# Travels through the Wild West: Book IV



## Lazybones (Apr 19, 2002)

Travels through the Wild West
Book IV

Prologue

S’reth shivered as the cold wind swirled around her as she stared out over the vista laid out before her.  She folded her arms around her torso as dark thoughts twisted through her mind.  It wasn’t that she was unused to the cold; it was cold at Hlaungadath as well, a bitter cold that could chill the bones and freeze the very blood within your veins.  But there, at least, there was shelter, and warm fires, and companionship.

S’reth snorted, and turned away from the ledge.  Such musings would not further her purpose now, she thought, as she noticed one of her servants approaching.  

The ogre loomed over her, the mass of its body many times her own, its muscled form wrapped in several layers of thick furs that added to its bestial appearance.  It bore a huge maul that was more than half-again the length of an adult human, but its demeanor as it approached S’reth was deferential, and its broken speech as it addressed her was respectful.  

“Mistress,” it told her, “You wished be told, when the diggin’ was done.”

“You’ve uncovered the entrance to the chamber, then?” she asked.

“Yes’m,” the ogre rumbled. 

Just for fun, S’reth motioned as if to touch the ogre’s arm, and was rewarded as it drew hastily back, alarm flashing in its eyes.  Good, she thought.  The ogres still feared her, at least.

The thought brought an unsatisfactory memory, however, and her expression darkened.  The ogre withdrew another stride, thinking perhaps that her anger was directed at it.  Annoyed now with the creature, S’reth motioned to it in dismissal.  “Rejoin the others at the ruin.  I will join you there shortly.”

As the ogre retreated, S’reth glanced back out over the vista once more.  Ignoring the persistent wind, she cast her gaze out to the east, over the vast landscape that stretched before her.  Hlaungadath was invisible at this distance, of course, but she imagined that she could feel its presence, far away yet close in her thoughts.  

_You mocked me, T’roth, just like all of them,_ she thought, her bitterness leaving a tangible taste in her throat.  _You drove me out, and expected that would be the end of me.  Soon, though, I’ll be back, and I’ll make you pay._ 

The thought warmed her some as she turned and headed off to rejoin her servants.  

* * * * * 

Once the ogres had worked aside the heavy stone block that warded the entrance to the underground chamber, S’reth entered the dark space beyond.  The air was stale, and cold, and filled with an ancient aura of lingering power that S’reth could feel on her bare skin like a cloying mist.  She shivered again, and it was not from the cold.  

“Remain here, and wait for my call,” she commanded the ogres, who were only too happy to comply.  She’d learned that the ogres of these mountains had tales that spoke of places such as this, legends that bore lessons of secrets best left undiscovered.  The four that remained in her service were bound to her, now, but she’d had to use frequent pressure to overcome their aversion to coming here.  

Beyond the slab lay a corridor that sloped slightly downward into darkness ahead.  The stone blocks that made up the walls were weathered with age, and the faint plumes of dust raised by her passage indicated that she was the first to enter here in a long, long time.  The first, hopefully, to plume the secrets left here from a bygone age.  

S’reth felt a tingle of excitement pass through her as she saw that the corridor opened onto a chamber up ahead.  The light from the open slab that led up to the ruin had faded almost into nothing, so she paused to call up a pale glow from her hand that pushed back the shadows enough for her to see.  

The chamber was fashioned into the shape of a octagon, with thick stone buttresses at each corner that ran together into a supporting ring of heavy stone in the center of the ceiling twenty feet above.  It was immediately clear that this place had not fully weathered whatever calamities had struck down the ruin above; great cracks rent the stone walls in places, and in a few places loose rubble and great clods of earth had fallen into the room from more significant breaches.  Several metal items shone in the light of her spell, including a pair of ancient braziers along the walls that despite the tarnish of many years glinted with the unmistakable shine of pure silver. 

S’reth hardly noticed such trifles, however, as her attention was drawn immediately to the great circle in the center of the room.  

_Intact!_ she thought, passing through the arch that marked the transition from the corridor to the chamber proper.  She felt another tingle as she passed through that threshold, but this one was tangible, not a byproduct of her own anticipation.  A faint magical aura that did not originate from her sent a quiver through her, a lingering power that was far beyond her own limited magical skills.  Then, as if in response, flames erupted in the twin braziers, shedding a bright radiance throughout the chamber.  

_The magic, it’s still potent, after all this time…_ S’reth thought.  She felt the delicious tremor of fear in the pit of her belly, and her instincts told her to leave this place and its secrets behind, but her ambition—and her injured pride—drove her inexorably forward.  

The light of the flames more fully revealed what she had seen earlier, the large stone ring that dominated the center of the chamber floor.  A single slab of unbroken stone formed a circle a full ten paces across, its ruddy coloration a stark contrast to the plain gray granite that formed the rest of the chamber and the ruin outside.  Although S’reth could not know this, the red stone was not native to these mountains, nor any place close to where she now stood. 

The great circular stone was surrounded by a double ring traced in what appeared to be silver inlay, the thin lines unmarred by the tarnish or decay that marked everything else about this place.  Traced within those parallel tracks were the spidery lines of runes, symbols in a language dead for centuries, lost to those who now walked upon the surface of Faerûn.  

Lost to most, that is. 

S’reth approached and bent low to examine the runes.  She recognized the language, an arcane variation on the old tongue of Netheril, a language of power and secrets that had ultimately proved better forgotten.  Her mother had taught her that ancient speech in secret, taught her to decipher the runes of power left behind on those faded remnants of that sundered human empire.  That knowledge, scorned by the rest of her kind, had enabled her to uncover the location of this place, and the existence of the treasure that now lay before her, the power that was now within her grasp.  

It had been a long search.  For years she had placed her hopes on the more substantial ruin to the south, the ancient dwarf city that lay at the edges of her people’s realm.  But the coming of the shadow-men to that forsaken place had ruined those plans, and she was not foolish enough to defy T’roth’s mandate that they avoid those dangerous newcomers.  

Now, however, all her lonely searching, the risks and challenges she’d faced, were on the brink of fulfillment in the sweet coin of power.  She rose and drew back from the circle, allowing herself to calm down from the tumultuous heights to which her conflicting emotions had lifted her.  

There was no hurry, now.

