drawing her adversary after her.  She saw Lok coming and angled toward him, but before she could reach him the hippogriff caught up to her.  

She tried to twist away, but her considerable skill could not save her as the creature pounced upon her.  

Cal cast another spell as the hippogriff dove right for him, but the creature shook off the whispered lull of the magical sleep.  It was not able to shake off the long arrow that slammed into its chest, however, or the burning pain of the acid that immediately began to ravage its flesh.  Screeching in anger and pain, the creature tried to veer off and retreat, but barely managed two beats of its powerful wings before another arrow slammed deep into its body.  Staggered, the creature lurched drunkenly through the air for another few yards, then plummeted to the hard ground below.  

Lok charged full-on into the hippogriff that was tearing at Dana, slamming his shield into its chest and bodily forcing it back from the bleeding and unconscious monk.  It screeched in anger and tore at him, but its attacks were unable to penetrate the genasi’s defenses.  Lok slammed it again, lifting the front of its body off of the ground with brute strength, and then ripped his axe through its belly.  The creature screamed as Lok pushed it over into a thrashing heap, finishing it with one more blow to its throat from his deadly axe.   

Delem was already crouched over Dana’s bleeding form, focusing the extra mental effort to summon a spell of healing.  Luckily, Lok had reached her just in time to keep her from being torn apart by the hippogriff, but it had only been a matter of seconds.  The two, fighter and sorcerer, shared a sigh of relief as the young woman stirred, and opened her eyes.  

“Thanks,” she said, gingerly getting up.  She closed her eyes and whispered the words of an invocation to Selûne, adding her own healing power to further restore her.  The spell took a few seconds longer than normal, and some additional concentration, but finally the blue glow of healing suffused her battered frame.  That finished, she took out her healing wand.  

“What about the sailors?” she asked.  

Lok, who’d seen what was left of the two men, shook his head.  

“A close one,” Delem commented, as Dana used her wand to treat his injuries.  

“We got complacent,” Benzan growled, as he and Cal came up and rejoined them, both somewhat the worse for wear from their encounters with the hippogriffs.  “And careless.  No tactics to speak of, and we let those things come at us from all sides, and take out the weaker fighters.”  

“They came at us from above,” Delem protested.  “There really wasn’t anything more we could have done.”

“Tell that to Jerim and Corwin,” Benzan snapped, gesturing toward the ravaged corpses of the two sailors. 

“This isn’t accomplishing anything,” Cal said.  “Let’s get back to the ship.  We’ll take the bodies of the sailors for a proper burial.”

Their mood darkened, the five of them headed quickly back toward the waiting _Raindancer._


----------



## MasterOfHeaven (Feb 26, 2002)

Benzans placing in these polls is solid _proof_ that Tieflings should receive a bonus to Charisma, not a penalty.    I voted for Delem, mostly because I like the way you describe his various spells, with the way they are all somehow connected to Fire.  As usual, great work, and I look forward to reading more.


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 26, 2002)

Thanks, MasterOfHeaven; I'm glad someone voted for Delem... he's a tough character to write, because he's got such a tortured background (I mean, the guy _did_ kill his parents!).  I like the fact that he's sort of clueless (even with his high Wis) yet is developing considerable destructive power (and is the only one in the group with evocation magic).  I haven't developed him as much as he deserves lately, what with all the attention I've been lavashing on Cal and Lok and Benzan (give the people what they want, I say!).  It's important to remember, though, that Delem is still young (he's the youngest by far of the companions, still in his late teens) and pretty soon his rapidly growing power is going to catch up with him, and lead to some tough choices for him and his friends.  

As for me, I voted for the badger, because I didn't want to be seen as playing favorites among any of my major characters .  

Today, my boredom at work=double post day for readers!  Enjoy!


* * * * * 

Book III, Part 3

With its first landing on these strange and foreign shores leading to the loss of two crewmembers, the _Raindancer_ continued cautiously onward to the south.  The landscape to their east gradually changed as the day went on, the cliffs and mountains giving way to a dense jungle that extended to the very water’s edge.  They did not see any open place where they could land a shore party, however, and none of them were ready to tackle the depths of the jungle.  So instead they continued to bear south, passing the long island of the hippogriffs and spotting several more islands ahead along their current course as they followed the shoreline of the larger landmass to their east.  

“How are we set for supplies, captain?” Cal asked, as they scanned the face of the distant jungle from the relative safety of _Raindancer’s_ aft deck.

“I’m not so worried about supplies,” Horath replied.  “Cleric Talasca has been good enough to augment our stocks her clerical magic, which will stretch our food and water stores for quite some time.  I’m more worried about the ship—we took quite a beating in that storm, and she really needs some time in drydock for repairs.”

“I don’t know if we’re going to find a friendly port around here,” Benzan said.  

“Sail ho!” came a cry from the lookout, drawing their attention to the starboard rail.  

It was not one, but four sails drawing nearer to the _Raindancer_, coming from the direction of another island south of the one they had just left behind.  As the crew began the inevitable preparations for yet another confrontation the passengers watched the approach of the vessels.  Soon they could see that the newcomers were not ships at all, but large outriggers containing seven or eight passengers apiece.  They were still to far to discern much about them, even through Horath’s glass, although they looked to be human. 

“Suppose they’re hostile?” Cal asked.  

“Why not?” Benzan groused.  “Everything else has been.”

“Let’s keep an open mind,” Horath said, “but be ready, regardless.”

Their angle of approach gave them less wind than the sailing vessel, but the outriggers still managed to close the distance rapidly with the strong oar work of their crews.  As they drew nearer Horath moved to the fore deck to greet them, the companions close behind with weapons at the ready.  As the four boats approached bow range a figure stood in the bow of the first, and waved to them, as if in greeting.  Horath waved back, and the four boats drew nearer, traveling more cautiously now.  

“They’re armed, all of them,” Cal noted.  They could see the crews of the boats more clearly now, close enough for them to see the variety of weapons they bore and the crude but no doubt functional armor they were dressed in.  The men themselves—for they were all male, as far as they could see—looked unusual but not excessively so, short and squat and dark colored, with unruly shocks of rough-cut black hair.  

As a precaution, Cal used his wand of mage armor on himself, Delem, and Dana.  

As the boats drew within hailing distance, they split up, with two approaching each side of the _Raindancer_.  The leader stood in the bow of his craft again, close enough now for them to see that he wore a shirt of mail links, crafted of an unusual metal with a light gray-green coloration.  A few of the others wore similar shirts, but most were clad in what looked like crude leather armor, buckled around their otherwise naked torsos.  Also noticeable were the crossbows that many of them carried cocked and ready in their laps.  

“All right, that’s close enough!” Horath said, his voice carrying out over the waves.  The leader waved in response, and shouted something in reply in an incomprehensible language, but the boats continued to approach, if slowly.  

“Does anyone understand what he’s saying?” Horath said.  

“I have a spell that can translate,” Dana said, and at Horath’s nod began to focus on strengthening the distant connection to her goddess.  

“If they get closer, I can use my charm spell on the leader,” Delem offered.

“Yes, but how would we communicate what we want to him?” Cal wondered.

Meanwhile, Horath shouted another warning, this time accompanied by an outstretched hand and a motion to the half-dozen archers he had along the rail beside him, who leaned forward and readied their weapons for firing.  That got the attention of the boatmen, who put down their oars and let their craft drift a mere forty feet or so ahead of the ship’s bow.  The momentum of the _Raindancer,_ however, continued to push it closer to the outriggers.  

“Finished,” Dana said, as she completed her spell and stepped up beside the elf captain.  

“Can your spell help us talk back to them?” Horath asked her.  

“No, it just translates what they say.”

“Well, it’s something, at least.”

The leader started talking again, and there was a little bit of an edge to his voice now, as he pointed angrily at the weapons trained his way. 

“He says that he just wants to trade,” Dana translated.  “He says that not many… outsiders… come to the islands, and that they have what we want.”

“What do we want?” Benzan asked.  

“Oh, the usual,” Cal replied.  “Peace, happiness, understanding between men.”

Horath shot an annoyed glance at the two and turned back to the rail, clearly frustrated that he could not communicate with the strange boatmen.  Clearly the leader was feeling the same way, unaware that his words were in fact being understood.  He reached down and hefted something toward them, a string of gleaming metal that seemed to glitter in the sunlight.

“Hello,” Benzan said, trying to make out what the shining item was.  

The ship had drifted closer to the boats, meanwhile, until only a dozen paces or so separated them.  The leader of the boatmen gestured at Horath again, holding up the precious item, making a gesture that seemed to indicate that he wished to come aboard to barter.  

“They’ve got rope and grapples,” Delem warned, noticing that some of the men on the outriggers were concealing them behind their bodies as the ships drew nearer. 

“They’re not getting on board my ship,” Horath snarled.  “Fire a warning shot!” he shouted to one of his men, and as the archer fired his arrow into the bow of the leading outrigger, the boatmen attacked.  

Arrows darted back and forth between the two groups, and with the close proximity, many found their marks.  Three of Horath’s crew staggered back from the rail, injured, and the elf captain himself took a hit, an arrow lodging in his upper arm.  The companions’ armor and magical protections served them much better, and Dana even knocked an arrow aimed at her aside with her palm, surprising the rest of them with her trained reflexes.  

“You’ll have to teach me that trick!” Benzan said, as he fired his bow into the boatmen swarming toward the sides of the ship.  

The boatmen fought ferociously, but it was soon clear that they were greatly outmatched.  Cal played a magical tune on his lyre that sent three of the boatmen to the floor of their outrigger, fast asleep, and Delem sent a stream of flames into a second craft that blasted another trio of attackers and sent them diving screaming into the water.  Benzan and Lok both hit with their mighty bows, each dropping their adversary, while Dana’s crossbow bolt went awry and fell harmlessly into the waves.  

A dozen grapples sailed up onto the _Raindancer’s_ decks, most of them catching on the railing of the low middle deck.  Even as the first of the boatmen scrambled on board, however, members of the crew gathered to repulse them, stabbing the intruders with cutlasses or striking them solidly with clubs.   A knot of six attackers managed to get on board and formed into a defensive wedge, striking down a pair of crewmen who tried to attack them, but that wedge quickly crumpled as Lok barreled down the stairs from the foredeck and charged into the enemy ranks.  The crude cutlasses of heavy iron used by the hostile warriors glanced off of the genasi’s plate armor, while his axe in turn swept back and forth like a reaper’s scythe, slaying a lightly armored defender with each stroke.

The leader of the boatmen apparently recognized the ultimate outcome of this confrontation, for he started shouting orders and the outriggers that were still manned began to turn, their crew plying their oars furiously in retreat while their fellows kept up a withering barrage of arrows.  The archers quickly fell, though, as Benzan and the other archers of _Raindancer_ kept up their fire, striking down each one in turn.  Dana had already turned to help their own wounded, and Delem, stepping to the rail, launched another stream of flames that arced across the waters to flare into the sail of the lead outrigger as it turned away, transforming the hapless craft into a pyre.  

The men working the oars of the burning boat leapt into the water and started to swim to the other retreating craft, but to their amazement, the leader simply stepped out of the boat and onto the waves, running across the water to the second boat.    

“Magic!” Delem whispered at the sight.  

The burning outrigger broke up and sunk beneath the waves, and a second remained against the side of the _Raindancer,_ its crew bleeding on the deck of the ship or drowned in the surrounding sea.  The other two retreated back toward the southwest, toward the island visible in the distance in that direction.  

The companions turned to help Horath and his crew secure the ship.  Most of the half-score boatmen that had made it aboard were dead, run through by the crewmembers or dismembered by Lok’s axe, but one was still breathing, and was stabilized with a minor healing orison by Dana.  The man was in no shape to offer any further resistance, but they kept a close watch on him nonetheless.  Of their own crew, only one injury was fatal, the quick action of the clerics again turning what might have been critical injuries into lesser wounds.  

“We can’t keep losing crewmembers like this!” Horath growled, clearly frustrated by the loss of another of his crew.  A pair of sailors were detailed to clean up the body, while others started tossing the corpses of the invaders overboard after looting them of any useful or valuable items.  

“I say we don’t let them get away with it,” Benzan suggested. 

“What, go after them?” the captain said.  “But… for all we know, there’s a whole city of them on that island, and more outriggers.”

“All the more reason to bring the attack to them,” the tiefling reasoned.  “Do we want to let them get organized, and come after us in force?”

“Our spells are depleted,” Delem said, “and some of the crew are still injured.”

“It isn’t wise to head into a dangerous situation where one has no information,” Lok added.  

“Perhaps not,” Cal said, as an idea came to him.  He turned to Dana, who was finishing bandaging an injured crewmember nearby.  “Dana, is your spell of comprehension still in effect?”

“Yes—for a few more minutes, at least.”

Cal turned to Delem.  “Delem, why don’t you use some healing, and bring our injured captive around?”  

The sorcerer nodded.  “And maybe use some other magic as well, see if we can earn his trust,” he said, understanding where the gnome was going with his plan.  

While the crew continued securing the ship after the battle, the companions turned to their prisoner.  Delem used his healing magic to bring the injured man back to consciousness, then cast his spell of charming.  The stirring warrior stared into Delem’s eyes, caught up in the swirling flames that shone there, and within a few moments was talking animatedly with them.  He could not understand any of them, of course, but Cal and Delem were able to pantomime enough to get their meaning across, and Dana translated what the man related in response.  

They learned a lot in the brief interview, and the information did not endear them to the aggressive folk who had attacked them.  They called themselves the _Inselvolk_, a word that Dana translated roughly as “people of the islands.”  The large landmass to their east was just another island, albeit a large one, that they called “the Isle of Dread.”  Several villages existed on the southern part of the big island and the smaller islands nearby, but the bulk of the Isle of Dread was populated by “powerful spirits” and huge monsters.

“Sounds like a regular paradise,” Benzan commented.  

The people who attacked them were based on the island to the southwest, where they had a fortified outpost.  He said that there were nearly a dozen more warriors back at their outpost, to defend the base and guard their captives.  They made their living by raiding the other villages, taking slaves and selling them to people living on a more distant cluster of islands to the west.  The whole region was called the “Thanegioth Archipelago,” and extended for thousands of miles, as far as they could deduce from their captive’s comments.  He hinted of other civilizations and a continent far to the north, but his knowledge of such lands was extremely sketchy.  

Dana’s spell expired before the man stopped talking, and the companions retreated to discuss what they had learned.  Before they could say much, however, Horath came over to them, a worried look on his face.

“What is it, captain?” Cal asked.

“I’ve just come from below decks,” the elf responded.  “I don’t know if it was being bumped by those outriggers, or just the ongoing strain on the storm-damaged hull, but we’re taking on water.  Both the center and aft bilges are filling up—I’ve got crewmembers working on bailing and patching the seams, but we’re going to need to drydock the _Raindancer,_ and sooner rather than later.”

Benzan glanced down at their prisoner, who offered a gap-toothed smile up at them in return.  “Seems like a fortified slaver outpost would be just the thing,” he said.  

“It’ll be well defended,” Horath offered.  

The companions shared a meaningful look.  “We’ll see,” Lok said, hefting his axe.


----------



## Horacio (Feb 27, 2002)

First pirates, now angry islanders. It seems a old Errol Flinn movie... 

Errol Flinn as a tiefling warrior/rogue, what an idea!


----------



## Thorntangle (Feb 27, 2002)

Are the crewmen of the _Raindancer_ wearing red shirts by any chance? 

Great update, Lazybones.


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 27, 2002)

Horacio: Yup, gotta love those old adventure movies (The Adventures of Robin Hood [the original] is still one of my favorites)!  I always thought Errol Flynn had a bit of demon blood in him (I love his movies, but I hear he was a real character off the screen).  

Thorntangle: funny you should say that... I'm a little ahead on the story, and let's just say that the common crewmembers are going to start getting real nervous!

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 4

The raider camp was nestled in a rocky cove on the eastern side of another long island, surrounded by low hills that were covered with thick tangles of clinging brush.  Three wooden towers warded the perimeter of the camp, which was also surrounded by a thick wall of dense thornbushes that had been gathered and weighed down with rocks.  The camp itself consisted of about a dozen crude but functional wooden huts, while a narrow cave entrance was visible at the base of one of the hills at the very rear of the encampment.  Two of the long outriggers were beached on the sandy shore in front of the huts.  

“They’re ready for us,” Horath said as he lowered his spyglass, after relating each of the details of the camp that he’d seen to the others gathered around him.  They were again on the foredeck of the _Raindancer_, as the ailing ship made its way gradually toward the pirate camp.  The sun had already touched the horizon to the west, and night was approaching quickly, but given their situation, no one suggested postponing the attack.  

“How many?” Benzan asked.  

“Looks like two or three in each of the towers, and more around the area of the huts.  Looks like most of them are trying to stay out of sight, however.”

“So, what is your plan?” Ruath asked.  The halfling cleric still looked somewhat haggard, as she had since they’d entered this… place, but at least she was now actively participating in their deliberations.  

“We go straight in, and take them out,” Cal offered plainly.  

“That’s it?” the halfling replied, her brow furrowing as she frowned, an expression quite familiar to all of them.  “What if they have a wizard, or other spell-caster?  What if the shore is too shallow for the ship to approach?  You seem rather eager to risk the ship and its crew, adventurer.”

“Look, the ship isn’t going to stay afloat much longer anyway, in its current condition,” Cal replied.  “We know from our prisoner that there aren’t more than two dozen of them left, including the ones that escaped before.  Once we take out the slavers, we’ll find a place where we can safely beach the ship, and start repairs.”

“It looks like they picked a choice location,” Horath noted.  “The curve of the shoreline and the hills behind offers good shelter from any storms.”

“I remember when those odds would have given us pause,” Benzan said, though his smile betrayed his enthusiasm.  “Headlong into danger, then?” he added, with a wink at Dana.

 “Maybe we should just take the outrigger, land further up the coast, and come at them by land,” Lok suggested.  They’d taken the twenty-foot long craft left by the slain boarding party, and now towed it behind _Raindancer_.  Given the current state of the ship, it had seemed a reasonable precaution to have a backup.  “Benzan and I can manage just fine in the dark, and we can guide you in.”

“Yes, but we don’t know the lay of the land, and I’m thinking that maybe that wall of thorns is there for good reason,” Cal replied.  “And given what we’ve seen thus far, I don’t think it’s a good idea to divide our forces.”

“Well, they’ve seen us by now anyway,” Benzan said.  “Since we’ve knocked, it’s only polite to come in for a visit.”

With uncertainties remaining, but with fewer options, they started making preparations as the _Raindancer_ drew steadily nearer to the sheltered cove.  

* * * * * 

Horath returned to the wheel, guiding the ship gently into the shallows while crewmembers on each rail called out soundings and watched for sandbars, reefs, or other obstacles hidden under the waves.  Meanwhile, the passengers went to work readying themselves for the coming battle.  Cal renewed the _mage armor_ protecting himself, Dana, and Delem, and he offered its protection as well to Ruath.  At his offer, however, the halfling shook her head, and at Cal’s look of surprise pulled back the collar of her heavy tunic to reveal the shiny steel links of a magical mail shirt underneath.  

_So there’s more to her than meets the eye,_ Cal thought, as he rejoined the others at the bow.  Lok and Benzan had already strung their heavy bows, and the genasi had taken out another bundle of arrows from the bag of holding for them to refill their quivers.  Lok also took out several lengths of rope and fastened them to the rail in front of them, in case they needed to disembark quickly from the ship.   

“Remember the battle against the hobgoblins at the mine?” Cal asked his friends, eliciting a nod from Lok, Benzan, and Delem.  Dana’s face betrayed her confusion, but Benzan just told her to stay behind cover, and follow Cal’s lead.

They could all make out the warriors within the camp, now, loading their crossbows from the cover of the towers or dodging from one prepared position to another amidst the huts.  There were fewer than had attacked them on the high seas earlier, but this time the raiders were on the defensive, on their prepared ground.  Each of them anticipated a tough fight ahead.  

Cal took the summit once again, stepping up atop a storage locker so that he had a clear view out over the ship’s rail.  

“What are you doing?” Dana asked him.  “You’ll be a sitting duck for those archers…”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Lok said, taking up a position just behind the gnome.  Benzan stepped up to his opposite flank, adjusting his quiver so the arrows crowded within were in easy reach.  

“Now remember, if you see a wizard, SHOOT HIM FIRST!” Benzan said.  “And maybe take out those guys in the weird chainmail, too—they’re probably leaders.”

The ship gained momentum as it got caught up in the surf, thrusting it forward toward the beach.  They could hear the shouts of the raiders, now, and a few missiles even lanced out toward them, though they were still just out of range.

Cal cast his first spell, summoning an invisible shield of force into being in front of him.  The timing was perfect, as the first bolt to reach the ship thudded into the hull just a few feet below him, and others were soon on their way.  Benzan and Lok launched their first volley of return fire at the snipers in the two towers along the seaward edges of the camp.  Dana and Delem supported them with their crossbows, and a number of the crewmembers added to the volume of fire as well, shooting from positions of cover along the ship’s rail.  The distance was extreme, and both sides had cover, so no one scored any hits in the first few volleys.  The ballista crew added its voice to the barrage, although its first missile too sailed wide of its mark.  

One of the lookouts shouted a warning, and Captain Horath quickly followed that with a command.  “Brace yourselves!” the elf cried, and all missile fire stopped for a moment as they all grabbed onto something solid. 

The ship ran up onto the sandy shelf of the beach with great force, sending a shudder through the very frame of the _Raindancer_.  Crew and passengers staggered against whatever barrier they had braced themselves against, and once the initial inertia of the impact had faded, returned to their weapons.  

They were still a good thirty feet from where the surf finally lapped up against the shore, with another twenty feet beyond that to where the line of huts and towers began.  The range was close enough, however, for the attacks from both sides to begin telling, however.  A crossbow bolt caught one of the crewmembers in the face, killing her instantly, while Delem was grazed by a bolt that managed to make it both past his makeshift cover and the mage armor protecting him.  

The return fire, however, was even more telling.  Benzan had shifted into his rapid-fire mode again, drawing and firing arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy.  One raider in the northern tower crumpled, an arrow stuck deep in his chest, and just a few moments later one of his companions staggered with another jutting from the muscle of his arm.  Lok fired an arrow of his own, and Delem added a pair of magic missiles, and shortly there were no further attacks from that tower.  

A cluster of raiders emerged from behind several of the huts, hefting javelins that they hurled at the beached vessel.  A pair of the missiles glanced off of Cal’s shield, and several more stuck into the front of the ship, but none were able to find targets.  The return fire was far more effective, dropping one with two bolts stuck in him and injuring at least two others.  The spear-chuckers retreated back to their cover, leaving their dying companion lying in the sand behind them.  

Thus far Cal’s strategy was working, as he was drawing much of the fire from the shore and had yet to take a hit through his potent defenses.  The bowmen shifted their fire to the southern tower, and started scoring hits there as well.  Captain Horath joined them on the foredeck, and soon his longbow was contributing to the barrage.  

Despite their success thus far, however, it was clear that they were approaching a stalemate, as the bulk of the raiders refused to come out of cover again.  “Looks like we’re going to have to go down there!” Benzan said.  

The occupants of the third tower, perched atop a low mound in the rear of the camp, had already decided that trading shots with the occupants of the ship wasn’t worth it, and the three crossbowmen there hustled down the ladder to find more effective cover than what the flimsy towers could offer.  One didn’t make it, an arrow from Benzan’s bow catching him squarely in the back as he leapt down.  The other two towers were silent, their occupants dead or dying from the barrage unleashed by the men and women on board the _Raindancer_.  

Benzan looked down, surprised to see Ruath step up beside him.  “Fight with bravery, warrior,” she told him, and touched him lightly on the arm.  Benzan felt a surge of strength fill his muscles, and he looked down at the halfling with amazement as she stepped back from him.  

“Thanks,” he said.  “Can you maybe summon up a few of those mystic badgers to lead the charge, when we get down there?”  The cleric nodded, and began focusing her mind to begin the summoning.  

A few of the raiders occasionally became visible, sticking their heads out from cover to view them, not to attack.  The companions kept firing occasionally, to keep the raiders’ heads down, while Lok and Benzan slung their bows and reached for the ropes.  

“Wait a moment,” Cal said.  “Maybe I can improve the odds a little for our side.”

He began chanting, casting two spells in rapid succession.  The others watched as he created an illusion, remarking as images of each of them rose up out of the surf and started running across the sands.  As the illusory group drew closer to the huts sounds started coming from them, vague but fierce-sounding cries of battle.  

At that sound a half-dozen raiders emerged from their positions of cover, launching javelins at the charging figments and drawing their cutlasses.  They realized their mistake as soon as the spears passed through the illusion, but it was already too late as missiles rained down on them.  A pair of Delem’s magic missiles caught one of the men dressed in the gray-green mail, and he fell a moment later as Benzan, following his own advice, shot an arrow into him.  Two more of the warriors staggered, hit by bolts or arrows, but they managed to make it back to the shelter offered by the huts.  

“Now, after you,” Cal said.  

Benzan and Lok clambered quickly down the ropes, while the others covered them with missile weapons from above.  The surf was still fairly deep where the bow of the ship rested, and Lok disappeared for a moment as he let go of the rope, only to emerge a few paces away as his powerful legs carried him swiftly through the swirling water.  As soon as he and Benzan were clear Delem and Dana started down, the agile monk moving far more smoothly than the sorcerer.  In fact, Dana joined Benzan at the water’s edge before Lok reached it, and the three started toward the line of huts, their weapons at the ready.  

The members of _Raindancer’s_ crew followed bravely, disembarking from the lower middle deck and making their way through the surf toward the shore, Captain Horath at their lead.  Cal kept his vantage point at the ship’s prow, ready with crossbow and spell to assist his companions as needed.  

The raiders kept out of sight, spooked by the illusion and the deadliness of the fire from the beached ship.  They even hesitated when Lok and Benzan rounded the first of the huts, both fighters yelling a challenge as they slashed into the defenders.  True to her word, Ruath’s badgers—three this time—appeared moments thereafter, and immediately started attacking the nearest raiders.  

Even with all of the losses they’d taken thus far, the raiders fought fiercely.  Maybe it was being attacked in their lair that drove them on, or just a desire to avoid the fate they’d so often visited upon others.  

Benzan rushed into a pair of raiders, his scimitar downing the first with a vicious cut to the throat before the man could even raise his cutlass in defense.  The second tried to stab him, but the blade clanked harmlessly against the magically-enhanced links of his chainmail.  Lok, just a short distance away, charged into a group of three, dropping the first with a powerful blow to the chest and only narrowly missing the second with his follow-up stroke.  The remaining pair fought well, moving to flank the genasi, but neither could penetrate the metallic skin of his plate mail.

Belatedly realizing that this attack was real, the rest of the raiders quickly joined in the melee.  One only made it a few steps before he fell, Cal’s crossbow bolt jutting from his chest, but the others still made a significant force.  Five came in from one flank, and found themselves facing the summoned badgers, who fought with a fury indistinguishable from that of the real thing.  From the other direction came the remaining five, including the familiar face of the leader they’d encountered back on the high seas.  Dana interrupted one with a sweeping kick that knocked the legs out from under one of him, but did not have time to finish him as two of his companions came to his aid, cutlasses darting for her unarmored flesh.  

Benzan found his remaining adversary, one of the leaders clad in chain armor, to be a more difficult challenge than the first man he’d dropped.  The man met his attacks with effective parries, though his cutlass was a far inferior weapon to Benzan’s scimitar.  Benzan could also risk more in his attacks, for his armor covered far more of his body.  Soon the man sported a pair of serious gashes, and his defense began to falter.  

Across from him, Lok was still fighting off a pair of attackers, and reinforcements were coming quickly from the flank.  His attackers were far more mobile than he was, so he waited and let them come to him, coordinating their attacks well as they thrust at him from both sides.  He didn’t even bother to try to deflect the attacks, one of which managed to find a crease and cut into him.  Too late the raiders realized that they’d been lulled in, too late as the genasi’s axe swept around in a full circle that sent both men to the sand, never again to rise.  Lok barely had time to recenter himself, though, as another pair, including the raider leader, charged into him.  

Dana found herself facing two attackers, with a third rapidly regaining his feet behind them.  Like the others these coordinated their attacks, moving quickly to flank her.  They had not counted, however, on her mage armor, which caught both attacks and deflected them harmlessly aside.  Nor did they count on her speed, as she swept a stunning kick into the face of one of the warriors, knocking him flat out on the sand before her.  Without pause she spun to face her remaining adversaries, waiting patiently for the next attack.    

Meanwhile, on the other flank the raiders had put down the last of the badgers, although only three of the original five still stood.  Before they could move to aid their fellows, though, one crumpled with an arrow in his chest, and his companions turned to see a line of charging sailors bearing down on them.  

Horath and his crew had joined the battle. 

Benzan and Lok, meanwhile, fought on.  Benzan’s attacker finally got through his defenses, drawing a shallow gash across the tiefling’s forearm.  But the attack cost him dearly, for he overextended himself and was open to the vicious counter that slammed into the side of his neck… and kept going.  The warrior’s head flopped down to the sand, his body following shortly thereafter.  

Benzan didn’t hesitate, moving immediately to Lok’s aid.  The genasi was holding out, although he was again flanked and the raider leader had taken advantage of that to score a minor hit that bled down the side of Lok’s head.  Benzan quickly turned the tables on him, however, flanking him in turn as he came up behind him.  The veteran fighter tried to disengage, but managed only two steps before Lok roared and lashed into him, scoring a critical hit that utterly disemboweled the hapless warrior.  

The loss of their leader broke whatever fight the raiders had left in them, and they rapidly started falling back in the direction of the cave opening in the rear of the camp.  Only a handful were left standing, however, and as they approached the cave, suddenly the entrance vanished!  With only a bare hillside before them, and surrounded by enemies, the remaining raiders quickly surrendered.  

“You guys are a little slow on the uptake,” Benzan said to one of them, as he kicked the man’s cutlass out of reach and ordered him to sit down on the sand.  The others of the _Raindancer_ crew took custody of the prisoners, and checked to see if any of the other raiders still lived, while the companions surveyed the scene of destruction around them.  

The camp was theirs.


----------



## MasterOfHeaven (Feb 27, 2002)

Man, the crewmembers numbers seem to be rapidly diminishing.  Good job as usual.


----------



## Reg Dword (Feb 27, 2002)

Yeah the crew of the Raindancer seem to die at a greater frequency than the crew members of the Enterprise. You could always count on the crewman in the red shirt to die.

I am a long time skulker to this thread and just wanted to add my adulation of your story telling skills. Keep up the good work!


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 28, 2002)

Reg Dword, glad to have you on board!  Yeah, for some reason those hapless commoner sailors just bring out my bloodthirsty streak.  You haven't seen the half of it yet, though...

Anyway, it's been busier in the office today, but I'm still ahead in the story, so another double-post day.  Time for the usual post-battle wrap-up, with a few interesting developments .

And in part 6 we'll see another development in the ongoing Dana-Delem-Benzan triangle, so stay tuned tomorrow morning (PST) for another update!

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 5

A quick search of the camp turned up captives in several of the huts, huddled men, women, and children that resembled the boatmen in appearance.  There were fifteen of them in all, haggard and beaten down by their obviously harsh treatment at the hands of the raiders.  They looked up with despair as the companions entered their huts, disconsolate at whatever fate awaited them, but some glimmer of hope returned to their faces as Lok sundered their chains and released them.  

There was a momentary danger of violence, as several of the former captives headed for the circle of captive raiders, murder writ clearly in their angry expressions.  The companions quickly stepped in to forestall them, however, and while neither side could communicate with the other, Cal was able to get a general message across via gestures and pantomime.  The islanders indicated that they’d been taken in the areas around their villages, a few days’ journey to the east.  They seemed eager to depart for their homes, so after conferring with Horath the companions agreed to let the freed slaves take two of the outriggers, after scrounging up some supplies and weapons for them out of the captured stores of the raiders.  They remained in the camp, under watch, for that night, and departed to the southeast with the first light of the sun upon the waves.  

The question of the raider captives was a more pressing problem.  In all, they’d taken nine prisoners, including several critically injured warriors that had been stabilized by the clerics once their own wounded were seen to.  Evidence of the crimes perpetrated by these men was all around them, but especially in the faces of their victims.  Benzan commented that it might have been better if they’d let them all die in the battle, but none of them, even the tiefling, felt particularly good about the suggestion to kill them all now, in cold blood.  Ultimately they reached a consensus that they would hold them as captives in one of the huts, under guard, until they were ready to leave.  Then they would let them go, after taking all of the available weapons and the last outrigger with them.  

“They’ll have a better chance than those people they captured had,” Benzan said, once the decision had been made.  

In one of the other huts they found tools, buckets of tar, rope, and other materials that would be useful in repairing the _Raindancer_.  Lok looked into the cave, and quickly called to the others to join him.  There they found a heavy iron chest, cemented to the back wall of the cave and secured with a heavy lock.  

“Aha, treasure,” Benzan said, kneeling in front of the chest.  

“Careful,” Cal warned.  “It might be trapped.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Benzan replied without turning, already checking the edges and seams of the chest, carefully probing here and there without putting his hands directly on it.  Finally, he took out a set of small picks and tools from an inner pocket of his shirt, and went to work on the lock itself.  

The others watched, Delem augmenting the faint light coming from the cave opening with a few floating fingers of flame.  Benzan didn’t really need the light, but continued working the lock, letting out a few impatient sighs as he did so.  Finally, after a full minute, he sighed more loudly and stepped back from the chest. 

“Trouble?” Cal asked.  

“Plan B,” the tiefling replied.  He pointed at the lock, and muttered an arcane phrase, completing a spell with a pass of his other hand through the air before him.  

A small glob of liquid shot out of the tiefling’s hand, striking the lock with a sizzling sound.  The liquid, a potent acid, began eating away at the metal.  

“Lok, if you would,” Benzan said, stepping aside to give the genasi room to approach the chest.  

Lok hefted his axe, judging the distance and angle before raising the weapon to strike.

“Um, maybe the raider leader has the key,” Delem said, but Lok had already begun his swing.  

The axe sundered the weakened metal of the lock, dashing it to the soft sand of the cave floor.  The action also, however, caused a small trap door to pop open on the side of the chest, and a tiny—and very angry—snake slithered out and lunged for Benzan.  

“$%#@!” cried Benzan, as he leapt back, the snake narrowly missing his ankle by inches.  The snake twisted toward Lok, but exploded as two of Delem’s magic missiles slammed into it.  They kept their guard up, awaiting another threat from the chest, but the cave remained quiet. 

“Don’t say it,” Benzan growled at Cal.  The gnome responded only with a raised eyebrow.  

The chest was now free to open, but they were cautious nonetheless as Lok lifted the lid slowly with the edge of his axe, the cold of the blade causing frost to gather on the iron.  The concern was quickly replaced with eagerness, however, as the light of Delem’s flames glinted off of fat piles of glimmering coins within the chest.  

“Oh yeah,” Benzan said, bending to examine the haul.  

The chest contained several thousand copper and silver coins, of unfamiliar make, with symbols of animals and crowns, along with strange runes, on their faces.  There were also thousands of glittering silvery-green coins fashioned of a metal that was unfamiliar to them, a burlap sack that contained a variety of gemstones and a scroll, and finally, buried under the coins, a sword sheathed in a plain leather scabbard.  

“What do we have here?” Benzan said, drawing the sword to reveal a perfectly fashioned blade.  Strangely, the weapon seemed to be made of bronze, rather than steel, although it was otherwise well-balanced and sharp.  

Cal, who had been examining the scroll, turned his attention to the sword.  “Odd, that the pirate leader didn’t claim the weapon for use,” he said.  “May I?”

Benzan handed him the sword, but no sooner had he touched the hilt than he drew his hand back, as if scalded.  

“What’s wrong?” Benzan asked in alarm.

“It… it felt… I can’t say, except that it was as if I was _drained,_ just touching it.  It was like… like when I was brought back from death.”   Cal shuddered at the memory.  “Keep it away from me.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong to me,” the tiefling said.  He offered it to Lok, but the genasi shook his head.  “Very well then, I will take charge of the weapon, for now.” 

“Be careful,” Cal said.  “I’ve heard of weapons like that… they’re made for a particular type of user, and they can sometimes have their own agenda as well.”

“Bah, it’s just a sword,” the tiefling said.  “And anyway, if it didn’t like the raiders, that’s good enough for me.”  Hooking the scabbard onto his baldric, he slung the weapon over his shoulder.  “All right then, let’s see about bagging up all this loot.”

* * * * * 

They encountered no further difficulties with the pirate treasure, so with the coins packed into sacks and carefully stored away on the ship (the gems went into the bag of holding), the companions joined the others in setting up camp for the night.  The night was warm, so they spent it out on the beach, resting from the recent battle and enjoying fresh foods from the raiders’ stores.  Captain Horath had found a ring on the body of the raider leader, which Cal detected as magical.  The elf kept the item, which they quickly confirmed granted the wearer the ability to walk on water.  The rest of the pirate gear, including most of their armor and weapons, was unremarkable, even cheap, probably earned in trade for captives taken from the coastal villages.  They did examine the chain shirts worn by a few of the pirates, and those were unusual, fashioned of a metal with a light gray-green coloration to it.  The metal felt slightly warm to the touch, although it did not radiate an enchantment to Cal’s spell of detection.  The companions were already well-equipped, so they distributed the armor among Horath’s sailors, to give them an added measure of protection.  

The night passed quickly in tales of bravery and in much-needed rest.  Then, in the morning, they went to work.


----------



## Horacio (Feb 28, 2002)

They won... they have a complete victory...
It seems to easy, I'm wonder what Lazybones has under his sleeve now. Sure it's something unpleasant for the characters.

Go on, lazybones, give us more!


----------



## MasterOfHeaven (Feb 28, 2002)

I wonder what that sword is, exactly.  You know, I hope that prophecy given to them by that fortuneteller is just what they thought it was... bunk.  Ah well.  Anyway, I'm looking forward to the next update.


----------



## Lazybones (Feb 28, 2002)

Book III, Part 6

All the next day the raiders’ cove resonated with the sounds of hammers and saws on wood, the busy calls of working men and women, and the lapping of the surf on the beach.  The first thing that they did was rig block and tackle to help raise _Raindancer_ higher onto the beach with the coming of the morning tide, using a hurriedly constructed framework of logs to cushion the ship and give them access to the damaged sections of her hull.  The ship was no light keelboat, to be lifted easily, but with their combined efforts they were able to work the ship into position and start their repairs.  

A brief rain squall blew over the island in the late afternoon, coming and going within an hour and barely interrupting their work.  Armed work crews were sent out of the hedge to the nearby jungle, to drag back heavy trunks that others worked to shape into boards to reinforce the damaged section of hull.  Others swarmed over the ship, replacing damaged fittings and replacing torn segments of sail.  Lok used the tools they’d found in the raider camp as well as some taken from the ship to set up an improvised forge, using the iron cutlasses of the raiders as raw material to fashion new fittings and reinforcing bars for the ship.

The work had only just begun when the day began to wane, and it was clear that they’d be at least a few days longer making their repairs.  A detail of crewmembers took the last outrigger out and returned with a load of fish that they roasted in large firepits on the beach, offering them a welcome respite from sea rations and a well-earned reward for a day of hard work.  

The companions were spending more time with the crew, and getting to know them better.  The sixteen surviving men and women that crewed _Raindancer_ were becoming a closer-knit group, the adversity of being alone in this strange land forging a new bond between them.  

One figure detached herself from the gathering along the beach, however, and headed toward the quiet solitude of the mound in the rear of the camp, where the raider watchtower was silhouetted against the setting sun.  She walked around behind the mound, where the shadows of the evening had already gathered, and there sat down on a protruding rock, her face bowed low against her chest. 

“Why me?” Ruath said softly.  “Why has this fate befallen us?”

“Even clerics of the Smiling Lady aren’t immune to the vagaries of fate,” Cal said, as he stepped out from amidst the pylons of the watchtower above and behind her.  

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t see you up there,” she said. 

“People often overlook us short folk, do they not?” Cal said.  “I was keeping watch… but also, taking some time to think things out.”

“Oh?” she said, but her expression suggested that she wasn’t interested in a conversation.  In fact, she started to turn back toward the main camp.  

“Indeed,” Cal said, ignoring the signal and coming down the slope toward her.  A patch of dried blood was visible on the stone nearby, a reminder of the previous day’s battle.  “Taking some quiet time to think things over is often helpful, but sometimes talking them out can help as well.”

“It’s nothing,” she said defensively.  

“It didn’t seem so, a moment ago,” Cal replied.  He turned over the small piece of wood he’d been carving, a depiction of a minotaur like the one they’d defeated just a few tendays back on the high seas near Velen.  

“Why would you choose to carve such a horrible creature?” Ruath asked him.  

“It’s just a wood carving,” Cal told her.  “A reminder of a great triumph, I’d say, rather than a token of a terrible danger.  A reminder of the virtues wrought from teamwork, for such an adversary could not have been beaten by any one of us alone.”

“But sometimes, struggles must be fought alone,” she said, sitting back down on the stone, and half-turning away from him.

“Yes, but they don’t always have to be.  And sometimes, pride can get in the way of trust.”

“You think me prideful?”

“I really don’t know you well enough to judge.  And yet, we’ve been companions for some time, now, and it looks as though we will be for some time yet.”

“It is something that cannot be helped,” Ruath said, with a sigh of frustration that betrayed the depth of the feelings inside her.  

“Well then, it cannot hurt to talk about it,” Cal replied, sitting down on the rock beside her.  

“Has anyone told you that you can be annoying persistent?”

“Really?  And here I thought I was just being a friend.  You seemed like you needed one, earlier.  Of course, I have been known to misread a situation, now and again.”  

She looked intently at him, as if trying to find a crack in him that betrayed anything else than an open desire to be helpful.  “My mission… the task that the… that High Priestess Beldarin set me to, it was important.”

“Was?”

“It’s failed, now, it seems,” she explained.  “Now that we’re here, with no apparent way back to Faerûn in time.”

“For your appointment in Chult,” Cal said.  

“Yes.  I was sent to meet with some important people from a distant land, on a matter of grave importance for the Western Heartlands… for all of Faerûn, really.”

Cal raised an eyebrow, but he did not pry further, despite his curiosity.  

“Ah, well, we take what fate sends our way,” she said, turning to regard him again.  “I am… sorry that I wasn’t better able to assuage your curiosity.”

“I’ll be here, if you would like to talk further.  Come, let’s rejoin the others,” he added, extending a hand to escort her as he rose.  

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she ultimately took the proffered hand and walked with him back to their campfires.  

* * * * * 

Outside of the boundaries of the raider camp, along a nearby stretch of empty beach, Dana Ilgarten walked through the frothing surf as it rose and fell against the sands.  She had a lot on her mind, questions both old and new, of old responsibilities and new paths taken.  She’d come to grips with the challenges already faced upon that path, with the help of her new friends, but there were always new questions to confront.  

She grinned, a wry smile at her own expense.  She’d been quite a handful for the monks she’d fostered with back home, headstrong and, by their reckoning, undisciplined.  She’d learned a great deal from them, including how to channel her impetuous nature and inner energy, but it was always an imperfect synthesis.  She suspected that while the skills she’d learned had served her well on her chosen path, the road of the monk would not be the one that she would follow any longer to new discoveries.  

Fortunately, she’d discovered a new path, one better suited to her own… _limitations_ wasn’t the word she wanted to use, _inclinations_ perhaps.  Her calling to the goddess awakened something deep within the call of her being, a wondrous connection that didn’t seek to stifle the inner freedom of her soul, but rather set it free to seek out new passageways of the self.  

“You shouldn’t be out here, all alone,” a voice called out from behind her.  

She spun, wary, and saw that it was Benzan, coming out of the brush that extended back from the beach into the jungle beyond.  She looked around and realized that she had gone further than she’d intended, lost in her ruminations, but she would be damned if she was going to admit as much to the tiefling.  

“I can take care of myself,” she said instead, “And besides, you are out here all alone too.”

“Captain Horath asked me to scout out the perimeter a bit, make sure that there aren’t any more of those pirates on the island,” he said.  “What’s your reason?”

“Fine, let’s go back,” she said, heading for the bright spots of light that marked the fires of their camp.  

For a few moments they walked together in silence.  “You don’t like me much, do you?” Benzan finally asked.  

“You’re a self-absorbed, ill-mannered, stubborn smart ass.  What’s not to like?”

“Ah, you forgot my questionable hygiene and dubious parentage,” he said, smiling.  

“Who you are—and who you become—isn’t defined by your parents.”

“Now that’s ironic, coming from you, don’t you think?”

He’d clearly struck a nerve, by the anger that flashed momentarily in her eyes, but she turned away and continued stalking toward the camp, walking so quickly that he had to hurry to keep up.

“Look,” she said, keeping her voice level with an obvious effort.  “We’re going to be together a while, yet, by the looks of things, so why don’t we just keep things civil between us?”

“What do you think of Delem?”

“What?”

“Delem.  He’s a good kid, you know.  A little naïve, perhaps.”

“What are you saying?”

“I just wouldn’t want him to get hurt.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that… wait, do you hear that?”

She turned and followed his gaze back down the length of the beach away from the camp, then into the hills that rose in the interior of the island.

“What?” she said.  But then she _could_ hear what Benzan had sensed, a buzzing sound that seemed to be coming from the dense jungle growth to their left.  

“Back to the camp, now!” Benzan yelled, prodding her on, running after her even as he unslung and strung his bow.  

The sound grew rapidly louder, and its source was finally revealed as a quartet of giant wasps, each approximately the size of a horse, darted over the jungle canopy and dove for them.


----------



## Schmoe (Feb 28, 2002)

Hey Lazybones, great story hour!  I have to say that I applaud your choice of adventures.  It's good to see people are still getting use out of the classics, and X1 was one of the best.  Keep it up, this is a great read!


----------



## Horacio (Mar 1, 2002)

As usual, Lazybones, this non-combat post was amazing... 
I love your non-combat posts, even more than combat ones!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 1, 2002)

Welcome aboard, Schmoe!  Always happy to welcome a new reader to the story.  Yep, X1 is "classic"-- I last ran it back in the mid 80s, and it was a lot of fun (although it's taking a lot of updating to make the puny Expert-set monsters a sufficient challenge for 3e characters ).  

Thanks, Horacio!  I do try to mix it up, with the action scenes balanced with character development and important non-battle events.  Glad to hear that it seems to be working thus far.

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 7

Barely breaking stride, Benzan spun and fired off a quick shot that clipped the lead wasp’s body.  The arrow was corrosive, but even the acid seemed to only make it mad.  

And they were much faster than the two fleeing companions.  

Dana paused, drawing out her kama as the wasps bore down on Benzan.  

“Run!  Get the others!” he cried, trying to emulate his own advice as he put on an added burst of speed. 

The lead wasp swept down and stung him in the shoulder, the blow like a dagger thrust wielded by an ogre.  Benzan staggered from the impact, although his mithral armor kept the stinger from penetrating into his skin.  Another wasp darted ahead of him and came in from the front, flanking him, but he ducked and rolled forward on the damp sand, coming up into a run as the two wasps kept pace.  

Dana, meanwhile, was threatened by the other two wasps, but as they darted down toward her she muttered an incantation, an invocation of the power of Selûne.  The spell took longer than normal, as she fought through the mental fog that seemed to hang over her divine link, but she was finally rewarded with a burst of speed that allowed her to draw ahead of the wasps.  The two vermin, their wings buzzing furiously as they strove to keep up, turned and followed her.  

Leaving Benzan further behind, and alone.  The priestess gritted her teeth, reluctant to abandon her companion—and for all their squabbles, he was still that—but recognizing that his command was the best course.  

As she ran she shouted toward the camp, still several hundred yards distant, but saw that the camp was already stirring, the busy figures of her friends and the _Raindancer_ crew silhouetted against the blazing flames of their campfires in the light of the fading day.  But her enthusiasm quickly faded when she saw the shadowy figure of another wasp briefly silhouetted against the evening sky, and realized that the camp was also under attack.  

Benzan, meanwhile, was finding it increasingly difficult to stay out of the reach of the angry wasps.  He paused long enough to try a spell, to summon a mist that would obscure him from the creatures, but true to Cal’s warnings back on the ship, he muffed the final pass of gestures needed to cast the spell and the magic faded from his grasp.  The delay gave both wasps time to lunge down at him, and while he ducked the first sting, he felt pain explode in his lower back as the second one stabbed home.  He felt the burning tingle of poison tear mercilessly through his body, and he staggered back as he tried to fight off its effects.  

With a grim expression fixed on his face, he drew his sword and faced off against the two insects as they came in at him again.    

Dana, meanwhile, was managing to stay just ahead of her pursuers, but knew that if she faltered in the slightest that they would be on her in an instant.  She saw that several people were coming out around the wall of thorns and up the beach toward her, and let out a sigh of relief as she recognized Delem at their head.  

She risked a glance back over her shoulder.  The two wasps were still there, buzzing above the sand only about twenty feet behind her, and behind that she could see Benzan, slashing desperately against two wasps that kept dipping at him and stinging.  

“Damn,” she said, and suddenly reversed direction, darting back along the beach.  

The two pursuing wasps immediately dove in at her, but she ducked and rolled between them, already running as she rose back to her feet.  She felt something hard graze her arm, tearing a shallow gash as she came away, and felt the burning touch of poison on the wound.  Then she was past them, and running back toward Benzan.  

The tiefling was finding himself sorely pressed.  He’d unlimbered his small shield, and used it to deflect several stings, but another had made its way past his defenses, and he could feel his reflexes slowing as the venom continued to spread through his system.  He in turn had hit one of the wasps with his sword, injuring it yet further, but it did not relent in its fierce attack.  He’d seen Dana dash off down the beach before losing sight of her in the shadows, and he only hoped that she would be able to reach help in time.  

But for him, it was rapidly looking like he was on his own.  

“Dana, no!” Delem cried out as he watched the monk reverse direction and charge back into danger.  Along with Captain Horath and three other crewmembers of _Raindancer_, all carrying bows or crossbows, he dashed after her, hoping that she could hold off the wasps until they reached her.  The sorcerer knew that Cal, Lok, and the others would be behind him, at least once they had killed or driven off the two wasps that had attacked the camp, but they were far slower than he.  That’s why Cal had shouted for him to go to Dana, even before they’d heard their companion’s cries.  

He only hoped that Benzan was all right, alone somewhere beyond the wall of the camp.  

Benzan’s arms felt numb, and he barely was able to keep his footing as his opponents harried him mercilessly.  He barely felt it when another sting darted past his guard and into his side, and his counter came too late to have any effect on the nimble wasp that had stung him.  The earlier stings were beginning to catch up with him, as well, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before his body stopped working all together.  

The lead wasp came in again, and even as Benzan tried to bring his shield up to defend, he knew it would be too late.  He fell to one knee as the massive form of the wasp filled his vision right above him.  

A streaking form flew past him, slashing into the wasp.  Benzan’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw Dana, cutting deep into the body of the wasp with her kama.  The creature faltered and fell back, dropping awkwardly to the sand a few yards away as it tried to lift itself off of the ground again.  

“Dana!  What are you…”

“Help is on the way,” she told him, “but we’ve got a few more of these guys to deal with, first.  So get up and fight, slacker!”

She helped him to his feet, just in time to help meet the dive of the two wasps that had chased her back.  With renewed vigor he stabbed at the first, puncturing deep into its abdomen.  The creature twisted back and stung at him, but Benzan’s luck held as the sting glanced off of the upper edge of his shield.  

Dana wished she had the chance to heal Benzan, or to cast a spell of sanctuary that would allow at least one of them to avoid the attacks of the wasps, but there was no time.  She was forced to defend against the darting sting of Benzan’s remaining opponent, and barely was able to twist out of its lunging path.  She did not have Benzan’s armor protection, though, and knew that she would not be able to hold up against even one of the vermin in an all out fight.  Still, she slashed at it, missing but forcing it back.  

_Just have to hold on a few more moments…_ she thought.

One of the wasps staggered as an arrow struck it, followed moments later by a pair of magic missiles from Delem.  The two defenders took heart as the reinforcements arrived, but knew that their three remaining adversaries were still dangerous opponents. 

As if to punctuate that fact, another wasp darted in and stung Benzan again on the shoulder.  The tiefling cried out and fell, his arms and legs twitching helplessly.  The wasp hovered above him and latched onto him with its legs, and immediately started beating its wings to carry him off.  

“Oh no you don’t!” Dana shouted, launching herself at the wasp… and leaping onto its back, slashing with her kama.

She felt pain explode in her back, but ignored the burning fire as she hacked at the creature’s wings with her weapon.  The wasp tilted dangerously to the side, throwing her off, but at the same time releasing its grip on Benzan.  Dana landed with a solid thump on the sand, uninjured but a little shaken, but her eyes widened in horror as she saw another wasp loom over her, its sting dripping with ready poison.  

Flames swept over the wasp in a burning roar, driving back the creature from her.  It fell smoldering to the sand, its wings too singed for it to fly, hopping awkwardly as it tried to get its bearings.  

Dana gingerly rose to her feet to see that the last two wasps had headed away, driven off by the flames of Delem’s spell.  Fighting through the numbness that made her muscles reluctant to obey her commands, she forced herself to her feet and stumbled over to where Benzan lay face-down in the sand a short distance away.  She pulled him over, afraid at what she would find, but let out a sigh of relief as she saw that he was still breathing, if shallowly.  

“Dana, are you all right?” Delem’s voice came from behind her.  

“I’m fine,” she said—although she felt anything but.  “It’s Benzan—he took a lot of that poison.”

“Let me,” he said, crouching beside the tiefling.  Benzan’s eyes were open and lucid, but he could not even respond as the sorcerer took a scroll out of a pouch and unrolled it.  He read one of the spells inscribed on the parchment, summoning its magic, and soon a healing glow spread over the prone form of the warrior, restoring some of the loss wrought by the poison.  

Benzan stirred, but still moved slowly and his words slurred slightly as he spoke.  “Thanks,” he said.  

“You’ll have to take it easy for a few days,” Delem told him.  “Perhaps Ruath can help you further… and you too, Dana.”

They looked up as Horath and the other crewmembers finished off the two injured wasps.  “What about the camp?” Dana asked.  

“Two wasps attacked us,” Delem explained.

“Is everyone all right?  What happened?”

“Cal sent me to find you before they were dead, but they looked to have the matter in hand.  They got within reach of Lok,” he added in explanation.  

They heard voices from further down the beach, and saw that Cal, Lok, and the others were coming quickly to join them.  “Is everyone all right?” the gnome shouted.  

“We’re fine,” Dana yelled in return.  “But we’d better get back to the camp, in case the rest of those wasps come back,” she said more quietly to Delem and Benzan.  

“Come on,” Delem said, grunting as he helped Benzan to his feet.  The tiefling was still unsteady, so Delem wrapped Benzan’s arm around his shoulder.  

“Man oh man, you’re never going to let me live this down, are you,” Benzan said.  

“Not on your life.”

Beaten and battered—but thankfully, all still alive—the companions made their way back to the shelter of the raider camp.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 1, 2002)

Great, as always! 
Really well done,  the giant insects... And the triangle Delem-Dana-Benzan begins to show its possibilities


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 1, 2002)

*I'm back!*

Hey LB, caught up to your story. Gosh I missed a lot, but thanks for the summary. I am really enjoying the story again. Hopefully, I won't fall so far behind next time. 

When is the island going to become 'dreadful' or are they at the actual Island of Dread yet?

Lok is my favorite character. How can you not like the taciturn dwarven earth genasi?  

Can't wait to see the revelation of Benzan-Dana-Delem. And now that bronze sword...hmmm....how can the tiefling wield it while others cannot? 

Superb story as always with a fine balance between action and charater development. Maybe you can give me some pointers, eh?


----------



## drnuncheon (Mar 1, 2002)

LB! You didn't tell me you had a Story Hour! Well now I can return the ego-boost you gave me.  I normally don't read FR story hours - a lot of them seem to assume a lot more knowledge of the setting than I have - but this one will definitely be the exception!

Hopefully my next update (big fight scene) will come off as well as your action scenes do!

J
you should put a link to this in your .sig


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 1, 2002)

Welcome back, Broccli_Head!  I missed your frequent posts to the story.  



			
				Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> When is the island going to become 'dreadful' or are they at the actual Island of Dread yet?



The Isle of Dread is the big land mass they've been circling around (they'll get there shortly), but everything they've done since they arrived in this world is from the module, Expert Set X1.  


> Lok is my favorite character. How can you not like the taciturn dwarven earth genasi?



Yes, Lok's now giving Benzan a run for his money in the poll! 



> Can't wait to see the revelation of Benzan-Dana-Delem. And now that bronze sword...hmmm....how can the tiefling wield it while others cannot?



I don't want to give away too much about the sword at this juncture, but I'll just say for now: it's an alignment thing.



> Superb story as always with a fine balance between action and charater development. Maybe you can give me some pointers, eh?



Thanks!  My advice for anyone who wants to be a writer has always been the same I've always gotten: read a lot, and write something every day.  It gets easier with practice (at the very least, you'll learn how to type really fast ).



> _Originally posted by drnuncheon_
> LB! You didn't tell me you had a Story Hour!



Glad to have you over, drnuncheon!  I tried using your idea of posting an ad about the story on the main discussion board, but only got something like 10 views (two of which were mine!).  About the sig... hmmm... I do have a graphical sig with a link to my original story page, but I've noticed that on my home connection (as opposed to my ultra-fast work setup, which I'm using now ) the graphic doesn't always load (it's stored online in a Yahoo Briefcase).  

So, readers, can you see the graphical link at the bottom of my posts?  Maybe I should just go back to the text link I used before.  Let me know, thanks in advance.

Well, while I'm here I may as well add another update.  I'll do it in another post to help keep the feedback separate from the story.

Thanks again for your support, readers!
LB


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 1, 2002)

Book III, Part 8

The repairs to _Raindancer_ continued swiftly, and on the morning tide two days after the wasp attack, the ship once again moved out to sea, leaving behind a depleted raider camp and some very disgruntled former raiders.  They took all of the supplies (save for a few half-spoiled perishables), treasure, weapons, and tools with them, along with the last outrigger.  None of them felt particularly sorry for the raiders.  

Benzan spent most of the time in recuperation, although Ruath’s divine magic was able to help speed his and Dana’s recovery from the debilitating poison of the wasps.  Benzan was still not quite back to one hundred percent, but he stood on the aft deck with the others as Captain Horath plotted a southeasterly course around the southern coast of the Isle of Dread.  Thus far they’d only encountered mountainous cliffs and impermeable jungle along the great isle’s coastline, but they knew that settled villages (hopefully friendly) could be found around the southern reaches.  

The first day back out to sea passed quietly, as they put the ship through her paces and tested the integrity of the repairs.  The wind fluctuated throughout the day, changing intensity and direction seemingly at whim, slowing their progress, but even Ruath did not object at the mild pace.  They enjoyed the reward of their work in having a restored vessel, mild weather, and endless possibilities ahead.  

They kept to their southeasterly course throughout the night, and by morning they were within a few miles of the big island.  Their course took them to a wide channel between a rocky promontory and an island volcano to the south, which appeared to now be quiescent.  Beyond the channel the coastline of the Isle of Dread retreated again to form a wide bay, around which numerous islands could just be seen in the distance.  

Benzan saw that Dana was standing alone along the port rail, and walked over to her.  

“Hey.”

Her look was guarded, not revealing anything.  

“Look, I never got a chance to thank you, for what you did back on the beach.  It was absolutely nuts, coming back like you did,” he added with a grin, “but thanks.”

Her expression clouded slightly, and she opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment the ship shuddered slightly, a tremor that seemed to shake the very deck plates under their feet.  

“What was that?” Cal asked.  

“Maric!” Captain Horath cried to the lookout at the bow, already running from the aft deck toward the bow of the ship.  “Reef or sandbar?”  He shouted orders at nearby crewmen to drop the sails, to keep the ship from being pushed further against whatever obstacle they had struck.

“Sea ahead’s clear, captain!” the young bosun cried out from his perch, scanning the waters around the bow of the ship.  

Horath had just reached the stairs to the forward deck when the ship shuddered again, this time tilting suddenly forward and to the side, as if something was dragging it lower into the water.  

“What in the hells?” Benzan cried out, as he reached out and grabbed onto the rail for support.  Around him, his friends and the other crewmembers were doing the same thing, a few falling awkwardly to the deck.  

The mystery was solved, after a fashion, when several long tentacles snaked out of the water and swept over the main deck of the _Raindancer_.

* * * * * 

“Giant squid!” Horath cried out in warning, as the thick tentacles lashed into the ship, sweeping aside hapless crewmembers or twisting around the mast and decking.  The weight of the tentacles’ owner pulled down at the front of the ship, causing the deck to pitch at an angle and making it all but impossible for the crew to find a stable footing.  

Even with that hurdle, though, the crew and passengers of the ship responded quickly to the attack.  

Delem fired the first shot of the battle, launching a pair of magic missiles into one of the tentacles.  The fiery bolts hit with a heavy plop, searing into the tentacle but with apparently insignificant damage against the gargantuan size of the creature.  The tentacles were as thick around as Cal was tall, and they struck the deck with crushing force, cracking the solid wood planking as they groped for purchase.  

Benzan hefted his bow and darted across the aft deck toward the starboard rail, to the side of the ship where the tentacles originated.  They had repaired the section of rail that they had lost in the storm, but even so Benzan was cautious as the ship sagged under his steps again.  He looked out over the side of the ship, and his heart froze in his chest.  

Only the top potion of the squid was visible, pressed up against the side of the ship at the point where the fore and main decks met, but what he could see of the creature was… _huge_.  Its beak, easily twice the size of Lok’s shield, crashed into the side of the _Raindancer,_, sundering the sturdy boards as it ripped open the hull.  Meanwhile, its tentacles sought to drag the ship down lower into the water, into a watery grave where it could pick out the juicy bodies of its crew at its leisure.  

Benzan saw all of that horror and danger flash before his eyes in an instant, but then he was drawing his bow, fitting one of his acid arrows to the string.   

Lok had also moved to join the battle, charging down the stairs to the main deck where the tentacles were still doing damage.  A crewmember had been caught up in one, and he screamed as it lifted him into the air, crushing the life out of him.  Lok charged and cut into it with his axe, the frost-fringed blade tearing through the rubbery flesh of the creature but failing to cut deeply enough to free the crewman.

The screams of two other members of Horath’s crew filled the air around them as the tentacles swept again over the deck, knocking them roughly into the frothing waters around the ship.  The ballista crew was trying to load their weapon, fighting the lurching instability of the deck, while several other crewmembers either dove for cover or launched desperate and ineffectual attacks against the groping tentacles.  Several had latched firmly onto the ship, crushing the deck or twining around the single remaining mast.  

“It’s going to tear the ship apart!” Cal cried in warning.  Benzan gritted his teeth as his first arrow hit the body of the creature, but the arrow looked like a pin stuck in the side of a giant.  

“I don’t know how we’re going to stop it!” the tiefling replied in frustration.  

A probing tentacle snaked its way toward them upon the aft deck.  Dana slashed at it with her kama, ducking under its powerful return sweep.  While she avoided damage, the tip of the tentacle slammed into the ship’s wheel, blasting it from its moorings and knocking the helmsman back to fall stunned against the deck.  

_Raindancer_ was directionless.  

Cal was at a loss, uncertain how he could possibly harm this massive creature.  He considered his wand of color spray, but knew that there was no way he could hope to make it across the main deck to get close enough to use it.  Suddenly, he felt very small and helpless… a feeling that lasted only a moment, before it was replaced by anger.  Anger at himself for giving in to self-pity when his companions needed him, and anger at this creature that was threatening to destroy them all.  

His song burst from him, a rousing call to battle, and he loaded his crossbow, determined to go out fighting alongside his companions.  

Lok, meanwhile, had been driven back as the tentacle he’d cut contorted and lashed out.  It finally released its imprisoned crewman, but Lok saw that it was too late as his crushed form fell in a heap on the deck.  Then the blindly flailing tentacle struck him hard, driving him bodily back against the wall of the aft compartment, and he only narrowly dodged aside as another lashing tentacle staved in the wood where he’d been standing.  He made it into the doorway that led back into the compartment, a dubious shelter as the ship seemed to be coming apart around them.  He nearly stumbled over a prone form and bent down to see Ruath lying there, a dark bruise covering one side of her face.  As gingerly as he could, the genasi reached into a pouch and drew forth a vial, carefully pouring the liquid into the unconscious halfling’s mouth as the violent struggles of the squid and the ship continued unabated around him.  

Captain Horath and his crew held on atop the forward deck, fighting against the terrible creature as best they could.  The ballista crew had already managed to fire one shot into a tentacle and was reloading for another when the injured tentacle rose up and slashed down at them.  Two of the three crewmembers managed to get out of the way as the strike crushed the weapon, but the last… wasn’t so lucky.  

Horath, meanwhile, was firing arrow after arrow into the creature, striking the tentacles or that part of the upper body that was visible over the side of the ship.  The truth of the situation was becoming increasingly inescapable, however, even as it twisted in his gut.  

_Raindancer_ was doomed.  

And if they could not somehow fend off the violent attack of the squid, so were they.  

Benzan gritted his teeth as his companions tried to fend off the massive tentacle that was sweeping over the aft deck.  Neither Delem’s fire nor Cal’s bolts were seeming to have much effect on it, and Dana’s attack with her kama only rewarded her with a blow that sent her sprawling against the aft rail.  Benzan knew that one stray sweep in his direction would send him over the edge, to a watery doom below.  

He sucked in a breath, and focused his mind.  The chaos of the battle seemed to fall away from him, as he drew upon the newly awakened power of his magic.  He drew his powerful bow back, lined up his gaze along the green-tinged length of a magical arrow.  

He saw his target.  As the massive body of the squid rolled in its continued struggles against the ship, a porthole-sized eye came into view.  Normally it would not have been a difficult shot, but with both the target and the shooter in motion, and with the frenzy all around, it may as well have been a mile away.  

Benzan called upon the magic, and the eye seemed to suddenly grow closer and closer, until it filled his vision.  

He fired.


----------



## Thorntangle (Mar 2, 2002)

Great update, LB.  You can really crank out the material and you're talented too.  That's a wicked combination.  I guess you're not constrained by a game schedule so that let's you produce a little faster.

Question about methodology - Do you simulate all the combat encounters on the table and let the dice fall where they may or just do it off the top of your head?  Or a combination of the two?  Just curious.


----------



## MasterOfHeaven (Mar 2, 2002)

I really enjoy the combat sequences of this thread.  They are very entertaining.  About that sword...  man, I hope Benzan isn't the one that fortuneteller said would be forever consumed by the fire.  I figure Lok is the one who gets to become a God, and Cal gets to live the happy and peaceful life.  Anyway, I'm looking forward to the next update.


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 2, 2002)

Thorntangle said:
			
		

> *Question about methodology - Do you simulate all the combat encounters on the table and let the dice fall where they may or just do it off the top of your head?  Or a combination of the two?  Just curious. *



I pretty much just make it up as I go along.  I do try to stay loyal to the combat rules of 3e, however, and try to balance the number of hits, crits, sucessful saves, spell failures, etc. with the appropriate percentages based on the character stats.  When plotting battles I basically chart out who's involved, and then jot down notes that project how the battle _might_ develop in 3e terms.  I try not to do anything that would be wildly improbable given the vagaries of the d20.  

Plotting the encounters is also a great way to get through long staff meetings. 

MasterOfHeaven: the prophecy is just one of several long-term plot hooks I've introduced into the story (I have a list of "unfinished business" in the story lying around somewhere and it's got something like 15 items on it).  I already have an idea of who might fit in each "slot" (heh heh) but those events are a long, long way away.  I have no idea how long the story will go on but I'm still having fun writing it so it'll probably be a while yet.


* * * * * 

Book III, Part 9

Scattered bits of wreckage floated on the sea, the occasional glint of metal reflecting the light of the fading day.  Amidst the debris, the battered hulk of the _Raindancer_ slipped slowly under the waves.  

From about a bowshot distant the surviving crew and passengers watched the final demise of their erstwhile vessel.  The five companions, plus Ruath, Horath, and six crewmembers of the doomed ship, were crowded into the raider outrigger and the ship’s single remaining ten-foot launch.  

All knew that it could have been worse, but that information was small consolation in the face of their losses.  Benzan’s acid arrow, a direct hit through the creature’s eye, had finally driven off the monstrous squid, leaving the ship ravaged and broken in its wake.  They’d barely had time to gather their injured but surviving comrades and some miscellaneous supplies before the ship, rapidly filling with water through the numerous cracks and breeches in her hull, flooded and sank.  They hadn’t even had enough time to deal properly with their own dead—those that had not already vanished beneath the waves during the battle.      

“Let’s get out of here,” Horath said, reluctantly drawing their attention back to the very real danger of their current predicament.  

What were their chances, alone and seemingly threatened at every turn in this strange land, now without even a ship to carry them?

That thought remained on all their minds over the course of the next few days, as they followed the broad curve of the bay.  They rowed in shifts, continuing even through the night, keeping their distance from the looming jungle a few hundred yards to their left.  At one point they spotted a stream that trickled down over a rocky ledge down into the bay, and stopped to refill their water bottles.  They’d been ashore barely ten minutes when they heard a crashing noise approaching quickly through the dense foliage.  They hurried back to their boats and pushed off just before a massive lizard, easily three times as long as their outrigger, emerged from the jungle and regarded them with what Benzan characterized as “a hungry look.”  The creature did not follow them out into the water, however, and so they chalked the encounter up to a lucky escape and continued on their way.

The incident did confirm the dangers of the land that they had encountered, however, and helped establish that the natives called this place the “Isle of Dread” for a reason.  

It was mid-afternoon on the second day since the loss of the _Raindancer_ when Delem called out a sighting from the bow of the outrigger.  The others quickly stood and craned their necks to see what he had indicated.  

Ahead, to the east, a black line that extended from the shoreline inland was visible in the distance.  As they drew nearer, they could see that the line was in fact a wall that stretched out across the land as far as they could see.  Squat black towers were visible at regular intervals along the wall, although none of them could see any signs that they were occupied.  

“That must have taken an incredible amount of effort to build,” Dana commented.  

“Yeah, but who built it, and why?” Benzan added.  

“Only one way to find out,” Cal said, as they neared the massive construct, all of them wary for any sign of danger. 

“Maybe the villagers built it, to protect them from the monsters that live on the island,” Delem offered, as they approached within a bowshot of the wall.  There were no gates or openings that they could see, and the fortification extended to the very water’s edge, where a jutting cliff dropped thirty feet to the lapping waves below.  Beyond the wall they could see places where the cliff was broken by steep but apparently manageable slopes of loose rock, offering them possible access.  

“Well, what do you think, captain?” Cal asked, as they drew abreast of the wall.  

The elf’s expression showed the same weariness and stress that they were all feeling, his normally smooth features cracked and reddened from exposure to the unforgiving sun.  “We’ve gone two days now, and even though Cleric Talasca’s conjured foodstuffs can provision us indefinitely, I don’t think any of us want to stay in these boats for any longer than necessary.  I say we go ashore and explore… but be careful.”

“Well, maybe the wall keeps some of the worst beasts at bay,” Lok offered optimistically.  

They guided their craft to one of the clefts in the sea cliffs, about a half-mile beyond the wall.  There they beached the vessels, securing them carefully and detailing a quartet of sailors to keep watch while the rest of them made their way up the rocky slope to the higher ground inland.  

The day was hot but not uncomfortably so, and the sweet smells of flowers and other growing things greeted them as they reached the top of the cleft.  Verdant plant life was evident everywhere, from the thick grasses that swam around their legs as they walked, to the stunted trees that dotted the landscape in thick clumps every way they turned.  The terrain inland rose and fell in gentle hills, but back to the northwest they could see the looming form of the wall, and it was in that direction that they first headed.  

“Remember, we’re not looking for a fight,” Cal reminded them.  

“Yeah, but one always seems to find us, doesn’t it?” Benzan quipped, as he checked the pull of his bow and his the readiness of the arrows in his quiver.  

As they made their way back toward the wall, they could see one of the warding towers, its summit a good ten feet above the already considerable thirty-foot height of the main wall.  A narrow staircase ran up to a dark opening halfway up the tower’s surface, and as they approached, they could see a number of simple huts clustered around its base.  Dark horizontal slits were visible in the tower walls near the top, giving anyone up there a clear view of the surrounding terrain in all directions.  

None of them were really surprised when a cry sounded out from the tower at their approach, followed by the heavy rumbling of a drum.  Five swarthy, muscular young men emerged from the huts, bearing spears and clad only in loincloths.  They rushed quickly at the companions, although they held their spears at the ready instead of attacking, and formed a warding half-circle in front of them, about twenty paces distant.  One stepped forward and started speaking in an animated fashion.  “Wer sind Sie?  Was machen Sie hier?” he repeated.  

“Dana,” Cal prodded, but the young woman was already casting her spell of comprehension.  

“He wants to know what we’re doing here,” she finally said, once the spell was complete.  The native leader stopped talking, and his men behind him looked wary, although they made no hostile moves toward the companions.  

“You can bet that their friends are going to be on the way,” Benzan reminded them, as the heavy beat of the drum continued to sound from atop the tower.  

Cal stepped forward, his hands open in a placating gesture.  “We come in peace,” he said, letting his tone replace the meaning of his words to the natives.  He gestured to indicate that they had come across the water to the west, moving his hand to mimic the floating of a boat on the waves.

The native’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “Die Angreifern kommen aus westen.” 

“He says that raiders come from the west,” Dana translated.  One of the other warriors gestured toward one of Horath’s sailors, standing in the rear of their company, and said something to the leader.  The young woman was wearing one of the chain shirts that they’d taken from the raiders.  “He says that the raiders wear such metal shirts, and use weapons such as ours,” Dana went on.

“Boy, I wish that there was a way to make them understand us,” Cal said in frustration.  Still, he made a good effort at pantomime, trying to communicate the story of the raider attack on the _Raindancer,_ and the battle that followed at their camp.  

The native leader didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he gestured toward all of them, barking out something that sounded like a command.  “Sie werden mit uns kommen.  Nach Tanaroa.”

“He says that we should all go with him,” Dana translated.  “To a place called ‘Tanaroa’.”

“Tanaroa,” the native repeated.  

Cal nodded in assent, and gestured to indicate that they had other companions and their vessels back at the water’s edge.  The native warrior, who apparently understood that Dana was translating his words, told them to gather the rest of their group and return here.  He clearly wasn’t going to let them out of his sight, however, as he and his warriors followed along behind them as they went to gather the other sailors.  

Horath decided that it would be best if they brought their boats to the security of the native outpost, rather than leaving them unattended along the cliff base.  Fortunately the craft were of relatively light construction, although it took the combined effort of all of them to maneuver the outrigger up the cleft.  The native leader, whose name was Jakra, frowned as he saw the outrigger, but said nothing as he and his companions watched their efforts.  By the time that they returned to the outpost with the boats, another ten warriors had gathered at the outpost.  Jakra explained the situation to the newcomers, and all fifteen of the natives formed a wary ring around the companions as they headed out to the northeast, following the course of the wall along a well-marked trail.  

“I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” Benzan said.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 2, 2002)

Thorntangle said:
			
		

> *Question about methodology - Do you simulate all the combat encounters on the table and let the dice fall where they may or just do it off the top of your head?  Or a combination of the two?  Just curious. *




That's a good question I was asking myself...
Lazybones, please, answer us


----------



## Horacio (Mar 2, 2002)

Lazybones, do your islanders speak German?


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 2, 2002)

Horacio: I answered Thorntangle's question at the top of the part 9 post.  As for the language... well...  it must just be a strange coincidence . 

(Seriously, at first I started this scene with a made-up language, but I looked ahead and saw that there would be a number of cultures on the island that don't speak Faerunian languages, so I decided to use this twist instead.  Heck, after all people all over the world speak European languages as a byproduct of the Age of Imperialism, maybe some Germans made it through a planar gate and colonized the Isle of Dread sometime in the distant past )\

Hope you're all having a great weekend, wherever you are--it's a sunny but breezy day here in Sacramento, and I'm off to enjoy it.  I'm still a little ahead so I'll post another update sometime tomorrow. 

LB


----------



## Horacio (Mar 2, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *Horacio: I answered Thorntangle's question at the top of the part 9 post.  *




I wrote my post before reading yours, thanks for the info!



> *As for the language... well...  it must just be a strange coincidence .
> 
> (Seriously, at first I started this scene with a made-up language, but I looked ahead and saw that there would be a number of cultures on the island that don't speak Faerunian languages, so I decided to use this twist instead.  Heck, after all people all over the world speak European languages as a byproduct of the Age of Imperialism, maybe some Germans made it through a planar gate and colonized the Isle of Dread sometime in the distant past )\
> LB *




it was rather funny 

I cannot read German, but I usually recognize it when I read it. It's a good idea, and more coherent than a false made-up language


----------



## Tokiwong (Mar 3, 2002)

*Action Adventure... and uhh stuff*

Good stuff Lazybones... you are a hard role model to work up to.. hopefully one day my writing is as good yours... then maybe people will look at me storyhours...


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 3, 2002)

Book III, Part 10

The village of Tanaroa was situated a short distance back from the great black wall, before a pair of heavy wooden gates—the only opening in the wall that the companions had seen thus far.  As the group neared it they could see another coastline and the sea ahead of them, indicating that the wall warded a narrow isthmus just a few miles across.  

The village itself was actually four separate communities, each made up of a ring of large huts around what looked to be a central graveyard.  The space between the villages was taken up by large communal fields, in the center of which stood a mound of earth topped by a low pyramid fashioned from the same black stone as the great wall.  Hundreds of villagers were visible in the fields or around the huts, and many of them came to gawk at the unusual strangers as they were escorted into Tanaroa by the Jakra and his warriors.  

Another group of armed men approached them, led by a powerfully built man carrying a bronze longspear.  The leader wore a headdress fashioned of colored bird feathers and a bronze medallion in the shape of a sun around his neck, and he regarded the outlanders with penetrating blue eyes that seemed to be able to see right through them.  He addressed them and spoke briefly with their escort, but Dana’s spell had long since faded and they could not understand what was said.  After a moment he gestured for them to accompany him, however, and so the group headed toward one of the village communities, escorted now by nearly two score warriors.  

“If this turns bad, we could be in some trouble,” Benzan said. 

“Shh, just keep alert,” Cal cautioned him.  

Their escorts took them to a large hut that was partially raised atop thick wooden pylons, then parted giving them a clear route up the short flight of steps that led to the opening in the front of the structure.  Only the warrior with the feathered headdress accompanied them into the building, eyeing them as if he expected them to do something dangerous at any moment.  

The interior of the hut was one large room, dimly lit only by the light that filtered in through the front opening.  As their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness they could see that the hut contained only one occupant, an old woman sitting on a pile of cushions in the rear of the place.  

“Well, don’t just stand their gawking,” she said.  “Come in, come in!”

They looked at each other in surprise and walked across the room toward her.  She gestured toward several thickly woven rugs on the floor in front of her, and they seated themselves.  The warrior remained standing behind them, his face a neutral mask.  

The woman was gray-haired and wrinkled, although her body was anything but flabby and the sparkle of intelligence shone brightly in her dark eyes.  She was dressed in a simple tunic of spun flax, and wore a medallion around her neck that was similar to the one worn by the warrior—except that hers looked to be made of solid gold!