Finally, she settled herself comfortably on the cold stone floor, and reached for the satchel that rode at her side.  From within, she drew out a weathered stone tablet, so thin as to almost be like parchment, and carefully laid it out before her where the full light of the flames could brighten its surface.  

Then, she began to read, uttering the ancient phrases in the language of a dead people.

* * * * * 

S’reth stirred, feeling pain in her limbs as she became aware of her surroundings.  She was lying on the floor, having drifted off to sleep once again.  

She rose, trying to ignore the protests of her muscles as a result of resting on the uncomfortable stone.  She was unaware of how much time had passed since she’d entered the underground level of the ruin.  Had it been hours, even days?  She felt hungry, but she also felt a vague sense of disconnect, as if the passage of time had started to move _around_ her, merging her with the sense of timelessness that was present here in the vault.  

She could still feel the tendrils of power within the room, tendrils that she’d helped to awaken with her invocations.  She’d cast numerous spells from the scrolls she’d brought, and could feel the presence of the magic in the room, filling the very air, each forming a link with the stone ring in the center.  Nothing she had done, however, had created a tangible result, for all her efforts.  

She was reluctant to leave, but knew that the needs of her body would ultimately catch up to her.  And the ogres, if they had remained above, would need to be tended to if their loyalty, ever tenuous, was to remain intact.  With one more lingering look at the stone circle, she turned toward the exit corridor.  

A noise drew her attention back toward the center of the chamber.  It was like a faint buzzing, only audible on the edges of her perceptions, but as she watched in amazement it built rapidly into an almost painful crescendo.  As the sound grew louder she could see something, too, a tiny pinprick of light hovering a few feet above the center of the circle.  The light, too, grew rapidly, forming a roughly spherical haze that became so bright that she had to turn away for a moment.  As she did, the sound culminated in a flash and an acrid smell of smoke filled her nostrils.  The light had faded, and when she turned back toward the summoning circle she was no longer alone.  

Her instincts screamed caution, and this time S’reth listened.  She drew back into the shadows around the archway, and in addition called upon the power of her _ring of shadows_.  That item, another bequest from her mother, had the power to cloak the wearer in a shroud of darkness, making one almost invisible when the lighting was sufficiently poor.  Thus protected, she scanned the interior of the room as the haze began to thin.

There was a group of beings within the circle.  For a moment S’reth’s heart caught in her chest—her intent hadn’t been to summon a group, just a minor fiend or two that she could more easily dominate and control.  She relaxed, some, however, as she realized that the things she’d summoned weren’t very large, roughly the size of a man, and in fact one of them was downright small.  

“What happened?  Where are we?” one of them said.  S’reth’s brow furrowed—the speaker used the common speech of Faerûn!  Curious…

Her confusion deepened as the haze lifted enough for her to discern the summoned creatures more clearly.  By the looks of them, they were a group of humans and demihumans—the short creature looked like a rock gnome, and a thick-bodied dwarf bearing an axe beside him, and two human females and one male behind them.  And then, closest to her…

“Um, guys?  I don’t think we’re alone here…”

The speaker was a tall figure, clad in a travel-ravaged tunic under which shone the shimmering metal links of chainmail fashioned of… mithral!  Added to that revelation was the fact that this stranger, although he had the look of a human, bore faint traces of a heritage that S’reth, with her sharp instincts, could quickly divine.  The “man” was in fact a tiefling, a mixed-race brood with otherworldly origins.  S’reth felt a renewed flush of anticipation.  This one, undoubtedly, was the leader, the one drawn by her summoning.  Electing for a bold approach, she let her shrouding cloak of magic fade and stepped forward into the light.  

“You have come at my call, to serve my need!  Serve well, and you will be rewarded, denizens of the outer planes!  Defy me, and you will suffer great torments!”

The strangers turned to her as one as she appeared before them and delivered her speech.  The light revealed the details of her form, the sleek lines of her lower body, shaped in the design of a powerful lion, and her upper body, that of a muscled human female.  Combined, the form of a lamia.  

“Oh, I don’t like the looks of this,” the tiefling said.


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## Thorntangle (Apr 19, 2002)

Woohoo!  Welcome back Lazybones.  Glad to see you on top of your form and unafflicted by writer's block or somesuch storyhour impeding affliction.


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## Broccli_Head (Apr 19, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> The “man” was in fact a tiefling, a mixed-race brood with otherworldly origins.  S’reth felt a renewed flush of anticipation.  This one, undoubtedly, was the leader, the one drawn by her summoning.  Electing for a bold approach, she let her shrouding cloak of magic fade and stepped forward into the light.
> 
> *




Yeah, right! Benzan the obvious leader of the party. Great intro to the next book in the saga, LB. 

The quote makes for a great laugh.


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## Old One (Apr 19, 2002)

*Ahhh...LB Returns!*

LB -

Great to see you back...looking forward to all the action!

~ Old One


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## Horacio (Apr 19, 2002)

Lazybones is back! Lazybones is back!
WOOOOOOOOHO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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## Reg Dword (Apr 19, 2002)

Great stuff! I look forward to the continuation of this excellent story hour.


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## Lazybones (Apr 19, 2002)

Thanks all, it's great to be back! (although I never really left ENWorld, I did miss posting TttWW every day [or thereabouts], reading your comments, and working on new plot ideas).

More to come, stay tuned!
Lazybones


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## Horacio (Apr 19, 2002)

_Horacio stays tuned_


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## Rugger (Apr 19, 2002)

Allow me to agree with everyone else...

Woohoo!

Glad to see Book IV beginning.... 

-Rugger
"I Lurk!"


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## Lazybones (Apr 19, 2002)

It’s Friday, the work day is almost over, and it’s time for a pre-weekend update!  

This time I didn’t start with a synopsis or a poll, but just went right into the story.  For new readers, I recommend the short overview that I posted at the beginning of Book III (see the link in my sig below).  The adventurers have just returned to Faerûn after finding themselves thrown into an alternative prime material plane (and the Isle of Dread) by a still-unidentified adversary.  The adventurers have made many enemies in their short time together, and as their power grows, so too will the attention of others who monitor the balance of power in Faerûn…

Anyway, we’ll get to that!  For now, the adventurers need to deal with the lamia and her allies…

The Characters:


*Lok*: Earth Genasi/Half-Dwarf Fighter 6.  The group’s front-line fighter, a virtual combat machine. 