“You speak our language,” Cal said with surprise.  

“No, not really,” the woman said with a faint laugh.  “I speak my own tongue, but you hear yours.  A minor bit of magic,” she explained. 

Cal nodded, but he knew that the spell she was describing was anything but minor.  

“I am J’kal, matriarch of the village of Tanaroa, and the stern-faced man behind you is Bakora, our war leader.”  The companions glanced over their shoulders at the man, but his expression remained flat, barely acknowledging them.  “I believe that we owe you a debt of gratitude,” she went on.  At their confused looks, she looked past them and cried out, “Komm herein, Pooka!”  At her cry the sound of someone rushing up the stairs could be heard, and a small form—a native child—dashed across the room into the woman’s waiting arms.

“This is Pooka, my great-grandnephew,” the woman said.  

“I recognize him,” Dana said.  “He’s one of the children that we rescued from the slavers.”

“Yes,” she said, holding the child in her lap as he shyly looked at the companions with wide-eyed wonder.  “Word of your deeds has preceded your coming, and the defeat of the vile slavers who have long threatened us is of great news to all of the villages.” 

“I don’t understand,” Benzan said.  “There have to be hundreds of you here, including the warriors, and this is just one village.  How is it that such a few raiders were able to do so much damage?”

“We are not a warlike people,” J’kal responded, “for all that we are forced to remain vigilant against the dangers of the Isle.  The gods left us the Great Wall, as a barrier against the dark things that live on the other side.  All of the six villages of the _Inselvolk_ contribute warriors for its common defense.  While very existence here demands that we be on our guard, it is very difficult to maintain vigilance everywhere and at every time.  We have neither the skill at sailing the seas that the raiders have, nor their iron weapons and armor-skins.  For years now they have attacked us where our guard is weakest, stealing away like cowards once they have taken their captives.”  

“Well, this time they got more than they bargained for,” Cal said.  “We are glad that we were able to help.” 

“You are a strange people,” she said, “And your ways are foreign to us, but the hospitality of the _Inselvolk_ is yours to enjoy.” 

“Thank you, matriarch,” Cal said.  “We are strangers here, brought to this place by an accident of fate, and we have recently lost our vessel, stranding us on these shores.”

“We are seeking a way to return to our home, a place called Faerûn,” Ruath added.  “Can you help us?”

“Perhaps the spirits of our sacred totems can provide the answers you seek,” she told them.  “Please, rest yourselves, and enjoy what we can offer.  Return to me with the setting of the sun on the morrow, and we will see what can be learned.”

* * * * * 

J’kal was true to her word, and the companions spent the rest of that day and all of the next enjoying a much-needed rest.  The Tanaroans were curious about the strangers, but polite, and the language barrier limited the amount of direct interaction that could take place between them.  The food, mostly foreign but tasty fruits and an unidentified meal baked into small cakes, was welcome after a tenday on sea rations and the bland gruel created by Ruath’s spells, and the natives even offered a fermented drink with an effect similar to alcohol.  Benzan, in particular, enjoyed the hospitality of the natives repeatedly in that respect.  Lok and Cal took turns keeping an eye on the tiefling, so that he wouldn’t say or do anything to alienate the villagers.  Luckily, the Tanaroans couldn’t understand what he said anyway.  

The day of rest passed all too quickly, and as the sun began to fade beneath the western horizon the group gathered again at the hut of matriarch J’kal.  The old woman was ready for them, and when they entered they could see that a low table had been placed on the floor in front of her, atop which a small bronze brazier rested.  A thin thread of smoke rose from the brazier to hover in the room, filling the place with a sweet and exotic smell.  

“Please, be seated,” J’kal said.  “I have spent the day fasting and seeking guidance from the totems of our people.  Spirits of the Elk, Hawk, Tiger, and Sea Turtle, I call on you on behalf of these strangers, lost travelers from a faraway land.  They have aided your children, and we seek your help for them in trade.”

The companions were silent as the matriarch completed her mantra.  Nothing happened for a long minute, then, as they watched, swirling shapes began to take form in the smoke rising from the brazier.  

J’kal began chanting, a low, singsong string of syllables that seemed to flow together into a single cohesive strand.  The spell of tongues could not convey the meaning in her words, for she was now speaking the language of magic, summoning a spell of divination to seek out the answers that the companions needed.  The invocation continued on and on, one minute dragging into the next, but so absorbing was it that none of them marked the passage of time.  Finally, J’kal raised her hands to the sky, seeking the power of her people’s spirits in a final call.  The answer came swiftly, as J’kal cried out, 

“Seek the black mountain!  Your road home leads through the Well of Worlds!”

The aura of power that had suffused the interior of the hut during the casting of the spell vanished, leaving all those who had witnessed it feeling suddenly drained.  J’kal slumped back against her cushions, tired by the effort, but otherwise hale.  

“The black mountain?” Benzan asked.  “Where is this place, and what is the ‘Well of Worlds’?”

“The black mountain lies in the center of the Isle,” J’kal explained, on a plateau nestled deep within the mountain range that bisects the island.  None of my people go there—according to our legends, it is a place of great power, the home of our ancient gods.  I know not of this ‘well’, but it is said that the gods had many items of power, and could travel through the web of worlds like fish swim through the sea.”

“It would seem that our path is now set,” Lok said.  

“Yeah, but why do I get the feeling that these people stay away from the island’s center for a very good reason?” Benzan piped in.  

No one had an answer for him.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 3, 2002)

So they must go to the centre of the island, where nobody wats to go... as usual...

Superb update!


----------



## Maldur (Mar 4, 2002)

reading your story I suddenly remembered this Island. Ouch the're in for some rough stuff.

Great story, keep it coming.

the german was very funny  Im not german but because I know the language (Im dutch) I had the "I know more than you do"feeling.

It makes a great read.


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 4, 2002)

Thanks, guys!  Glad you're enjoying the story.  This is one of the wonders of the internet, IMO: the opportunity to communicate with people from places far, far away from Sacramento, California.  

Maldur: I was only in the Netherlands once, briefly, but I thought it was a beautiful country.  Amsterdam was... well, it was pretty amazing.  

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 11

Barely a cloud marred the bright blue expanse of the sky over the Isle of Dread as the sun rose steadily higher.  It shone brightly on the column of travelers that had already covered many miles since the coming of the dawn that day, leaving the village of Tanaroa and the massive black wall far behind them.  They followed a clearly marked but infrequently used track that wound steadily toward the northwest, across the flowing grasses of a lightly forested savanna.  

Four native warriors served as guides, although it had been clearly established that they would only accompany the group for the first leg of the journey, to a complex of tar pits a few days’ travel along the path.  That was as far as the _Inselvolk_ dared to travel, and even that distance brought considerable dangers from the denizens of the savanna.  The companions and the survivors from _Raindancer_ took a cue from the native warriors and alertly scanned the grassy expanse that stretched to either side, wary of hidden dangers that might suddenly threaten them.  

With the aid of J’kal and the rest of her people, they were as prepared as they could hope to be.  They had restocked their packs with fresh supplies, and topped off the contents of the bag of holding as well.  They’d remained an extra day in Tanaroa after their second consultation with the matriarch, at Cal’s request.  While the added rest was welcome, the main purpose of the delay was for Cal to complete the researches he’d begun with the discovery of the orc wizard’s spellbook.  While many of the spells contained therein proved to be beyond his area of specialization, and thus useless to him, the new spell formulas did open his mind to several new applications of his own magic.  His experience had put him on the cusp of a new breakthrough, and by the time they left the village he had several new, more powerful spells at his disposal.  

They were all growing more skilled, tempered by the harsh challenges that they had faced.  Even the crewmembers of the _Raindancer_, who had never expected to be thrust into such mortal danger, were advancing beyond their training as common sailors.  Under the threat of constant battle, and the tutelage given by Lok and the other fighters, the few remaining sailors were finding themselves honing their skills as warriors.  

They would likely need that experience before this journey was complete.  

Their group had suffered another reduction in size, as well.  After the meeting with J’kal, when the course had been set for them, they gathered as a group, to discuss their prospects.  All knew that the journey ahead would be difficult, given the horrors they had already faced in this strange new world.  Horath spoke frankly to what was left of his crew, offering them the choice of pressing on ahead in search of the Well of Worlds, or remaining behind with the peaceful Inselvolk.  J’kal had extended the generous offer to integrate any who remained into the four tribes of her people.  

In the end, three of the sailors elected to stay behind, and three decided to accompany the group on their quest.  The three that went on with them were Maric, Horath’s loyal bosun, a young woman from Neverwinter of mixed human and elven blood named Elewyhn, or ‘Elly’, as she preferred to be called, and a brawler they’d hired on in Velen, a stout, muscular tough named Varrus.  All had a slightly nervous look about them, which was understandable given what had happened to most of their fellows.  The Tanaroans had gifted the sailors with new garments of spun flax to replace their ravaged sailor tunics, colorful red shirts that seemed a little out of place on the dangerous trail.

As the morning gave over into afternoon the narrow stretch of the isthmus opened out onto a broad plain, as they moved deeper into the interior of the isle.  A line of uneven hills rose up to their east, while to the west the green line of the jungle was visible across the horizon.  

Their warrior guides found them a campsite sheltered among a dense cluster of old dead logs, and there they passed a watchful but uneventful night.  When the sun rose on the new day they were already moving, eating up the miles with a slow but steady pace.  

At one point Cal took out his lute and started to sing a traveling song, but the look of pure terror that the four native warriors shot his way led him to quickly put away the instrument.  

“Sure are jumpy,” Benzan said.  

“As you said before, they no doubt have good reason,” Delem replied.  

“I was thinking… about that gemstone that brought us here,” Dana said.  “Who do you think put it onboard the ship?  Was it an accident that it brought us here, or was that the intent all along, do you think?”

“By the fury of that storm, I’d guess that the intent was just to kill us,” Cal offered.  “But who…?  That’s a tough one, given all the people that we’ve managed to anger lately.”

“Yeah, let’s see…” Benzan said, ticking each point off on his fingers.  “There were the hobgoblins, of course, and the church of Cyric, plus those shade-guys… Oh, and the Nelanther pirates… don’t know if they’re organized enough to pull something like this off, but maybe that minotaur had a powerful friend…  Whoever was living in that tower with the strange lightning-birds… Did I leave anyone out?”

“Don’t forget the cleric of Mask,” Lok chimed in.  Benzan nodded, and glanced reflexively down at the pouch at his belt.  

“Wow,” Dana said.  “Looks like I picked the right group to travel with, if I wanted to be in constant danger for my life.”

“We tried to warn you,” Benzan said, but his attention was only partly on the ongoing conversation.  The native warriors, he saw, had all turned their attention to the low hills to their east, the nearest of which were only a little more than a bowshot’s distance from the trail.  

Cal noted Benzan’s interest.  “What is it?” he asked.  

“I don’t know, but they seem to be—”

He was cut off as a sound echoed from the hills, a low roar that filled the air around them and then quickly faded.  The warriors exchanged a look that the companions were well familiar with, from the many times they had faced danger.  

“Viele Köpfe, viele Köpfe!” the warriors said, following the exclamation with a quick barrage of words in their singsong language.  Dana did not have time to cast her spell of comprehending languages, so they could not understand the words, but the meaning was clear as the warriors gestured for them to move off the trail and take cover in the tall grass and tangled knots of brush nearby.  

“Feelie cope-fa,” Benzan said, as they hustled into the cover of the deep grass.  “I don’t think I like the sound of that, whatever it is…”

Even as they took shelter they could hear the sound again, nearer now, perhaps.  

“By the gods…” one of the sailors said, as the source of the noise became visible, emerging out of the hills.   

It was a huge beast, its long reptilian form carried forward by thick, muscled legs.  Five serpentine heads erupted from its neck, each topped with a gaping maw full of razor-sharp teeth.  Those heads swept in different directions across the savanna, as if seeking them out.  

“Feelie cope-fa,” Benzan said, but his jaw was clenched as he said it.  

The creature’s heads scanned the surrounding area for a moment longer.  

Then it began to move in their direction.


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 4, 2002)

Now that the Monday afternoon ENWorld Message Board Freeze Up seems to be over, I've finally been able to update the character stats in the Rogues' Gallery.

Here's the link: http://www.enworld.org/messageboards/showthread.php?s=&threadid=658

I've also added stats for Horath and the "redshirts". 

LB


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 5, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *  The Tanaroans had gifted the sailors with new garments of spun flax to replace their ravaged sailor tunics, colorful red shirts that seemed a little out of place on the dangerous trail.
> 
> *




That's just wrong!

But I still like the story.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 5, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *The Tanaroans had gifted the sailors with new garments of spun flax to replace their ravaged sailor tunics, colorful red shirts that seemed a little out of place on the dangerous trail. *




That was a wink to the audience in the finest classic Hollywood tradition. I love it!!!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 5, 2002)

Book III, Part 12

The hydra, beast of “viele Köpfe,” drew nearer to the hiding place of the companions, who grimly readied their weapons for battle.      

“Does it see us?” Varrus hissed from the cover of the dense grass a few feet beside them.  

“Shh,” Cal cautioned.  The creature reached the trail and turned up it toward where they were hiding, its heads twisting in turning in each direction as it sought out clues to the location of the prey it had caught a scent of on the breeze.  

“It’s seen us,” Varrus hissed.  “No way I’m waiting around for it to come roust us out!”  Before any of them could stop him, he twisted and started crawling rapidly away through the grass.  

The hydra, attracted by the motion of the grass as the sailor crept away, immediately shifted all five of its heads in that direction and rapidly charged toward their hiding place, its lumbering bulk making it about as slow as Lok running in full armor.  

“Oh, great,” Benzan said.  “All right then, let that thing have it!”

He rose up into a crouch, drawing back his heavy bow and letting his first arrow fly.  The others were close behind, firing arrows and crossbow bolts.  The missiles streaked out into the hydra, several penetrating its thick hide even at long range.  The thing came on, oblivious to the damage, several of its heads letting out roaring challenges as it approached.  

“I don’t think we’re having any effect!” Benzan yelled in frustration, as he scored another hit.  

“Go for the heads!” Dana suggested, before she closed her eyes and started focusing on casting a spell.  Cal, meanwhile, had protected himself with mage armor, and as the hydra continued to draw steadily nearer he touched the wand to Dana and protected her as well.  Delem cast a spell of his own as the creature drew nearer, summoning a fiery globe of flames that rolled down the trail into the chest of the creature.  To his dismay, the hydra just tromped right over the flaming sphere, and kept closing.  

“Spread out!” Lok said, tossing his bow aside and hefting his axe.  In what looked almost like a foolhardy gesture of courage, he strode out onto the trail to face the creature’s charge.  As it loomed over him, and its true size became apparent, it appeared that the hydra would merely crush the hapless genasi under its bulk.  

The defenders launched a final barrage as the hydra closed to within close range, the arrows, crossbow bolts, and spears glancing off its thick hide or sticking in it.  With it so close, though, they could see now that Benzan’s assessment had been accurate—the blows seemed to have little effect, and in fact the creature’s flesh seemed to reform even as the missiles dug in, pushing each weapon out of the wound to fall harmlessly to the ground.  

The hydra seemed invulnerable, but it was too late to flee—they were committed.  

The creature snarled out a challenge as it came at Lok, its heads darting for the genasi from several directions.  Lok met the attack squarely, and while it looked as though the warrior was far outmatched, he took the first darting head on his shield, turned the second with a parry, and then, as a third tore in toward his face… 

Lok swept his axe around with the full power of his frame behind it, and sliced the head clear off of the beast’s body.  

The hydra reared back, clearly unsettled by this unfortunate development.  The rest of the warriors formed a half-circle around Lok, facing the creature, ready to attack but wary of the danger from its remaining heads.  

And then, to their horror, they saw _two_ snapping tendrils—new heads—start to emerge from the stump where Lok had injured the creature.  

“Okay, I _really_ don’t like this!” Benzan cried. 

Cal, though, had heard stories of regenerating creatures, like the trolls that lurked in the swamps and mountains of the Sword Coast, and those tales spoke of means for fighting such beasts.  “Delem, use your fire!” he cried out.  

The sorcerer nodded and called upon the inner energies of the flames that coursed through his very soul.  A stream of fire exploded from his fingertips and arced into the hydra, slashing into the two growing heads.  The hydra’s other heads screamed in unison as the two regenerating tendrils crisped and disintegrated into ash, and the stump was seared closed, cauterized by the magical flames.  

“That’s it!” Cal shouted.  “Slash and burn!”

But the hydra was not apparently willing to let itself be defeated so easily.  With another roar it lumbered forward, ignoring the thrusts at its flanks from the bold native warriors.  Several spear-tips penetrated its hide as it came, but each wound closed as soon as the weapon was drawn free.  It bore down on Lok, and even accepted another stroke without slowing from the genasi’s axe, a mighty slash that severed another head.  Its focus was now on Delem, and the three remaining heads of the creature lashed down at the unarmored sorcerer without mercy.  

But Cal reached him first, and touched him lightly with his protective wand, surrounding him with the deflective mage armor.  Dana tried to distract it, slashing at the first darting head with her kama, but the simple brain of the creature had set its target as the one foe that could truly harm it, and it would not be diverted.  Three biting heads swarmed into Delem.  The first clamped only on empty air, deflected by Cal’s timely spell, but the other two found purchase and savaged the hapless mage with bites that tore into his left shoulder and right hip.  The young sorcerer cried out in pain, and only a desperate inner reserve of strength kept him standing after the brutal attacks.  

“Stay strong!” Cal shouted to his friend, as he and the others came to the aid of the beleaguered sorcerer.  Even as they watched, however, another two new heads had already begun to show themselves from the stump that Lok had just created.     

The genasi had nearly been trampled by the charge of the creature toward Delem, but now he rose up with a roar of challenge of his own, and leapt boldly into the gap between Delem and the creature.  His axe swept out at the creature’s remaining heads with almost mechanical precision, severing one with a powerful stroke, and then, before the creature could even react to that attack, cutting a second free with a sudden backswing.  The hydra reared up and tried to dodge back despite its cumbersome bulk, only one head left to express its pain and outrage.  

Benzan, meanwhile, had moved to the flank opposite Lok, and even as the genasi charged he drew his sword and struck at the swarming heads as well.  Lok’s strokes were quicker, however, and when the hydra drew back Benzan’s cut at the final head went awry, slicing only air.  

The creature was down to one final head, but it was clear that within moments they would be facing a far greater danger.  Flapping tendrils that would soon be full-grown heads erupted from each bloody stump, twisting and flailing as each grew a fang-filled maw that snapped eagerly at the air.  

Lok turned to face Delem and the others, his face a bloody mask of gore that had splashed on him from the wounds he’d already inflicted on the hydra.  “Burning hands!” he shouted.  

“But you and Benzan…” the sorcerer started to protest.

“Do it!” the genasi yelled. 

Delem gave into the magic at the fighter’s command, stepping forward and unleashing a raging storm of fire from his outstretched fingertips.  The flames engulfed the genasi, swirling around him as they extended to their full range and tore into the wounded hydra.  The slow-moving creature had no chance to escape the fire, and when the flames flared out each stump was sealed, its regeneration stopped.  Lok looked a disaster, his face blackened and his armor slick with hydra blood, but without hesitation he raised his axe and came at the hydra again.  

The others, warriors, sailors, and adventurers alike, could only watch with amazement at the sight of the armored fighter charging alone after the hydra, which now was only intent on one thing: escape.  Benzan, who had somehow managed to twist out of the path of most of the flames, was close behind him, and the others were quick to follow, unwilling to let the dangerous creature escape back into the hills.  

They quickly surrounded it, and with another stroke of Lok’s axe and another stream of fire from Delem, the creature was finally defeated.  They gathered around the scarred and steaming corpse of the creature, catching their collective breath after the brief but violent confrontation.  

“Sie sind ein mächtiger und furchtbarer Krieger,” one of the native warriors said to Lok, a look of amazed incredulity on his face.  

“Yeah, damned straight,” Benzan said, not knowing the man’s words but guessing at his meaning.  The tiefling’s attention turned, however, back to the side of the trail where they had taken cover, where someone was slowly approaching the group gathered around the hydra corpse.  

“Benzan,” Cal said, as he looked up and saw the tiefling walk quickly in that direction.  The gnome had moved quickly to join Dana and Ruath in treating the serious injuries suffered by Delem and Lok, but once he saw Benzan’s direction and destination, he quickly moved to join him.  “Benzan!” he said again, this time with a warning in his tone.  

But Benzan was fixed on his own target, and his quick steps carried him rapidly to where Varrus stood waiting, a nervous look on his face.  The sailor looked ready to bolt, but perhaps a realization that he had nowhere to go kept him standing there, facing the dark look on the tiefling’s face.  

Benzan drew his sword in a smooth motion, and before the terrified man could react the blade darted in, resting lightly against the side of his throat.  

“Benzan!” Cal yelled, hurrying to catch up to the pair.  Several of the others, having noticed the exchange, were also moving to join them, their faces showing a mixture of reactions.  Captain Horath wore a deep frown, but they were no longer on the _Raindancer,_ and he did not move to directly intervene.  

“I don’t expect you to rush into battle against such a monstrosity,” Benzan said.  “The gods know I’ll never have the courage of Lok, or Cal’s calm under fire, or even Delem’s skill with his magic.  But if you ever threaten all of us with your cowardice again, I’ll kill you.”  Varrus said nothing, didn’t even flinch when Benzan drew back his sword, sheathed it, and walked angrily away.  Only a quick something that flashed in his eyes as he watched Benzan’s departing form betrayed his feelings, and what was revealed in that brief instant was not pleasant.  

“Let’s get out of here,” Cal suggested, and they quickly gathered up their gear.  Within a few minutes, they were back on the trail, leaving the stinking carcass of the hydra for the scavengers of the savanna.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 6, 2002)

As always, great battle. Epic moments like 'burning friend to burn foe'. I love it!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 6, 2002)

Thanks, Horacio!  I suspect your prolific posting keeps more than one storyhour writer going!  

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 13

By the sunset of the day of their battle against the hydra they reached the first destination in their journey, the bubbling and extensive tar pits that marked the end of the natives’ trail.  Matriarch J’kal had told them that the _Inselfolk_ sometimes gathered the tar to use as a sealant for their homes and boats, although the danger of the journey made such trips infrequent.  The warriors who had escorted them here each filled several hollow gourds they’d brought with them with tar, and prepared for the return journey back to Tanaroa while the rest of the company prepared to head onward.  

“Viel Glück,” one of warriors said, and while the companions did not understand the language, they could see by the man’s expression that he and his comrades were glad that _they_ were not going further.  

J’kal had not been able to give them much detail about the route that would lead them to the central plateau and the “black mountain” she had spoken of in her divination.  She had said that the lands north of the tar pits were rugged hills, with dense jungle beyond all the way to the central mountain range that bisected the island, but was unable to give more details than that.  Luckily the mountains formed a clear marker ahead of them, making their ultimate destination, at least, immediately visible.  

Of course, that left many, many miles of long travel ahead of them.  

After spending an uneventful evening in the vicinity of the tar pits, they took their leave of the warriors and set out again with the coming of the new day.  The hills soon swallowed them up, as they charted a course that led them more or less straight to the north.  Soon the foul stench of the tar was far behind them, and they made good time despite the constant rise and fall of the land beneath them.  The day passed quickly, without mishap, and soon they had set up another camp amidst a cluster of ancient boulders atop the summit of one of the hundreds of identical low hills they’d been traveling over.  The mountains seemed no nearer than they had in the morning, but they knew that it would take time, perhaps a tenday yet, for them to reach those dark pillars that loomed along the horizon.  

Dana had utilized her knowledge of nature and herbalism to collect some edible roots and vegetables over the course of the day’s march, and they made a warm soup over a small, shielded fire to supplement their stores of foodstuffs.  With Ruath in their company it was unlikely that they would ever starve, but none of them were willing to take anything for granted in this strange and hostile place.  As night fell over their campsite, each of the companions could sense eyes watching them from the darkness, but nothing emerged to challenge them.  

“Maybe word got out about what happened to the hydra,” Benzan ventured, when someone commented on it.  

For a long moment they just sat there in silence, each deep in his or her own thoughts.  “This place has a certain beauty to it,” Delem finally said, as he stared up at the massive canopy of the night sky above, the thousands of unfamiliar stars twinkling brightly in that black firmament.  The moon was dark this night, so only the soft star-shine illuminated the mysterious world around them.  

“It’s frightening, this whole place,” Elly, one of Horath’s sailors, replied.  The young half-elven woman hugged her knees, pulling her cloak close around her despite the warmth of the night.  “I just want to get back home, back to Faerûn.”

“Well, with luck and a little teamwork, we’ll be able to do just that,” Cal offered.  He unslung his magical lute, and played a soft but soothing melody upon it.  “Is there a prayer to Tymora for this sort of occasion, priestess?” he said to Ruath.  

“I don’t know if she’d hear it,” the still-subdued halfling responded, and before any of them could respond, she rolled herself up in her cloak and laid down a short distance away.   

Cal sighed.  “All right, Benzan and I’ll take first watch,” he said, and he put his instrument away as the others tried to get what sleep they could before the next day’s long march ahead.  

* * * * * 

The next morning dawned much like the one before it, clear and warm, rapidly escalating to hot before the sun had even managed to climb fully into the morning sky.  With the heat they were drinking a lot of water, and they had not found any yet in their march through the hills, so Dana began the day with an orison that filled their empty flasks and waterskins.  Grateful for the fact that they had not merely one but _three_ clerics in their company, the group offered morning prayers to their respective gods and then loaded up their gear for another day’s march.  

The hills seemed to continue unabated, with each hard-won summit offering an identical landscape ahead.  Staying in the dells between the hills was not an easier option, however, as the lows were choked with dry, clinging brush that soon had all of them picking out thorns and briars from their cloaks and leggings.  

“Place has a ‘certain beauty to it’, huh?” Benzan said sarcastically to Delem as they made their way down yet another uneven slope.  The sun had risen almost to its peak in the sky, and it was approaching time for their midday break.

The sorcerer opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sound that reverberated off the hills around them.  It was a tapping or clicking noise, the sound of metal striking metal, that resonated for a few instants more and then faded. 

“What was that?” Dana asked.

“A signal, I’d guess,” Horath suggested.

“Let’s press on to the next summit, get a look around,” Cal suggested.  “Everybody keep your eyes open.”

None of them saw anything as they reached the base of their current hill and started up the next, and the sounds were not repeated.  As they neared the summit of the second hill Benzan and Horath pressed on ahead to see if they could see anything from the hilltop, but as they reached the summit they suddenly froze.  

“What is it?” Cal yelled up after them, huffing slightly as his shorter legs worked to keep up with his taller companions.  

“You’d better come up here,” was the tiefling’s only reply.  

The clear edge in Benzan’s voice urged them to hurry, and after only a few moments they had joined him and Horath… and they could see what had alerted them.  

The top of the hill was a broad, flat clearing, broken up by large clusters of boulders that could have served as thrones for giants or titans.  The vantage point offered by the summit showed the same endless vista of hills ahead, but marked with one obvious change.  An encampment of sorts was visible in a clearing below, a collection of simple thatch huts and more elaborate pavilions fashioned of gaily-colored cloth.  Their examination of the camp, however, was cut short by the much more obvious sight of the tall figure who stood a few yards away on the far edge of the hilltop, watching them intently.  

The stranger was roughly man-shaped, but there all comparison with any of them ended.  He stood just under seven feet in height, and every inch of his lean and muscular frame was covered with soft amber fur.  His features were feline, with the sharp eyes and powerful jaws of a predator, but there was a clear glimmer of intelligence in his eyes, as he watched the companions intently.  He wore a simple garment of colorful cloth and dyed leather around his hips, and wore what looked like metal claws over his fists.  

“He hasn’t said or done anything since we saw him, just stood there, watching us,” Benzan related to them.  

Once they had all gathered at the edge of the hilltop, the cat-man crossed his arms in a sudden blur of motion, clacking the metal claws together.  The noise was identical to that which they’d heard earlier, and the result, this time, was immediate.

From all around the hill, even from the route they’d just covered, silent figures identical to the first rose up out of the surrounding hillside, slipping out of concealment among the rocks and brush like ascending spirits.  Their garments were more plain, the better to allow them to blend with the scenery, and their coloration varied, from golden brown like the one before them to a range of grays, dark browns the color of freshly tilled earth, and lighter shades of brown that approached yellow.  They all wore the same metal claws as the first, and together there were well over a dozen of them, approaching from all sides.  

“Nice, kitties,” Benzan said under his breath, as the ring quickly closed around them

“Don’t make any threatening gestures,” Cal said.

They turned back to the one at the far side of the hilltop, and watched as another pair, similarly festooned with more elaborate dress, slipped out of the rocks to join the first.  To make matters worse, the three cat-men were joined by a trio of massive tigers, huge beasts that were remarkable both for their size and for the incredible oversized fangs that darted down from their jaws like twin sabers.  

For a moment the two groups faced each other in silence, and then the first cat-man spoke.  

“Mrrrrr… qui ose la violation sur les terres héréditaires des rakastas?”  His voice was scratchy and deep-pitched, but the strange words that flowed from his feline jaws were smooth and easily distinguished.

“Um, Dana?” Benzan asked, but the cleric was already casting her spell.  

“Votre sorte ne sont pas bienvenue en ces collines,” the cat-man continued, the statement punctuated by a low growl that seemed to rumble in its chest.  The sabre-toothed tiger at his feet echoed the sound with a growl of its own that sounded like rocks tumbling down a steep slope. 

“Dana?” 

The priestess ignored him, intent on forcing the power of her spell through the difficult barrier between worlds.  Finally, her face cleared, and she nodded.  

Cal stepped forward, and made a small bow to the lead creature.  “We come in peace,” he said.  “We are just traveling through—we mean no harm.”  Even though he was ridiculously small in comparison to the massive cat-man, he kept his voice level, his tone soothing yet assured.  Behind him, his companions eyed the ring of implacable warriors, their hands resting close to weapon hilts.  

“Mrrrr… vous avez enfreint sur nos terres héréditaires,” the cat-man said.  “Vous devez relever le défi.”

“He says that we’ve trespassed,” Dana translated.  “We have to meet some kind of… challenge.”

“Um, we meant no trespass,” Cal began, but it was clear that the situation was about to progress rapidly.  The spokesman—er, spokescat—abruptly strode closer, and the whole ring suddenly collapsed on them.  The cat-men did not attack, however, but they were clearly tensed, close enough for a single bound to reach them with those jagged metal claws.

“Choisissez un pour rencontrer l'essai de la force.  Si vous échouez, vous serez détruits,” the leader said, gesturing at all of them with a sweeping claw.  At his words, the whole ring clashed their claws together, the sound echoing out across the surrounding hills.  

“He says we must choose one to meet a test of strength,” Dana said.  “If we fail, we will be destroyed.”

Cal made a gesture, raising first one finger and then pointing first to his companions and then to the leader.  The cat-man nodded, and grinned, revealing a jaw full of rather nasty-looking white teeth.  

“Well, this one’s a no brainer,” Benzan said.  “Either we take on this guy one-on-one, or fight the whole lot of them with their pet fangy-tigers.  I wonder which we should choose?”

None of them were surprised when Lok stepped forward.  “If there is no other option, then I will fight this cat-man,” he declared.  The cats let out a collective hiss that they took to be a sign of appreciation, and the leader nodded, sizing up his prospective adversary with an approving stare.  

Cal gestured again, trying to clarify the “rules” of the contest.  Apparently the cat-men already had a clear idea of what they wanted, however, as they formed a tight ring around the hilltop, enclosing the two combatants and the other companions.  The leader stepped forward into the indicated battleground, and clashed its claws together.  It pointed to Lok’s axe and shield, and growled something. 

“Open hands,” Dana translated.  “No weapons.”

“Now, wait,” Benzan protested.  “It has those metal claw-thingies.”  When the cat-man snarled at Benzan, the tiefling pointed to its own fists to indicate his meaning. 

“Si vous enlèverez votre peau en métal, j'abandonnerai mes griffes de combat.”

“He says that if you take off your armor, he’ll remove the claws,” Dana said.  

“Let it keep them,” Cal suggested.  “You’re giving up more of an edge without your armor.”

The cat-man growled impatiently, eager apparently for the contest to begin.  He gestured for the others to back off, to leave only him and Lok in the center of the ring.  

Before she retreated, Dana touched Lok on the shoulder.  “Good luck,” she said, and with her touch came a gift of power, the vitality of her divine magic flowing into his body.  Lok handed her his axe and shield, and turned to face his adversary directly.  

Just in time to face the sudden charge of the cat-man, his claws extended toward Lok’s face.

* * * * * 

Coming soon: an epic clash (the cat's a Ranger6)

Ed note: Ok, I just have to say I don't speak French, so I hope the translations aren't too ridiculous, but I thought it went well with what I did earlier with the Tanaroans...


----------



## Horacio (Mar 6, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *Thanks, Horacio!  I suspect your prolific posting keeps more than one storyhour writer going!
> 
> *




Thanks a lot! Truely, thanks!

I think I try to post in every story hour I like because I'd love people post in a stoy hour mine (I have no story hour right now, I tried once, but the campaign failed, so I dropped it). I think you deserve at least that, writing a story hour is a difficult proccess, it takes time and effort, and my only way to show my admiration is posting, so I post...

BTW, I love the French kitties... Are they Piratecats (TM) ?


----------



## MasterOfHeaven (Mar 6, 2002)

Question..  why exactly are Earth Genasi +1 ECL?  The abilities they have actually seem weaker than a Human or Dwarfs abilities.  Anyway, I'm looking forward to the next update.


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 7, 2002)

MasterOfHeaven said:
			
		

> *Question..  why exactly are Earth Genasi +1 ECL?  The abilities they have actually seem weaker than a Human or Dwarfs abilities.*




It's a power-gaming thing.  Whether one agrees or not, the conventional wisdom is that "physical" traits that provide combat bonuses are more "valuable" than mental stats (unless you're a magic-using character).  Thus a strength and constitution bonus outweighs the penalty to wisdom and charisma.  This isn't just my perception; I've read this justification in WotC commentaries on their race-leveling system.  

And Lok does seem to kick some serious @$$ for his level.  

Question, readers: I'm thinking of having Lok take a level of barbarian.  I've always thought of him as more of a fighter, always in control and fighting with precision more than rage, but lately he's taken on more of "battlerager" feel.  Consider this an informal poll: what do you think of the idea?  I already know what his ultimate progression's going to look like (including a PrC ), but we'll get to that later in the story...

I'll post the conclusion of the battle with the rakasta ranger tomorrow morning, as always (I'm a creature of habits, and I like to get into a rhythm ).  Thanks again for everyone's feedback!


----------



## MasterOfHeaven (Mar 7, 2002)

I *know* powergaming.  Which is why I don't think the Genasi really are an appropiate ECL+1 race.  I am also aware that several people hold this viewpoint.  We can start a thread in D&D Rules if you like, but just for comparison, check out the following three ECL+1 Races.

Aassimar:

+2 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, no penalties to statistics.  They not considered Humanoids, therefore they are immune to spells like Charm Person, Hold Person and so on.  They get Darkvision, plus a +2 bonus to Spot and Listen checks, as well as the ability to use Light once a day at a caster level equal to their character level.  And let's not forget they also have Acid, Cold and Electricity resistance 5.  

Next, the Tiefling:

+2 Dexterity, +2 Intelligence, -2 Charisma.  They have a penalty to Charisma, but Dexterity and Intelligence affect more skills and ability checks than Wisdom and Charisma.  They also are not considered Humanoids, thus granting them immunity to potentially devestating low level spells.  They also get Darkvision, and a nice +2 bonus to Bluff and Hide checks, as well as the ability to use the second level spell Darkness once per day, at a caster level equal to their character level, and Fire, Cold and Electricity resistance 5.

And finally, the Hobgoblin:

+2 to Dexterity (Or Strength, can't remember) and Constitution.  No penalties.  They also have Darkvision and a +4 racial bonus to Move Silently checks.

Compare all of the above ECL+1 races to the Earth Genasi, and tell me again they fit as an ECL+1 race.  The Genasi, as they are now, are far more balanced at +0 ECL than at +1.  Lok should have an extra level, or you should increase the Genasis abilities, in my opinion.  One last point...  The Dwarven race recieves a +2 to Constitution and -2 to Charisma, as well as a whole horde of special abilities like +2 to save vs ALL spells and spell like abilities, bonuses to hit Orcs, bonuses to dodge against giants and so on.  Should they be ECL+1 too?

As for Loks next level...  Is he still going to be tromping around in that heavy armor?  Because the Barbarian doesn't get some of his special abilites if he's wearing heavy armor.  Still, I think it would fit Lok just fine to take a level or two in Barbarian.  You could just work the Rage ability into the PrClass you're planning on having him take, though.  Good luck, and I am of course looking forward to the next update.


----------



## Maldur (Mar 7, 2002)

Nice touch,  those french kittens 

Amsterdam is allright, I think it lost its amazing quality, but I have lived there for about 15 years.

Keep Lok a fighter, i think calculated risk (iso rage) is more his style.

More!more!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 7, 2002)

MasterOfHeaven: you make good points (and I've read the various "ECL" threads on the rules page), but personally I tend toward reluctance when it comes to house-ruling things like ECLs.  It does seem though that genasi are among the weaker of the ECL +1 races... maybe ECL +1/2?  They do have a cool flavor to them, however.  

Glad you guys liked the cats!  Time for the conclusion of the scene...

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 14

Lok managed to catch the first slash of the metal claws against his bracer, but the second caught him on the edge of his face, drawing a trio of deep cuts across his cheek.  His feline attacker was possessed of incredible speed and considerable strength, and kept up an unflinching assault as powerful strokes from its war claws tore into him.  

The doughty warrior was glad that he hadn’t removed his armor; the battle would have been over quickly if he had, he suspected.  

He held his ground and planted his left foot down firmly to absorb the weight of the cat-man’s attack, matching his fortitude against his opponent’s agility.  He let fly a mighty punch that the cat-man dodged, and in return took a pair of hits that glanced off of his armored shoulders.  He struck again, hitting his opponent this time with a glancing blow that just caught the edge of its jaw.  The cat-man snarled, and before Lok could draw back his hand, he bit down hard on the genasi’s fist.

Pain flashed up Lok’s arm as the cat-man’s sharp teeth dug deep into his stony flesh.  His instinct was to jerk the hand back, but he resisted the impulse and instead stepped forward and drove his fist forward, intending to shove his fist down into the cat-man’s throat.  His adversary snarled and dodged back, breaking the connection, and managed a parting shot with one of his natural claws, scratching across Lok’s face with a hind leg as it flipped back and landed smoothly on its feet.  It faced him, its teeth wet with Lok’s blood, and offered a feral smile in challenge. 

“He’s in trouble,” Benzan said, from where he and his companions watched the desperate struggle a short distance away.  He shifted slightly, uneasy, the movement bringing the hilt of his sword within closer reach.  One of the cat-men noticed the action, and hissed at him.  

“Entreprenez une démarche fausse, chauve, et nous vous couperons dans les bits kitty morsure-classés.”

Benzan snarled back, but Cal cautioned him with a hand on his arm.  “Steady,” he said.  His voice kept carefully neutral, but loud enough so that all of them could hear, he added, “Trust Lok—but be ready on my signal to open a can of whoop-ass on these pussycats.”

Benzan nodded, and eased back from the cat-man, turning back to the struggle that raged before them. 

The two combatants circled each other warily.  The cat-man had managed several darting attacks, but none had penetrated the genasi’s considerable defenses.  Lok, in turn, could not pin down the cat-man, landing only one more glancing blow that did little damage.  