*Balander Calloran (“Cal”)*: Rock Gnome Bard 2/Illusionist 4.  The group’s informal leader, small in stature but large in bravery.  Died at the end of Book I, but was brought back to life through the sacrifice of his companions.  

*Benzan*: Tiefling Fighter 2/Rogue 3/Conjurer 1.  The Jack-of-all-trades, warrior, thief, magic-user, smart-ass.  Winner (narrowly edging out Lok) of the “Favorite Character in TttWW Poll” I held on the Book III thread. 

*Delem*: Human Sorcerer 5/Cleric 2 (Kossuth).  A young fire-mage whose power greatly exceeds his maturity, Delem is haunted by the sins of his past and the potential of his future.

*Lady Dana Ilgarten*: Human Cleric 3 (Selûne)/Monk 2/Mystic Wanderer 1.  Joined the companions in Book II, and is caught in between a romantic rivalry between Benzan and Delem. 

*Elewhyn (Elly)*: Human Commoner 2/Warrior 2.  The sole surviving member of the crew of the _Raindancer_, other than three sailors who chose to stay behind on the Isle of Dread.  A stalwart companion, who has lost much in recent months.   

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

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 1 

“Oh, I don’t like the looks of this,” Benzan said, as he and the others began their return to Faerûn by facing a confrontational lamia.  

Cal stepped forward, his left hand outstretched in a placating gesture while the second remained near the hilt of his sword and the pockets that contained his wands.  “Look,” he said, “I think there’s been some mistake here.  We’re not from the outer planes, and we don’t serve anybody.  Why don’t you just back off a little, and we’ll see if we can work this out without any… trouble.”

S’reth was feeling anger now, anger that grew as it became increasingly likely that her long awaited plans of revenge were not coming to fruition.  But she was not going to be denied that easily, not when the chance to show T’roth and the others their error in driving her out was still within her grasp. 

“*I* brought you here!” she screamed at them.  “You *will* serve me!  Kneel, and obey!”

The command was accompanied by a release of magical power, a legacy that was part of the magical heritage of S’reth’s kin.  It rippled through the room, causing streaks of green light to flash through the air as the lamia’s magic interfaced with the residual tendrils of power latent within the summoning chamber.  

“Damn…” Benzan said, as the echoes of the command filled his mind, forcing him reluctantly to obey.  He was dimly aware of himself falling to his knees as the magic of the lamia dragged him into its sway.  Behind him, Elly had also succumbed to the suggestion, all but collapsing to the hard floor.  But Lok and Cal, hardened by experience, resisted the tug of the lamia’s spell, and for Dana and Delem, their will each fortified by the disparate powers of their callings, the suggestion slid off their minds like water flowing over stone.  

“Have it your way, bitch,” Cal said, and he fired a color spray into the lamia’s face.  The creature shrieked as the colors surrounded her, but it was a shriek of frustration rather than of pain, for the magical creature easily shrugged off the blinding effects of Cal’s magic.  

Lok started forward immediately, his axe already rising to strike, but he suddenly and abruptly halted, as if he’d hit an invisible wall.  The genasi looked around in confusion, and his gaze finally fell to his feet, and the silver lines that marked the edge of the circle.  

Cal noticed it too.  “It’s a summoning circle—with Lok’s planetouched origins, it won’t let him pass!”  The gnome realized that it would keep Benzan at bay as well, although at the moment the tiefling seemed fully under the effects of the lamia’s spell.  

And apparently, the barrier offered no hindrance to the lamia’s attacks on them, as the success of her suggestion indicated.  

Delem and Dana, however, leapt quickly to join in the attack, their movements unhindered by the magical barrier.  Delem launched a pair of magic missiles that blazed across the room and slammed into the lamia’s torso.  Dana followed on the trailing edge of the attack and launched into a spinning kick that connected with the creature’s thick body, drawing a hiss of pain from the lamia that was followed by a hateful stare as it focused on Dana.  

From S’reth’s perspective, however, her grandiose plans were rapidly collapsing around her.  From all she’d learned, outer-planar creatures summoned into a magic circle weren’t supposed to be able to escape and attack their summoner, and yet the painful injuries she suffered—not to mention the human woman continuing to twist and punch at her—were impossible to deny.  She hadn’t survived her long exile by being careless, however, and she knew when it was time to run from a situation.  

She shouted a cry of alarm that she hoped would carry to her ogre guards in the ruins above, and followed that immediately with another magic spell.  In response to her innate power a cascade of magical images of her sprung into being around her, shifting and fading and masking her true location.  She didn’t hesitate, and instead of preparing another attack she immediately turned for the exit, her leonine body carrying her away from these enemies with great speed.  

Dana started after her, but she’d barely reached the archway when she realized that her companions were still in need behind her.  She took on a wary stance, but edged back to where Cal and Delem were attending to their ensorcelled friends.  

“Are they all right?” Dana asked, keeping one eye on the corridor in case the lamia returned.  The beast had called for help, she’d noticed, and she knew that more trouble might be shortly forthcoming.  

“I think they will be,” Cal said, as Lok helped Benzan rise awkwardly to his feet.  The tiefling’s legs seemed to resist his commands, but eventually he was able to stand unassisted.  Delem was helping Elly, who was continuing to have trouble.  

“Fortunately the suggestion was rather unfocused,” Cal told them.  “If properly worded and specific enough, the effects of such a spell can linger for hours.”

“Felt focused enough to me,” Benzan said, still a little unsteady as he tried a few tentative steps.  

“Is it still up there, do you think?” Delem asked.

“Maybe,” Cal said.  “But for now, we’ve got a more immediate problem.”  He looked toward Lok, who had turned once again to the edge of the magic circle. 

“It’s like an invisible wall,” the genasi said, running one hand along the barrier. 

“What do you—oof!” Benzan said, as he stumbled into the barrier, his still-uncertain legs not holding him as he fell hard onto his backside. 

“Better be careful there,” Dana said dryly from the other side of the circle.  “How can we get them out of there?” she asked Cal, more seriously.  

“We need to break the circle,” Cal replied.  He walked out of the barrier and turned to face Lok.  “It can’t be done from inside, however.”

Lok nodded, and hefted his axe, holding it by the blade and offering the haft to Cal.  The weapon was almost as big as he was.  The gnome nodded, but said, “I think perhaps one of the others might have more luck,” he said, gesturing for Delem to take the weapon.  

The sorcerer took the weapon, holding it awkwardly.  Following Lok’s direction, he hefted the axe in both hands, looking to the genasi once for approval before slamming it down hard on the silver-etched stone.  

“Ouch!” Delem said, as the force of the impact shot up his arms into his body.  “I don’t see how you manage this, Lok,” he added.  “Maybe my fire…”

“I doubt your magic would have any effect on this,” Cal said.  “Try it again.”

Delem did so, and after three more strokes he finally cut a tiny break in the silver lines that surrounded the stone circle.  Almost immediately, Lok stepped forward, crossing the circle without resistance.  

“Well, that’s one problem solved, at least,” Cal said.  

“But where are we?” Elly said, as she walked out of the circle, holding onto Dana’s shoulder for support as she, like Benzan, continued to shrug off the aftereffects of the lamia’s magic.  “This doesn’t look like Baldur’s Gate, that’s for sure.”

“Well, we’ll have to go outside to find out, I suppose,” Cal replied.  “But I imagine that the presence of the lamia means you’re probably right.”

“At least we’re back in Faerûn,” Delem said.  “That… thing… spoke to us in common, and I can feel my link to Kossuth again, without that sense of distance we felt back at the Isle of Dread.”

Dana looked up in surprise, and her brow furrowed for a moment in concentration.  “He’s right!” she exclaimed.  “I can feel the full connection to Selûne again, as well!  I don’t know why I didn’t notice it sooner!”

They were interrupted by a loud noise of stone grating on stone that originated from beyond the archway that marked the chamber’s sole exit.  “What’s that?” Delem asked.  

“I imagine it’s the lamia and her friends trying to seal us in,” Cal said.  “I’d say we’d better investigate, don’t you?”  He looked at Benzan and Elly.  “Are you all right?” 

Benzan stepped forward, only a little unsteady, and Elly moved away from Dana’s supporting shoulder.  “We’re ready,” the tiefling said.  “I say we teach that thing what it means to spoil our homecoming.”

With Lok in the lead, the companions started down the corridor.


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## Horacio (Apr 20, 2002)

What a superb return to Faerun! 
Poor group, they never are able to find a moment of peace...


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## Broccli_Head (Apr 20, 2002)

Too bad the lamia didn't think to ask the heroes for help against her nemesis.    I guess she was flustered. 

Are magic circles that easy to break?


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## Horacio (Apr 21, 2002)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *Too bad the lamia didn't think to ask the heroes for help against her nemesis.    I guess she was flustered.
> 
> Are magic circles that easy to break? *




If you aren't jailed in the interior of the circle, yes


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## Maldur (Apr 22, 2002)

Your off for the weekend and he brings the story back :0 

so there was at least one thing good this weekend 

Good to have you writing the story again, lazybones.


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## Lazybones (Apr 22, 2002)

Broccli_Head said:
			
		

> *Too bad the lamia didn't think to ask the heroes for help against her nemesis.    I guess she was flustered.
> 
> Are magic circles that easy to break? *




I created S'reth as a deeply flawed villain; more of her motives and shortcomings will come out in the next few posts, I hope.  Still, it would have been interesting if she _had_ asked the group for their (voluntary) assistance (of course, Cal never would have gone along with such a plan, and Lok would have backed him up)!

As for the magic circles, yes, Horacio has it right.  In fact, one story hour author (Kid C, IIRC) had one trapped demon released by a trap that rolled _marbles_ across the edge of the circle!  Since this one was actually a part of the stone, it took a more physical effort to break.  But they are invulnerable to attacks from within, as Horacio noted.

Maldur: yeah, it feels good to be writing TttWW again!  Thanks!

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 2

The six companions traveled warily down the corridor, following the trail of the fleeing lamia.  They didn’t have very far to go; about forty feet down the passageway, their route ended in a narrow opening blocked by a heavy slab of solid stone.   

Lok didn’t wait for encouragement, immediately crossing to the opening.  After briefly probing at the stone he placed his axe down against the wall below the opening and pushed, his compact frame exerting the full force of his considerable strength against the massive stone.  His efforts were to no avail, as the stone did not budge.  Benzan moved to join him, using his height to push above where the genasi was braced, and while the were able to feel the slightest shift in the stone under their combined efforts, it wasn’t nearly enough to move it. 

“Maybe there’s more stone piled up against it on the other side,” Delem offered.  

Benzan pulled back from the narrow opening.  “Yeah, well, that doesn’t help us get out of here.  Can’t you magic it open or something?”

“Our spells aren’t really suited for that sort of thing,” Cal said, but Delem had a thoughtful look on his face as he regarded the barrier.  

“What about digging our way out?” Dana said.  “There were some breaks in the stone walls back in the chamber.”

“We could try that,” Lok said, “But I sense that we’re under a fair heap of earth between us and the open sky above.  And I don’t smell any fresh air—with each breath, we’re using up what’s left in here, and when it’s gone…”  He didn’t finish, as the implication of his words was obvious to all of them.

“Well then, what can we do?” Elly asked.  

“I’ve got an idea,” Delem said.  When the others turned to face him, he seemed to shrink slightly under their scrutiny, but he quickly dug into a pouch at his belt, searching for something.  “I know we agreed that we would wait, but…” he said, finally producing a ring—the bronze ring they’d found in the cavern back on the Isle of Dread.

“How can it help us?” Cal asked.  

“Well, I tried it on,” Delem admitted, “when we were back on the island.  I’m not completely sure, but I think it has the power to move things.”

“Telekinesis,” Cal said.  

“Yes.  I don’t know if it can move that rock…”

“Well, let’s give it a try!” Benzan said.  

They made a space for Delem, who put on the ring and regarded the implacable barrier.  The sorcerer raised his hand slowly and took on a look of intense concentration, but nothing obvious happened to indicate that anything was happening.  Delem held his position for almost half a minute, then he lowered his hand and let out a tired sigh.  

“I can’t move it…  It’s… it’s just too heavy,” he said.

“So much for your new toy,” Benzan snapped, his frustration at being trapped here clearly wearing on him.