The cat-man seemed to grow weary of the stalemate, for it suddenly crouched and launched another full attack, much like its initial rush that had nearly overcome the genasi warrior.  

Lok was ready, and took the brunt of the flurry of blows, deflecting a pair of strokes before a third sliced through his defenses and tore another gash along the line of his jaw.  The genasi held his ground, however, and as the cat-man darted back, his thick hand shot out, and locked around his adversary’s ankle.  

The cat-man twisted to break away from the fighter’s grip, but Lok was far too strong, and the vise of his fingers was like iron.  Lok’s barrel legs started churning, driving him toward the edge of the circle.  The cat-man was like a storm of claws and fur on top of him, tearing at him, savaging his upper body with strokes that cut deeply into whatever exposed flesh they could find.  Lok ignored each attack, his charge carrying him to the very edge of the ring of watchers—and driving several of them hastily back out of his path—before he saw what he had targeted.  

With every ounce of the amazing strength that was compacted in his mighty frame, he slammed the cat-man down hard against the flat surface of one of the many boulders that jutted out of the surface of the hill.  A mighty smack filled the clearing at the impact, and the pained yowl erupted from the creature’s battered frame as it slumped to the ground, stunned.  Lok, still holding his grip on its leg, twisted and spun around, tossing it bodily back into the middle of the circle, where it rolled to an awkward stop in a jumbled pile of furred limbs.  The cat-man tried to get up, once, a dazed expression on its face, then it crumpled back to the ground.  

As the remaining creatures watched in stunned silence, Lok walked over to his adversary, and stood over him.  His fist came up into a cocked and ready position.

“Yield?” 

The cat-man tried to speak, but was having a difficult time getting more than a confused growl out of its mouth.  One of the others, however, accompanied by a sabre-tooth tiger at its side, stepped forward and addressed him.  

“Vous vous êtes prouvés dignes, et pouvez partir avec l'honneur,” it said.

“It says that we’ve proven ourselves worthy, and may depart with honor,” Dana translated.  

“Yeah, why don’t we get out of here before they change their minds,” Benzan said, wary at the hostile looks that were directed at them from every direction.  

The companions left, Dana helping Lok, who could barely see with blood from several cuts flowing down into his eyes.  As they hurried away—to the west, away from the encampment below—she covertly healed his wounds with her wand.  

“Amazing,” Captain Horath said.  “I’ve known dwarves to have incredible strength and stamina, but I’ve never seen the likes of what you did against the hydra and that cat-man.”

“I did what needed to be done,” Lok said simply, and with that they continued on their journey, traveling as quickly as they could to leave the territory of the strange and honorable cat-people behind them.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 7, 2002)

The French kitty wasn't a foe for our mighty Dwarf


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 8, 2002)

Book III, Part 15

The next day, they left the hills behind and penetrated into the jungle.  

The place didn’t seem too bad at first, although the heat quickly became sweltering, even sheltered as they were from the direct rays of the hot sun above.  Benzan noted that it was likely the humidity, a thick dampness in the air that soon had all of them coated in sweat.  Soon they were shedding clothing and excess armor, placing their extra items in Lok’s bag of holding for storage.  The genasi kept his armor on without complaint, shrugging off the heat with his incredible fortitude, and Benzan kept his mail on as well, apparently less affected by the heat than most of the others.  

“Maybe there’s a benefit to my cursed ancestry after all,” he ventured.

The forest swallowed them up into its embrace, as they continued on their northward course.  It would have been easy to get lost in the trackless expanse of tall trees and dense undergrowth, but Delem’s natural sense for direction helped guide them steadily toward their intended destination.  Dana and Ruath were called upon to create water several times a day, and they were alert to the constant presence of life they could feel all around them, lurking hidden at every turn.  They saw several large serpents and a variety of unnaturally large insects over the course of the first day, but all of the creatures took the initiative to avoid them rather than contest their passage.  

Their first night in the jungle they spent camped in the dead remnants of a once-massive tree, taking shelter in the hollow of its trunk.  They passed an uncomfortable night in the sticky heat that persisted even after dark, surrounded by the constant sounds of the forest around them.  Just before dawn a cluster of monstrous centipedes stumbled across the camp and attacked, but Delem managed to drive them away with a burst of flames.  Dana treated the minor injuries suffered by Horath and Varrus in the brief confrontation, and after an early breakfast they headed out again into the jungle.  

The second day they found the going much slower, as the jungle grew even denser around them.  Dana’s knowledge of plants and animals was put to the test as they encountered a variety of strange things that challenged them, from a thick vine whose thorns burned when they pricked the skin, to a bulbous fruit found on another bush whose scent made them feel sleepy and lethargic.  Working together they were able to avoid these prospective dangers, and pressed on toward the north, and the mountains they could no longer see but knew where there, waiting for them.  

The morning had already given over into afternoon when they reached a clearing and paused for a rest.  

“I don’t think I’ve ever sweat so much in my life,” Dana said, as she sat wearily on an old log and poured a stream of water from her waterskin across her face.  

“Careful, we should conserve that,” Cal cautioned.

“I’ll just make more tomorrow,” she protested, but she stoppered the container and slung it back across her shoulder.  

They continued talking about the jungle and their experiences in it, but Delem, who was sitting near the edge of the gathering, heard a slight chittering noise and looked up.  There, sitting atop a branch a stone’s throw away, was a pair of creatures watching them.  They looked like a cross between monkeys and raccoons, with curious faces, small but fully articulated hands, and long tails that wrapped around the branches behind them.  They were short, perhaps just a tad smaller than Ruath.  

Delem made a chittering noise back at the creatures, and took a fruit—one of those Dana had declared safe to eat—and lifted it toward the two creatures.  They looked at him curiously, but made no move to approach.  

“Hey, looks like Delem’s found some new friends,” Benzan said, noticing the exchange.  “Hey, Delem, why don’t you call her as your familiar?” he laughed.  “You’d make a cute pair!”

Delem shot a venomous look at the tiefling, and continued to call to the creatures while the others watched.  Finally, when it was clear that neither of the creatures was interested in coming closer, Delem tossed the fruit up to them.  The nearest caught it smoothly, and tore it in half, handing one portion to her neighbor before digging into her half. 

“Maybe they’re intelligent,” Delem said, as he watched the pair watching him. 

“I’m just glad we’ve encountered something that hasn’t instantly attacked us,” Benzan commented.  

Delem waved at the two creatures, and as they watched the female imitated his action, and waved back.  

“They have similar creatures in Calimshan,” Horath said.  “Monkeys—some of the people there keep them as pets, or even use them to help in petty thievery, I’ve heard.  Better keep your eye on your purse, magus.” he added with a smile. 

Delem, however, wasn’t ready to give up on his theory that there was more to the creatures than it seemed.  He addressed the female, introducing himself and their purpose in coming to the jungle, keeping his voice easy and friendly.  

“Yer wasting yer time, magus,” Varrus said with a growl.  “Them things might be good in a stewpot, but they’re no use beyond that.”

“I think they’re cute,” Elly said, coming up beside Delem, digging in her own pouch for a treat.  

The two creatures, spooked perhaps by the increased attention from the companions, turned and darted back along the branches deeper into the tree cover, vanishing quickly from sight.  

“Oh well,” Benzan said, coming up beside Delem.  “I just guess it wasn’t meant to be.  Plenty of fish in the sea, though.”  He chuckled to himself as he moved back to where he’d left his pack and bow.  “Hey!” he cried out, suddenly.  “Where’s my bow?”

The others jumped to their feet and started looking around, and more than one carelessly discarded possession was discovered to be missing.  Benzan was livid, and started a string of curses that caused even hardened Dana to blush more than once.  

“Damnation and hellfire!” he concluded, although it wasn’t clear if he was actually done or just pausing to draw breath.  “When I get my hands on those thieving…”

“There’s no use griping about it now,” Cal said.  Their brief search had turned up no tracks, no indication of where the creatures might have disappeared to.  “We have to keep going… just keep your eyes open, and keep your hands on your gear.”

The jungle itself seemed eager to make their passage difficult, as the route out of the clearing led through a particularly dense knot of growth.  They made little progress over the next hour, but finally the route passed over some hard, rocky patches of soil, and the undergrowth cleared enough for them to make their way swifter through the trees.  

The light around them was just beginning to dim, indicating that the afternoon was giving over into evening, when Horath called out for them to halt.  

“What is it?” Cal asked.  In reply, the elf nodded in the direction of one of the trees just ahead of their path.  Ten pairs of eyes turned in that direction, where a small form sat watching them in the crook of a branch twenty paces or so up the thick trunk. 

“Lend me your bow,” Benzan said to Lok.  

“Careful,” Cal cautioned.  The advice proved to be sound, for after a few moments they became aware of a rustling sound that seemed to come from the forest canopy all around them.  Soon dozens of the small creatures appeared out of the greenery and took up positions on perches everywhere they turned their eyes.  None of them were lower than ten feet from the ground, and they watched the companions with their intent, masked eyes.  

“Give me back my bow, you little sneaks!” Benzan yelled, his voice startlingly loud in the silence. 

“Perhaps a little more diplomacy would be helpful,” Cal suggested.  He stepped slightly away from the group, and lifted an open palm to the watchers in the trees.  “We mean no harm,” he said.  

“Yeah, that worked really well the last time,” Benzan grumbled.  “This time, if they want to challenge one of us to single combat, I want to be the one to do it.  No offense, Lok,” he added.

The genasi’s expression was inscrutable, but his axe was close at hand in case the little forest creatures became a threat.

Cal tried a different tack, playing a soft melody on his lute.  The creatures watched, and some exchanged soft whispers that could have been anything.  Finally, a vine dangled down from the forest canopy above, trailing along with its length one of the creatures.  The little thing came down the impromptu rope head-first, until he hung eight feet above the ground, directly in front of Cal. 

At close range they could see that Delem’s suspicions about the creatures’ intelligence seemed to be well founded.  The monkey-creature wore a harness of some sort around its small but muscled torso, and they could see what looked like small knives stuck in notches in the leather.  

“Buenos días, los extranjeros. Qué lo trae a nuestro bosque?”

“I’ll be damned,” Horath said.  “You were right, Delem.”

“Nobody do anything foolish… especially you, Benzan,” Cal said quietly, without taking his attention from the small creature that hung there, watching them expectantly.  “Dana, if you wouldn’t mind using your spell once more…”

The priestess came forward, and shortly she had enacted another spell of translation.  Cal managed to indicate to the creature—which seemed to be quite perceptive—that the cleric would translate his meaning, and with a nod it addressed them further.  

The creature and its companions called themselves _phanatons_, an arboreal species native to the island.  The spokesman said that his name was Charek, and that he was some sort of war leader for his tribe, which lived nearby.  They seemed curious about the adventurers, and explained that they’d been watching them for some time, even before Delem had first spotted them in the clearing.  Cal, using gestures, was able to impart some small part of their story to the attentive creature, including their destination within the mountains ahead.  Charek reported that the mountains were very dangerous, but that there was a route that led well up into the range.  Something unreadable flashed in his eyes when it said that, but instead of elaborating he suggested that they accompany him back to his tribe, where they could speak to the tribal elders.  

“What about my bow,” Benzan interjected.  “My bow,” he repeated, making a motion with his hands as if he was drawing the weapon.  

“Su arma será vuelta a usted, el guerrero,” Charek said, and just like that he spun and seemed to run up the vine to the nearest branch, reaching it in a matter of seconds.  

“Sígame,” he said.  

“He says you’ll get your weapon back, and to follow him,” Dana indicated.  

“Never trust a thief,” Benzan growled, as they fell in behind the rapidly departing creature. 

“Oh, come on,” Cal said.  “We learned to trust you, didn’t we?”  Benzan’s expression darkened for a moment, but Cal’s tone was so easygoing, and his smile so transparent, that finally the tiefling gave in and laughed. 

“All right then, I’ll play nice… but I’d better get my bow back!” he said.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 8, 2002)

*more praise for Lok*

this is why *LOK*     is my favorite character:



			
				Lazybones said:
			
		

> *“I did what needed to be done,” Lok said simply, and with that they continued on their journey, traveling as quickly as they could to leave the territory of the strange and honorable cat-people behind them. *





AND

My hats off to the Spanish-speaking lemurs!
The french catmen were great although when you said they were rakastas I thought it said _rakshasa_ and wondered how the party would look cooking over a fire.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 8, 2002)

And now the lemures speak Spanish! As a Spanish myself, I can say their Spanish sound a bit bizarre, but it's normal, they have been isolated for centuries, so their Spanish have evolved


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 8, 2002)

Broc: I think that the rakasta in the Isle of Dread were in part the inspiration for the AD&D rakshasa (luckily, the creatures in this module didn't have all the funky powers and invulnerabilities of the latter).  IoD also introduced the aranea (oops, have I given away too much? ).

Horacio: hey, it's been ten years since my last Spanish class, so it's probably a little rough .

Announcement, story board readers: I have revived my old D&D website and put my TttWW story hour on it!  It's a work in progress, but please drop by and check it out. 

The url is: http://lazybones18.tripod.com/

If it sucks, it's Horacio's fault: he made me do it!

Thanks all,
LB


----------



## Horacio (Mar 9, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> Horacio: hey, it's been ten years since my last Spanish class, so it's probably a little rough .




Hey, it was good. It only sounded a bit bizarre, but I think my English sounds even more bizarre to you, so no problem 
And all the language effort gives a lot of charm to your story, I love it!



> The url is: http://lazybones18.tripod.com/
> 
> If it sucks, it's Horacio's fault: he made me do it!
> 
> ...




Great site!
I didn't know I had such a power... I have casted a _Suggestion_ spell (or maybe a _geas_) on Lazybones without even knowing it...


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 9, 2002)

Book III, Part 16 

Benzan did indeed get his weapon returned to him, undamaged, and the phanatons proved true to their offer of hospitality.  

The phanatons had erected a virtual village in the boughs of the massive jungle trees, the members of the tribe living atop a complex of more than a half-dozen great wooden platforms that had obviously been built through a great collective effort by the industrious creatures.  At their approach a long rope ladder was let down from one of the lower platforms for them to ascend, which they did.  The platforms, interconnected by a veritable maze of vines and simple bridges of twisted hemp and small wooden boards, provided the phanatons with a safe haven from the larger and more dangerous creatures of the jungle.  Not that the small creatures were helpless, as the companions quickly observed.  The phanatons moved effortlessly through the trees, and it was clear that their great agility would make them equally proficient with the small throwing blades that many of them wore in the harnesses across their bodies.  If the companions turned out to be hostile, they had few illusions about the ability of the phanatons to defend their lair.  

But the encounter remained friendly, and soon even Benzan was expressing appreciation of what the creatures had accomplished here.  Several phanatons brought them woven baskets containing food and drink, including one that Delem thought he recognized as the female he’d seen earlier.  They spent time eating and drinking and talking of their adventures, and when the sun had set fully, cloaking the jungle in darkness, the phanatons brought small globes that shone with a pale inner radiance from within.  Delem was particularly interested in the globes, which seemed to contain some sort of magic, and he in turn impressed the eager phanatons with a display of dancing lights summoned through his innate powers.  

Finally, after they had eaten and rested, Delem spotted a group of phanatons headed their way from one of the higher platforms.  The group included several armed phanatons that regarded them warily, escorting a wizened old creature with wispy gray fur that moved with deliberateness as it crossed to stand before them.  

“Greetings, travelers,” it said, its sibilant voice forming words that sounded clearly to each of them.  “I am Rakos, the Keeper of Stories among this tribe.”

“You speak our language?” Elly asked.  “Or is this just more magic?”

“I suspect that our friend here is a bard,” Cal said, bowing to the elder in respect.  The phanaton acknowledged the gesture with a tilt of its head, and continued, “I keep the stories, and tell the tales of my people,” he said.  “These are Kothis and Lakhar, the Warmasters of the tribe.”  He indicated two of the armed phanatons with him, who managed to look imposing despite being three feet tall and covered in cuddly soft fur.  

“It has been given to me that you are far from your homes, and are seeking a way to return,” the old phanaton said.  “It would do us honor if you would share your tales with us, and perhaps we in return could be of some aid to you on your journey.”

The companions turned to Cal, and the gnome rose to the challenge, weaving a tapestry with his words to satisfy the phanaton elder.  He began with their arrival at the island, and their encounters with the hippogriffs and the native raiders.  As he spoke, the others noticed that more phanatons were gathering around the platform, until several dozen were visible at the edges of the light.  The elder frequently interjected a few words in his own language to the gathered crowd, until they were following the story as intently as Cal was telling it.  

They learned that although the phanatons were curious creatures, they rarely left the shelter of the jungle.  The Isle of Dread was full of dangers, as the companions had already learned.  They discovered that the cat-people were called “rakasta”, and were known to the phanatons as fierce, implacable warriors that held sway over the entire hill-region north of the tar pits.  They also knew a little about the mountains toward which the companions were heading, although none of their tales spoke of the black mountain or the Well of Worlds.

While Cal and the elder continued their discussion, Dana, who was sitting next to Benzan, saw that he was looking around them, at the gathered furry phanatons, the platforms, and the jungle around them.  “What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “Somehow, I get this weird feeling that I’ve seen this scene somewhere before…”

“Charek suggested that there was an easier route that led up into the mountains,” Cal was saying.  He understood that the magic being used by the elder was limited in duration, and he wanted to make sure that they found out what they needed to know before the gathering was concluded.

“Yes,” Rakos replied.  “To the north-east there lies a valley, beyond a region of caves that lies at the border of this jungle.  This valley is heavily wooded, and its upper reaches give onto a pass that will take you directly into the depths of the mountains.”

“It would seem that this place would be our destination, then,” Cal replied. 

“That route is best, but it is not without danger,” the elder continued.  “The valley is the home of the spider-magi, who are dire enemies of the phanatons.  There are only three of them dwelling there now, but they are powerful creatures, strong in magic.  And they have guardians, fierce warrior-creatures that stand taller than even the mighty rakasta that you encountered.”

The companions exchanged a wary look at the elder’s words.  “There is no other way?” Lok asked.  

“You could attempt to head directly into the mountains from the jungle, but the way is difficult, and involves many steep climbs.  We can offer rope and food, if you wish to take that course.”

“Well, sailors are no stranger to climbing,” Horath said, “but we’re not experienced mountaineers.  It would be difficult.”

“The valley, then,” Cal said.  “We’ll start out tomorrow.”

“Charek will guide you,” the elder offered.  “If you can defeat the spider-magi and their allies, you would be performing a great boon for the phanatons, and we would be in your debt.”

“Well, my ma always said, if you’re going to take on a bunch of evil spiders that also happen to be powerful wizards, you’d better get a good night’s sleep first,” Benzan said, grabbing one of the woven blankets that the phanatons had offered them.  The others followed his lead, for the hour was already quite late, and all were tired from their hard march through the jungle.  

“You will be safe here, tonight,” the elder promised, and with his escort bid them farewell and left the platform.  

Within a short span the companions were fast asleep, save for the pair on watch.  While they appreciated the shelter given them by the phanatons, none of them were quite willing to let down their guard completely.  A few were wary of the sharp drop off the edges of the platforms, which had no railing or other barrier as protection, so they clustered their bedrolls in the center of the flat open space.  The retreating phanatons had taken the last of the glow-globes with them, and soon the darkness of the forest was thick around them.  

Delem found himself tossing and turning.  His dreams no longer tormented him with images of his past, although he sometimes saw images of himself working great feats with his magic, power far beyond what he could currently channel.  The images were always ephemeral, fading from his memory quickly when he woke, and leaving him with a vague sense of disquiet that would eventually fade in the light of the day.  One statement often lingered with him, however, and would whisper to him whenever a lull in his thoughts allowed the voice to enter. 

_One will be forever destroyed, his soul consumed in the fire…_

Finally he woke fully, and opened his eyes.  The night was still full, the darkness complete save for the wisps of starlight that made their way down from the canopy above.  He could make out the dark shadows of his sleeping companions around him, and a short distance away could just make out the forms of the pair on watch, vague indefinable outlines at opposite edges of the platform. 

He looked over and saw an empty bedroll where Dana had been sleeping.  Careful not to make any noise to disturb his companions, he crept up and made his way slowly to the edge of the platform.

The young woman looked up as he approached, and sat down next to her.  Before them the vastness of the jungle spread out before them, the forest floor a good fifty feet below them.  Delem felt a twinge of vertigo, and remained back from the edge, but Dana seemed content to even let one leg dangle out over the darkness as she kept her watch.  

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked him, her voice a whisper so as to not disturb the others. 

“No,” he said.  

“Me neither,” she said.  “I know I’ll need to rest soon for tomorrow, but nights like this… it’s beautiful, isn’t it?  Just nature, the universe, all of the life around us…”

Delem nodded, although he wasn’t sure that he agreed with the “beauty” of the jungle night.  The air was hot and wet, and full of the sounds of strange creatures that probably wouldn’t mind nibbling on his freshly slain carcass.  

“It’s funny,” she said.  “I grew up in such a structured environment—first with my father, and then with the monks… yet somehow I’ve always felt something calling me, a freedom in my very soul that I guess I couldn’t deny.  It’s on nights like this, with the purity of the universe evident around me, that I feel most alive.”

“You’re starting to sound like a mystic,” Delem said.

Her smile caught him off guard, her face framed in the soft light of the stars.  _By the gods, she’s beautiful,_ he thought, as his breath caught in his chest. 

“And what about you?” she said with a soft laugh.  “What truths does Kossuth offer you, young sorcerer?”

“I… I don’t know, really,” he said, and the confusion in his expression must have been evident, for she nodded and touched his arm once in support.  “Cal once said that we were all wanderers, trying to find something.  I guess that’s true—but I don’t even know what it is that I’m looking for.”

“You know, I suppose that’s true of most people,” she said.  She looked up at him, and saw the intense look with which he was regarding her.  “What is it?” she asked.  

“Dana,” he began.  “I… that is, I was wondering…”  It was dark, so she couldn’t see his flush, but he felt like he himself was on fire, his heart pounding in his chest.  “I mean… do you think that there could be any chance… for you and me, I mean?”

Dana’s jaw dropped suddenly open, but she quickly recovered.  “Oh, Delem,” she said, leaning close into him in a way that caused his heart, already pounding, to pulse as if it contained the fire of one of his spells.  “You’re a great friend…”  The heat suffusing him suddenly turned to ice, and he found himself fighting for a breath that wouldn’t readily come.  “I like you, but I just don’t feel that way about you—about any of you.”

“Is it the age difference?” he asked.  “Or the difference in our standing?”  Each word had to be forced out, but he thought he was doing an admirable job at maintaining his composure.  Except that he was now totally transparent to the young woman in front of him.

“You know better than that,” she said, a hint of edge in her voice.  “I’m only six or seven years older than you, and our ‘standing’, as you call it, is the same.  We’re both members of an adventuring company, equal partners in both dangers and rewards.  If anything, you have a higher place in this group than I am, with all of your power.”

At that moment, he wasn’t feeling very powerful.

“Friends?” she said.  He managed to stammer out an affirmative response, and even share in the hug that she offered him.  “I’d better get some sleep,” he said, and he rose to head back to his bedroll.  She watched him leave, and both of them quickly faded back into vague shadows in the night.  

Delem felt a sudden, almost overpowering urge to burn something, a desire that he only managed to overcome with great effort.  His thoughts were dark as he crawled back into his bedding.

From the other side of the platform, the other person on watch followed the young sorcerer’s movements with his eyes, eyes that gleamed slightly in the pale starlight… but that had no difficulty seeing in the darkness.  

The night passed slowly.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 10, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> From the other side of the platform, the other person on watch followed the young sorcerer’s movements with his eyes, eyes that gleamed slightly in the pale starlight… but that had no difficulty seeing in the darkness.
> 
> The night passed slowly. *





uuuuuu..... 

The triangle gains structure....


----------



## Horacio (Mar 10, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> While Cal and the elder continued their discussion, Dana, who was sitting next to Benzan, saw that he was looking around them, at the gathered furry phanatons, the platforms, and the jungle around them.  “What is it?” she asked.
> 
> “I don’t know,” he said.  “Somehow, I get this weird feeling that I’ve seen this scene somewhere before…”
> *




Benzan has watched the Return of the Jedi ?!?!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 10, 2002)

I like the way that scene between Dana and Delem came together.  Maybe because I've been in Delem's shoes before (haven't we all) and knew how he would feel.

Horacio: yes, it hit me about halfway through the scene!  I almost had Cal say, "We are now a part of the tribe!" but figured that would be a little _too_ obvious.

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 17

The morning brought with it a sudden shower that seemed to last just long enough to soak them all before it lifted, the heat returning with a vengeance even before the final drops made their way down to the forest floor.  With grumbles and complaints, despite the hearty breakfast offered by their hosts, the companions loaded up their gear again and made their way down the rope ladder, ready to set out once again on their journey.  

They saw the elder Rakos only briefly, and they exchanged only a few brief well-wishes that were not translated by another magical spell.  They were joined at the base of the phanaton tree by Charek, who indicated with gestures that they companions were to follow him.  They spent the bulk of that morning slogging through the jungle after the agile phanaton, who had little difficulty making his way though the lower reaches of the forest canopy above them.  By the noon break they all felt worn out, the benefits of the previous night’s rest already squandered.  

There was nothing to do but push on, so they did.  

Delem looked perhaps the worst off, with dark rings under his eyes indicating that he hadn’t gotten much sleep.  Benzan teased him a little, but the dark look that the young man shot him was enough to make even the tiefling back off.  Dana remained near the front of the column, and didn’t say much to either of them.  

They finally reached the end of the jungle as the sun was setting, and their guide led them to a sheltered campsite situated at the border between forest and hills.  True to Rakos’s word, they could see numerous caves visible along the jagged lines of these hills, which were rougher and less overgrown than the ones further to the south that they’d already traversed.  Charek indicated with gestures that most of the caves were uninhabited by hostile creatures, but they kept up a close watch anyway as they made their camp. 

Nothing molested them that night, however, and with the next day they made better time even with the ruggedness of the terrain.  Now that they were free of the jungle they could see that they had in fact made considerable progress in the direction of the mountains, which now dominated the horizon ahead of them to the north.  Now that there were no more trees, Charek was forced to move alongside the rest of them, but the agile creature was still able to drive them to a wearying pace.  

By midafternoon they could see the gap in the mountains ahead that marked the valley, and by the time that the sun had touched the western horizon they had progressed far enough to see the dense woods that filled the confines of the pass.  The day had seemed almost preternaturally still, as if the very world around them slept, but none of them complained about their good fortune.  For once, no strange and horrible creature had appeared to threaten them, and they were in fairly good spirits as they found another sheltered campsite and prepared for the coming night.  

Their luck held, and the second consecutive night passed uneventfully.  With the morning, however, Charek took his leave of them.  The small phanaton indicated with gestures that the route up into the valley led straight along their current course, but before he turned to leave, he went to Cal and offered him a small ceramic vial taken from a pocket of his leather harness.  

“Hágale fuerte,” the small creature said, pantomiming drinking the liquid and then flexing its muscles.  

“Thank you,” Cal said, taking the potion.  “Your people have been very generous to us.”  Although the phanaton could not understand the words, he nodded at the gratitude in Cal’s tone, and turned to regard them one last time.  

“Buena suerte,” he said, and then turned and departed, running swiftly over the hills back toward the shelter of his jungle home.  

“You might as well take this,” Cal said to Lok, handing him the potion of strength.  “Is everyone ready?” the gnome asked, waiting for everyone’s nod before he turned back toward the opening of the valley and led them out again. 

“Ugh.  I hate spiders,” Elly said, as their next challenge grew steadily nearer. 

* * * * * 

The hike up into the valley wasn’t that difficult, and they reached the edge of the forest by late morning.  The place didn’t seem all that forbidding at first, and in fact they could hear birds singing in the boughs as they entered the outer reaches, and wildflowers grew in patches in sunny clearings between the clusters of trees.  Behind them the entire southern half of the island spread out in a glorious panorama, and beyond that the blue expanse of the ocean stretched out as far as they could see to the distant horizons.  

After a brief rest for lunch, they started out again.  The ground here was rockier than the lowlands, and they’d gained some altitude in their hike, so the forest wasn’t as dense or verdant as the jungles they’d traveled through earlier.  The ground continued to slope up as they made their way deeper into the wood, and soon all of them were sweating again despite the cooler air.  

About an hour into the forest, the mood around them began to change.  The forest grew noticeably darker as the boughs above them began to thicken and grow together, and the smell of rotting vegetation that carpeted the forest floor contrasted sharply with the earlier smells of the sea breeze and wildflowers.  

And then they encountered the webs.

Just wisps at first, the webs quickly became thicker, the gooey strands forming walls between the trunks of adjacent trees.  They weren’t enough to bar their passage, but provided a grim reminder that dark things lurked in this forest, and that they were drawing nearer to the danger that the phanatons had warned them about.  

Finally, they emerged at the edge of a wide clearing dominated by three massive trees, their trunks ascending high into the sky like towers.  The branches of the trees were clotted with webs, making it difficult for them to see what, if anything, might be lurking in their depths.  They could just make out what looked like a small hut at the base of one of the trees, or it might have just been a pile of old dead wood and trash overgrown with exposed roots.  The whole scene was quiet—too quiet.  

“I don’t like the looks of this place,” Benzan said.

“Why don’t we just go around?” Lok suggested.  

“If there is an enemy here, I’d just as soon not leave it at my back, as we stumble through the woods looking for the pass,” Benzan returned.

“It feels like someone—or something—is watching us,” Dana observed.  

“All right then, let’s check it out,” Cal said.  “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, of course.”  He launched into his typical routine, protecting himself, Dana, and Delem with mage armor from his wand.  While he did that, Dana summoned her own power to enhance Lok’s endurance once again, and Ruath added a spell of her own to boost Benzan’s strength.  Thus bolstered, they headed cautiously into the clearing.  

As they neared, they could make out a terrible sight, half-hidden in the shadows at the base of the largest tree.  At the base of the trunk, forming a ring around its massive girth, were at least a half-dozen captives.  To their horror the companions realized that the prisoners had apparently been crucified, their blood-splattered and half-naked bodies staked spread-eagled against the wood.  Furthermore, the captives, though apparently human, were not of the _Inselfolk,_ but by their appearances could easily have been from their own home regions in Faerûn.  Most of them hung limply, held up only by the pinions driven through their bodies, but one of them looked up as they neared, his lips parting in a silent call as he tried in vain to entreat them—or warn them. 

“By the gods,” Horath said, and several of the others had to fight the gorge that threatened to rise in their throats at the terrible sight.  

Lok had already started forward, his jaw tightening at this abuse of thinking creatures. 

“Wait,” Cal said.  “It could be a trap.”

“Well, of course it’s a trap,” Benzan said, his tone betraying his own anger.  “Why don’t we shake one of those trees, and see what comes out?  Think you could manage one of those flame-streams from here, Delem?”

“Do what you will, I’m going to help those people,” Lok said, and he continued toward the tree with grim determination.  Ruath followed him, but the others hesitated, knowing that they were probably being led to this very course by still-unseen adversaries.  

“Wait here,” Cal finally said to Horath and the sailors, while he, Dana, Delem, and Benzan hurried after Lok and Ruath. 

They entered the area under the massive forms of the trees, their web-shrouded branches reaching out as far as fifty paces from their trunks.  The webs made a canopy of sorts directly above their heads, but nothing stirred from within them as they approached the tree where the imprisoned captives hung helplessly.  

They kept alert for the slightest sign of danger, their eyes darting both around the uneven ground around the bases of the trees and up to the web-choked branches above.  Lok’s attention, however, was focused entirely on the poor wretches held prisoner.  Had he been less intent on rescuing them from their bonds, he might have noticed that their bodies, though marked with grievous wounds and lots of blood, all appeared to be roughly identical.  

He realized his mistake, however, when he reached out to touch the broken body of the first captive, and his hand passed through empty air.  

“They’re illusions!” he yelled, in warning to the others.  

But the warning came too late—the attack had already begun.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 10, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *Horacio: yes, it hit me about halfway through the scene!  I almost had Cal say, "We are now a part of the tribe!" but figured that would be a little too obvious.
> *



*

Hey, no problem with movie references, I love ewoks 




			“Ugh.  I hate spiders,” Elly said, as their next challenge grew steadily nearer.
		
Click to expand...


*
Is Elly relative of iconic Mialee? Or is spider-hate a generic female elven trait? 

I love the update, as usual!


----------



## drnuncheon (Mar 10, 2002)

MasterOfHeaven said:
			
		

> *I *know* powergaming.  Which is why I don't think the Genasi really are an appropiate ECL+1 race.  I am also aware that several people hold this viewpoint.  *




Well, _some_ genasi aren't.  Air genasi, for example, pretty much have the effects of a _necklace of adaptation_ for free, plus the ability to cast _levitate_.  That's not too shabby at all!

I think the easiest way to pump up the earth genasi - should you feel a need to - is to give them a +1 natural armor bonus.  Natural armor is one of the harder types of armor bonus to get, and it would be a big help, especially at low levels - and at high levels the racial bonuses tend to pale in comparison with the class abilities anyway.

Another option, should you want to play up the inherently magical natures of the race, is to give them bonuses to cast spells that match with their element - enhanced caster levels or a higher DC for the saves.  I would also use their unmodified charisma for dealing with creatures of their own element.

Now, back to the story...

J


----------



## drnuncheon (Mar 10, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *Broc: I think that the rakasta in the Isle of Dread were in part the inspiration for the AD&D rakshasa (luckily, the creatures in this module didn't have all the funky powers and invulnerabilities of the latter).*




Actually, the rakshasa were creatures from Indian (that's Indian as in Hindu, not Indian as in Native American) folklore - they were shapechanging, flesh-eating creatures whose name translates literally as "destroyers".  The funky powers were pretty much taken out of myth and legend.

The rakasta in IoD were probably designed as generic cat-people, and then given the name because they vaguely resembled the classical pictures of tiger-headed rakshasa.

J


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 11, 2002)

drnuncheon: thanks for the info!  One of the things I love about D&D is how it is so inclusive of _global_, not just western, myths and stories.  

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 18

Fooled by their understandable emotional responses to a particularly terrible illusion, the companions came under attack from still-hidden adversaries.  

A sudden lassitude fell over them, a feeling of lethargy that penetrated their bodies and settled deep within their very bones.  Those with a particularly strong force of will—Delem, Dana, and Ruath—were able to fight off the effect, but Lok, Cal, and Benzan each felt themselves slowing, their reactions dulled by fell magic.  

“There!” Delem cried in warning, as a dark form shuffled in the webs above.  Their eyes turned as one as a giant spider appeared along one of the lower branches, moving within the cover of the webs.  The creature twisted and pointed its abdomen at Lok, releasing a slender thread of webbing at the slowed fighter.  The webs gathered around him like a net, pinning him against the surface of the tree as he struggled to free himself.  

From around the base of the nearest tree came a pair of additional adversaries, tall and powerfully built humanoids with gray fur, pointed ears, and uneven, fanged maws that snarled in challenge as they spotted the adventurers.  They carried heavy morningstars and multiple throwing axes stuck through the bandoliers that they wore across their chests.  

Cal recognized the creatures instantly, although this pair seemed far more imposing than those he had encountered in the Western Heartlands back in Faerûn.  “Bugbears!” he cried in warning, although his slowed reflexes kept him from reacting further in time.  The bugbears launched their first volley of missiles at the embattled companions, hitting both Delem and Dana despite the benefit of the protective mage armor.  

Back at the edge of the clearing, Horath and the sailors witnessed the attack upon their companions.  The elf captain yelled a cry of battle and hefted his bow, charging to their aid.  The others followed after him, with Varrus lagging slightly in the rear.  They had barely managed a few paces, however, before both Maric and Elly staggered and collapsed, falling into magical sleep.  Horath turned and saw what had happened, and retreated to the side of his unconscious crewmembers, while Varrus scanned the trees for signs of their attacker, holding his crossbow in nervous hands.  

Meanwhile, the rest of the companions were having a difficult time responding to the sudden ambush.  The effects of the slowing magic was making it all but impossible for Lok to burst free of the webs that held him, and he could not pull his axe free of the ensnaring webs to cut himself free.  For the moment, the mighty warrior was out of the fight.  

Dana launched a crossbow bolt at the spider-mage that had immobilized Lok, but while her aim was true the bolt glanced harmlessly aside at the last minute, deflected by an invisible shield that protected the creature.  Delem raised his hand to summon his fire against it, but before he could cast the spell a cloud of glittering golden flashes engulfed him and his companions, dazzling them in the brilliance of the display.  Delem’s mind, disciplined both by his arcane and divine gifts, allowed him to fight off the afterimage of colors that threatened to blind him, and he called upon the raging magic inside of him.  The flames shot up in a roar toward the spider, but it managed to dart backward out of the main course of the stream, taking only minor damage.  

Benzan, however, was in far worse shape as he staggered out of the radius of the glitterdust, both slowed and blinded.  As he tried to get his bearings, his path took him directly toward the bugbears, who closed eagerly for battle.  

Cal had managed to close his eyes at the first explosion of the spell, and although he was still slowed he could just manage to see despite the hanging cloud of particles in the air.  He took out his wand of color spray, but could not see any targets within the range of the device.  Cursing the magical slowness that gripped his already short legs, he began making his way toward where Benzan had staggered off toward the bugbear warriors.  

Ruath, meanwhile, stood overlooked in the center of the battlefield, lost in her focus on her goddess.  With the same single-minded determination that had so vexed her companions on this journey, she fought through the haze that separated her from Tymora’s divine power, and released the energies of her patron through a powerful spell.  The result was immediate, as the glittering dust vanished, and the slowed companions felt the magical lethargy that had gripped them fade, restoring to them full control over their bodies.  

Too late for Benzan, as the first bugbear lashed into him with a mighty blow that knocked him roughly back and nearly sent him sprawling to the ground.  He managed to draw his sword and slashed at the second as it rushed at him from the flank, but with his eyes still dazzled from the lingering effects of the glitterdust the stroke missed by a large margin.  The bugbear slammed him hard in the chest with its counter, and while the blow was partially absorbed by the tiefling’s magical mail, Benzan still thought he heard a rib crack from the force of the impact.  

Lok had not been idle as the battle raged around him.  He managed to reach the dagger at his belt, and used it to hack away at the webs holding him.  Once he had cut enough to pull himself free, he reached back into the webs and grasped his axe, drawing it out of the clinging strands through brute strength.  He could make out moving shadows in the webs above that indicated that the spider-things were still active, but realizing that he could not reach them, he instead lowered his head and charged toward the pair of bugbears that were beating on Benzan.  

Thus far, despite the exchange of spells and weapons, neither side had been really blooded in the confrontation thus far, but that was about to change as each side got its measure of their adversaries.  While Cal, Benzan, and Lok were engaged with the bugbears, Delem, Dana, and Ruath were left in the center of the battlefield, where the ambush had first begun.  Delem was aware of the skittering shadows moving through the webbed branches above, but he suspected that the third creature—the one casting the more powerful spells—was still concealed higher in the boughs.  He opened his mind to the arcane power at his command once more, and summoned a sphere of liquid flames atop the highest branch that he could see through the shroud of webs.  With an almost frightening intensity etched on his face he guided the sphere along the branch with his mind and then rolled it down to the next.  Everywhere the flaming sphere passed webs flared and burned, until a wide swath of angry fire had erupted throughout the lower reaches of the tree.  

So intent was he that he barely noticed when a strand of thick webs shot down from another tree behind him, twisting around his legs and binding him securely to the ground.  Delem was lost in his magic, and his concentration upon the rampaging sphere remained unbroken.  

He could not help but see, though, a dark shadow high in the tree that shifted away from the spreading flames and started down through the webs toward him.  