“Wait,” Cal said.  “Don’t give up just yet; perhaps if you and Lok push, while Delem uses the ring…”

Benzan’s look was skeptical, but the suggestion was too practical not to try.  Lok paused to take a vial from his pouch—a potion of strength given to him by the phanatons back on the Isle of Dread—and quaffed it before returning to his place before the stone.  Benzan stepped up behind him to add his strength, and Delem stood behind them, ready again with the ring.  

“All right then, all together!” Cal cried.

At first it looked as though even their combined efforts would be of no use against the implacable barrier.  Then, however, the stone began to move.  At first it just shifted slightly, resisting their efforts as it scraped against the edges of the opening, and then with a final great heave it tumbled outward, falling to the side and letting in a sudden gust of cold air from outside.  Several large stones that had been piled against the slab were jumbled haphazardly around the opening, but there was still enough space for one of them at a time to escape.  Lok went first, squeezing his armored body through the opening into the open air beyond.  

He found himself in ruined chamber, perhaps thirty feet square, open to the gray skies above.  The place was apparently below ground level, for Lok could make out more extensive ruins above the fifteen-foot walls of the chamber.  Opposite the opening to the subterranean passage there was a rubble-choked stair that led up to the ground floor.  

Only that route was blocked by the two ogres who shouted a cry of alarm and then hefted massive spears to hurl at the genasi.  

* * * * * 

S’reth heard the shout, and knew then that the tiefling and his… allies… had somehow pushed through the slab and the rocks that the ogres had hastily piled against it.  She still wasn’t sure what had happened, but she felt fear, and that feeling drove her as she tore through the stash personal items she’d left in the ruined chamber she’d turned into a dwelling since they’d arrived here.  From what little she knew about the art of summoning, the lamia fully believed that the demon-spawn she’d called would not stop until it had caught up to her and slain her, or she would have fled at that moment and not looked back, leaving her allies to buy her whatever time their deaths could purchase.  

She knew it was here, somewhere… she hadn’t even dared to carry it, the final item she’d stolen before her flight from her kin.  It’s power was well beyond her, she knew, and she didn’t like the reminder that deep down, T’roth was right, that she wasn’t much more than a novice as a sorceress, that for all of the considerable innate abilities of her race that she possessed, she would never be more than that.  Certainly, she would never be able to command the power of T’roth and the others who led beside him, the power of mighty sorcerers who could shape the very world around them with their mighty magics…

That reminder of her situation brought a renewed surge of anger and resentment that almost—almost—overcame the realities of her current plight.  She tossed aside a leather satchel holding supplies, and saw it, saw what she was looking for.  She could hear the sounds of battle from nearby in the ruins, but her attention was on the small tube of worn leather that she lifted from a crevice in the rocks.  

Her hands trembled as she pulled it open.


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## djrdjmsqrd (Apr 24, 2002)

**Bump**

I am away in CA on Band Tour, get back with a new book waiting to be read and it's fallen to page two?!  Com'n people, keep this up on page 1!  

It's hard to get really well written FR stories.

Djordje (Yes, I am both a FR/GH fan thank you. ;p)


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## Lazybones (Apr 24, 2002)

Thanks for the save, Djordje!  I'll have a new post up tomorrow morning (assuming I can get onto the board! )

LB


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## Horacio (Apr 24, 2002)

It means this evening for me 
I can wait. But I miss your daily updates


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## Lazybones (Apr 24, 2002)

Book IV, Part 3 

Lok took the first spear on his shield, but the second slammed hard into his shoulder.  Although his magical plate mail held, the force of the impact sent tendrils of pain through his body as he staggered back a step.  The ogres, holding the high ground at the top of the stairs, and partially screened by low mounds of rubble, reached for more spears.

Lok, of course, charged.

Behind him, Benzan drew his bow in a single smooth motion, sighting and firing a long steel-tipped arrow.  His quiver was nearly empty, as they had exhausted all of the bundles of arrows that Lok had stockpiled in his bag of holding in the course of their adventures on the Isle of Dread.  Still, this arrow found its mark, scoring revenge for the hit on Lok as it stuck deep into the shoulder of one of the ogres.  

Behind Benzan, however, Dana was not particularly impressed with the tiefling’s marksmanship.  “You’re blocking the way out!” she yelled, as she pushed past him out the narrow opening.  The delay gave Cal just enough time to touch his wand of mage armor to Dana as she passed, protecting her with its potent aura.  Benzan bit back an angry response and followed her.  The others were close behind, with Delem and Elly pausing only to help the shorter Cal make his way up through the narrow opening.    

Lok charged heedlessly across the cracked, rubble-strewn floor toward the stairs, his booted feet finding secure purchase on the uneven surface.  The ogres hurled another pair of spears at him, but even with their incredible strength the missiles glanced harmlessly off the heavily armored figure of the genasi fighter.  As he reached the stairs and started up the ogres unlimbered huge axes that looked mighty enough to fell a not-inconsiderable tree with a single powerful stroke.  Lok did not hesitate, although as he rushed up the stairs he could make out the sounds of other creatures moving through the ruin, approaching the site of the battle.  He knew that his companions would be quick to come to his aid, and he didn’t want to give the lamia and her allies time to adjust to their emergence from the underground tunnel.  

He paid the price a moment later, as the first ogre, with its far superior reach, slammed its axe hard into Lok’s torso.  

Benzan saw his friend take a hit that would have crushed the life out of most warriors, even the most stalwart.  Lok staggered, but did not go down, and the tiefling knew that the genasi had a lot of fight left in him.  He also knew, however, that even Lok could not take many hits like that one.  The second ogre was moving to engage the hard-pressed warrior from the opposite flank, but staggered as Benzan fired his bow twice in rapid succession.  Both arrows stuck in the thick hides that the ogre wore about its torso, and one bit deeper, stabbing through into the leathery flesh underneath.  The ogre let out a roar of pain, and rushed down the stairs in a fiery rage at this troublesome archer that had now wounded it twice.  

Only Dana was already coming up the stairs, blocking its path.  