Lok charged into the bugbears, his axe sweeping hard into the first to announce his coming.  The frost-edged weapon bit deep, but the creature managed to twist with the force of the blow, turning what might have been a fatal wound into a merely serious one.  It immediately countered with a fierce swipe of its morningstar, but Lok was ready and took the blow without flinching on his shield.  

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he growled, as he raised his axe to attack again.  

Cal, meanwhile, had gotten into position to use his wand on the second creature, still menacing the seriously injured Benzan.  Before he could act, though, he felt a net of sticky strands engulf his upper body, tangling him hopelessly in their web.  He tried to struggle against them, but could only twist in horror as he felt himself being drawn upward.  

Where the hungry fangs of a spider-mage waited for him.  

The creature that had ensnared Delem was also looking for another target, but it only found an arrow waiting for it, the missile digging deep into its bulbous abdomen.  With its attention—and its magical shield—focused on the combatants below it, it was not prepared for Horath and the crewmembers of the _Raindancer_, finally roused from their magical sleep and now returning to the battle.  The spider-thing darted back, retreating back into the webs, but took another hit, a bolt from Maric’s crossbow that stabbed painfully into a leg joint.  

Dana fired her crossbow at the spider-mage moving down out of the webs toward them, but this creature too was prepared and her missile was deflected by another shield.  Ruath called down a blessing of Tymora upon them, boosting their morale and filling them with the confidence of victory.  

Delem’s sphere finally rolled off of a branch and fell to the ground below, landing with a soft burning plop a short distance away.  Immobilized by webs, he stared up into the sinister eyes of the spider-mage as it fixed a hateful glare upon him, arcane power flaring in its alien eyes.  

Both magic-users, human and alien, began casting, drawing upon their innate magical powers.  The spider-mage finished first, and a glowing green arrow appeared from between the prehensile humanoid hands that tipped its front-most limbs, and darted unerringly toward the entangled sorcerer. 

“Delem, look out!” Dana cried in warning, but the sorcerer was already lost in his own casting—and he could not have moved away in any case, caught as he was by the webs.  Reflex replacing thought, the cleric leapt in front of him and slapped the magical arrow aside with a chop of her hand.  As her hand contacted the missile, however, it exploded into a spray of liquid.  

Dana screamed in sudden agony as the magical acid of the spell spurted all over her hand and forearm, with fat gobs splashing onto her exposed chest and face.  Staggering, she tried to fight off the waves of sickening nausea that rushed through her with the smell of her own burning flesh.  The acid continued to burn as she stumbled forward and finally collapsed to the ground, whimpering as the merciless barrage of pain continued unabated.  

Delem released the power of his spell into a raging stream of flames that rose from his hands to slam into the face of the spider-mage.  Its shield proved of no use at the fire ripped through it to ravage the evil creature.  As the webs around it began to catch with the backblast of the spell it darted nimbly backward, seeking shelter from the growing conflagration around it. 

It was running out of places where it could go, however.  The fires started by Delem’s flaming sphere had already turned much of the lower branches into an inferno, which continued to grow as each strand of webbing turned into a brief flare.  Large pieces of burning foliage were falling to the ground around the battling companions, and the fire threatened to spread to the other trees as well, all connected to the same lattice of webs.

Delem felt the roar of the flames, and the surge of power that flowed like life itself through his veins.  His eyes followed the course of the spider-mage as it sought escape, and he summoned another flaming sphere onto the branches above it, directly in its path.  The creature let out an angry cry in its own unfathomable language, and tried to twist away, darting down another branch with the flames close behind it.  

Just a dozen paces away, the battle on the ground continued.  Lok and his adversary faced off, but with the genasi firmly planted and ready it rapidly became a very uneven contest.  The bugbear was clearly an experienced and canny fighter, but Lok’s axe swept through its defenses the same way that Delem’s flames were sweeping through the webs above.  A stroke from that axe tore open a deep gash in the bugbear’s armored belly, and even as it raised its morningstar to counter Lok suddenly brought the axe back around in a vicious backstroke, chopping into the creature’s knee with so much force that the bugbear went down, like a sapling felled with a single blow of the woodman’s axe.  Even as it bled out its last Lok was already charging toward the second creature.  

Benzan gave ground against his adversary, using his new sword to parry the powerful attacks of the bugbear.  The magically enhanced bronze of the blade was proving stronger than the best dwarf-forged steel, although the shock of each impact told him that one more solid connect might bring a rapid end to this battle.  His own counters, though, were not proving very effective, glancing off of the unmatched but effective pieces of crude plate that the bugbear wore about its person.  

A roar and the sound of clanking armor, however, told him that he’d managed to hold out long enough.  “Looks like your time is up,” he said to the bugbear.  

The bugbear couldn’t understand him, but he could hear the unmistakable sound of Lok charging into battle.  He only turned slightly, to better shift his defenses against two opponents, but it was enough.  Taking advantage of the lapse of concentration on the part of the bugbear, Benzan struck, the bronze blade stabbing deep into the throat of his opponent.  The bugbear’s eyes widened in surprise as he staggered back, and he fell easy prey to a mighty swing of Lok’s axe.  

“Damn,” Benzan said, trying to shake off the haze of pain from his wounds.  He looked up to see flames raging all around them, as the trees seemed to be rapidly turning into pyres.  

Then he heard a muffled groan behind him, and turned around to see Cal dangling high in the air above him, just a few feet from the fangs of the spider-mage that was rapidly drawing him closer. 

“Cal!” he cried, knowing that he would never get his bow readied in time.   

Cal continued his struggles against the web, but was so entangled that he could neither cast a spell nor move his wand where it might have a chance against the creature.  He could see the fires Delem had started moving through the branches of the trees, but saw that they would never reach this creature in time.  He looked up, and stared right into the eyes of the spider-mage.  The eagerness there was palpable, and the gnome felt a sudden dread as the creature tugged him up the last few feet.  

And then, at the last instant, he heard a raging growl from behind it, as a celestial badger appeared from nowhere and landed square on the thing’s back.  

Delem harried the spider-mage mercilessly as it sought escape from his flames.  Finally, it could flee no longer, and turned again to face him, its little hands moving in the gestures of a spell.  Delem was ready for it, however, and a final stream of fire shot up into the trees, engulfing it in a raging inferno that it could not escape.  The creature let out one last scream and fell, landing in a smoldering heap on the hard ground thirty feet below.  

Delem felt a surge of exhilaration mixed with weariness as the madness of the flames retreated.  His blood suddenly froze, though, as he looked down and recognized the form lying unmoving on the ground just a few feet away.

“Dana!” he tried to reach her, but the webs still held him fast.  “Dana!” he screamed in frustration and grief, tearing at the strands with his hands.  Ignoring the pain, he summoned a fan of fire that knifed through the webs and scorched his own legs, and thus freed dove immediately to the side of the stricken priestess.  

“Dana,” he sobbed, turning her over as he cradled her in his lap.  His eyes widened when he caught sight of her hand—now just a blackened, bloody claw, with the white of bone showing through—and the horrible acid burns on her face and chest.  

Thrown off balance by the sudden attack of the summoned badger, the spider-mage lost its grip on the branch.  Badger, spider, and gnome fell to the ground in a tangled heap.  The spider-mage managed to shake off the badger, which had been stunned by the fall, and turned to seek the fastest route of escape. 

It found Lok and Benzan instead.  

The final creature, seriously wounded by the fire of Horath and his crew, had retreated high up into the boughs of its tree.  It was clear that its sanctuary was only temporary, however, as the flames continued to spread, threatening to ultimately turn all three trees into great flaring torches.  Bits and pieces of flaming matter continued to fall in a steady shower around the battlefield, and it was clear that soon the victors would also be claimed by the fire, if they didn’t retreat.  

Ruath arrived where Delem was holding Dana, tears streaking the young man’s face as he tried to summon healing.  For a moment, it seemed as if he was too late… but then, as the halfling watched, the familiar blue glow spread from the man to the woman, and Dana took a deep breath of life into her lungs.  The halfling saw the woman’s hand, though, and knew that even her talents would not be able to restore that injury.  

With Dana stabilized, the companions quickly gathered themselves up and hurried out of the radius of the inferno, Lok cradling the crippled young woman in his powerful arms.  They made it to the edge of the clearing just as the dying screams of the final spider-mage reached them, and they made their way quickly back into the shelter of the forest, leaving the burning pillars of the three trees behind them.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 11, 2002)

She took the acid arrow to save him... The triangle is getting closer and closer 

Great update, as always. It seems this battle was worse than the last ones, almost deadly...


----------



## CoopersPale (Mar 11, 2002)

Poor Dana!

Love that Badger action though...

I've been reading this for a while now Lazybones. It's damn good stuff - I'd be surprised if there weren't many more lurkers like me out there having a read of this!

And I love Isle of Dread. It's one of my favourites 

Post More!

cheers

Bludgeon


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 12, 2002)

Thanks, Bludgeon!  Lurkers are always welcome, but I hope that everyone at least votes in the poll, it's how I keep track of how many readers I have!  (14 so far, since I voted for the badger ) I'm glad people are enjoying the story of the Isle.  I try to get updates up first thing in the morning when I get into work (around 8 am Pacific Standard); while I can't write every day, I usually manage to get a little ahead when things are slow at work .

Horacio: yes, the island gets more dangerous the closer to the center you get.  The next story post has a... let's call it a _precipitous_ conclusion.  See you tomorrow!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 12, 2002)

Book III, Part 19

“I’m sorry,” Ruath said.  “There’s nothing more I can do.”

“I understand,” Dana replied.  She extended her mangled hand so that the halfling cleric could carefully wrap it in thick strips of cloth, until a soft white ball hid the ruined flesh underneath.  

Around the two women, the rest of the companions hovered nearby, curious and concerned about their friend but at the same time reluctant to intrude too closely upon her privacy.  After Ruath had finished her ministrations Dana stood up, and as if that were a signal they all turned to face her.  

Their flight from the lair of the spider-mages—and their hurried rush through the upper reaches of the valley seemed exactly that—had taken them to the very mouth of the pass that ran into the depths of the mountain range proper.  Even though they had been victorious in battle, they all felt the reality of their narrow escape, and every glance at Dana, and the terrible scars she bore, was a reminder of what could have happened to any of them, or all of them.  Once they had covered enough ground to leave them safe from the fire, at least for the moment, Delem had used a potent spell of healing from a scroll to restore the stricken young noblewoman to consciousness.  While the healing magic had restored the soundness of her body, it could not fully erase the scars that still marked her face and neck, and it could not restore the function to her hand.  Nor could the spell heal the haunted look in her eyes when she regained consciousness and reflexively grasped at the wounded hand, at the memory of agonizing pain.  Still, she was able to walk after the spell was completed, and wary of spending the night in the forest they elected to press on to the mouth of the pass into the mountains.  

“I can go on… we have to go on,” she told them now, as they gathered in the light of the fading sun.  “We have no other choice.”

“Ruath told me what you did,” Cal said.  “It was a brave thing—had Delem been struck down, we might not have been able to burn those spider-demons from their webbed lairs.  Maybe they might have been able to turn their evil illusion into reality.  We are in your debt, Dana, and mark this promise—when we return to Faerûn, we will not rest until we have secured the power to restore you fully to health.”

The others added their general assent, but Delem, who remained a short distance apart from the others, could not bear to meet Dana’s eyes.  The priestess noticed him, however, and deliberately walked over to him.  

“What’s the matter, Delem?” she asked softly.   

“I… I’m sorry, Dana,” the young man responded reluctantly.  “It’s… it’s my fault that this happened, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s not your fault, lad,” Cal said.  “We all fought our hardest, and for each other.”

“You don’t understand,” Delem protested.  “I didn’t even see her, didn’t even try to help her!  She nearly died, because I was too lost in the magic to even notice!”

To his surprise, it was Benzan who came up to him, forcing him to meet his steel-gray eyes.  “If you had seen, and gone immediately to her, what would that… that _thing_ had done?  Cal said that those creatures were sorcerers, like you, which means that they can cast the same spells over and over again, until their energies are depleted.  What would it have done, if you hadn’t focused on it, burned it out until it had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide?  As Cal said, we might all still be there, living out their horrible fantasies of grim torture in truth.”

Benzan’s words took the young man by surprise, but it was Dana who drew his attention back to her.  “We’re a team, and we fight together as one,” she said.  The fact that she could say that, even with the hurt that still shone fresh in her eyes, finally caught up the young man, and he folded her into his arms in a rush of genuine feeling.  

“Just don’t do anything like that again, all right?” Cal said.  “Without you, who would translate what strangers say to us, or fill our water flasks, or tell us what wild foods are safe to eat?  Honestly, now, Benzan wouldn’t last half the day before he bit into the wrong plant and keeled over dead.”

They all laughed, even Benzan, and it was a healing laugh, one that helped banish the dark feelings that remained from their recent encounter.  They broke up and went to their individual tasks as they prepared their camp for the rapidly approaching night, aware that new dangers would challenge them tomorrow as they made their way into the mountains.  

* * * * * 

They spent the next two days in the mountains, steadily gaining altitude as they hiked up and down through a seemingly endless reach of peaks, ridgelines, and valleys.  The mountains weren’t especially high or forbidding, at least by the standard of the great ranges of Faerûn, but nonetheless the companions found themselves digging deep to their inner reserves of fortitude as they made their way deeper into the range.  

They had two encounters in their first two days of traveling the mountains, but their luck held and neither ended in a direct confrontation.  The first clash, coming late on their first day of hiking up into the reaches of the mountain pass, involved a huge, two-legged dragon-like creature that Cal identified as a wyvern.  They sighted the beast high above them, gliding around the peaks like some majestic bird.  It saw them and dove for a closer look, but their first volley of missiles as it passed close overhead must have convinced it to seek easier prey elsewhere, for it turned and winged deeper into the mountains, not to return.  

The second encounter came the following morning, as they were making their way up a difficult line of ridges, seemingly laid out in a row across their path.  As they were passing along a trail that ran beside a row of deep caves a roar startled them, and they found themselves face to face with the largest bear any of them had ever seen.  The creature was easily eight feet tall at the shoulder, and for a moment it looked as though their luck had changed as the companions prepared for battle.  Delem, however, thinking quickly, summoned one of his rolling balls of fire that blocked its path long enough for them to beat a hasty retreat, and the angry bear did not follow.  

Now the sun was rapidly waning on the afternoon of that second day, as the companions approached the crest of yet another ridge.  As they reached the crest, fully expecting to see the same identical landscape of peaks and dells that they had encountered over the last two days, they gathered in a collective breath at what lay before them.  

Ahead of them, nestled in between the surrounding mountains like a coin cradled in an open hand, stretched a wide plateau.  The plateau, easily dozens of miles across, was surrounded on all sides by massive cliffs of slate gray that fell hundreds, if not thousands, of feet into a deep river gorge below.  The effect was like that of a deep moat around a fortress, and they could just hear the sounds of rushing water as it plummeted from high mountain streams into the depths of the gorge.  Below them, a good hour’s hike from their current vantage point, they could see a thin, tenuous bridge, apparently fashioned of rope and wood, that bridged the gorge and connected the mountains on the near side with the plateau.  

And ahead, standing like a lonely pillar in the center of the plateau, was the black mountain.

It looked imposing even at this distance, a great solitary peak that rose up on its perch higher than any of the lesser summits around them.  Its top was truncated, a clipped, uneven edge that indicated that the mountain was likely of volcanic origin.  No smoke or steam could be seen issuing from within, which was perhaps—hopefully so—a sign that the volcano was long dormant.  

None of them had any idea of what they would find there, only that they would have to travel there to find their only hope offered thus far at returning home.  

They set camp there on the ridgeline, taking shelter in a recessed cleft in the stone warded by a ring of great boulders worn smooth by the constant wind.  It was cold, but not oppressively so, and after a brief meal and setting the watch schedule they huddled down in their blankets and awaited the coming of the new day.  

The night passed uneventfully, and the morning dawned on a bleak and dreary day.  Storm clouds had blown in from the north, covering the eastern half of the island with the dark haze of rain, and while they were spared that at least the oncoming storm had pushed a cold wind up into the mountains, blowing roughly over their campsite and tugging at their cloaks as they made breakfast.  

It would also make crossing the bridge a dicey affair, but none of them felt the need to comment on that obvious fact.  

After breakfast they broke camp and made their way down the ridge toward the rope bridge.  

“Strange, to see such a construction here,” Horath commented.  “I wonder who uses it, keeps it up?”

“We haven’t seen any intelligent creatures since leaving the lowlands,” Delem said.  “Maybe it is the ‘gods’ of the Inselvolk.”

No one else had any theories, so they continued in silence toward where the bridge stretched across the gorge.  Whoever built it, the bridge seemed fairly sturdy, barely moving at all in the wind despite extending for at least three hundred feet across the gap.  On the far side, atop the plateau, all they could see was a flat, windswept expanse of short grasses and scrub brush, with some scattered woods located more to the center, closer to the mountain.  No living things were visible, and nothing stirred except the constant whisper of the blowing wind.  

They reached the bridge, and Lok tested the sturdy supports that held the handrails and the main strands in place.  The ropes were thick, as thick through as Lok’s muscled arms, and whatever fiber they were made from seemed unaffected by the harsh elements of the mountains.  The planks of the bridge were weathered but sound, forming a stable walkway a good five feet across.  None of the planks of the bridge were missing that they could see, and none of the ropes were frayed.  

“Looks sound,” the genasi reported after his examination.  He took a few tentative steps out onto the bridge, to test it with his weight, and it held him without complaint.  

“Unusual,” Cal said, and he took a moment to cast a minor cantrip.  Once the spell was completed he could sense a faint aura of magic about the bridge, although he could not identify the specific sort of magic that was present.  One thing was evident, though—it felt very, very old.  “There’s an ancient magic here,” he reported to the others, “very faint.  I don’t think it’s dangerous, though.”

“Well, if we’re going to cross, let’s do it already,” Varrus said.  He was shivering slightly, for the wind blowing through the gorge carried some of the cold air up from the river that flowed far down below.   

Cal looked out over the gorge once more.  It was a breathtaking sight, one that tugged at the bard’s spirit within him, calling him to a majestic song about the glory of nature’s work.  But something else tugged at his senses, a vague unease that made him a little uncomfortable.  His gaze traveled again to the black mountain, looming far off in the distance, drawing them to it.  

He shook his head, clearing it of the dark sentiment.  Varrus was right—standing here wasn’t going to accomplish anything more.  

“Let’s go,” he said.  “Let’s take it slowly, though, and spaced out—the bridge may seem sound, but I don’t think we should unduly test its limits.”

Lok started across first, of course, his powerful hands holding him steady as he fought his way through the swirling wind.  Cal followed behind, going slower as he went hand-over-hand on one of the handrails.  The wind tore at him mercilessly, doing its best to dislodge him, but soon he was with Lok on the far side, safe and sound.  

The others followed in a steady queue, Delem and Ruath and Dana and Elly.  Finally, only Varrus, Horath, and Benzan were left on the mountain side of the gorge, watching as Elly passed the halfway point and pressed on toward the far side of the bridge.  

“Why don’t you go next,” Benzan said to Varrus.  “I don’t think I can trust myself with you alone, especially with this drop off so conveniently close.”  

The sailor shot him a dark look, but he moved quickly to the bridge and started across.  His progress was even slower than Cal’s, however, and Elly was already on the plateau side before he managed thirty paces.  

“He’s having a tough time of it,” Horath observed.  “I’d better follow, in case he needs help.”  The elf started after Varrus onto the bridge, leaving Benzan alone.  Horath’s presence seemed to add some courage to the sailor, and he picked up his pace some, the agile elf having no problem at all following him despite the swirling wind.  

They’d neared the halfway point, and Benzan had just started after them, when they heard the sound.  

At first, it seemed just like the shriek of the wind, whistling past them as if angry at their boldness in crossing its gorge.  Then the three on the bridge saw the others pointing down the length of the gorge to the east, yelling something that was lost in the wind, and their heads turned as one in that direction.  

Two creatures were flying at great speed down the gorge, in their direction.  They looked like great birds, their wingspans a good thirty feet across, except that even at this distance they were obvious reptilian, rather than avian, in ancestry.  The flying dinosaurs flew like darts on the wind, their wings spread wide to catch the force of the air rushing up from the chasm below. 

“Run!” Benzan cried, unsure if his words would be heard over the wind.  He could see Varrus standing there, frozen as he stared into the face of onrushing death, but then Horath was beside him, all but pushing the man toward the relative shelter of the far end of the bridge.  

Benzan was himself vulnerable, exposed about fifty paces out onto the bridge, but he did not retreat for the shelter of the rocks on the nearer side.  Instead, twisting one leg into the supporting strands of the rail to brace himself, he strung his bow and dug out one of his few remaining acid arrows.

The flying reptiles glided up to the bridge, focused on the running forms of Horath and Varrus.  The elf could have streaked past the hapless form of his companion, but he remained close by him, and as the creatures closed he too hefted his bow, a long arrow ready to fire.    

The companions unleashed a storm of missiles at the lead creature, and even with the vagaries of the sharply blowing wind a few hits were scored.  Lok’s arrow, backed by the full power of the minotaur’s bow and his own considerable strength, slammed hard into the flank of the dinosaur, and on the opposite side Benzan’s acid arrow tore through one membranous wing, drawing a shriek of pain from the creature.  The wind caused several crossbow bolts from the others to go wide, but even the wind could not affect Delem’s bolts of energy, which scored the creature in the head and torso.  

Heavily damaged by the hits, the dinosaur was thrown off its course and it glided under the bridge, diving as the wind carried it rapidly down the gorge to the west.  The second creature, however, came on, less than a hundred feet behind the first.  Its wings caught the wind and it tore through the air directly for Horath, who sighted and fired.  Varrus cried and dove out of the way, his hands spreading as if to embrace the wood planks of the bridge.  

Horath’s arrow struck true, hitting the onrushing pteranodon in the chest.  Its lashing beak narrowly missed the elf as it darted past, but one wing clipped the edge of the bridge, causing it to sway precipitously.  Horath staggered, trying to keep his balance, but he hit the rail and twisted over it.  For a moment it looked as though the elf captain was doomed, his companions looking on with their hearts frozen in their chests, but then he managed to grasp onto one of the rope supports, arresting his fall.  He dangled there, holding one with one hand as the wind buffeted him madly about.  His bow fell out into the void below him, quickly vanishing into the shadows far below.  

“KAEL!” screamed Elly, and before the others could stop her she had started out onto the bridge.  She’d barely started, however, when she slipped on the still-rocking planks, and had to grab onto the rope railing herself for her very life.  Lok rushed out to help her.  Varrus, who was just a few feet away, staggered to his feet, but instead of turning to help he headed for the nearest side, toward the plateau.  

Benzan was already moving toward the elf, who was unsuccessfully trying to pull himself back up to the bridge.  Their combined actions were causing the bridge to continue its dangerous undulation, but Benzan’s steps were sure as he swiftly crossed to where Horath dangled.  Bracing himself, he dropped to his knees and grasped the elf’s wrist, gritting his teeth as he started to pull the captain up to safety.  

“Look out, Benzan!” the cry carried faintly—but clearly—to his ears.  It was Cal’s voice, and the dread carried in the words caused him to glance back over his shoulder.  

A third pteranodon was coming straight toward him, it seemed, following the same course as the earlier two toward the center of the bridge.  He saw the attacks of his companions, including more arrows and a pair of fiery bolts from Delem that hit it on the side of its body, but did not affect its course.  Cal even summoned an illusion, an image of a drake that darted in at it from the side, but whether it was too stupid to notice or unable to change its course it came on, sweeping right over the bridge.  

Desperation gave him strength as he pulled Horath up through the gaps in the railing, then he turned to face the onrushing creature.  He knew even as he reached for an arrow that he was too late, even before he felt something hard slam into his chest with a force like a battering ram.  For an instant, the world spun around him, then his vision cleared and he was aware of the gorge, falling away for what seemed like an endless distance below him.  As he twisted in the air he could see the bridge, the railing just a few tantalizing yards away, but it may as well have been a mile.

Of Horath, there was no sign.  

And then, he was falling.


----------



## Old One (Mar 12, 2002)

*Old One wanders through...*

LB -

Haven't dropped by in a while...

Still reading and enjoying immensely...kind of reminds me of _Land of the Lost_ or _The Land That Time Forgot_!

I really liked the challenge from the Rakastas...bad kitties.  Looking forward to more adventures, although you are running out of "Crewmen #6"!

~ Old One


----------



## Rugger (Mar 12, 2002)

Hiya LB!

Just dropping a line to say that this is GREAT stuff...

I'm a long-time lurker, and I just wanted to say that this is on the top of my "Must Read" list right next to Piratecat's.....

Keep up the good work! I'm betting there are lots more lurker's enjoying this story quietly! (So start posting folks!) 

-Rugger

"I lurk!"


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 13, 2002)

Old One said:
			
		

> *Still reading and enjoying immensely...kind of reminds me of Land of the Lost or The Land That Time Forgot!*



Thanks Old One!  I'm glad that the atmosphere I'm shooting for is getting across in the story... my intent was definitely more like those old films and tv shows (I loved Sinbad and Jason and the Argonauts growing up), less "Jurassic Park #"



> *I really liked the challenge from the Rakastas...bad kitties.  Looking forward to more adventures, although you are running out of "Crewmen #6"! *



Yeah, but now that they have names and personalities, it's even more fun killing them off... (but you're right about the numbers dropping... oh well, I guess I'll just have to start in on the major characters )

Rugger: welcome aboard--glad you're enjoying the story!  I thought I'd have gotten bored with the tale by now, but it just keeps going and going on me (ok, I admit it, I love all the praise from the readers too )

Update tomorrow morning!  It's state budget time in CA , and I just got a big project dropped on my desk today, but luckily I have a few posts "saved up" for just such an eventuality!  

Thanks again everyone for reading!
LB


----------



## Horacio (Mar 13, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> Yeah, but now that they have names and personalities, it's even more fun killing them off... (but you're right about the numbers dropping... oh well, I guess I'll just have to start in on the major characters )*



*

You're right. Yesterday, while I read the update, I was thinking about the characters and I realised that, for me, they were all main characters, the few alive crewmembers are already 'members' of the expedition... 

And I don't like when a main character dies, it saddens me *


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 13, 2002)

Book III, Part 20

“KAEL!” Elly screamed again from Lok’s grasp, as she watched the pteranodon slam into the bridge, knocking both Benzan and Horath free into the open air.  The bridge rocked dangerously as the creature hit and clumsily untangled itself before leaping back into the air.  Lok held onto the railing with a grip of iron, holding the sobbing woman against him with his other hand.  Each of the companions watched in disbelief, each feeling the same stab of sudden terror as their two friends tumbled away from the bridge, seemingly slowly at first, and then faster… faster until they were just specks vanishing below.  

“Benzan,” Delem said to himself in disbelief, still staring at where the tiefling had disappeared.  The pteranodons had vanished into the western reaches of the gorge, and whether they would return was anyone’s guess.  Lok carried Elly back to the security of the bridge’s end, and behind him came Varrus, who all but crawled the remaining distance.  Wisely, the Tethyrian kept silent.  

“I can’t believe they’re gone,” Dana said, her face betraying a dozen emotions all at once, her veneer of control very thin indeed at that moment.  They all felt numb at the sudden loss of two companions, seemingly at the slightest whim of fate.  

“Perhaps not,” Cal said.  “Benzan knows the spell of feather falling, as I do.  If he kept his wits about him…”

“What about Horath?” Maric said, grasping for the slightest shred of hope.  But Cal shook his head, dashing his hopes as rapidly as they had been kindled.  

The companions remained there in silence, by the bridge, staring into the depths of the gorge as if their very will could bring their comrades back to them.  

* * * * * 

Benzan was falling fast.

He had the spell of feather falling, and almost spoke the word that would summon the magic.  At the last instant, though, he hesitated, realizing that if he cast too soon, the spell would expire quickly and then he would be in the same situation as before.  

All of these thoughts took place in the span of a heartbeat, for the walls of the gorge were rushing past, and he had no idea how close he was to the ground.  In that gap between thought and action he reached for his sword, grasping the hilt without conscious realization.  Later he would wonder at that, but for the moment he felt a tingle of power flow into him, and he felt the momentum of his fall easing.  With wonderment he came to a stop, just hovering there in the air, and realized that with a little concentration he could even control his position, rising up or sinking lower with just a thought of each.  

He held the sword tightly as he descended lower, uncertain of the potency of the magic but needing to test its scope.  He knew that he should return to his companions, high above, but he had to know for certain, tormented by the image of the empty bridge.  

It did not take him long.  He was already near the bottom of the gorge, wreathed in a mist born of the numerous waterfalls that cascaded from high above into the river at its bottom.  He spotted Horath’s body nearby, crushed atop a jumbled pile of rocks just a stone’s throw from the chill torrent of the river.  Either way, Benzan knew that Horath would have been killed, but somehow the sight of his smashed body so near the water seemed a wry twist of fate to the tiefling.  

Still gripping the sword, Benzan landed on the rocks nearby—apparently, the levitation granted by the sword allowed travel only straight up-and-down—and quickly crossed to where the elf’s body lay.  He quickly gathered up the elf, lifting his body over his shoulder, and carefully picked his tracks back over to the near cliff.  He could not even see the bridge high above, but knew that he hadn’t fallen far from it. 

He willed himself to rise, and could feel the magic respond, but he did not lift off of the ground.  Sighing, he respectfully placed the body of the elf down at the base of the cliff. 

“Sorry, chum,” he said to the dead elf.  “I wanted to take you back to the others, but something tells me I’m already pushing my luck.”  He quickly and methodically searched Horath’s body, taking his magic ring of water walking and the arrows left in his quiver, as well as a few other useful or valuable items.  He did not lack in respect for the brave elf captain, but Benzan was first and foremost a practical sort, and Horath would no longer have a use for any of those items.  Once finished he grasped his sword again, and levitated up the cliff face.  

* * * * * 

The companions set up a temporary camp a short distance away from the bridge.  They were largely silent save for Elly’s continued sobbing, holding their thoughts private until they could work through the reality of what had just happened.  Dana held Elly, her ability to comfort the distraught young woman allowing her to keep her own clashing feelings in check.  None of them had known of the depth of the connection between Elly and the captain, but they respected the woman’s grief and allowed her the time she needed to express it.  

“We need to get down there, and find out for certain,” Delem finally said, punching his fist into the palm of his other hand in a clear gesture of frustration.  

“I have a spell that can ease me down, but I’d have no way to get back up,” Cal said.  

“I’d have to take a closer look to be sure, but I’d say those cliffs are unclimbable,” Lok said, “at least with the equipment we have at hand.”

“What if Benzan’s down there, alive, but can’t get up to us?” the sorcerer persisted.  “We can’t just leave him down there!”  

“How much rope do we have?” Cal asked.

“About a hundred feet,” Lok replied.

The slipped into silence again, needing answers that were not forthcoming.  

“There must be a way,” Cal said.  “We’ve figured out tougher stuff than this before—what about the Cyricist plot in Elturel?  Heck, you guys figured out a way to bring me back from the dead….  Ruath, what about a summoned creature—a bird, perhaps?  Maybe we could get a message to him.”

The halfling shook her head.  “The spell only keeps the creature here for a brief while—half a minute at most.  Enough time to aid in battle, but hardly enough for most other tasks.  Plus, while the celestial creatures are more intelligent than their mundane ilk, the spell does not grant the means to convey complex directions.”

“Maybe we could just drop a note, tied to a rock,” Delem suggested.  

“With our luck it’d hit him in the head,” Dana said.  “Not that it would do much damage to the thick-headed numbskull.”  Despite her words, though, it was clear that she shared the same concerns as the others.  

“There’s too much empty space down there,” Cal said.  “We’d need some way to get his attention.”

“How about a light spell, on the rock?” Delem said. 

Elly had finally composed herself some, but neither she nor Maric seemed to want to engage in the debate, their own sense of grief over the deaths of most of their crewmates now overlaid by the painful loss of their leader.  Varrus, for his measure, sat a short distance away, his thoughts hidden behind a clouded expression.  

“That could work,” Cal conceded.  He unslung his pack, and started digging around inside it for some writing materials.  

“What could work?” Benzan asked, as he strode into the camp.


----------



## Talon (Mar 13, 2002)

LazyBones, 
You have a great gift for storytelling. I love this story hour! Please keep up the posting. It's my favorite of all the one's on this board.

Chris


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 13, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *“What could work?” Benzan asked, as he strode into the camp. *




another classic line....ala _The Last Crusade_. Now Benzan is forever etched in my memory looking like a tiefling version of Harrison Ford! 

Too bad about Captain Horath. 
Now I want to know about the bronze sword. Stat block please!


----------



## Horacio (Mar 14, 2002)

I agree, the last line was memorable. 

Now I can imagine a tiefling with a old hat and a leather jacket...
He only needs to find a whip...


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 14, 2002)

A young(er) Harrison Ford as Benzan... hmmm...  Who would we cast as the other characters?  

While I don't want to demystify Benzan's new weapon too much by stat-ing it yet, I can say that it has one more power that's fairly well-suited to him (and higher Wisdom and Charisma scores than its owner!).  Luckily for him its Ego isn't too high, so it will probably continue to influence him in fairly subtle ways. 

Whew, long post today!


* * * * * 

Book III, Part 21

For a moment the only reply to Benzan’s question was stunned silence, finally broken when Dana leapt up and enfolded him in a sudden embrace.  The emotion she’d been holding in came out in a deluge, and she shook as tears fell down her face in a torrent.  The others quickly stood as well, forming a close but confused ring around their lost friend.  

Benzan smiled and started to say something, a wisecrack perhaps, but the genuine display of emotion from the young woman clearly caught him off guard.  She seemed to realize what she was doing, as well, for she abruptly drew back, her face slightly red.  

“We thought you were dead,” she said.  

“What about Kael?” Elly’s plaintive voice broke in, as she entered the circle around the tiefling.  Maric was at her shoulder, and Varrus, a little further back.  

“I’m sorry,” Benzan said, and he meant it.  Elly nodded, already suspecting the answer before she asked, and sagged back as if the confirmation had drained the last threads of energy from her.  Maric helped her back to where they had been sitting, his own face just as grim.  

The reminder of grief broke the relief of the others at seeing Benzan, but could not blunt their curiosity.  “What happened?  Did you use the spell of feather falling?  How did you get back up here?” Cal asked in rapid succession.  

“I… I discovered a new power,” Benzan told them.  For a moment a look crossed his face, as if he were reluctant to explain further, but then it passed and he continued, “It’s this sword.”  He patted the hilt of the magical weapon, resting easily at his hip.  “It has some sort of levitation ability.  I think I used most of it in the fall and coming back up the cliff, but I believe it regenerates with time.”  That fact he hadn’t known until just that moment, and he wondered at both that and the way he’d reached for the hilt when he’d been falling.  He realized something else as well; he hadn’t used his scimitar at all since the time he’d claimed the sword.  The curved blade still hung across his back—hadn’t he put the sword there, back when he’d found it?

But his ponderings were interrupted by the continued questions of his companions.  He told them of finding Horath, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn’t carry to the sailors.  He explained that he’d wanted to bring the body back up the cliffs, but that the magic had not been strong enough.  He didn’t mention taking Horath’s magic ring, and none of the others mentioned it. 

“You’ve the Lady’s own luck,” Ruath commented, when his story was finished.  

“I’m just glad to be back with all of you,” Benzan said.  He glanced at Dana when he said it, but the young woman, still embarrassed, did not meet his eyes.  

“Well, we still have the day,” Cal said, “and the mountain still waits.  Perhaps… maybe before we begin, we can say a few words for Horath’s spirit, before we depart, as it embarks upon its own journey.”

His companions readily agreed, and so they gathered near the end of the bridge, all of them, with Elly and Maric at the forefront as they stared once again into the vast depths of the chasm.  

“Let us vow to always remember the bravery of this man, the master of the _Raindancer_, a proud mariner and stalwart warrior.  Although we who came on board the vessel as passengers did not know him especially long, it was sufficient time to recognize the strength of the heart that guided Kael Horath, offering a model of courage and self-sacrifice to those around him.  Whether his adversary was a pirate crew, or a violent storm, or even the strange denizens of this new world upon whose shores we were so roughly cast, Captain Horath always was there, leading us to victory.  He will be missed, and whenever we gather to toast the memories of past glories and hard-earned triumphs, a glass will always be raised to his memory.”

The gnome stepped back, and the companions stood there in silence, each reliving his or her own memories of the elf captain.  Then the six adventurers moved off a short distance, to give the three that were all that remained of the _Raindancer’s_ crew some private time alone with their own feelings.  

A short time later they were on the march again.  The open grassland of the plateau made for an easy hike in contrast to the mountains that they’d been slogging through, and their pace rapidly ate up the miles as the day advanced.  The only features that broke up the monotony of the landscape were scattered copses of trees, the largest of which was a considerable forest off to the northwest.  Their course led them almost directly north, however, straight for the black mountain that loomed increasingly large over them.  

They walked on largely in silence, broken only by the noise of the omnipresent wind rustling through the long grass.  The chill wind still blew from the northeast, where the storm clouds hovered yet over that part of the island, and they seemed to be walking the border between that gray world and the brilliant clear blue that formed the sky to the west.  

At times as they day wore on several of the companions through they saw gray shadows in the distance, forms that blended in the long grass and faded before they could be clearly marked.  

“We’re being followed,” Benzan finally said, putting voice to their suspicions.

“I know,” Cal replied.  “What are they, do you think?”

“Whatever they are, they know the terrain, and how not to be seen,” the tiefling responded.  “We’re not going to make the mountain by nightfall—we should probably start looking for someplace defensible to make camp.”

“Is that a hill over there?” Delem said, pointing toward the northeast, where a slight bump marked the horizon. 

“Only one way to find out,” Cal replied, and they changed their course to walk in that direction. 

* * * * * 

By the time they had traveled far enough to clearly make out what Delem had spotted, the sun had already fallen below the line of peaks to the west.  They hurried their pace toward the “hill”, which turned out to be a gnarled old tree, standing as a lonely sentinel atop a low mound of grass-covered earth that had formed around its roots.  A few smaller saplings, children of the ancient tree, broke through the hard soil nearby, but none of those had managed more than twenty feet in height.  

As they finally drew close they could see that massive old tree was approaching its final years.  The bark was cracked and weathered, and a deep cleft was visible in one side of the trunk.  The trees branches dipped low, forming a canopy over the mound, and the leaves that managed to hang on fluttered above them in the wind.  

“We’ll camp here for the night,” Cal said, the only choice since the horizon around them remained unbroken save for the still-distant black mountain.  

“May you give us shelter tonight, mighty old one,” Dana said, running her good hand over the rough bark of the tree.  

“What of our shadows?” Maric asked, and as if in response, a doleful howl sounded over the plateau.  It was answered a few moments later by another, and yet another, each coming from a different direction in the gathering night.  

“Wolves?” Benzan guessed.

“Perhaps,” Cal replied.  “Let’s make a fire.  Whatever’s out there has seen us already, and we can use the warmth.”  

There was plenty of dead wood jutting from around the cleft in the tree’s trunk, which they gathered for their fire.  The thick roots that radiated outward from the tree and protruded from the uneven surface of the mound made a sort of rampart for them, which would make it difficult for adversaries to advance directly on their position, save from straight up from the bottom of the mound.  They dug a shallow pit and put their fire in that line of advance, forming a nice little nook warded by the tree behind them, the root-walls to either side, and the fire ahead.  They enjoyed a hot meal and talked briefly about meaningless things, letting the fire wash some of the chill from their bones, and then set triple watches and went to sleep.  

The first watch went peacefully, but they had barely begun the second when Varrus let out a sudden cry of alarm that woke the others.  The sleeping companions woke and quickly gathered their arms and equipment, and stared out into the night around them.  

“What is it?” Cal asked, when nothing but dark silence greeted them.  

“Eyes,” the Tethyrian replied.  “Several sets, out in the darkness, reflecting the firelight.”

“I don’t see anything,” Delem said. 

“They’re out there,” Benzan said, “and close.”

“How many—” Dana started to ask, but she was interrupted as the largest wolf any of them had ever seen stepped into the firelight directly in front of them.  

The creature stood almost as tall as a man, stretching nearly eight feet long from muzzle to tail.  Its eyes blazed red in the reflected light of the fire, giving it an otherworldly air that, combined with its size, gave each of the companions pause.  Behind it, forming a half-circle of shadows outside of the firelight, they could sense others, waiting.  

Perhaps the wolves, used to stalking prey, meant their slow approach to stir fear in their enemies, but the companions, veterans of many battles, used every second to their advantage.  Cal surrounded himself, Dana, and Delem with mage armor in quick succession, while Ruath added a boost of strength to Lok through the use of her divine magic.  Dana could only cast spells with great difficulty, given the damage to her hand, but she managed to add a blessing of Selûne to their defenses.  All of them readied their weapons, loading their crossbows or hefting melee weapons against the seemingly inevitable attack.  

But when the attack came, it didn’t come from ahead, as they expected.  A shadow appeared behind them, and only Elly’s sudden warning alerted them as another huge wolf leapt up over the flanking roots and tore into them from the side.  At the same instant, the others in front of them charged, their massive jaws snapping in anticipation of rending prey.  

“For Horath!” Cal cried, and the battle was joined.  

Benzan, Elly, and Varrus were closest to the wolf that raged at them from behind, and they turned to face the beast and protect their flank.  Varrus actually managed the first attack, firing his crossbow in a desperate and reflexive shot that hit the creature in the shoulder.  The wolf snarled at him, and lunged at him in a blow that knocked him roughly prone.  Before the snapping teeth could lock onto him, however, Benzan and Elly rushed to his aid, the half-elven woman stabbing it lightly in the rump while Benzan slashed at its head.  The magical sword bit deep, and the wolf howled, letting Varrus crawl away as it shifted its attention toward Benzan.  

Four other wolves, including the massive leader, rushed up the mound directly, splitting to avoid the fire as they sought out the defenders.  Delem was ready, and cast a flaming sphere that rolled down the hill into the rush.  The wolves darted out of the path of the flames with agility, one leaping directly over the sphere, but a second suffered burns to its flank as it rushed past.  Cal shot a color spray right through the fire into the charging wolves, catching the leader and the wolf beside it in the dazzling stream.  The lead wolf rushed on, heedless of the effect, but the second wolf faltered, momentarily stunned by the spell.  

And then there was no more time for spells, as the wolves tore into them.  

Lok, of course, stepped forward to meet the lead wolf’s charge.  His axe came down in a mighty swipe, tearing a deep gash in its shoulder.  The canny old wolf, however, a veteran of many hunts, countered with a sudden bite that crushed Lok’s weapon arm in its jaws, dragging him down to the ground in a furious snarl of fur and limbs.  

“Lok’s down!” Cal cried, hoping that one of his companions could reach the embattled genasi in time.  

On the other side of the fire, another huge wolf tore into Maric and Dana, who held that side of their line.  Dana gave way before its rush, slashing with her kama in her good hand.  Protected as she was by the mage armor, as well as her natural agility, the wolf failed to get a grip on her, but in turn her blow was little more than a scratch against the massive creature.  Maric steadfastly came at it from the side, thrusting his cutlass deep into its flank.  The wolf howled in pain, and spun at the hapless sailor, launching its considerable bulk at the young man as his eyes widened in sudden fear.  

The third attacking wolf could not get at them directly with its cohorts blocking the routes around the fire, but to their surprise it abruptly leapt directly ahead, right over the blazing flames.  The fire scorched its belly as it crossed over, but then it landed right among Ruath, Delem, and Cal, who had little protection against the large combatant suddenly in their midst.  

Benzan only just managed to stay on his feet as the wolf tore at him, the jaws finding purchase on his hip and clamping down through the protective rings of his mail.  While the armor held, the pressure of the wolf’s jaws threatened to crush his bones, even as its weight promised to drag him down.  Elly was still slashing at its rear, her blows doing little real damage but distracting it just enough for Benzan to get past its defenses.  With a cry of pain and fury he raised his sword in both hands, letting his shield fall to the side.  The firelight gleamed on the bronze blade for a moment, then Benzan drove the weapon down into the base of the wolf’s skull.  

The creature shuddered, thrashed for an instant, and then went still.  Even in death, though, its jaws remained locked, and Benzan had to almost rip the wolf’s head from his ravaged side.  He could barely stand, but he knew that battle raged on just a few feet away behind him and he managed to turn, his sword stained red in his hand.  

Lok was nearly being crushed under the body of the wolf, yet he fought on.  With his already considerable strength bolstered by Ruath’s spell, he tore his arm free of its jaws and continued to cut at it, ripping his axe back and forth repeatedly against whatever part of its body he could reach.  The wolf drew back slightly under the onslaught, just enough for Lok to regain his feet and meet its next rush.  The two combatants clashed once again in mortal combat, Lok taking the snarling bite on his shield and countering with a mighty overhead chop that crushed into the wolf’s skull.  Staggered, it somehow managed another weak bite that failed to connect, and then the axe came up—and descended—one last time.  

Lok barely had time to take a breath before another wolf, the one that Cal’s spell had briefly stunned, bore down on him.  

On the other flank, Dana and Maric were finding themselves much harder pressed.  The wolf drove Maric back against a tangled wall of roots and earth, where he could not retreat any further.  The sailor was already bleeding from a deep gash in his leg where the wolf had bitten him, but he’d managed to tear free before it could lock its jaws on the wounded limb.  Dana was still attacking from the side, trying to divert it, but her kama was unable to penetrate its thick hide.  She slashed at it again, letting out a scream of angry frustration, but its charge continued unabated.  Maric met its attack bravely, stabbing it deeply with his cutlass, but the wolf crushed his body against the mound and snapped its jaws heavily on the poor sailor’s throat.  

Cal, Delem, and Ruath surrounded the last wolf, unleashing the best of their magic against it.  Delem launched a stream of flames point-blank into its side, drawing an angry growl out of it as it spun to face him.  The motion took it out of the blast of another of Cal’s color sprays, which flared up harmlessly into the night sky.  Ruath, meanwhile, completed a spell and another pair of summoned badgers appeared right behind the wolf, tearing into it with relish.  

The wolf, however, ignored these attacks, focusing on Delem.  Its bite caught on his cloak, dragging him down roughly as its head thrashed to and fro.  The sorcerer tried to struggle free, but the wolf bore down on him, biting again and seizing Delem’s shoulder in its jaws.  The sorcerer screamed, unable to cast another spell with the wolf tearing at him.  Weakening, Delem, felt an icy chill creep into his body as the wolf continued its relentless attack.  

Lok fought with a ferocity that bespoke his elemental nature, trading blows with his new adversary.  He’d retreated until the rise of roots and earth was at his back, making it more difficult for the wolf to drag him down.  The wolf did manage to bite him, its powerful jaws clamping down on the genasi’s armored shoulder, but Lok tore free and countered with another deadly swing of his axe.  The wolf had already been scored by two such strikes, and as Lok slashed into it again it faltered.  It tried to disengage, retreat from this implacable adversary, but Lok was always there, and when it finally spun and tried to run he finished it with another mighty swing that crushed its spine and sent it tumbling broken to the ground.  

Lok looked up and saw battle still raging.  The world swam in and out of focus around him, and he could feel his blood seeping from his wounds, but he hefted his axe and rushed once more to the aid of his friends.  

Dana screamed as the wolf savaged poor Maric, her desperate blows unable to divert the wolf from its prey.  She knew it was too late, but kept up her attacks regardless, slashing and tearing repeatedly at its muscled body.  Finally, belatedly, she realized that the wolf was not moving.  The haze of battle that had filled her faded to reveal the wolf lying dead, blood seeping from a stroke that had managed to pierce a major vessel.  Unfortunately, she could also see Maric’s body lying under it, his throat a gory mess from the wolf’s vicious jaws.  

The wolf savaging Delem finally released its grip as Benzan charged into it, plunging his sword deep into its side.  The sorcerer fell back, unconscious and bleeding, but to the amazement of his friends he suddenly rose up, still covered in his own blood but with a fire burning in his eyes.  Even as the wolf tried to fight off its multiple attackers, Delem let out a cry of pure rage and sent fire into the creature, burning through its thick fur into the very core of its being.  The others retreated as the wolf collapsed into a pyre, and the smell of roasted flesh filled the air.  

With the death of that final wolf the battle was over, but again the victors had paid a heavy cost.  Maric was dead, and Lok, Delem, and Benzan were seriously injured.  Dana and Cal used their wands, and Ruath and Delem their clerical powers, to treat their wounds.  Cal finally tossed his device aside, its magic utterly drained, and even then some of them still were not fully restored.  They still had several healing potions and scrolls, but Cal cautioned against using them. 

“We’d better conserve our healing magic,” he warned.  “For all we know, there are greater tests ahead.”

With that grim comment, they wearily set camp again.  They moved to the far side of the tree, away from the gruesome scene of the battle, and even though they kept an alert watch throughout the remainder of the night nothing further arrived to disturb their rest. 

In the morning, they set out for the black mountain.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 14, 2002)

I wish I could put another vote in for Lok.  Love how he stood toe-to-toe with not one, but two dire wolves/worgs! Good thing none of them were spellcasters....
Gave a worg a couple cleric levels and when it talked it scared the bejebus out of my PCs.  

Will they make it to the crater with any sailors left?


----------



## Horacio (Mar 15, 2002)

A battle, a sailor...
They fall one by one, slowly but without pause...


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 15, 2002)

Yeah, I was thinking about writing in a scene where I go back and wipe out the three sailors left behind in Tanaroa, but I ultimately decided against it.  

I can say that both Elly and Varrus are important to the upcoming plot.  But will everyone make it to the Well of Worlds?  Stay tuned...

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 22

It took two hours for them to reach the lower reaches of the mountains, and three days to reach the summit.

The steep slopes of the mountain consisted of aged volcanic rock, and rose up at least a thousand feet above the surface of the plateau.  The rock was pocked and uneven, and not too difficult to climb, and there was even a trail of sorts up the near face, allowing them to reach a point about a third of the way up by the end of the first day.  

After that, however, it got much more difficult.  Their efforts at finding an easier route—a lava chute or tunnel, or some other means of entry—failed, leaving them with only a nearly sheer course up the sides of the mountain.  With clear reluctance, but few other options, they pressed on, the words of the matriarch of Tanaroa sounding in their thoughts. 

Benzan took on a leadership role during the climb, with his particular skills in that realm.  His fingers could find cracks when others saw only blank stone, and the magic in his sword allowed them to bypass several particularly difficult areas.  They headed up in stages, using their rope to move from one ledge to another, fortunate that the uneven face of the mountain offered them plentiful ledges and crevices where they could rest and recover their strength.  They spend the second night on one such ledge, huddling together against the biting chill of the wind.  Their rest was interrupted once by a disturbing tremor that shook the mountain for almost half a minute, but other than that nothing unusual occurred.  Dana expressed a fear held by all of them; that the pteranodons or the wyvern, or some other flying creature would happen upon them while they were climbing, exposed on the side of the mountain.  But their luck held, and as the third day began they continued their wearying climb.  

That day was the worst.  By noon they had reached the snowline, and the rock upon which they climbed became slick with ice.  Luckily they were nearing the summit, and they encountered fewer vertical climbs, but even so it took the entire afternoon to reach the crest.  They were still crawling along the slick rocks when the sun set, and Cal called upon a magical light to help them make their way into a deep cleft that was at least partially sheltered from the cold wind.  

They were bone tired from the climb, and clouds above hid the moon and stars from view, but they dared not remain there.  The interior of the mountain was a great crater that opened before them, its contents hidden in the depths of the darkness.  Benzan thought he could make out trees below, however, so they started down despite the hazards of traveling at night.  Luckily the climb down was far easier, and they used a pair of Cal’s sunrods to drive back the encroaching darkness.  They pressed on for several hours, until the bare snow-covered rocks gave way to trees and soil, then they staggered into a clearing, built a hasty fire, and crawled into their blankets and went immediately to sleep.  Lok remained awake to keep watch, warding his exhausted companion with a stony gaze that penetrated deep into the surrounding night.  

* * * * * 

When the morning came, the storm to the east had apparently passed, as the skies above the crater were clear as far as they could see.  They were in a highland forest, and the ground sloped sharply down ahead of them, with the thick boughs of trees visible as far as they could see.  Benzan volunteered to take a look from above, and before any of them could comment he’d grasped his sword and shot up into the interlaced foliage above.  

“He’s going to get himself killed one day, rushing off heedlessly like that,” Dana said.  Cal only shrugged—Benzan was… Benzan. 

The tiefling disappeared up through the network of branches at the tops of the trees, and a long minute passed before he returned, levitating back down to where the others waited.  

“The crater’s pretty big,” he began, “several miles across, at least.  There’s a lake that fills up most of the eastern half, and the forest takes up most of the western half that I could see.  I did see one other thing of note, though—a village, looks like, on the western side of the lake.”

“Any people about?” Lok asked.  

“Too far to make out clearly,” Benzan said.  “Plus, I didn’t want to stay up there too long, in case someone spotted me.  Wouldn’t want to rush off heedlessly and get myself killed.”  Dana flushed slightly, but she didn’t respond. 

“Let’s make for that village, then,” Cal offered, and they struck camp, soon making their way down the steep slope into the heavily forested depths of the crater.  

* * * * * 

The village of Mantru was used to dealing with hostile threats, as no place on the Isle of Dread could ever be considered truly safe.  On this bright and sunny day, however, with the storm that had just passed already a memory, the little community seemed placid and peaceful.  Its fifty or so inhabitants were an industrious folk, and as the morning passed into afternoon they went about their work busily.  The men rowed tiny outriggers back and forth on the lake, bringing back fish for the evening meal or for the enclosed holding pens along the lakeshore, while others toiled in the vegetable plots that stretched out behind the large communal huts that served as shelter for the villagers.  Young women ground maize into the meal used in most of their dishes, while the older ones repaired garments and watched the children that ran around the walled compound with boundless energy.  To those carefree souls, the day was a never-ending game, and work something to be dodged with a passion that was nearly an art form.  On the steps of one of the huts a small cluster of community elders passed the day in intense conversation, debating at any given moment any one of a thousand topics.  

In short, it was a day like any other, but this day the peace of the village of Mantru would be interrupted by the appearance of outsiders, strange folk the like of which existed only in the oldest stories of their people.  The community was not caught unawares, as the forest was always watched closely, if not as intently as they watched the lake and the island just visible far across its surface to the northeast.  In addition, some had remarked seeing strange lights the night before, flickering along the crater rim, a clear portent of change.  

Not that change was always bad, but the people of Mantru were used to things being the way they had always been, and they were wary of anything that threatened the peace of their community. 

The men of the community took up their weapons and met the strangers while they were still a fair distance from the walls of the village.  There was a moment of tension, there, as the strangers bore many weapons, and they did not speak the language of the people of Mantru.  Some of them wore unusual skins of metal, and otherwise represented a dizzying variety of sizes, colors, and styles of dress.  Their spokesman was a small man, who at first the warriors mistook for a child.  The small man spoke with authority in his voice, however, despite his meaningless words, and the warriors exchanged confused glances, uncertain how to deal with these outsiders.  

Fortunately, however, Fano and Umlat, drawn by the alert, quickly arrived to restore order to the situation.  Fano, the talking chief of the community, showed the age of his fifty years, but a fire still burned in his eyes and the grip on his spear was still strong.  Umlat, however, walking beside him with the aid of a village youth, was ancient and bowed.  He was by far the oldest member of the community, granted long life through the beneficence of Oloron, the divine Lord of the Skies.  That longevity came at a cost, however, and now Umlat’s body was a fragile shell, carrying him only reluctantly toward the confrontation between the village warriors and the armed strangers.  

The strangers saw the two elders approaching and waited patiently, making no hostile moves under the watchful eyes of the warriors.  They showed proper deference to the talking chief and the ancient priest, at least, and Umlat called upon the divine power of Oloron first in a ritual blessing, and then to grant him the power to understand the strange speech spoken by the outlanders.  

The meeting lasted for some time.  The strangers asked many questions, to which Umlat responded with answers and questions of his own.  One of the strangers, a young woman with an injured hand, called upon the power of her own foreign god to allow her to understand the elder’s words, so a dialogue of sorts was established between the two sides.  

By this time most of the remaining population of the village had gathered at the wall, fearful for their brothers and husbands and fathers that were confronting the strangers.  They could not hear what was being said, but they saw the sun glint off of the weapons and metal skins of the strangers and felt an unease based on things they did not understand.  Their fears eased slightly, however, as Umlat finally raised his hands in the ritual gesture of welcome, and the strangers were escorted to the main gate of the village.  While still cautious, curiosity replaced fear for many, and they crowded in to get a good look at the strangers, and their unusual costumes.  Several looked like children, but turned out to be miniature people, like adults in every way except for their size.  Another seemed entirely unreal, his skin like stone statues that the gods had carved in ancient days, covered in a thick skin of metal that blazed in the light of the sun.  One of the children even ran up to touch that one, to the sudden horror of his mother, but the stone-creature only laughed and waved to the amazed child.  

The strangers seemed friendly, or at least not hostile, so the villagers followed the lead set by their elders and welcomed them into their community.  Umlat let the people satisfy their curiosity, but soon was leading the strangers toward the boats along the sandy shore of the lake, so that they could travel to the council hut that stood on thick logs a short distance above the waters of the lake a short distance offshore.  

The villagers nodded to themselves at the wisdom of the priest’s course.  The strangers would be brought before the chief, who in his wisdom would decide how the village would deal with their sudden appearance in their midst. 

* * * * * 

“Well, they seem friendly enough,” Benzan commented, as the old man led them to the boats and indicated that they should head with him toward the large hut that stood up on stilts a short distance off in the lake.  The boats were rather small but sound, fitted with outriggers like the large craft they’d taken from the raiders… had it only been a tenday since then?  They were eventually able to squeeze into the boats, and rowed out to the structure out on the lake.  Only Fano, the old warrior who’d been introduced to them as the “talking chief,” and Umlat, the venerable priest, went with them, leaving the rest of the villagers watching them from the shore of the lake.  

“They’re showing a lot of trust, letting us into the village like this, and then bringing us to meet their chief without an escort,” Dana said as they approached the small wooden “dock” and the ladder that led up to the council hut, careful to keep her voice down so that the priest would not overhear.

“Perhaps,” Cal replied.  “But something tells me that Fano and Umlat are pretty capable, for all their years.  And I’m not sure, but I think that one of the ritual blessings Umlat made back there included a divination, an augury or some similar spell.”  He looked at Ruath, who nodded.

“And of course, this might still be a trap,” Delem said, his voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t think so,” Cal said.  “But keep your eyes open, as always.”

Fano helped them steady their boats as they disembarked on the small wooden platform abutting the hut’s thick support poles.  Umlat had already headed up the ladder, moving more quickly than his advanced age would indicate.  The “talking chief” waited until they had all made their way up the ladder, then he followed them.  

The council hut was apparently made up of one large room, well crafted despite the fact that the natives did not appear to have any knowledge of metalworking.  Raised slats along the walls let in plenty of light, revealing the only contents of the room: a few woven mats on the plank floor, and a small stone table upon which rested a small carved idol.  

“We bring strangers from a faraway, o chief of the people of Mantru,” the cleric said as they entered, his words translated for the rest of them by Dana.  The duration of her spell was fast approaching its end, so they hoped that the interview with the chief would not last long.  

“Where is he?” Delem asked, as he and the others looked around the empty interior of the hut.  

“Maybe he’s invisible,” Elly suggested, but Cal had realized the truth.  “It’s the statue,” the gnome said in an undertone.  “The statue’s the chief.”

“What?” Benzan said, a look of confusion crossing his face.  

“Just don’t say anything stupid,” Cal added in a covert whisper.  “We can’t afford to alienate these people.”

Fano had entered the hut, and with a deep bow to the idol crossed the room to kneel on a woven mat laid at the side of the table.  Umlat gestured for them to sit, which they did, then he turned toward the idol, then to Fano, bowing each time.  

Fano took a deep breath, raising his arms to the heavens and then bending forward until his forehead touched the plank floor of the hut.  He repeated this motion several times, each time speaking a ritual phrase of invocation in his own language.  Once that ritual was completed, he bowed once again to the idol, and then turned back to face the companions.  The companions realized what “talking chief” meant when Fano addressed them again, his voice altered to sound deeper and more sonorous.

“I am the chief of the Mantru,” he said.  “I speak to you through this vessel.  Why have you come here, and what do you seek among my children?”

Benzan covertly rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.  Once again, Cal served as their spokesman, relating the barest outlines of their story to the two elders—and the stone idol.  In the course of the conversation Dana’s spell expired, but Umlat and Fano kept the interview going, the priest using gestures to convey the questions he wished to ask.  The ancient priest seemed particularly curious and sharp of mind, asking them questions about where they had come from, the people of Tanaroa and the other southern villages, their encounters on the rest of the island, and their purpose in coming here.  Umlat’s own magic lasted throughout the interview, for he seemed to have no difficulty understanding what any of them said.  He in turn translated for Fano and the “chief”, and Fano would intone questions of his own in the voice of the spirit of the statue that Umlat in turn would put to them through gestures.  

Ultimately over an hour passed, and the companions began to feel a little hungry and tired.  Finally, although his eyes betrayed the fact that his curiosity had not been fully slaked, Umlat turned and nodded to Fano.  The talking chief made a final pronouncement, which of course none of them could understand, and then he conducted another series of ritual bows before he stood, “himself” once again.  

Umlat made it clear that the adventurers were still welcome, and invited them to remain with them, to eat and take their rest.  As if on cue the companions could smell the rich odors of roasting food drift over to them across the lake, and when they left the huts to return to the boats they could see numerous villagers working over firepits dug in the sand of the beach, preparing a feast.  The smell reminded them of their hunger, and they were surprised to see that the sun was already starting to set, another day already nearly gone.  

“What do you think?” Benzan quietly asked his companions, while they were waiting to head down the ladder and return to the boats tethered below. 

“We play it by ear, as always,” Cal said.  “These people seem genuinely friendly, though, if a little quixotic in their customs, and we can use the rest.”

“What about the Well of Worlds?” Delem asked.  They had asked the priest and the “chief” about their destination—it had been one of their first questions, even before they had entered the village, and it had come up several times in the meeting with the “chief”.  While the canny priest had dodged the question each time, not betraying any knowledge of the place, Delem had seen something flash briefly in the old man’s eyes when they mentioned it, a deeper understanding kept carefully hidden. 

“Well see tomorrow, when Dana can use her spell again,” Cal said.  He had seen it too, but he was willing to give the people of Mantru the benefit of the doubt, for now.  And maybe, if necessary, Delem’s magical charm might also be useful in finding out what they needed.  “Be on your guard, all of you,” he cautioned, then put on a smile as Fano gestured that it was the gnome’s turn to head down the ladder to the boats below.


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 15, 2002)

Now I'm pretty paranoid.


----------



## Rugger (Mar 15, 2002)

Too funny....

I haven't even so much as looked at "The Isle Of Dread" in 10 years, yet as soon as I read the description of the village, a name came to mind...

"Fano, the Talking Chief"

Why I remembered it, I don't know....but I knew he was coming  

Funny how memories work...Keep up the good work!


-Rugger
"I lurk!"


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 16, 2002)

Book III, Part 23

Still wary despite the apparently friendly attitude of the people of Mantru, and a little suspicious of the motives of the priest Umlat, the companions returned to shore to find that the villagers had gone all out preparing a great feast for them.  They were given places of honor beside the tribal elders in a large circle in the central clearing in the middle of the village, and young villagers brought around woven trays heavily laden with roasted fish, fruits, and other varied delicacies.  After days of eating trail rations and bland clerically-created food the feast was a welcome repast, and all of the companions ate heartily.  Just to be on the safe side, Cal used his bardic magic to cast a cantrip that would allow him to detect poisons, but thus far the villagers seemed to be everything they appeared to be: a simple, friendly, and contented folk living out their lives in almost total isolation from the world around them.  

The festivities apparently extended beyond the rich meal, for after the food was served several of the young villagers began a dance in the central area, moving to the tune of a simple woodwind instrument played by several of the older villagers.  Cal immediately added his lyre to the melody, which met with immediate approval from the gathered group.  

“You’ll never get a moment’s peace, now,” Lok commented to Cal with a smile, as the villagers greeted the end of another song with applause and an immediate clamor for another.  The genasi in turn was the focus of at least a half-dozen children, who swarmed around him, and retreated in mock terror each time Lok growled fiercely at them, raising his arms in a simulated gesture of menace.  

“This is nice,” Dana said, smiling at the energetic smiles on the faces of the people around them.  “We need the break, after all that we’ve gone through to get here.”  She glanced over at Varrus and frowned—the sailor seemed to be getting a little too friendly with one of the native girls, and she looked a little uncomfortable at his attention.  She had little need to worry, however, as she immediately saw the hawkish eyes of a warrior—the girl’s father, perhaps?—a short distance away, his gaze locked on the man.  Varrus finally felt the stare, and subsided, shrinking back into himself, causing Dana to laugh.

“What is it?” Delem asked.  

“Oh, nothing,” she said.  “Just the oldest story in the world.”  She laughed again at the confused look on his face, and handed him another fruit—_banane_ the villagers called it, and it was delicious once you peeled back the thick skin to reveal the tender yellow flesh inside.  Watching Varrus’s behavior reminded her of something else, though, and her gaze traveled around the clearing.  

Benzan was absent.

* * * * * 

Benzan stepped out from the shadows of the village wall, feeling much better now that he’d relieved himself of his… burden.  He started to head back toward the ongoing celebration, but he paused at the faint sound he heard coming from the rear of one of the raised huts.  Curious, he crept closer, his booted feet making barely a whisper on the sandy soil.  

It was Elly, he saw, and the sound was of her crying.  Unwilling to intrude upon her grief, he started to move away, but she sensed his presence and spun around to face him.

“Who’s there?” she asked, with an edge to her voice.  

Remembering that she couldn’t see in the dark as he could, he said, “It’s just me, Benzan.”  

“I… I’m sorry,” she said, trying to covertly wipe the tears from her cheeks as she half-turned her head away from him.  

“For what?” he said.  “There is no need to be sorry for your grief.  Horath was a good man.”

Her eyes glistened as she looked up at him.  “It happened… back in Tanaroa.  I guess I was sort of a wreck… more so, I mean,” she said with a faint laugh.  “He comforted me… I guess I just got a little too attached.  I doubt I meant as much to him.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Benzan said.  It was a simple statement, but he meant it, and the sincerity must have crept through into his voice, for when she looked up at him the thanks shone in her eyes.

“Benzan,” she said.  “I… I mean…” she came closer to him, still tentative.  “Would you… stay with me tonight?  With everything that’s happened, and this place, I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

It wasn’t clear which of them moved first, but then their two shadows became one, a single vague outline in the darkness.  

* * * * * 

The celebration lasted well into the night, and only weariness finally caused the excitement caused by the coming of the strangers to Mantru to ebb.  Villagers and guests headed off to the communal huts or just to an open spot along the beach, as the air was quite warm and the night clear.  The villagers had insisted on giving up several of their homes for the comfort of the adventurers, who quickly dropped off into an exhausted slumber, their suspicions finally giving way to at least some modicum of trust.  

All save one.  Lok walked alone along the outer reaches of the beach, just inside of the boundary of the village wall, near the pens where the villagers kept trapped fish for a ready food supply.  He paused there, in the shadows, the night holding no secrets against the vision granted by his otherworldly origin.  He rarely thought about the details of that mixed parentage—it was just who he was—but tonight, alone under the light of the moon, it seemed a night for memories.  

The evening air was cool against his skin.  His heavy armor was close at hand, the disassembled pieces held safely in the magical bag of holding at his waist, but without the thick plates encasing his body he felt almost naked, exposed.  Since they’d arrived at the Isle he’d doffed the armor only when sleeping, slipping into it again with the first light of each new day.  His gaze traveled down to the battleaxe that rested in its usual position at his hip.  No, even in this place of apparent safety he would not go so far as to relinquish that protection.  He grasped the weapon and held its blade up to catch the moonlight.  At his touch the icy nimbus of frost stirred, glistening around the blade like the halo that sometimes surrounded the moon in the sky above.  It was a raw, elemental power that fueled his weapon, a counterpart to the elemental strength that drove the blade into Lok’s enemies.  

He put the weapon away.  Was there more to him than that?  In battle, there were few that were his equal, and while it appeared to others that the call of arms drew him into an elemental rage, it in fact sharpened his control.  

Control.  That word, more than any other, seemed to encapsulate the reality of Lok, a creature that straddled two realities, two disparate backgrounds merged into one sole being.  One sole… soul?

His hand traveled seemingly of its own accord into the inner pocket of his undershirt, and withdrew the flat silver disk held safe therein.  

Memory came. 

* * * * * 

He was found on a battlefield, his cries not dissimilar from the cries of men dying in battle.  Luckily for him Moradin’s blessing shone down on the dwarves of Caer Dulthain that day, or Lok’s story might have been brought to a precipitous end on the shoulder of the mountain that the dwarves called the Maker’s Anvil.  

A grim-faced dwarf, his beard caked with the blood of his fallen adversaries, strode through the wreckage that had once been vital, living dwarves and fell, snarling orcs, drawn to the faint sound that hung faintly on the cold wind.  He passed larger mounds, hacked corpses that had once been ogres, and at one point even had to detour around the massive body of a fallen hill giant.  He and his comrades had been victorious against the raging horde this day, but the cost had been high, and the surviving dwarves could not linger long.  Already most of the wounded had departed on the road back to Caer Dulthain, and the few dwarves left on the battlefield were hastily gathering equipment from the fallen, or muttering prayers for the passage of their slain comrades to Moradin’s breast.  Dwarves did not typically leave their dead upon the battlefield for their foes to dishonor, but this was not the only enemy force on the march within the range, and the defense of their home came first.  

Borik Steelhelm, however, had hesitated over the battlefield, drawn by something that he didn’t fully understand.  His injuries were such that would leave most men lying on the ground, mewling piteously for healing aid, but he shrugged them off.  A battlefield was a place where strange noises were common, but he could have sworn that he’d heard something even stranger carried on the wind, a word that to his ears had sounded like the dwarven word for “mother.”  His axe was ready, in case the source of the sound was an injured foe still hanging onto life, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that he encountered when he finally discovered the point of origin of the cry, nestled securely in a small cleft in the mountainside not ten paces from the nearest bodies of orcs and dwarves.  

“By Moradin’s beard,” the dwarf rumbled.  Putting down his axe, he reached into the cleft, and tried to draw out what was secreted inside.

“Hold, boy, I’m not goin’ ta hurt ye,” he said, when the shadowed figure shrunk further back into the cleft, huddling against the shelter of the stone.  The cleft was not deep, but it penetrated far enough so that Borik could not quite reach the boy.  

How he’d gotten here, at the edge of a battlefield, the old veteran could not fathom.  He didn’t look to have more than a half-dozen years, but it was obvious at first glance that the child was no ordinary dwarf.  “What’s yer name, lad?” the dwarf asked.  The child was afraid, that much was obvious, and for a moment Barik feared that perhaps the boy was simple, his mind dulled by whatever unexplainable trauma had deposited him here.  

“I’m Borik,” the old dwarf said, realizing that he had to look threatening to the boy, but persisting in his effort to draw out the frightened child.  “Come now, we’ve got to get ye out of this place—it’s not safe.  Come with me, and I’ll take care of ye.”  The old dwarf was surprised even as he spoke the words, knowing that they were a promise but unsure how he might keep them.  Of course, there had once been a time… but no, that was long ago, in a different lifetime altogether.  

But the boy seemed to sense something in the old dwarf that reassured him, for he tentatively came forward.  Borik resisted the urge to grab at him, and instead backed off as the youth crawled up and out of the cleft.  

The boy stared out over the battlefield, and Borik realized that whatever horrors were evident there were nothing compared to whatever pain the boy had already experienced.  The light of the fading day revealed what Borik had already guessed about the boy, a fact evident in the rough, stony texture of his skin.  The boy was planetouched, his dwarven blood mixed with that of some otherworldly creature not native to Faerûn.  The old dwarf had heard of such pairings, although the boy was the first actual example he’d seen.  

“My name is Lok,” the boy said, with a determination that belied the fear and uncertainty in his wide eyes.  

“Come then, lad,” the old dwarf said, grasping the boy’s shoulder in his hand.  

* * * * * 

“Lok!” Borik cried, faltering as the heavy weight of the cauldron threatened to tip off of the shelf and overbear him.  The old dwarf cursed as his tired muscles, once able to cleave an orc in two with a single chop, now struggled against the heavy weight.  

The youth appeared within moments, however, and rapidly set the weight aright atop the shelf, wedging the support that had fallen free back into place.  Borik regarded him with fatherly affection, impressed by the strength already evident in the boy’s rapidly growing frame.  

He’d never thought he could feel that way again, not after the deaths of his own children, taken from him along with their mother in a tunnel collapse that had torn more than one family apart.  He’d been young then, just starting life, really, but he’d aged that day, transformed by grief into a solitary creature, unable to build anew the emotional connections that had been so abruptly sundered.  He was respected, both for his skill as a smith and crafter of weapons, and when necessary a wielder of those weapons in battle against the many enemies of the dwarves of the northern ranges.  Maybe it was the lack of caring about life or death that had turned him into such a deadly fighter, but for decades his name had been spoken with reverence at the clan gatherings, and with fear around the fires of the orc tribes.  

And yet somehow, the young genasi, who had been delivered unto him by a twist of fate, a whim of the All-Father, had been able to break through his self-created walls of isolation, to open up the old dwarf’s neglected heart once again.  It hadn’t been easy.  The shield dwarves of Caer Dulthain did not look upon the planetouched—the earth genasi—as the blessing that the followers of Dumathoin living in the deep underground perceived them to be, and the young Lok—younger than Borik had initially thought him to be—had to deal with the harsh reality of being an outcast within his new home.  That had only driven he and the elder dwarf closer together, though, and for the last twenty years the two had lived together in relative happiness, in a simple aboveground dwelling in a sheltered vale about a mile from the entrances to the underground dwarven town of Caer Dulthain.  

“What is it, father?” the youth—still young by dwarven terms, although he had the strength of any battlerager Borik had ever seen—asked, after he had finished bolstering the sagging workbench. 

Borik’s reply was a tired but warm smile.  “Nothing, me boy, nothing.  Why don’t ye finish the work on the blades for Torac, like we agreed.  I’ll join ye in the smithy after I rest these weary bones a stretch.”

Lok’s face creased in a slight expression of concern—the boy could be tough to read sometimes—but then he nodded and departed.  Borik watched him go, then turned back to the task of etching the scrollwork around the top border of the cauldron.  He didn’t have much time left, he knew; he could feel the passing of each day in his bones, and had not taken up his arms to march to the summons of the battlehorns since that day when Lok had been delivered to him.  Borik picked up his tools, but he’d barely set back to work when he felt the breath catch in his chest.  His limbs felt leaden, and his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to flex the reluctant muscles in his old hands.  

He tried to call for Lok, but the breath just wouldn’t come.  

_Sooner, rather than later,_ then, he thought.  His last thoughts, before unconsciousness embraced him, were of his boy, and how he would fare out in the world.  He knew that Lok wouldn’t stay here after he was gone—no, somehow he just sensed that the boy was meant for greater things.  He’d done his best to prepare him for whatever might come, passing on his own knowledge and experience, teaching him the arts of war, helping him craft his own suit of plate to shield him through whatever battles lay ahead.  

He didn’t remember falling, but somehow he was lying on the floor of the workshop.  He wasn’t sure if Lok was there or not, but his last words were an echo of words spoken once before by another parent, not so far from this place.  

“I love ye, me son.”

* * * * * 

Alone on a beach, a decade later and a world and more away from Caer Dulthain, Lok held the silver disk and stared out into the open night sky, a single tear trailing down each cheek.  

“I love you, father.”


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 17, 2002)

Lok's awesome!


----------



## Horacio (Mar 18, 2002)

The whole story is awesome!!!!

So Benzan has now a new reason to care for at least one of the redshirts...


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 18, 2002)

Book III, Part 24

Dawn broke on what looked to be another bright day for the village of Mantru, nestled snugly in the crater of the black mountain in the center of the Isle of Dread.  Normally, the industrious villagers were up and about with the dawn, but this morning a quiet hung over the place, as its occupants rested and recovered from the festivities of the night before.  Here and there a solitary villager could be seen, walking along the beach to greet the day or checking his latest plantings in the garden plot behind the community huts.  

In a curtained-off space in the rear of one of the huts where the travelers from Faerûn were staying, Elly opened her eyes and stretched languidly.  The knot of pain was still there in her heart, and she knew that it would take time for it to unravel completely.  But on this morning she felt at least able to face the day and its promise, to go on with the rest of the living and leave the dead behind.  The half-elven woman rolled over on the padded mat where she’d slept, and regarded Benzan, still sleeping beside her.  Asleep, he looked almost placid, whatever demons that troubled him quiescent for the moment.  Careful not to wake him, she bent over him and lightly kissed his forehead, then got up and slipped on her tunic—at least the bright red of the Tanaroan garment had faded somewhat, she noted—over her breeches.  

With a final glance back at Benzan, she crossed to the curtain and slipped out into the larger front area of the hut. 

And nearly ran into Dana, who was already dressed and was about to reach for the curtain.  

“Good morning,” Elly said.  

“Um… morning,” Dana replied.  “I’m sorry… I thought Benzan had taken this room.”

“He’s still sleeping.”

“Oh.”  An awkward pause followed, and then Dana said, “Well, I just wanted to tell him that we’ve another meeting with the village elders again today.  Cal thinks that they have something else to share with us, something they were holding back, yesterday.”

“Maybe it’s something about that Well of Worlds,” Elly suggested.  “Something that can help us get back home.”

“Yeah.  Well, anyway…”  She turned to leave, but paused as the two women heard noises from the other side of the curtain that indicated that someone was stirring beyond.  

“Elly, is that you?” Benzan’s voice came, and then the tiefling, clad only in a blanket wrapped around his lower body, pulled back the curtain and stepped into the hallway.  

“Ah, good morning,” he said, as the awkwardness factor suddenly increased about ten-fold in the room.  

“Dana says we’re meeting with the elders again today,” Elly said.  “Maybe that cleric will finally tell us something about how to get home.”

“I hope so,” Benzan said.  “Have they said anything about breakfast?” he added optimistically.

“There’s plenty of food left over from last night,” Dana said.  “Well, I’d better get back to the others.  Come join us… when you’re ready.”  With that she spun abruptly and all but darted to the door of the hut.  

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Elly said, once they were alone again.  “About last night… thank you.”

“Um…  you’re welcome.”

“Look, last night was great… but we’re still in a strange place, and we’re a long way from home.  What happened last night… it doesn’t have to mean anything, beyond what it was.”

“Elly…”

“Shh.”  She came close and embraced him, folding into his arms, and there was a hint of something wistful in the look that he didn’t see, a glance back at the doorway where Dana had disappeared.  When she broke back from the embrace, however, her smile was back in place.  “You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for,” she said, and kissed him lightly on the lips.  “Let’s get our gear and rejoin the others.”

Still a little confused about exactly what had just happened, Benzan nodded and followed her back into their curtained nook.  

* * * * * 

They met again with the elders that afternoon, after they’d had the morning to recover their strength from the difficult trek up the side of the mountain.  The lazy time was a welcome respite after all they’d been through on the island, and they spent it lounging about, cleaning weapons and repairing equipment, or helping the villagers in their various chores, as each saw fit.  