The ogre barely registered this puny human female as a threat, and almost ran right over her in its fury to get at Benzan.  Its impression changed, however, as Dana sliced into its exposed calf with her kama.  The wound was superficial, but it drew a response.  The ogre brought its axe around in a mighty arc, forcing Dana to quickly dodge back.  The edge of the huge blade just brushed against her torso as she dove to the side, but the mage armor that Cal had placed around her protected her, if only just barely.  

The delay cost the massive creature, however.  A pair of magical bolts from Delem streaked into its chest, blazing holes in the matted hides and leaving smoking craters in its flesh.  Cal attempted to lull it to sleep with a spell of his own, but the gnome’s magic had no effect upon it.  

“They must be tougher than normal ogres,” the gnome remarked to no one in particular.  “Be careful!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Benzan said, as he drew his sword and rushed to help Dana against the wounded but still-dangerous behemoth.  Elly fired her crossbow at it, but her shot too stuck harmlessly in the thick hides it wore. 

Lok, meanwhile, had closed to melee range against his adversary, and as his axe finally came into play he began to strike telling blows against his adversary.  The ogre held its ground, however, giving at least a part of what it got with its own massive weapon.  Lok was hurting, now, and his situation was not improved when another pair of ogres appeared from the rubble just a few paces away.  One immediately rushed to flank Lok, while the second moved to assist its fellow engaged with the remainder of the companions below.  

Just a stone’s throw further away, out of sight behind a low wall of crumbling stone, S’reth approached the edges of the battle.  It was her fault that the ogres had been split and unable to react quickly to the emergence of the companions from the tunnel; she’d taken a pair to guard her while she searched for the scroll.  Now she held that prize in her hands while her servants raged against the beings she’d inadvertently summoned.  She clambered upon a pile of rubble at the base of the wall and risked a look over it, hoping that the course of action she was considering would not be necessary.  

The ogres fought with berserker rage, swinging their deadly axes with speed and skill.  The ogres of the far north were renown for their toughness, even among a species already famous for its ferocity.  But they were engaged with opponents who had faced many horrible challenges together and emerged victorious.  The companions fought as a team, complementing each other’s strengths and covering their weaknesses. 

Lok stood his ground against a pair of adversaries, focusing his own attacks on the ogre he’d already wounded.  He deflected a glancing blow on his shield, but was unable to avoid the flanking attack of the newcomer, and felt pain blossom through his lower body as the axe slammed down hard on his armored hip.  The genasi gritted his teeth and launched another sequence of attacks on the wounded ogre, chopping into its leg with the full force of his strength.  Predictably, the ogre lurched forward as the crippled limb gave way, and as it fell Lok brought his axe down hard onto the side of its neck.  The ogre went down hard, and did not move to get up again.  Even as he turned to face his remaining adversary, however, Lok took another hit, a sweeping stroke that only just caught the top of his helmet but which left his head ringing as he tried to recover.  

His raging opponent continued to press him, and suddenly things were looking grim for the hard-pressed fighter.  

His companions were having difficulties of their own, however.  As the second ogre rushed down the steps to join in the melee, its axe raised to strike, Cal summoned the power of an illusion.  With a burst of smoke a figure appeared in the air directly ahead of the charging ogre, causing it to draw up in surprise.  The illusion was difficult to ignore, for the slithering form that Cal had chosen to create was that of a kopru, the sinister and terrible creatures that they had confronted in the underground bowels of the Isle of Dread.  The hovering creature was easily the size of the ogre, and its hooked tentacles darted and wove in the air as it lunged at the confused barbarian.

The ogre responded in the time-honored barbarian fashion—it attacked.  Its axe of course passed harmlessly though the figment, but Cal had his creation rear up and hover directly over the ogre’s face, tentacles flailing in an undamaging but confusing display.  

Delem, meanwhile, stepped to the side, carefully aligning his targets as he called upon the power of his magic once more.  The flames rose eagerly to his call, extending in an arc from his outstretched hand into his enemies.  The young sorcerer’s experience in targeting his magic showed clearly as the stream of flame lashed first into the lead ogre, and then continued into the second.  Both let out cries of pain as the flames splashed over their exposed flesh.  

But there was a lot of fight left in the ogres, as Benzan found out to his dismay as he leapt to the attack against the critically injured lead ogre.  His sword flashed in the wake of Delem’s fading flames, and penetrated into the creature’s exposed side.  The ogre staggered as yet another attack hit home, but to Benzan surprise it still managed to bring its axe around for a defensive strike.  Benzan reacted just a shade too late, and the heavy edge caught him hard on the side of the neck.  The mithral links of his hauberk kept his head attached to his shoulders, but the blow still tore a deep gash in his throat, releasing a gushing deluge of hot blood as he spun into a crumpled heap on the rough stone. 

The ogre did not have time to enjoy its victory, however, as a bolt from Elly’s crossbow slammed into its throat, finally pushing it over that line that served as the border between life and death.  It staggered backward and fell into its companion, who was still trying to shake off the confusing presence of Cal’s illusion.  

Dana let out a startled cry and dove toward Benzan’s side.  The tiefling, somehow still conscious as his lifeblood poured from the vicious wound, saw the young woman’s face framed against the gray sky above.  He tried to say something, but the words were lost in the red haze that swam across his vision and dragged him down into unconsciousness.  The last thing he saw was a dark shadow that seemed to creep up on him, a vague presence that somehow filled him with a sensation of unrelenting terror.  It was familiar, that presence, calling to him…

“Damn you, don’t die on me!” Dana cried out, trying to hold the gaping wound in Benzan’s throat together with her hands while she called upon the power of Selûne.  She saw the light in Benzan’s eyes fade, then his face became blurred as tears filled her eyes.  She was only dimly aware of the battle still raging around her, her attention focused entirely on saving the fallen tiefling’s life.  The sudden flow of healing energy through her into the battered warrior.  Dana brushed aside her tears with the back of a bloody hand as she looked down at Benzan’s face.  The wound had closed, but there was no other sign of life.  

“No…” she whispered.

Then, suddenly, Benzan’s chest rose and his mouth opened as he drew in a breath.  He was still unconscious, still pale from the incredible loss of blood, but once again the tiefling had stepped back from death’s door.  

As soon as Benzan went down, Delem found himself moving to aid his wounded friend.  Dana reached Benzan first, however, and for all his concern he could not help feel a familiar pang of jealously as the priestess of Selûne tended to the fallen warrior.  