The second meeting was held not in the audience hall with the “chief”, but in the smaller hut, also a short distance out into the lake, that served as the personal sanctuary of the priest Umlat.  Once again only Umlat and Fano were present besides the companions, and the smaller, more intimate setting gave this meeting a more informal mood than the last.  While the gathering hall had been spartan and ceremonial, Umlat’s hut was crowded with holy items, simple charcoal drawings of animals and people, and various knickknacks fashioned of wood, animal bone, and carved stone.  They sat on small padded chairs around a central brazier of beaten bronze that looked to be as old as the world itself.  A medley of smells hung in the air, strange but not unpleasant.

Once they had all crowded into the confined space, Umlat intoned the words of a ritual blessing to his god, Oloron, and indicated to them that they should use their magic that would enable them to understand his words.  Since Dana’s mangled hand made it difficult for her to complete the gestures needed for the spell, Ruath cast it instead, and she served as translator for the meeting.  

“Welcome, once again,” Umlat said to them, once he had finished his own spell.  “I trust that you all enjoyed our hospitality last night.  Many of my people have expressed their own appreciation of your friendship and openness with us.”

The native cleric didn’t mark the covert look that Dana shot in Benzan’s direction, although one other did.  It had not escaped Delem’s notice how Dana had come back from Benzan’s lodgings clearly agitated, and even as he wondered what had transpired between them he felt a pang of jealousy twist at him, remembering how the young woman had embraced Benzan when he’d returned to them out of the chasm back at the edge of the plateau.  At the time he’d not paid any attention, as they’d all been grateful to see Benzan alive, but now a gnawing tendril of dark emotion had taken root, and his expression darkened. 

“When you first arrived, we had to be cautious, not knowing if you were friend or foe,” the cleric was saying.  “There are many dangers in this place, as you yourselves have already learned in your time here, and some of them are capable of putting on a pleasant face.  But in the short time you have been here I have watched you, and communed with the divine Lord of the Skies for guidance, and it is my belief that you have been sent here for a reason, to aid us in our time of need.”

“We seek only a way home, back to where we belong,” Cal said cautiously, once Ruath had translated the cleric’s words.  “But we would be willing to extend what aid we could, if it is within our power to do so.”

The cleric nodded.  “Our needs run along parallel courses.  I apologize for dissembling with you earlier, but as I said, we had not yet taken your measure.  I did recognize that which you seek, this Well of Worlds.  Our most ancient chronicles, passed down from one generation to the next as is our tradition, mention this thing, though I know no nothing of it save the name.”

“You have no doubt seen the island that rests upon the surface of the great lake.  To our people the place is taboo, forbidden to us as one of the very cornerstones of our tradition.  It is a place of great power, which our legends tell us was once the home of our ancient gods when they walked upon the land, long, long ago.”

“We may not set foot upon the island, but you, as outsiders, may do so without offending the spirits of our gods.”

“So what is it that you want us to do there?” Benzan asked.  “While we seek out this Well, of course.”

“Taboo Island is the home of a band of renegades, a fallen people that… excuse me… feed upon the roasted flesh of both men and beasts.  There is little of the human left in them, just a savagery that penetrates to the corrupt core of their being.  I suspect that it is living on the island, where the ancient power of our gods still persists, that has warped them, but one cannot be certain.  Their depraved lusts and inherent violence keeps them in check somewhat, but every few seasons they raid Mantru, and carry off the bodies of those they kill.  They kill all they can, save the children—those they take alive, and what transpires with them…”

The cleric broke off, the muscles in his neck bunching with obvious rage as his chronicle continued.  Fano, too, looked grim, and his hand tightened around the haft of his dagger, as if he half-hoped that one of the cannibals would enter the hut at that very moment to be slain at his hands.  

“How many are there?” Lok asked.  

“They raid in groups of fifteen to twenty warriors,” Umlat responded.  “They have not attacked the village directly in many years, but strike wherever our guard is weakest—at lone craft fishing on the lake, or forage parties in the forest, or small groups outside the wall.  We slay many, but always with the next turning of the seasons there are more, as if the very stones of the island spawn more of them.”

“And your taboo, it prevents you from attacking their base of operations,” Cal noted.  “Convenient, for them.”  

“Your coming may shift the balance between us,” Umlat told them.  “For many seasons—more than I can remember easily—my magic and Fano’s strong arm have kept them at bay, but I sense that the end of my days approaches, and none of the young men can wield the power of great Oloron as I can.  I fear for my people, without my protection, at the hands of the renegades, and I suspect that they are waiting for just such a chance to finally strike and wipe us away for all time.”

Cal looked around at his companions, taking the measure of their reaction to the cleric’s dark tale.  He understood the looks of anger they wore—he felt the same way about what man described—but he also knew that they were hearing just one side of the story.  “It seems that we must go to the island anyway,” he said, “and we appreciate your warnings of what danger might lie ahead for us there.  But our main goal is finding the Well, and if possible a way back to our home.  We appreciate all the aid that you and your people have given us…”

“I understand,” the cleric said, raising a hand to forestall him.  “Our struggle is not yours, and to request aid in slaying others, even such as those who live upon the island, is a heavy boon to ask of strangers.”

He rose, and bowed to them.  “We will be happy to provide you with supplies, and even the use of two small boats that will allow you to reach the island.  I wish you well in your search for a way back to your home, but I fear…  I fear that your course will inevitably take you through the renegades, and I would suggest that you be prepared for a confrontation.”

“It seems we’ve prepared for little else since arriving at this place,” Benzan noted wryly.  

“Thank you, Umlat, Fano,” Cal said, standing and returning the elder’s bow to each in turn.  His companions also rose, checking their weapons and other gear almost reflexively, an instinct born of facing almost constant danger at every turn.  They were ready for whatever tests lay ahead, Cal knew.  

“We depart tomorrow.”


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 18, 2002)

Greetings, readers!  Just wanted to note that I've updated the Rogues' Gallery thread for TttWW, located here.  Cal and Dana have each gone up a level, and Dana has taken the first prestige class in the group.  

Although I haven't statted them out, Ruath is now a 6th level cleric and the redshirts (Elly and Varrus) are now Com2/War2.

Thanks again for reading!  Tomorrow we get to Taboo Island, and an epic battle scene that at first draft came in at twelve pages (I eventually trimmed it some and broke it into two smaller posts).  Witness the devastating power of Great Cleave!  See new spells used to good effect!  Hope to see you here tomorrow for the first installment!

LB


----------



## Horacio (Mar 18, 2002)

I hope you don't kill both redshirts!
I've grown fond of Elly


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 19, 2002)

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 (Mar 20, 2002)

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 (Mar 21, 2002)

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 (Mar 21, 2002)

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 (Mar 22, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *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 (Mar 22, 2002)

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 (Mar 22, 2002)

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 (Mar 23, 2002)

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 (Mar 23, 2002)

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 (Mar 23, 2002)

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


----------



## Horacio (Mar 25, 2002)

A wonderful story, I'd say 

More, please


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 25, 2002)

Book III, Part 28

“I think we’re going to have to be very careful from here on out,” Cal said sagely.  

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to use the spell before,” Dana said.  

“Don’t worry,” Cal replied.  “There’s no way you could have guessed—any of us could have guessed—what was in the box.”  

Dana nodded, but she didn’t seem entirely convinced.  Her gaze traveled briefly to the area around the altar, where tiny pieces of the statue were still visible, with an occasional stray gemstone or piece of silver filigree catching the light of their small lamp.  She shuddered, even at the vague memory of the whispers she’d heard in her mind when she’d looked upon the thing.  

They were spread out in the room that contained the altar and the box that had held the statue.  After Lok had pushed Benzan aside and destroyed the statue with a single powerful blow of his axe, Dana had used a spell to detect for evil.  A faint taint did hang in the air around the sundered remnants of the statue, but that hint quickly faded.  Delem detected for magic and reported the same thing—there had been magic in the strange statue, but its destruction caused it to fade away into nothingness.  

“I wonder what that thing was?” Elly asked, not for the first time.  None of them could answer, but they felt uneasy even thinking about the thing.  Had it been a creature like that depicted that had spoken to them in their thoughts?  What would have happened, had Lok not destroyed it?

Yet even with the uncomfortable afterthoughts of their encounter, they had elected still to set up camp here, in this place.  They’d already checked the area beyond the far door, and found only a short corridor that ended in a complete and impassible collapse.  Benzan and Lok thoroughly checked the altar-room for any other traps or secret passages, but found nothing.  That left only the flooded lower level, but none of them felt particularly eager to head in that direction.  They ultimately decided that they would rest and allow the spellcasters to regain their spells, then, in the morning, Ruath would cast an augury to determine if the lower level was their best course.  She would also pray for a spell that would duplicate the power of Benzan’s ring, enabling most of them to walk upon the surface of the water for a time.  

“I can only affect six, though, with the spell,” she warned.  “Someone’s going to have to get wet.”

And so they set up camp.  Those who hadn’t fallen into the flooded room dug out dry garments for Lok, Cal, and Delem to use until their clothes had a chance to dry out.  Once Cal’s final sunrod burned out they switched to a lamp taken from the bag of holding—at least they had plenty of oil in their stores, thanks to Lok’s foresight in stocking the magical bag.  They had sufficient foodstuffs for several days, thanks to the generous people of Mantru, and after closing the door that led back into the rest of the complex almost all the way they set watches and drifted off to an uneasy rest.  

Nothing troubled their sleep, and once the “night” had passed they breakfasted and engaged in light talk while the spellcasters replenished their magic.  Ruath cast her augury, calling upon Tymora’s guidance, and the others gathered around to await the result.  

“Weal and woe,” she told them.  “A mixed reading, and a mixed result, if we explore the lower level.” 

“That sounds about right for us,” Benzan commented.  “But we haven’t found any sign of this Well of Worlds up on this level, though, so I guess it’s down into the depths.”

“I’ll cast the spell of water walking once we’re back at the collapsed corridor,” Ruath said.  “The spell will last for about an hour, so we should be quick in our explorations.  And one person will not be affected.”

Benzan looked immediately at Varrus, but Elly interjected, “I suppose I can get a little wet—I’m a pretty good swimmer, if it comes to it.”

“Are you sure?” Benzan asked.  “I’m taller—I could loan you the ring…”

“I think your skills are more valuable to the group,” Elly broke in.  “You should be more mobile, in case we run into trouble.  I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

“Take my cloak,” Dana offered.  “It has a minor magic about it, and will help protect you against the cold of the water.”

“Thank you,” Elly said.  She took the offered garment and pulled it on over her tunic—once again ragged after the last tenday’s travel, the spun flax stained red once again with the blood from the arrow she’d taken to her shoulder.  

“All right then, everyone ready?” Cal asked.  Once everyone had nodded, they moved out again, ready for the next stage of their search for the way back home.  

* * * * * 

Within a few minutes they had reached the site of the collapse, with the flooded chamber quiet below them.  They had already agreed that they would leave the rope crossing the gap to the far side of the corridor, and add another length dangling into the room below, in case they needed to make a quick retreat from the lower level.  Benzan dropped down first, using his ring to walk on the surface of the water and checking quickly to make sure that there were no immediate threats in the room or in the corridor beyond the open door.  Once he’d given the all clear, Ruath cast her spell, and they quickly lowered themselves down to the dark surface of the water.  Rather than rely entirely on their lantern, which could easily be doused if they encountered a hazard, the spellcasters had memorized several light spells, the first of which Cal cast upon the top of Elly’s spear to brighten their way.  Cal had also taken the precaution of surrounding himself, Delem, and Dana with mage armor from his wand.  

Elly was the last one down, handing her lighted spear to Varrus to carry so that she could keep her hands free, and after she’d dropped fully into the water they started out into the corridor, Benzan again taking the lead.  The passageway beyond the stone door had a lower ceiling, the damp lichen-encrusted stone just over five feet above the level of the water, so the taller companions had to keep their heads low as they made their way deeper into the complex.  The light of Cal’s spell reflected off the rippling surface of the water and the slick walls, giving the whole area an almost surreal tinge. 

“Are you all right?  Is the water too cold?” Delem asked Elly as she swam along beside the water-walkers.

“No, I’m fine—I barely feel it,” the young woman responded.  “It must be the magic of Dana’s cloak.”

“See anything, Benzan?” Cal asked, his voice pitched low just in case the areas ahead were occupied.

“There’s alcoves set off with bars along the corridor,” Benzan reported.  “Rusted pretty well through—probably cells, I’d guess.”

“So this is a prison, then?” Dana ventured.

“Let’s just make our search and keep on,” Cal said.  “We’ve only got an hour until Ruath’s spell gives out, and I don’t still want to be standing on this water when it does.”

“The corridor forks ahead, heading to the left and right,” the tiefling reported from the head of the column.  He walked ahead to the intersection, glancing quickly down each of the two passages.  To the left, the corridor continued for some distance and then turned right, while to the right, the corridor soon culminated in another stone door.  

“Let’s check out that door,” Cal suggested, and they headed in that direction.  They’d barely covered a few feet, however, when a sudden cry from behind drew their attention back.

“What is it, Elly?” Delem asked, as the young woman bobbed in the water beside him with a frightened expression on her face.

“Something hit my leg!” she said.  “There’s something in the water here!”

“Probably just a fish,” Ruath said, but they all spent a few anxious moments looking into the dark water, while Elly waited with a decidedly anxious expression.  Varrus thrust his spear into the water, but even with its glow they could see make out little detail about what might lie under the waters. 

After a long minute had passed, and no danger presented itself, they decided to continue toward the door.

“Sorry, guys,” Elly said.

“Don’t be,” Cal replied.  “I admit, if I was in water up to my neck, I’d be a little spooked if something bumped into me, too.”

Benzan had already crossed to the door, and was checking the exposed portion for traps.  “I don’t think it’s watertight,” he said.  “Whatever’s beyond is probably flooded as well.”

“Can you open it?” Cal asked.

“It’ll be tough, without leverage,” Benzan said.  “Hopefully, the hinge mechanism hasn’t rusted.”

“These doors are on stone pivots,” Lok said, as he moved up to help.  “Whoever designed them, and this place, knew their stonework.  I’m surprised this level has held up as well as it has, with all the flooding.”

Working together, Lok and Benzan were able to push off against the jam of the door and work the heavy portal open enough for them to move into the area beyond.  

Their light revealed a large square chamber, easily sixty feet on a side, its ceiling a cracked dome that rose to a point some twenty feet above the level of the water.  The faded remains of what might have once been decorative frescoes could just be seen on portions of the dome and that part of the walls visible above the waterline.  A single exit could also be seen, a wide set of stairs that appeared to rapidly culminate in a complete collapse that formed a jagged wall of rubble.  

“I wonder what this place was,” Dana said, following Benzan and Lok as they cautiously moved into the room.

“Whatever it was, it looks like a dead end now,” Benzan said.  

Elly was the nearly the last to enter, ahead of only Delem.  As she moved into the room, however, she stumbled forward, briefly dipping under the water as she loudly splashed about with her hands.  Delem tried to grab for her, but she fell deeper into the room, evading his grasp.  

“Elly, are you all right?” Benzan asked, rushing back toward the door while the others moved to help the woman.  

“The floor of this room—it must be lower than that in the corridor,” Ruath said, realizing what had happened.  Elly quickly recovered, managing to tread water even with the drag of her clothes and equipment, and Delem was already helping her back toward the higher ground behind the door.  

Dana, however, had caught sight of another danger.  “Look out!” she cried in warning, pointing to where a small triangular fin briefly broke the surface of the water halfway across the room, heading swiftly in their direction. 

Then it dipped again below their sight—heading directly for Elewhyn.


----------



## Thorntangle (Mar 25, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *“Thank you,” Elly said.  She took the offered garment and pulled it on over her tunic—once again ragged after the last tenday’s travel, the spun flax stained red once again with the blood from the arrow she’d taken to her shoulder.*



The DM taketh away the red shirt and giveth it right back


----------



## Horacio (Mar 26, 2002)

Poor Elly!
First water, now sharks!!!!

Why did she volunteed? I'm sure if she hadn't said anything, Benzan would have proposed Varrus...


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 27, 2002)

Heh--it would have been funny to see Varrus's reaction if Benzan _had_ suggested that the sailor be the swimmer... clearly there's no love lost between those two!

Aargh!  Work's insanely busy this week for once, but luckily this relatively brief (for me) update was just about ready to go...  We're approaching the big finale of the Isle, and Kelemvor's crew is going to be busy!

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 29

Elly swam quickly toward the exit, but weighed down by her clothes and the tunic of mail she wore, she made slow progress through the dark water.  Suddenly, she lurched, and let out a cry of pain as something slammed into her side.  

“Something bit me!” she cried, thrashing as she broke the contact and lurched for the open portal now just a few feet away. 

While the others tried in vain to detect the submerged attacker—or attackers—Benzan darted across the surface of the water to where Varrus stood by idly.  “Give me that!” he said, tearing the _light_ed spear from his grasp.  Rushing to Elly’s side, he stabbed the spear into the water.  The light revealed a dark shadow twisting through the water toward the bleeding woman, and without hesitation Benzan thrust the spear into it.  

“There’s more of them!” Benzan warned the others, detecting several other shadows in the murky water.  One he saw, was swimming swiftly upward through the water, toward… Ruath.

“Watch out, Ruath!” he yelled, but Lok, with his darkvision, had detected it as well.  The snub-head of a shark erupted from the water, seeking Ruath’s legs with its snapping, tooth-filled maw, but it caught only air as the genasi lifted the halfling from the air and placed her down behind him.  He tried to slam it with his axe, but by the time he could get the weapon into play the shark had already sunk beneath the surface of the waters.  

Delem, his own powers useless against an underwater adversary, moved to Elly’s aid.  Grabbing onto her arms, he lifted her up out of the water—and sank into it himself for every inch she rose, for their combined weight exceeded the power of Ruath’s spell.  

Cal saw what was happening, and even as he quietly admired the young man’s bravery he was rushing to aid him against the attacking sharks.  As he caught sight of one shark charging the final distance toward Elly and Delem, Cal bent low and plunged a wand under the water, firing a color spray into the oncoming creature’s face.  The shark twisted around in the display of colored lights, and then swam awkwardly off, confused.  

Benzan, meanwhile, continued to press his target, stabbing the shark again by using the full length of the spear as it tried to detach itself and swim deeper away.  The shark shuddered, twisting in the water while its blood formed an obscuring cloud around it.  That blood drew the attention of one of its fellows, the one that had tried to bite Ruath, and it darted eagerly for its crippled ally as it bled out its last from Benzan’s spear. 

Apparently there were only the three sharks, for there were no more attacks as Dana and Delem helped Elly through the doorway back into the corridor outside.  Dana cast a spell of healing on the injured sailor, who had not been too seriously hurt in the brief confrontation.  Benzan guarded the narrow opening of the doorway once they had all retreated, but apparently the sharks had decided they’d had enough—or maybe they were satisfied to feed on their slain fellow—for they did not approach again.  

“Well, now what?” Varrus asked, with a covert look at Benzan, though he did not request the spear back.  

“Looks like we head back the other way,” Cal started to suggest, but Benzan forestalled him.  “Wait a minute,” he said.  “I caught a glimpse of something in the corner of that room, and I’d like to check it out.”

“What, go back in there with those sharks?” Varrus said.  “You’re crazy, warrior.”  The look that briefly crossed his face after he spoke suggested that he almost regretted his hasty words, but Benzan paid him no heed.

“The spell of water-walking isn’t going to last much longer,” Cal said.  “And Varrus is right—those sharks are still a threat.  I only stunned the one, and the other might consider the one you killed just an appetizer.”

“I know,” Benzan said.  “But I’ve got a feeling that there’s something important in that room that we’re missing.  Just give me a few minutes.”

“All right,” Cal said.  “Delem, you, Ruath, and Varrus stay here with Elly, and watch the door.  Lok, and I will go with Benzan and check out his ‘feeling’.”  

The others nodded, and as they prepared to reenter the room Ruath cast a _light_ spell on a coin and dropped it into the water by the door, so that any sharks trying to make it through would be visible.  

“Come on, couldn’t you have used a pebble?” Benzan said with regret, as the glowing coin fell beneath the surface of the water.  His friends only exchanged a wry look and shook their heads, following the tiefling, still clutching the glowing spear, back into the room.  

The surface of the water was quiet, the sharks apparently content with their meal as Benzan led them along the wall toward the northwestern corner of the room.  He dipped his spearhead below the surface of the water, and they all could see that the floor rose in that corner, with stone steps rising up until the floor was only five or six feet below the level of the water once again.  

“Ah, see it?” Benzan said, poking the spear a little deeper into the water.

“It looks like… a giant clam?” Cal said, trying to resolve the object resting atop the dais under the water.   Once the ripples caused by their passage across the water’s surface began to fade, he could see that it was in fact such a creature, it’s great shell easily a man’s height around, sitting half-open beneath the waters.

“Odd, for such a thing to just be sitting here,” Lok said.  

“Hey, I didn’t put it there,” Benzan said.  “But I’m going to check it out.”

“What do you mean?” Cal said, but it became clear what Benzan had in mind as the tiefling handed the spear to Lok and then tugged off one of his gloves, revealing the hand holding the ring of water walking.  “I don’t generally agree with Varrus, but are you crazy?”

“I say it’s not a clam, but an oyster,” Benzan replied.  At Cal’s perplexed look, he added, “What, don’t you know where pearls come from?”

“Careful,” Lok said.  “If that shell comes down on you, there’s no way you’ll be able to break free.”

“I’ll manage,” the tiefling said with a grin.  Then he removed the ring, and handed it to Cal. 

Immediately the tiefling sank beneath the surface of the water, his mithral armor dragging him rapidly down to the floor of the dais.  The top of his head just cleared the water, and he took a deep breath before ducking underwater and moving in the direction of the clam.  

Lok, meanwhile, took the spear and pointed it in the direction of the sharks, in case they decided to return.  He saw nothing moving out in the room; however, he did observe something out of the corner of his eye, something unusual about the stonework along the wall of the room.  He noted the place but kept the information for later, focusing his attention for now on the risky adventure of his friend.  

The water suddenly stirred around the submerged clam as its massive upper shell snapped suddenly shut.  Cal and Lok ducked low, trying to see beneath the rippling surface of the water, and let out a combined sigh of relief as Benzan’s head appeared above the waves in front of them. 

“Well?” Cal asked.  The tiefling grinned, and held up his hand. 

Cradled there was a massive black pearl, easily the size of his fist.  

Benzan took back his ring from Cal, and again rose above the surface of the water.  Lok, however, had already turned toward the wall of the room, and was examining the stonework there.  

“What is it?” Cal asked, noticing his friend’s distraction.  In answer, Lok tugged at the edge of what looked like a solid stone block—and a part of the wall reluctantly pulled away, revealing another water-filled passageway beyond.  

“Secret door,” Lok said.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 27, 2002)

A water-filled dungeon with sharks, pearls and secret underground passages... 

I WANT MORE!!!!!


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 28, 2002)

Book III, Part 30 

Conscious of the minutes ticking away on Ruath’s spell, they moved quickly to relocate into the corridor beyond the secret door.  After checking to make sure that the corridor was clear, at least as far as he could tell, Benzan loaned his ring again to Cal, who moved to get the others.  The use of the ring was able to get Elly safely past the sharks and all of them were soon gathered in the space beyond the stone panel.  Elly started to take off the ring to return it to Benzan, but he raised a hand to forestall her.  

“You hold onto it for a while,” he said.  “The chill in the water doesn’t bother me that much.”

Still holding the spear, Benzan led the way again down the new passageway, which was about ten feet across.  Almost immediately after leaving the secret door behind the passageway turned sharply to the north.  

After traveling a short distance, the light revealed a series of rough openings, just over a foot in diameter, along both sides of the corridor just above the water level.  Lok walked over to the nearest and bent low to look into it, rattling his axe into the opening to see if there was anything stirring within.  After he withdrew the weapon they listened, but only the faint sound of water dripping on stone answered them.  

“That doesn’t mean they’re empty,” Cal cautioned them, as they started down the corridor again.  Ahead, a stone’s throw distant, they could just make out a door ahead, at the end of the passageway.  

“Uh oh,” Benzan said, an instant before the rest of them heard the sound: a rustling that seemed to come from all of the openings at once, followed by a squeaking noise moments before a small horde of giant rats appeared and attacked.  

Their attackers were no ordinary rodents; these creatures were easily three feet in length, bigger and heavier than Cal and Ruath, and they leapt into the water without reluctance, their muscular limbs carrying them swiftly toward the nearest of the companions.  

But these intruders were no strangers to battle, and treading atop the surface of the water, they were able to bring their full strength to bear.  The only person at a disadvantage was Benzan, and as a trio of rats swam at him he suddenly darted beneath the surface of the water, pushing ahead with a strong kick-off that propelled him a goodly distance ahead of the pursuing creatures.  As he broached the water’s surface again he was already bringing up the spearhead to meet the first oncoming rat, and stabbed it deep in its chest with the shining bronze head.  The rat squirmed and squeaked in pain, but still thrashed ahead through the water as it tried to reach him.  

“Tougher than you look,” Benzan commented, giving ground as the rats continued swimming toward him.  “Hey, a little help over here!” Benzan shouted to his companions.  

The rats were having little luck against the rest of the group.  Lok strode right into the first cluster of swimming rats, his axe wreaking havoc among them.  Behind him, Dana, Delem, and Cal provided support with their crossbows, shooting the rats as they swam diligently toward them.  One reached Dana and tried to nip at her leg, but she nimbly darted aside.  Although agile swimmers, the rats found it difficult to keep up with foes that could walk upon the surface of the water as if it was a sound floor beneath.  

Benzan, meanwhile, found himself pushed all the way back to the door, with three rats, including the injured one, still rushing toward him.  Suddenly, though, he rose up out of the water, levitating straight upward to rest up against the ceiling of the corridor while the rats could only squeak at him in frustration.  

“Sorry, fellas,” he said, as he stabbed one with his sword.  

Back on the far end, meanwhile, the companions had made short work of the other rats, Lok taking the highest tally by slaying five of the wretched creatures.  None of them had been hit.  Wary for more attackers from the small openings, they moved to join Benzan, who was just finishing off the last of his attackers from above with his sword.  

“Everything under control here?” Cal asked.  

“Yeah, no thanks to you guys,” Benzan said, still hovering against the ceiling, water dripping in runnels from his soaked clothes.  

“Hey, you were the one who darted up ahead,” the gnome countered.  “If you’re ready, why don’t you come down from there, and we can move on?”

“Hold on a moment,” Benzan said.  As his companions waited expectantly, he sheathed his sword, and then, with an expectant look on his face, slowly removed his hand from the hilt.  After a moment his expression eased, and a wide grin crossed his face.  

“Okay…” Cal said.  “What’s the joke?”

“I didn’t fall,” Benzan replied.  “The power of the sword works even when I’m not holding it.  Could be useful information, I’d say.”

“True, but while you’re hovering there, Ruath’s spell is rapidly running out for the rest of us,” Cal said.  “We’d better get moving—if we don’t find any sign of the Well soon, then we’ll have to turn back and try again tomorrow.”

In response Benzan’s face took on a brief look of concentration, and he sank back down into the water.  The door at the end of the corridor took a brief effort for them to force it open, finally revealing another square chamber beyond.  An identical stone door was the only exit, in the far wall.  With the room half-flooded, there were no clues as to what purpose the place might have once served.  

Benzan led the way again, moving slowly through the water while his companions covered him from behind.  The tiefling had only reached the halfway point across the floor, however, when he stumbled on something submerged under the water, and they all heard an audible click that seemed to come from within the wall to their left.

“Oh, I don’t like the sound of…”

Benzan’s statement was cut off as a gout of burning flames erupted as a slick atop the surface of the water, spreading rapidly out from the western wall.  The companions retreated hastily as the flames filled the room with thick smoke, causing their eyes to tear up and their lungs to burn.  Benzan, caught on the edges of the flames, immediately darted underwater, coming up a short distance ahead near the far door.  

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Cal yelled, prodding several of the others to retreat back through the partly open door back into the corridor.  

“Benzan!” Elly shouted, although the sound was muffled slightly by the angry roar of the flames.  The slick of burning oil had spread through the center of the chamber, and the smoke had cut off their view of the tiefling.  

“I’ll get him,” Lok said, and just like that he ran across the room, leaping over a narrow stretch of flames.  He emerged from the smoke to see the tiefling pushing on the stone door, which thus far seemed to be resisting his efforts.  

“It’s stuck!” he said, as he saw Lok approach.  “No, wait, there it…”

He was again cut off as the door suddenly pivoted wide open, revealing another corridor beyond. 

A corridor that was not flooded.  

Or at least, hadn’t been up to that moment.  

Benzan and Lok were driven roughly forward on the rush of water as it flowed into the dry corridor.  Benzan almost managed to regain his footing against the deluge, but then the force of the water hurled him hard against a grillwork of heavy bronze bars that formed a vertical barrier across the corridor about ten feet beyond the door.  The water continued to pour through the bars down the passage, where a natural stone staircase headed down to a still lower level a short distance beyond the portcullis.  All of Benzan’s efforts were focused on keeping his head up as the onrushing flow continued to batter him down.  He felt the grate shudder from another impact, and looked over to see Lok in similar difficulty, although the genasi’s strength and compact form made it easier for him to weather the crush of the water.  

The surge continued for nearly a full minute, but then it finally began to ease up as all of the water that had been in the room and the passageway beyond flowed through the grille and down the stairs.  As Benzan straightened, his body bruised and battered by the beating he’d taken, he could see a dense pall of steam clouding the stairs and the passageway ahead, which indicated to him that wherever the water had gone, it was hot there.  

“Is everyone okay?” Cal asked.  Benzan was surprised to see him just an arm length’s away, the gnome a sodden ball lying at the base of the grille.  The rest of the companions were scattered in the rest of the corridor and around the doorway of the room, more than one groaning at the rough treatment they’d suffered in the sudden rush of water.  At least the flames of the oil slick had been extinguished in the deluge, leaving one small blessing.  

“What… what happened?” Elly asked, shaking her head where an ugly bruise was already forming across her temple.  Ruath and Varrus were jumbled together in the open doorway, and disentangled themselves slowly, shaken but not seriously hurt.

“Dana, Delem?” Cal said, when he realized that the two weren’t in the corridor with them.  

“We’re all right,” Dana’s voice came in reply from deeper in the room.  A few moments later she and the sorcerer appeared in the doorway, soaked but hale.  

“Elly’s hurt,” Cal said, “And it looks like Benzan took a bit of a beating.”

“I’m okay,” the tiefling said, his pride hurting more than anything else.  None of the others chastised him for opening the door, however, as they gathered their gear and their wits and the clerics tended to those who were injured.  

Within a few minutes they were ready to head out again.  Although they were wet, tired, and somewhat battered, each of them felt a strange sense of anticipation, an almost tangible feeling that they were close to their final destination.  Working together, Lok and Benzan were able to lift the heavy bronze grate enough for them all to slip past.  There was another stone door in the side of the corridor, but wary of unleashing another flood of water, they bypassed that portal for now and headed down the stairs.  The continuing steam from below made it difficult to see, and the rough-hewn steps were slick with water, but they pressed on cautiously and soon emerged into a large cavern.  

The thickly cloying currents of steam that ran up into the stairway from below made it impossible to discern any details about the cavern, but it was evident that the place was of considerable size.  They had nearly reached the floor of the cavern, cautiously watching their steps on the slick stone of the stair, before the cloud of steam cleared enough for them to examine the cavern more closely. 

The cavern was one huge open space, a bubble in the rock under the island.  Their light sources only brightened a small portion of its expanse, but what they could see was enough to give them all pause.  Most of the cavern floor was taken up by a harsh landscape of bubbling mud, pools of boiling water, and ledges and terraces formed by the gradual accumulation of minerals on the rough stone edges around the walls.  Tenuous pathways formed of mineral crusts created a maze of sorts through the central area of the room, connecting the different ledges and terraces around the edges.  Geysers of hot mud and steaming water shot high up into the air periodically, indicating that the elemental energies at work under the volcano were not entirely dormant, at least not in this place.  Occasionally they could make out flashes of ruddy light in the rear of the chamber as the movements of water and mud brought superheated liquid and air to the surface, followed moments later by an energetic burst of spray or another geyser.

“Nice place,” Benzan quipped.  “Why do I have the feeling that we are going to find the Well of Worlds on the other side of… _that_?”

“There’s still some more areas on the upper level that we haven’t fully explored,” Elly ventured.  

“The water-walking spell has expired,” Ruath said.  “I can pray again for it tomorrow, but we might as well look around while we’re down here.”

“Trust to luck?” Cal said to her, and the halfling cleric finally nodded, her lips twisting in only the faintest hint of a smile.  Even so, Cal was glad to see it.  

“I can feel… _something_ here, a source of power,” Dana said, her eyes growing slightly out of focus as if she was seeing something beyond the confines of the cavern.  “There are currents of energy here, can’t you feel them?”

“I can feel that this place gives me the creeps,” Benzan said.  “Let’s find what we can and get out of here.”  The tiefling checked his bow and sword and moved out into the lead, heading for the base of the stairs below them.  

The others followed close behind, ready for anything.  

Or so they thought.


----------



## Horacio (Mar 28, 2002)

Cool battle, fast flowing water currents, more secret passages...

What an update!


----------



## Broccli_Head (Mar 29, 2002)

Can't wait until the "or so they thought" is revealed. 

No deaths in several posts....does that mean a few in the next one?


----------



## Lazybones (Mar 29, 2002)

Horacio and Broccli_Head (and you lurkers too who keep reading): thanks guys!  And now it's time for the climactic scene of Book III...  (it required several takes, and went way over budget, but boy, was it worth it!)

[cue dramatic music, please]

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 31

Cautiously the companions moved out into the vast open space of the underground cavern.  The air was hot and tinged with a faint hint of sulfur, making even just breathing an effort.  The stone surface of the floor at the end of the stairs formed a slightly sloping ledge that culminated in the edge of the pits of boiling mud and water a stone’s throw away.  The ledge was white with calcified mineral deposits, and was slick, forcing them to make their way with great care.  Steam still rose from the ground around them where the water from above had slushed over the hot surface on its way to rejoin the bubbling pools at the edge of the ledge.  

The only apparent route ahead lay to the right along the edge of the cavern, where a narrow ledge ran out over the boiling mass below.  Benzan probed ahead carefully with the magical spear, testing the strength and stability of the ground beneath them.  The light that Cal had placed on the spearhead had faded, but Benzan’s eyes needed no illumination to guide his steps.  Their magic-users had studied many such light spells that morning, however, and several magical glows among the other companions provided sufficient brightness for the others to clearly see where they were going.  

Soon the ledge gave way to a pathway fashioned of mineral-encrusted stone that led out over the mud flats and boiling pools, forming a corridor just a few feet above the steaming cauldron to each side.  Benzan regarded the path dubiously, but it supported both the prodding of his spear and the weight of his person, and he reported to the others that the route was sound.  

“Looks like there’s a number of these pathways across,” he told them, his vision extending past the radius of their lights to see well into the depths of the chamber.  The raised areas divided the floor of the room into numerous separate depressions where the boiling mud and geyser springs lay.  Even he could not see the far wall, however, or determine how deeply the cavern extended into the bedrock of the island.  

“All right, let’s go, then,” Cal suggested, “but keep a space between you, and watch for any dangerous spots in the path.  All this activity might have undermined the stone separating the different pools.”

Lok had taken a length of rope from his bag of holding, and tucked it into his belt.  Elly noticed it, and said, “Should we tie ourselves together, in case someone slips?”

Cal considered the idea.  “I don’t think so—that might work against us as well as for us.  Keep the rope handy, though, in case there is a mishap.”

They spread out in a line after Benzan as the tiefling led them into the depths of the chamber.  At places they could see great pillars where dripping stalactites had finally reached stalagmites rising up from the floor, and other strange formations created by the accumulation left by the flows of mineral-rich water over long periods of time.  Soon they had left the reassuring presence of the cavern wall behind them, and they moved into the vast open core of the place.  The ceiling formed a bubble far above them, beyond the range of both their lights and Benzan and Lok’s darkvision.  

Soon the twisting course of the pathway led them to a relatively flat space of open stone, perhaps twenty feet across.  They gathered there, each fighting against the potent smells that caused their vision to swim and their heads to pound.  From their vantage several additional raised stone pathways running above the pits ran out in several directions, dividing the roiling pools around them into numerous discrete areas.  Benzan thought he caught a glimpse of the far side of the cavern from the edge of the stone island, but before he could report that discovery to the others, he felt a strange sensation pass through him.  

_Benzan,_ a voice said within his mind, a voice cloying and luring and somehow… familiar…  _Why do you seek to avoid your destiny?  Come to us, child of the outer realms, come to us…_

The world seemed to spin around him slightly, and he was only faintly aware of someone calling his name.  Then, however, awareness cut through the haze overlaying his thoughts like a sharp knife, and both the sensation and the voice vanished.  He could feel, however, a faint buzzing noise in the back of his mind, driving away the alien tinge, and felt a familiar presence at his side, calling him back to his duty.

“What is it, Benzan?” he heard the other voice again—Cal’s voice, familiar and friendly, trusting.  Not like the phantom that had twice now tried to sway him.

“They’re here, close…” he said in dawning horror, realizing now what the source of the voices was.  “The things—the statue—they’re here!”

Even as he turned to warn his friends, though, he saw it.  Nearly covered over in hot mud, its form immersed in the roiling pool, a man-sized form that was both familiar and utterly alien at the same time, a form that they’d all seen once before.  It was a replica of the statue they’d destroyed in the chamber above, only this one was moving, and living.  It wasn’t far, maybe thirty feet away, but the boiling mud formed an effective moat between it and the party.  

_The kopru…_ Benzan thought, although how he knew its name was utterly beyond him.  

The sight of the thing nearly stole his will to act, and as its bulbous eyes met his he momentarily felt small, insignificant in the face of an ancient and alien intelligence.  The emotion passed quickly, though, and as he thought of it manipulating him and his friends through its mental whispers that feeling of helplessness was replaced by anger, and he reached for his bow. 

“There—kill it!” he yelled in warning, gesturing toward the creature even as his fingers dipped into his quiver for an arrow.  

Delem was just a short distance away, next to the reassuring solidity of Lok.  He heard Benzan’s warning and followed the tiefling’s gaze toward the form half-hidden in the mud.  Without the tiefling’s enhanced senses, he couldn’t mark clearly what it was, but he knew Benzan well enough to trust his instincts.  The sorcerer opened himself to his magic, calling upon the words that would invoke a stream of fire to destroy whatever it was, whatever threatened him and his companions.  

Lost in his magic, he didn’t notice when Lok turned slowly around to face him, a strange look on his face.  

A few steps further back, Cal couldn’t fully see what was going on along the farther edge of the platform.  He saw Benzan stop, heard him say something that was lost over the noise of the cavern around them.  Lok, too, had stopped, and behind him Delem, the sorcerer’s tall form blocking Cal’s view.  Behind him, Varrus, Ruath, and Elly were gathered back in the center of the stone island, while Dana, who had been bringing up the rear, was still standing along the edges of the path over which they’d just come.   Even as Cal started to move around Delem, however, Benzan shouted a clear warning, gesturing toward a patch of mud a short distance ahead of him and to the right.  Almost immediately Cal heard chanting coming from Delem, and Cal quickly moved to join his companions against whatever threat lurked.  

For some reason, however, Lok was just standing there, hesitating.  Then he turned, and Cal’s eyes widened when he saw the unfamiliar look in the genasi’s eyes. 