For the moment, however, there were other, more pressing concerns, as the second ogre, its head still shrouded by the persistent flailings of Cal’s illusory kopru, staggered blindly down the steps to where Dana was crouched over Benzan.  Even blinded, Delem knew that the ogre would easily trample the pair.  Cal was still concentrating on maintaining the illusion, and Elly could not stand before the creature.  Lok was engaged in a desperate combat of his own, and could not intervene.  

So it was up to him. 

He moved to the side, so that the ogre would have to turn aside from Dana to get to him.  He would have liked to have summoned a protective shield, but there was no time.  Instead, he reached a position on the ogre’s flank, and with a confidence he didn’t fully feel shouted, “Over here, you stupid brute!”

Just in case it didn’t hear him, he followed the challenge with an _Aganazzar’s scorcher_, blasting another row of fire across the ogre’s torso.  The ogre spun and faced the sorcerer, ignoring the distraction of Cal’s illusion in its rage and lumbering down the final stretch of stairs to reach him.  Delem retreated a few steps, only his mental discipline keeping him from outright flight, although there was no place for him to go to escape the creature’s attack.  

Still, he tried.  He waited until the last instant to dodge the inexorable course of the ogre’s axe, but could not fully avoid the stroke that tore through his coat and dug a deep gash in his unprotected side.  He groaned as he spun with the impact and nearly stumbled on the loose rubble underfoot, all too aware that the ogre was lifting its axe to strike again.  

“Um, excuse me,” Cal’s voice came from behind the monster’s knee.  The ogre looked down in surprise at the diminutive form of the gnome, just in time to take a color spray right in the face.  The ogre staggered, stunned by the brilliant display of colors.  

Delem took advantage of the respite and fired a fan of flames from his fingertips into the ogre’s side, ravaging its lower body.  From the opposite flank, Cal reached out and lightly brushed the ogre’s leg with his fingertips.  An arc of electrical energy fired from his hand into the ogre, tearing mercilessly into it.  

The ogre, painfully hurt by the twin attacks, recovered from the effects of the color spray and tried to sweep its axe against the magi hurting it, but the huge weapon dropped from nerveless fingers to clatter on the hard stone.  Delem and Cal dodged aside in surprise as the creature toppled forward, revealing Elly, her magical spear clutched tightly in her hands, its head bloody from where she had plunged it into the ogre’s back.  

The three looked up the stair to see a massive form tumbling down toward them.  It was the final ogre, its body ravaged from multiple blows of Lok’s axe, and as it fell they could see Lok standing at the top of the stair looking down at them.  The genasi bled openly from a number of deep gashes, and he looked as though he could barely hold his axe, but he had defeated both of his adversaries.  

“Lok, look out!” Delem cried, as another form appeared from the ruins behind the battered genasi.

* * * * * 

S’reth watched the desperate melee, transfixed by the titanic struggle between her ogres and the adventurers.  For a long moment, when one of them struck down their tiefling leader, she though that her intervention would not be necessary, but then her adversaries rallied and began to decimate the last vestiges of her band.  

While Lok was struggling against his final opponent and Cal and Delem were squaring off against their ogre, S’reth crept back down from the wall and unrolled the scroll.  Spidery runes ran across the page in neat lines, forming words written in the language of magic.  S’reth understood that speech, although the spell written there was well beyond her own magical abilities, and she only dimly understood the nature of the power trapped therein.  The scroll had been scribed by Marag himself, not that long before T’roth and his cronies had finally killed the old sorcerer.  

Still, with no other options left to her, she began to read.  

She read through the entire scroll, not even sure if she was pronouncing all of the mystical syllables correctly, and when she finished she wondered if her attempt had failed.  Even as she stared at the scroll, though, the runes flashed and began to dissolve, and she felt power flow into her half-human, half-leonine form.  

Her heart froze in horror as the power twisted inside her, wreaking the transformative power of the strange and potent magic of the scroll.  She felt herself changing, her mind clouding under the intrusive touch of the magic.  She could not escape even if she’d wanted to; it was too late, and her last conscious thought before the magic took her fully was that she’d read the spell wrong, that her quest for power and vengeance had finally led her to a foolhardy final choice.  

Then the magic swept all that doubt and indecision away, and she laughed as the power of the transformation filled her.  

She felt her earlier weakness fade, replaced by strength.  The pain of her wounds was replaced by a feeling of hardiness, and she felt her blood surge within her with the promise of vitality.  She lifted her dagger, a puny weapon, but it would do, for now.  

Her powerful limbs carried her in a smooth rush around the wall.  She caught sight of the dwarf fighter, barely able to stand at the top of the stairs, and did not hesitate.  She came on in a full charge, and even as the injured warrior turned, she slammed her blade with the full force of her newfound strength into him.  She felt the welcome crunch of steel penetrating steel, and the warrior crumbled.  She laughed and kicked out with her front limbs, normally weak and useless as weapons, and the genasi tumbled down the steps, following in the traces of the ogre he’d just slain.  

The lamia regarded the puny beings that faced her at the bottom of the stairs, and laughed again.  She reached down and picked up the weapon that the genasi had dropped, a battleaxe with a blade slick with the blood of her ogres.  The axe flared slightly to her touch, the blade surrounded by a nimbus of cold energy that seemed almost alive.  

How excellent.  

The lamia charged.  


* * * * * 

I'm heading to New York tomorrow for a five-day vacation, and will have the next post up when I return.  Sorry to leave you on a cliff-hanger!  (I'm sure you're used to it by now... )

Thanks for reading,
LB


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## Horacio (Apr 24, 2002)

Great update, as usual...
We will wait, but it will be difficult


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## drnuncheon (Apr 24, 2002)

Yeah, the 'bones is back!  Somehow this one slipped under my radar, probably in all the yo-yoing of the boards, but I'm here now!

J
Dwarves rule!
More Lok!


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## Broccli_Head (Apr 24, 2002)

What spell was that? Super Bull's strength? Or Tenser's transformation? Is that spell still around?

Not good..Lok down, Benzan down...no more fighters for the heroes.  It looks bleak.


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## Rugger (Apr 26, 2002)

Oy!

The forums may be hosed, but we gotta keep Lazybones up on the page!

BUMPO!!

...come back soon!