“Lok, what are you…”

He didn’t get to finish his statement as Lok swept his mighty axe around, the gleaming blade leaving a sparkling trail of frost-flakes in its wake.  Reflex took over for thought as Cal reached out and pulled at Delem’s cloak, drawing him suddenly back.  The action saved the unaware sorcerer from what could only have been a killing blow, but even so the head of the weapon drew a deep gash in Delem’s side, releasing a spray of frozen red droplets into the air as the two fell back.  

Benzan’s eyes were drawn away from his target by the sounds of battle behind him, and they widened in horror as he watched Lok strike down Delem.  He took a step toward them before he realized that there was little he could do against the genasi, save shoot him with the very arrow he was holding.  Understanding of what was happening drew his anger back to the creature still visible just a short distance away, and in one smooth motion he drew, sighted, and fired.  

The arrow slammed into the creature hard, the powerful pull of Benzan’s bow driving the missile deep into its shoulder.  It reared back in obvious pain, and Benzan could hear an echoing roar from Lok, confirming the link between the monster and his friend’s inexplicable actions.  Benzan reached for another arrow, trying to outrace the deadly workings of his own comrade’s axe.  

After knocking down Delem, Lok did not hesitate in his attack, barreling forward into the midst of his friends.  Delem staggered into Cal, who was desperately trying to reach for one of his wands while keeping the sorcerer from falling into the boiling springs next to the path.  Lok followed and struck again, hitting Delem once more with a blow that cut deep into his back and knocked him roughly prone, his lifeblood pouring freely out onto the already slick stone.  Even as Cal lifted his wand of color spray, Lok brought his blade back in his typically deadly backstroke, the lower edge of the weapon clipping Cal’s shoulder and knocking him roughly aside.  Cal felt pain tear through him as the magical chill of the weapon cut him to the bone, and as he staggered he slipped on the wet rock and fell.  He would have slid into the boiling mud if Elly hadn’t grabbed onto him and pulled him back up to the surface of the path. 

“What’s happening?” Elly cried, her voice riding a knife’s edge of panic.

“Something’s controlling him!” Cal shouted, almost unable to hear his own voice over the pounding of his blood in his ears.  The gnome looked up, fighting through the pain of his wound, and saw that Ruath had stepped calmly forward, striding over the prone form of Delem to confront the raging and deadly genasi.

“Ruath, no!” Cal cried, the halfling’s slight form seeming insignificant indeed against the elemental power of the heavily armored genasi warrior.

But even as Lok raised his axe to strike down the cleric, she raised a hand and called upon the power of Tymora to dispel the fell power that was controlling their friend.  The Lady’s Luck was with her, for the energies of her spell were released the barest instant before the point of no return, and as the strange glow in Lok’s eyes faded the axe’s arc changed and the weapon sliced harmlessly—if only by barest inches—above the halfling’s head.  

Benzan fired again, hesitating only to set another missile to his bowstring as he sent arrow after arrow into his target with deadly accuracy.  Already two arrows jutted from its body, and while a third had been turned by its thick, leathery skin, it was clear that the attacks were having an effect.  The creature was giving ground, swimming through the hot mud with little difficulty, but Benzan continued to track it, scoring another hit on its flank as it tried to escape.  The mud pits were chaotic and active, but apparently not especially deep.  

Intent on his enemy, Benzan didn’t see the form that charged at him from behind.

“Benzan, look out!” Dana cried.  But it was too late for him to do anything as Varrus slammed hard into him, the burly sailor’s momentum carrying them both off of the path and into the boiling mud below.  

Delem stirred, feeling the familiar tingle of Kossuth’s divine power sending life back into his ravaged body.  He was still weak, but he fought through that weakness as the divine energy renewed him and brought him back to consciousness.  When he saw Lok standing just a few feet away he felt a current of fear run through him, but he belatedly realized that the genasi was no longer attacking, and in fact was helping Elly pull Cal back up from the brink of the platform up to his feet.  He sensed rather than saw the motion within the mud pits a short distance away, a reminder of where the true threat lay.  

It took him an effort to stand, but he managed to do so.  Instead of calling upon healing magic to steady himself, he drew upon the more primal side of his power, the raging elemental fury that burned deep within his soul.  He could see the creature swimming through the mud, several of Benzan’s arrows stuck within it.  It had drawn off some distance, but now it was coming closer again, its opponents thrown into confusion by its mental assault.  Benzan had stopped firing, but Delem focused on the creature, calling on the flames.  

A stream of fire crossed from his hand and engulfed the thing, the tendrils of flame eagerly sweeping around its form.  When they had faded, however, the thing was still there, unharmed, and too late Delem realized his mistake.

_Fool!  The thing _lives_ in boiling mud!_ he berated himself mentally.  He was momentarily at a loss, then reached for an item that had laid forgotten in his pouch since their defeat of the minotaur and his pirates a month and more past.

Benzan felt hot pain all over his body as the searing mud and boiling water splashed all around him.  The mud buoyed him somewhat, keeping him from going completely under, but that was little comfort as the sizzling liquid quickly soaked through his garments and scalded his skin underneath.  His natural resistance offered some protection against the heat, but it was clear that even he wouldn’t last long in this mess.

Varrus still clung to him, the sailor thrashing as the boiling spring scorched his unprotected flesh.  His weight and flailing legs threatened to drag both of them under the surface, but Benzan managed to twist free enough to drive an elbow into the man’s face, loosening his grasp enough for Benzan to draw away from the hapless sailor.  He immediately plunged his hand into the boiling water, ignoring the pain as he reached for the hilt of his sword.  He knew that the power was waiting for his command, but he still had to touch the weapon to initiate its magic.  

It came at his touch, however, and he quickly rose up out of the pit, the hot mud releasing him reluctantly with a harsh sucking sound.  Even as he started to levitate up into the air, however, he suddenly lurched to a stop.  The tiefling looked down to see Varrus clinging to his legs.  The man’s eyes were wide with pain and terror, the magical domination of the kopru broken in the face of his immanent death.  

“Please, help me!” the man cried, his grip tightening even as his weight started to drag Benzan back down into the blistering mix of mud and water.  

Although Delem’s magical attack had been unsuccessful, his companions quickly joined in assisting him against the creature.  Lok drew out his powerful longbow from his bag of holding, and after quickly stringing the weapon sent his first arrow darting toward the partially submerged kopru.  The arrow struck true, thudding into the creature’s chest, and it let out a cry that was purely inhuman agony.  Even as the genasi continued the barrage Dana had rushed to aid Benzan, who was struggling with Varrus in the mud pit a half-dozen paces away, well out of their reach.  Dana’s face twisted in frustration as she regarded the swirling mix of mud and water, the heat rushing up to reach her even atop the solid perch of the stone.  Even as she considered a dangerous course to aid the tiefling, however, she saw another dark form rise up out of the mud a short distance away, on the other side of the stone island to her left.  The hackles rose up on her neck as she realized that the shadowy form was a second creature, close enough so that Dana could see its milky white eyes blink as it stared at her.  The intelligence in those eyes was otherworldly, but the malevolence there was plain to see. 

“There’s another one!” she cried in warning, reaching for her crossbow, cursing as she fumbled with her injured hand.  

After freeing Lok of the first kopru’s sinister enchantment, Ruath had turned immediately to Cal, calling forth a powerful spell to heal his injury.  The halfling turned next to Delem, but Dana’s cry forestalled her.  Cal looked at her, and at Elly, hovering just a few feet behind the two short folk, her own crossbow clutched in shaking hands.  

“Go,” he told them, “help Benzan—I’ll aid Lok and Delem.”  As the two women rushed to Dana’s aid, Cal turned to his embattled friends.  

Having already witnessed the mental prowess of these strange adversaries, Cal doubted that his illusions would have much effect on them.  Realizing that their mental power was their most dangerous weapon, he reached down into a pouch and took out a wand that he had not used since purchasing it back in Memnon.  He had faith in his own and Delem’s ability to resist the weird pull of the creatures’ call, but Lok had already proven himself vulnerable, and Ruath’s spell of dispel magic did not confer a lasting resistance.  He stepped up and called upon the power of the wand, laying a protective ward on the genasi that would hopefully bolster his own resistance against the power of mental domination exercised by their opponents.  That done, he turned to another talent that could bolster his friends against these enemies.  Fighting down his own fears, he began to sing, a rousing song of camaraderie and unity against dark foes.  The song was his own, with many of its examples from their own adventures, stories of terrible enemies defeated through common action.  He felt his heart lift as he loaded his trusty crossbow, moving up beside Delem as the sorcerer fired magic missiles from a wand at the hideous form of the kopru.  The creature’s mental probes found only determined resistance against its ready and aware foes, and it turned to retreat once again.  But the deadly barrage from its enemies continued unabated, and finally as an arrow, magic missile, and crossbow bolt each struck home in rapid succession it let out a final cry and sagged into a motionless lump that slowly sank beneath the surface of the mud.  

Benzan felt the heat rise up through his legs as Varrus pulled him back down into the boiling pool.  A gout of steam rose up from a nearby geyser, scalding both of them but doing nothing to loosen the desperate sailor’s grip.  His skin was already red and peeling, his face a mask of pain as his eyes locked onto Benzan’s again.

“Please…”

Benzan twisted, pulling one leg free, and with a swift motion slammed his boot down into the man’s face.  

Varrus crumpled and screamed, falling back into the scalding mud.  Released of the man’s grasp, Benzan levitated quickly up into the air, away from the roiling surface of the pit.  He’d dropped his bow when Varrus had hit him, and without the ability to move laterally, it seemed that for the moment at least, he was out of the fight.  

Ruath and Elly moved to join Dana as she faced off against the second creature.  Dana finally managed to get a bolt loaded into her bow, but her shot went wide, splashing harmlessly into the mud.  Elly, too, fired, but her missile glanced off the creature’s thick hide, also to no effect.  The creature took the three of them in, its dark gaze seeing deep into their very souls.  

Dana felt a tingle along the edges of her perceptions, an intrusion that sought to lull her mind with whispered promises and twisted words.  Dana’s mind, however, was fortified both by the strength of will and divine grace common to all of Selûne’s clergy, and the discipline instilled by her monastic training.  Beyond that, her more recent calling as a mystic wanderer made her all but immune to the mental domination of the kopru, and its attempt to seize control of her slid off her mind like water running off of stone.  

Ruath stepped forward, her mouth twisting in disgust at the evil represented in the form of the monstrosity before her.  Two spells burned in her memory, divine magic that would aid against such an abomination.  The first was a protective ward, much like the one that Cal had placed upon Lok, except that its power would surround her and those around her with aid against the attacks and mental powers of the creature.  But confronted by the evil of the creature, Ruath chose to attack, beginning an intricate summoning that would bring an ally to fight against the creature.  The spell was a more powerful version of the spell she used to bring the celestial badgers, and in fact she’d initially memorized it to call upon a massive dire badger to aid her and her companions in their battles.  In this context, however, another sort of ally was called for, and she cast her perceptions out to the elemental planes, using Tymora’s power to draw upon a creature that could confront the kopru on its own ground. 

It was a fateful choice.  

Elly came up behind Ruath, her unloaded crossbow falling forgotten to the stone along with the bolt she’d taken from her quiver.  Dana sensed something and started to turn, but she could not react in time to stop the half-elven woman from picking up Ruath, and hurling her bodily into the pit of bubbling mud directly ahead of them. 

Directly toward the waiting arms of the kopru.  

“Elly—what—” Dana began, but even as the words faltered she already understood, her thoughts catching up to the reality of what had happened.  She had to defend herself, however, as Elly drew her cutlass and came at her, lunging clumsily with the weapon.  

Ruath screamed as she splashed into the boiling water and mud, the hot liquid drawing painful burns across her exposed skin.  She tried to fight through the pain, focusing her not-inconsiderable will upon the task of retreating back to the edge of the stone platform, just a few yards away.  But the mud clung to her, slowing her movements, and the weight of her chain shirt and pack tugged her down until she was almost completely submerged.  She could see Elly and Dana fighting, the monk trying to take down the controlled half-elf without seriously harming her.  Ruath knew that the true danger lay behind her, but she refused to look back, pushing herself slowly toward the safety that remained mockingly out of reach.  

Then she could sense the form looming behind her, and knew it was too late. 

The two battles on the opposite sides of the stone island had taken place in the same moments of time, each group of three companions facing one of the deadly creatures.  Benzan, now hovering a spear’s length over the battlefield, out above one of the mud pits, found himself in the middle, safe for the moment but unable to intervene.  He saw that Lok, Cal, and Delem had the first kopru well in hand, the creature failing as the companions’ attacks continued to ravage it.  He watched with horror, however, as Elly tossed Ruath toward the second creature, and for a moment he nearly tossed aside his sword, willing to fall back down into the mud in order to reach the battle.  He looked up, considering levitating to the top of the cavern and then using the ceiling to adjust his position back over the stone island, but that would take far too long, he knew.  

Then an idea came to him, and without hesitation he started to put it into action.  

Ruath turned bravely to face the kopru, drawing her mace up out of the sticking mud and thrusting it up into the puckered mouth of the creature.  The blow actually did some damage, but it was not enough to stop it as it lunged into her, its long tentacles lashing around her body.  The halfling woman screamed as the tentacles wrapped around her and crushed her, the thin claws at the tip of each tentacle digging into her flesh and tearing the skin underneath.  

Dana spun into a low sweeping kick that knocked Elly off of her feet, sending her cutlass flying.  Dana immediately turned back to where Ruath had fallen under the attacking form of the creature, but was brought up short as the tenacious sailor grabbed at her ankle.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Lok, Cal, and Delem were coming, finally, and she prayed that they would not be too late to help Ruath.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she slammed her fist down into Elly’s face, knocking her unconscious.

Benzan felt the surge of magic fill him as he completed his spell.  As it had with his bow, the kopru that was ravaging Ruath seemed to grow suddenly larger in his sight, until each tiny twitch in its muscles seemed to stand out to his enhanced perceptions.  With a snap of his wrist his arm came forward, launching his scimitar in an end-over-end motion at the creature.  The preternatural anticipation granted by the spell of true strike enabled the otherwise unwieldy missile to fly true to its target, and the magically keen weapon tore into the kopru’s body at the precise moment that it reared up in the mud, dragging Ruath’s struggling form with it.  It writhed in pain as it clutched at the curved blade that stuck through its chest and out its back, trying to draw it out with its webbed hands.  

But before it could draw out Benzan’s blade, a long arrow slammed into the creature’s throat, drawing a sibilant gurgle from it.  Lok and the others had arrived to aid their companions.  Delem, his face a pale mask as he struggled against the serious injuries he still bore, fired another magic missile from the wand, which blasted another small opening in its body.  Cal rushed forward, but it wasn’t clear what he could do to aid Ruath.  The kopru had turned away and was even now trying to retreat, bearing Ruath along with it.  

Dana finally tore free from Elly’s unconscious grip and ran forward.  She called upon the magical power of Selûne, feeling the divine energies fill her, increasing her speed dramatically.  Without hesitation she leapt out over the pit, landing in the mud a dozen yards short of where the kopru was lurching awkwardly away.  Ignoring the burning pain that savaged her, the young woman splashed through the mud and water and started closing the gap between them.  

Lok, meanwhile, kept up his barrage, striking the creature again, this time in the back.  Another arrow went wide, narrowly missing, but the creature was already failing from the effects of its wounds.   Cal turned his attention to Delem, who fired off one more magic missile before he sagged wearily to the ground, the loss of blood from his wounds finally threatening to overcome him again.  

The creature sensed Dana coming toward it and turned to face her.  The young woman felt a momentary wave of mental energies wash over her, but the creature’s attack was ineffective.  She prepared to strike at it even as it released Ruath and started to lash its tentacles out at her, but before they could meet another arrow caught it solidly in the head, and with a final halting screech it fell over backward into the mud, dead. 

Without a pause Dana dove for Ruath, grabbing the unmoving halfling as she started to slip under the surface of the mud.  She grabbed onto Ruath and managed to turn back toward the stone island.  Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she felt light-headed from the heat and the gases that filled the air around her, but she determinedly started pushing her way through the boiling pool back toward the others.  The stone platform seemed miles away, however, and she could feel herself growing weaker with each passing instant.

“Dana!  Grab the rope!” Cal yelled, as Lok hurled a length of rope out toward her.  It landed close enough by for her to lunge out for it, and grab it with her good hand.  She was barely able to maintain her grip on Ruath, held under her other arm, as the rope grew taut and Dana felt herself sliding rapidly over the mud toward the others.  

When Lok pulled her to the edge of the stone platform, Cal and Benzan were there to pull her up.  Delem had finally been able to toss another rope to Benzan, drawing him over to the edge of the platform so he could levitate back down to them.  They dragged her and Ruath onto an open space of stone, which steamed as the hot mud from their bodies splashed on the wet rock.  Dana felt herself sagging into unconsciousness, but forced herself to cling to awareness until Cal had examined Ruath.  

“She’s dead,” she heard the gnome say, and then she herself fell away into blackness.


----------



## Thorntangle (Mar 29, 2002)

Great update!  Well worth the the bloated budget.  I guess now they'll never complete their quest and Cal will have to go back to the nether-worlds


----------



## Lazybones (Apr 1, 2002)

Hey readers--
Was going to do an April Fools Post, but since I just killed a MAJOR CHARACTER (well, semi-major) I decided to restrain myself.  D'oh!  Besides, our mods are yukking it up enough for all of us, I think!  Anyway, here's post 32, and I'll have 33 (the FINAL post of Book III) up in a few days.
LB

* * * * * 



Book III, Part 32

The companions gathered in grim silence around the body of their fallen companion.  Dana and Delem had been restored by healing magic, but none of them felt fully whole in the face of the death that had once again taken one of them.  Two, really, as Varrus’s body had been claimed by the mud, but none of them had truly felt a sense of connection to the abrasive and selfish sailor.  Ruath had also been standoffish, even curt, but somehow her taciturn nature had not been able to keep her from truly becoming one of them.  Cal seemed particularly hard hit, as he had made repeated efforts to break through the halfling woman’s tough shell and find out what sort of person she was inside.  They could all remember times when her spells had dragged one of them back from the brink of death, and how, despite her cynicism, she was always at the forefront of any confrontation, not shying from foes many times her size.  They thought of the summoned badgers she’d often call to their aid, and the jokes Benzan had made about those otherworldly but very welcome allies.   

And now, she was gone.  

Rather than remain exposed on the flat shelf of stone out in the middle of the cavern, they’d hastily healed Dana and Delem using Dana’s wand, and then retreated to one of the terraced ledges that Benzan identified along the far wall of the place.  There were three such terraces that they could see, one to the west, one to the north, and one to the south.  They’d gone west, in part because Benzan thought he could see a dark opening in the cavern wall at the back of the topmost ledge.  They’d brought Ruath’s body with them and made their way up to that opening.  They were alert for any more signs of additional kopru, but apparently there had only been the pair dwelling in the place, for there were no other attacks or attempts at mental domination.  They reached the western terrace safely, and found a natural passage that twisted back into the stone.  They traveled only far enough in to find a sheltered alcove just off the main passage, and set up camp there.  

They had spent a wary and uneasy time resting there, recovering their magic and resting from the ordeal that they had just been through.  And now, as they gathered again over the body of their fallen companion, they faced more questions—and more choices.

“Well, it seems that we have at least one answer to the many questions we had about Ruath,” Cal said grimly to his friends.  The light of their lamp—a crude device fashioned from a metal cup and some of the oil left in Lok’s bag of holding—cast a flickering pall of his features and those of his companions.  They had studied additional light spells, but wanted to save those for when they inevitably had to set out once again.  

Cal held out a fist, which opened to reveal a small silver pin.  Even in the bad light the ensign that the pin was shaped into was obvious and instantly recognizable to the companions.  A silver harp was set inside a slivered moon, with four stars forming a diamond around it.  

“Ruath was a Harper?” Delem said with amazement.  As they thought back to what they knew of the woman, though, it seemed to make sense in retrospect.  

“Apparently so,” Cal said.  “She told me, once, a little bit about her mission.  She was sent to meet with some powerful individuals that she didn’t name, down in Chult.  Whatever the purpose of that meeting, she felt it was very important.  

“Important enough to die for?” Benzan asked.

“Apparently so,” Cal said.  “In any case, we can’t judge her, or her motives, since we know little of them.”

“What should we do… I mean, with her body?” Lok asked. 

“I suggest we bring her back with us,” Cal said.  “Perhaps, if we can return to Faerûn in time…  Dana has prayed for a spell that will preserve her, at least for a few days.”  He didn’t have to explain further; they had used a similar spell to preserve Cal’s body when he’d been killed by the cleric of Cyric in Elturel.  

Elly sat a short distance away from them, her head bowed.  She had been disconsolate ever since the end of the battle, when a healing spell from the wand had restored her to consciousness.  In their retreat and during their rest she’d hardly spoken, and now seemed consumed by a deep depression that hung over her like a cloud.

“Elly,” Benzan said.  The young woman didn’t stir. 

“Elly,” Benzan repeated, more forcefully.  She looked up, and saw that all of them—all of her companions—had gathered, behind the tiefling.  

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.  

“Well, we need to talk about it,” he said.  “It’s not your fault she died, Elly.  You were controlled by those things—just like Lok, and Varrus.”  His face darkened slightly at the memory, and although his friends had not laid any blame for his actions on him, Benzan had discovered during their rest that what had happened between him and Varrus could not be put aside so easily.  In particular, two pain-filled eyes and a single desperate plea hovered at the edges of his mind, and he suspected they would not fade soon.  

“But…” she started to say.

“No, Elly,” Benzan interrupted her.  “We all cared about Ruath—for all she tried to keep us at arm’s length, she was a friend and an important member of our company.  But she’s dead, and the rest of us are still living.  If we’re going to get out of here, we need to bind closer together, fight together to get free of this damned place.”

She met his eyes, and then lowered her head.  She nodded, and the tears flowed freely down her cheeks as Benzan wrapped her up in a supportive embrace.  

* * * * * 

They remained a little longer in the alcove, before setting out again.  Benzan wanted to go back briefly to the cavern, to scout out the terraces that they had bypassed.  They were reluctant to return to that place, but Benzan seemed strangely insistent.  For a moment they even feared that he was being influenced again by other kopru, but a test by Dana revealed no evil presences about him.  Even Benzan couldn’t give a clear reason why he wanted to return, but he said that he had a “feeling” that there was something important that they were missing.  If any of the others noticed that his hand clutched on the hilt of his sword when he said it, none of them said anything.  

They returned to the site of their confrontation with the kopru.  The cavern seemed unchanged from before, with the same roiling mud and geysering water amidst the stone pathways and massive pillars.  They passed the spot where the kopru had slain.  Benzan cast a single wistful glance where the second creature had died.  His magical scimitar was gone, lost somewhere under the mass of boiling mud.  

They first examined the southern terrace, but found only a pool of boiling water with edges encrusted with calcium deposits.  As they made their way up to the northern terrace, however, Benzan suddenly took on a focused look.  

“There’s something up there,” he said quietly.  

“What?  An enemy?” Cal asked.  

“No, not a foe,” the tiefling replied.  “Something metal.”

The gnome looked at him cryptically, but didn’t challenge him.  They pressed on up the tiered ledges, until they reached the top level high up along the wall of the cavern.  The view was quite impressive, but they’d already lost whatever sense of wonder had initially accompanied their arrival into this place.  

The ledge was dominated by a large rock formation that vaguely resembled a throne, situated directly under a long dangling stalactite that thrust down like a dagger from the ceiling high above.  As they drew closer, however, they saw that the stone object _was_ a throne, a massive stone chair hewn out of solid blocks of granite.  And sitting in the throne…

“It’s a skeleton!” Dana exclaimed in surprise.  

The others approached cautiously, and saw that Dana’s observation was accurate.  Seated in the throne, facing out into the cavern behind them, was the heavily encrusted form of what had once been a man.  At least the collection of bones looked human, although whatever details might be gleaned from the skeleton were masked by untold ages of accumulated minerals that had dripped down from the stalactite above.  

“I wonder who he was,” Cal said to no one in particular, his eyes seeing the lost tales of ancient glories that might reside in the ancient figure left here to face the silent passage of the ages.  “What are you doing, Benzan?” he asked, as the tiefling moved to the front of the throne.  

“There’s something here,” he said.  “I can sense it.”

The others gathered closer—keeping one wary eye on the skeleton as they did so—and saw what the tiefling had identified, a long straight object that was propped up against the front of the throne and was completely hidden in a thick white layer of calcium deposits.  

“Careful, there might be a trap,” Cal cautioned, but by the time his statement was completed, Benzan had already grabbed the object and tugged it free from the clinging deterius that coated the throne and the area around it.  Cal shrugged and threw up his hands—Benzan was Benzan.  At least nothing seemed to happen when he finally was able to wrench his prize free.  He held it up and examined it, then struck it against one stone arm of the throne.  The blow resulted in a solid metallic clang, and as a large chunk of encrusted minerals came away they could all see that the item was another bronze sword, similar to the pair they already carried with them, marked with arcane runes down its length and carrying with it a sense of great age and latent power.  

“How did you know it was there?” Delem asked him.

“I could sense it there, somehow,” Benzan said.  “I think…” he paused, and glanced down at the blade at his hip.  “I think the sword detected it, somehow.”

“Interesting,” Cal said.  “Your weapon has a few surprises left in it, it would seem.”  

“Maybe the weapons are linked, somehow,” Dana suggested.  

“Well, we didn’t sense anything about the one that the chief of the tribesmen was using,” Delem said.  Lok carried that weapon now, secure in his bag of holding.  “Clearly there’s more to these swords that is evident at first glance.  Perhaps we should be cautious with them, until we can identify them more thoroughly.”

The others nodded, but Benzan, who continued to examine the new sword, acted as though he hadn’t heard the comment.  Finally, as the others watched him, he let the sword drop to his side.  “All right,” he said, “We’ll take it with us, then, and check it out later.”  

Cal, meanwhile, had cast a minor cantrip, and he continued to regard the sword with a look of concentration on his face.  “It is magical,” he said, “though that’s hardly surprising I suppose, given that it’s so well preserved.”  He gestured for Benzan to lift the weapon again, and the tiefling did so, holding it out before him.  “Strange,” Cal finally added.  “I can sense the typical aura of a magical weapon, but there’s something else as well… a potent abjuration.”

“Abjuration?” Elly asked.

“A school of magic that deals with various forms of protection,” Delem told her.  Although his own use of magic was less scholarly than Cal’s—or even Benzan’s—he’d been learning, and his own spellcraft was rapidly advancing with each step of his own power in arcane magic.  

“What sort of protection magic does the sword carry?” Lok asked.  

“I don’t know,” Cal said.  “As Delem said, we’ll have to wait until we can identify it more thoroughly.  Until then, however, it might be better to keep it stored, rather than risk using it.”  He nodded to Benzan, and the tiefling handed the sword over to Lok so that he could wrap it up for secure storage in the bag of holding.  

While they were doing that, however, Cal’s attention had turned back to the skeleton, which had not reacted in any way to their retrieval of the sword.  Delem, however, noted the gnome’s interest.  “What is it?” he asked.

“I can sense another magical aura here,” he said.  “It’s…” he paused, and closed his eyes briefly in concentration, “right there,” he finally said, pointing to one arm of the throne where one of the skeleton’s hands rested under a layer of white deposits.  

“Well, let’s just see what it I then,” Benzan said.  He reached up and started working at the spot with his dagger.

“So much for not being grave robbers,” Dana said dryly as the skeleton’s hand snapped free of its body.  

“It’s a ring,” Benzan said, working it free of the skeleton’s hand and holding it up for them to see.  It was a simple band of unmarked bronze, but they already knew it to be natural.  

“What kind of magic does it possess, Cal?” Delem asked.  

“Transmutation, I think,” the gnome reported after a few moments.  “It could be many things—some of which could be quite dangerous.  Perhaps we should store it safely away as well, until we get a chance to examine it more fully.”

“Here, Delem, I’ve already got a magic ring,” Benzan said, tossing it lightly to the surprised sorcerer.  Delem barely managed to catch it before it fell to the slick ground, and he held it cupped in his hands as if it might try to bite him.

“Just keep it safe until we have a chance to test its power,” Cal said.  

After a quick follow-up search of the area around the throne, which turned up nothing more of note, the companions retraced their steps and headed back down the corridor to the west, the light of one of Cal’s spells guiding their steps.


----------



## CoopersPale (Apr 3, 2002)

Just saving you from falling off the first page Lazybones.

Still reading. Still Love yer werk 

I love the way you've been slowly killing all the "peripheral" characters.... 

Only Elly remains...

hehe

cheers

Bludgeon


----------



## Maldur (Apr 3, 2002)

Cant wait to read the climax of the story!

I wonder what will be their next challenge.

Laterz, maldur


----------



## Horacio (Apr 3, 2002)

Elly is alive! Elly is alive!

Great updates, Lazybones.
And thanks for keeping her alive


----------



## Lazybones (Apr 3, 2002)

Bludgeon said:
			
		

> *I love the way you've been slowly killing all the "peripheral" characters.... *




Heh-- you guys sure are bloodthirsty!    I have to admit, I took a certain gruesome pleasure killing off some of the "redshirts."  (It was easier when they were nameless sailors, though... harder to kill off an established character)  Thanks for the praise, and here's the final chapter of Book III...

* * * * * 

Book III, Part 33

The final corridor ran deeper into the island for about fifty yards before slanting upward into a difficult but manageable ascent.  The walls of the passageway were smooth, but did not bear the mark of tools.  Lok commented that it might have been formed by volcanic action long ago.  

“We must be nearing the surface,” Benzan commented, and in fact they could shortly see a glow up ahead, which resolved into a larger space opening up off the corridor up ahead.  

The companions slogged up the final stretch of sloping passage to emerge into a large natural chamber, rather smaller than the cavern where they’d fought the kopru but significant nonetheless, perhaps eighty feet across at its widest point.  In the rear of the place the uneven natural rock gave way to worked stone, including a cracked dome through which several bright shafts of sunlight could be seen filtering down from above.  

“Looks like some sort of temple,” Delem commented, as they cautiously made their way into the cavern.  As they drew nearer they could see that the worked area was full of cracks and debris, with the walls themselves jutting at uneven angles and the floor rising or falling a few feet as the massive stone blocks stood sundered by some ancient calamity.  

“It looks like it was built someplace above, then fell into this cavern at some point,” Lok said, as he analyzed the pattern of the damage.  On reaching the edge of the area covered by the dome they could see that several passages had once led off from the chamber, all of which now appeared to be completely choked by rubble.  

“It’s nice to see sunlight again,” Dana said, and Elly, standing beside her, added her assent.  

“What’s that back there?” Cal said, gesturing toward a recessed area in the back of the chamber.  A deep alcove had apparently weathered the damage wrought to the temple better than the dome area, and they crossed the cracked stone to that space.  

The alcove was a deep quarter-sphere that extended perhaps thirty feet back.  Thin wisps of plant growth that had grown out of the cracks in the dome above formed a gossamer-like curtain that left its far end draped in shadows.  The stonework here was subtly different, the curving walls of the alcove fashioned from interlocking reddish bricks that had managed to maintain their overall integrity against the passing of time.  And in the rear of the place…

“The Well of Worlds, I gather,” Benzan said.  

The Well was a portal, a familiar sight to those with knowledge of the arcane secrets of Faerûn.  It was fashioned in the shape of an archway, perhaps ten feet tall at its apex, with nothing but a blank wall of featureless black stone beyond it.  The arch itself was difficult to identify, its gray-green material not quite metal, not quite stone.  It resembled slightly the material used in the chain shirts they’d taken from the pirates they’d defeated on one of the smaller islands, mail that Elly still wore.  

“Well, now what do we do?” Benzan asked, but Cal was already approaching the archway, walking carefully as though each step might spring a deadly trap.  No dangers presented themselves, however, and the others watched as the gnome examined the arch and the black stone beyond.  He summoned a magical light to illuminate the area, but did not touch anything as of yet.

“Lok, tell me what you think,” the gnome finally said.  

The genasi approached, and like Cal gave the arch a careful examination.  “Strange,” he said.  “I cannot tell what it is made of.”

“Delem, can you detect for magic?” the gnome said.  As the sorcerer approached, however, Benzan shrugged and walked up to the other side of the archway, and reached out and touched it.  Cal cringed, but nothing terrible happened to the tiefling—this time.

“Hmm… feels a little warm,” Benzan said.  

“One of these days—” Dana began, but she was interrupted as a voice filled their minds, sounding clearly as if someone was right in front of them, speaking in a soft voice.  

_I am the Well of Worlds,_ it said.  _I am the bridge between worlds, a guidepost on the border between realities.  Speak, traveler, and state your destination._ 

“Well, now we’re getting somewhere,” Benzan said.  “We wish to return to Faerûn,” he said aloud.  

“We might want to be a little more specific,” Cal said.  “Where exactly do we want to go back to?”

The companions exchanged a glance, and realized that they hadn’t really considered that question, each of them focused more on getting here, and back to their own world, than the precise destination.  

“Our original destination was Chult,” Lok said.  

“Yes, but Ruath’s dead,” Benzan pointed out.  “Even if we could find whoever it was she was going to meet, her message died with her.”

“We could return to the Western Heartlands,” Delem suggested.  “Elturel, or Baldur’s Gate, or anyplace else we wanted to visit.”

“Anywhere would be fine, as long as it’s home, and not this place,” Elly said.  

“Why don’t we just return to Baldur’s Gate, and then we can discuss where we want to go from there,” Benzan said.  “And maybe Lady Beldarin can do something for Ruath.”

The companions nodded at the tiefling’s unselfish suggestion.  Once he’d gauged everyone’s assent, Cal turned to face the arch.  “Gateway, we wish to return to our home plane, to the continent of Faerûn on the world of Abeir-Toril.  Please take us to the city of Baldur’s Gate, on the Sword Coast of western Faerûn.”

The portal was silent for a moment, and then each of them could feel a faint touch on the edges of their mind, as if the sentient gateway was scanning their thoughts for information about their destination.  

_You seek to travel to an alternative prime material plane,_ the voice finally told them.  _It is difficult to bridge the gap between primes, more difficult even than reaching the outer planes…  Your own link to this place can help guide your path, but I cannot assure that you will find the exact destination that you seek._

The blank stone face beyond the arch grew insubstantial as they watched, and the black stone was replaced by a swirling pattern that resembled wisps of reddish fog caught in a slight breeze.  Each of them could feel the energies trapped inside the portal as it came alive, causing their flesh to prickle with goosepimples.     

_The way is open.  Each of you must choose whether to venture the path._

“Well, what do you think?” Benzan asked them.

Cal regarded the mists intently.  “Ruath isn’t here,” he said, “but maybe we can still call upon Tymora’s luck on this one.  She always said that the Lady never listened to her, and her own luck faltered at the end, but the rest of us won through, in part due to the intervention of the Lady through the agency of her cleric’s hand.  And maybe, somewhere we can’t yet understand, Ruath’s keeping an eye on us, lending us a little luck in our time of need.”

He turned and met the gaze of each of them in turn, confirming his own thoughts. 

“Let’s go home.”

He stepped through the arch, the others following close behind, the mists swallowing up each of them in turn until silence fell again over the ruined temple on the Isle of Dread.  


END OF BOOK III 


* * * * *


----------



## Lazybones (Apr 3, 2002)

*The End, for now...*

Well readers, that’s the end of another chapter of _Travels through the Wild West_.  Thanks for all your comments and kudos on the story thus far.  I’ve had a lot of fun writing it.  While I’ve already plotted out a lot of the plot for the upcoming Book IV, I’m going to take a bit of a breather before continuing the story.  Somehow, between lazy weekends and slow days at work, I’ve written 140,000 words in just three months (a goodly sized novel)!  It’s time for a break.  I can’t say if it’ll be a few weeks or a little longer before I start up the next thread (I’ve got a few other projects I’d like to revisit first, and I want to send out a few more submissions of my novels), but keep posting comments, and I’ll stop by periodically to check on my favorite Story Hour threads as always.  And if you just can’t get by without my story updates , then check out my webpage (link in my sig), where I’m serializing my first novel, _The Trials of Alderan_ (you’ll also find archived files of the entire TttWW story thus far).

Just as a final teaser, here’s some plot ideas that I’ve been working on for the future:


Lok returns home to the North, and is drawn to some fell happenings in the Underdark, happenings that are tied to the fate of the urdunnir…
Cal returns to his home in Waterdeep, to learn that one of his adventuring relatives has recently vanished in a certain famous dungeon under that city…
Delem’s rapidly growing power drawns some unwelcome attention from a certain group in the East that likes to wear red…
Benzan begins to unravel the mystery of his ancestry (and don’t forget about that statue he carries—I haven’t!)…
The church of Cyric, the shades, that cleric of Mask we met at the very beginning, the Purple Dragons of Cormyr, the Harpers… all have roles to play in what’s to come, as the adventurers rise into the ranks of the truly powerful…
Elminster and Drizzt Do’Urden will NEVER appear in the pages of TttWW!
And as for the romantic triangle of Dana, Delem, and Benzan… well, you’ll see!
Thanks again for following along with the tale!

Game on!

Ken


----------



## Thorntangle (Apr 3, 2002)

Thank you, Lazybones, for your prodigious efforts in bringing us this storyhour.  I look forward to your future projects and the continuation of the Travels Through the Wild West.

Kudos to you!


----------



## Talindra (Apr 3, 2002)

I want to add my thanks, and say that I do feel as though I've come to the end of a book, a book I enjoyed so much I was disappointed when it ended.  I eagerly await the next book, and I want to say again how much I enjoy your rich description, and terrific writing style.  This is the only story hour I read religiously, and I guess I will have to browse during your well deserved break.  Thanks so much, this was a wonderful story.


----------



## Tonguez (Apr 3, 2002)

[unlurk]*****
Thanks Lazybones I've been following this story along for a while now and I must say that I was impressed with your efforts, and since the story has been concluded (for now) though that I had better voice my appreciation.*******[relurk]


----------



## Horacio (Apr 3, 2002)

Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!

Why don't you also serialise your first novel here, in the Story Hour forum?

Please...


----------



## Maldur (Apr 4, 2002)

That was great!!
Have fun on your well earned breather (but please dont take too long  )

Thanks, Maldur


----------



## Lazybones (Apr 4, 2002)

Thorntangle, Talindra, Tonguez, Horacio, and Maldur (and all the other readers of TttWW): thanks for your kind comments.  Writing for you guys was a pleasure. 

Horacio: I've thought about putting some of my other work on this site, although my three homegrown settings aren't really D&D based per se.  Maybe I'll put together a poll thread to gauge the level of interest. 

I'll be back!
LB


----------



## Horacio (Apr 4, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *Horacio: I've thought about putting some of my other work on this site, although my three homegrown settings aren't really D&D based per se.  Maybe I'll put together a poll thread to gauge the level of interest.
> 
> I'll be back!
> LB *




Do it!
Do it, please!


----------



## Maldur (Apr 5, 2002)

Ive read the story on your site, and it was very nice. I wouldn't mind reading the rest of that story either 

So keep writing and we will keep reading.

-Maldur


----------



## Broccli_Head (Apr 9, 2002)

Thanks for the Isle of Dread, LB. Really enjoyed the story and looking forward to book IV.


----------



## Greybar (Oct 30, 2002)

Having been entranced by this story hour, I felt a word of thanks to Lazybones was in order.  If this little bump helps someone else find and enjoy these tales, all the better.

Great work, O author.  A great style indeed.  Since you stay close to 3E, we can all hope we can run games as good.

John


----------



## Maldur (Oct 30, 2002)

oh boy, no armor, no frost axe!

this will take some explanation!!

Now we only need Dana and the crew is complete!


----------



## Lazybones (Oct 30, 2002)

Nice to see the old threads make an appearance on the first page again.  Thanks, Greybar.  I look forward to seeing you on the current story thread.


----------



## Maldur (Nov 1, 2002)

oops, stupid me mixing up the old and the new thread


----------