-Rugger
"I Lurk!"


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## Maldur (Apr 27, 2002)

Thats one nasty cliffhanger, hope lazybones spend his 5 days in NY, writing more travels 

more!more!


And bump as well!


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## Horacio (Apr 27, 2002)

Waiting for the update after such a cliffhanger is difficult...


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## Talindra (Apr 29, 2002)

*BUMP*

....eagerly awaiting the resolution.......


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## Lazybones (Apr 30, 2002)

Thanks for the bumps, everybody!  New York was great, just got back today.  If only I didn't have to go back to work tomorrow morning...   But at least I have an update, as promised--hope it lives up to the build-up!

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 4

The lamia, bolstered by the power of a _Tenser’s transformation_ spell, charged down the rubble-strewn stairs into the ranks of the beleagured companions.  With Lok and Benzan, their toughest fighters, both down, the remaining adventurers were in an unenviable position.  

Elly stepped up bravely and set her spear to meet the charge, holding the bronze head toward the charging monstrosity’s breast.  While her tactic was sound, the lamia’s magic enhanced her agility as well as her strength, and she was able to twist aside faster than the sailor-turned-warrior could adjust.  Elly cried out in pain as the lamia slammed Lok’s axe solidly into her torso, crushing her side and tearing the links of the steel mail-shirt she wore.  The force of the blow, backed by the lamia’s enhanced strength and the momentum of its charge, knocked the crippled woman roughly aside, her spear clattering uselessly away.

On the opposite flank of the creature, Delem raised the hand wearing his new magical ring, and tried to summon its power.  Unfortunately, the magic of the device was limited, for nothing happened in response to his call, this time.

“Get to Lok!” Cal cried, as the gnome tried to think of something—anything!—that he could do to stop the raging creature.

“But you—”

“Go!” Cal repeated, as he stepped forward, directly into the path of the lamia.  He reached down to his magical lute and strummed a faint melody on it, calling forth the reassuring presence of _mage armor_ around himself.  

Yet he doubted that even that protection would be proof against this adversary, armed with the group’s most powerful weapon. 

“Dana—we need you!” he cried, as the lamia’s gaze locked on him—and she smiled.  

It was a promise, that smile.  

But Cal did not falter, even when the lamia charged again.  Only a few paces had separated them, so it could not build up the same momentum as before, but it matched that with a powerful flurry of blows as it wielded the axe almost as if it were a wooden switch.  Cal tried to dodge, or to deflect the blows with his pitifully inadequate shortsword, but it was a stark mismatch.  The axe tore through his defenses twice, opening frost-frozen gashes in his compact form.  The lamia let out a gleeful laugh as it drove him back under her onslaught, but there was nowhere that he could go.  And Cal was not retreating in any case, and in fact the brave gnome began to sing, issuing a rousing chant of defiance in the face of his powerful adversary.  

“I’ll cut you to pieces,” the lamia screed, launching into another series of attacks.  The very first stroke came downward, dead on for the gnome’s exposed skull…

Once Cal moved to face the lamia, and draw its attention away, Delem went into action.  He felt a twinge at leaving his friend alone against the beast, but knew that Lok needed his aid immediately.  If he wasn’t already dead, the young man thought, but he dismissed that notion as he recalled the many fights and the massive damage he’d seen Lok absorb.  Tearing his attention from the lamia and the battle, he rushed past and up the stairs to where the genasi was lying in a heap halfway up the flight.  

He crouched beside his stricken friend, relieved to see that he still drew breath, if raggedly.  The wounds from the ogre axes and the lamia’s strike left his armor slick with his own blood, and Delem knew that he had to act immediately if he was to save his friend’s life.  

He closed his eyes, and opened his mind to the cleaning power of Kossuth’s fire.  

Dana had heard Cal’s cry, and knew that her friends needed her.  She had poured healing energy into Benzan’s battered form, and now he began to stir, restored to consciousness by the power she channeled from the goddess Selûne.  While she wanted to stay, to more fully restore him, she knew that she had to go, could now sense the battle raging right behind her as she emerged from the haze of her spellcasting.  She reached into Benzan’s pouch, where she knew that he kept his nearly-depleted cache of healing potions, and pressed the vial into his hand.  

“Hurry,” she said, not sure if the still-dazed tiefling understood her.  Then she leapt up and spun to witness the lamia unloading holy hell onto Cal.  Even as her mouth opened to issue a shout of denial the lamia brought her axe down heavily onto the gnome.  Cal managed to dodge enough to avoid a skull-splitting blow, but the magical blade still tore a deep gash in his shoulder, dropping him unconscious and dying to the broken stone pavement.  

“No!” Dana’s cry finally came, an instant too late.  The shout did bring the lamia’s attention around toward her, however, and without hesitation the creature came straight for her.  

Dana stepped forward to meet it.  

She immediately realized that the adversary she faced was not the same creature she’d engaged before.  Oh, it was the same lamia, but it was enhanced somehow, fighting with a strength and fortitude that had transformed it into a slaying machine.  She took it all in with one sweeping glance of the battlefield, at Lok’s crumpled form on the steps, Elly trying to hold the gaping wound in her side together with a bloody hand, Cal lying motionless on the hard stone.  Delem was tending to Lok, but Dana knew that for the moment, she was alone. 

She had to buy them time. 

So she waited for the lamia to come to her, and when the lamia attacked she did as well, but using the defensive stance taught to her by the monks of the Sun Soul monastery where she’d fostered in her youth.  Her own blow was utterly ineffectual, but it sufficed to draw the lamia after her as she retreated away from the others, toward the corner of the chamber near the dark tunnel opening.  That might offer a temporary reprieve, as the lamia would take longer in slipping through the crack, but Dana’s goal wasn’t that escape.  She had to keep the creature engaged, lest it turn on her helpless friends.  

She spun and moved with alacrity, forcing the creature to follow and not giving it a chance to get set and launch a full series of attacks.  Even trading attacks for defense was almost not enough, as the lamia pursued relentlessly and slashed at her with Lok’s axe.  The first stroke came so close that she could feel the cold emanating from the blade, and only the mage armor that Cal had applied earlier kept her from taking damage.  

But as long as she remained engaged with the creature, it was inevitable that it would hit her eventually—it was just too strong and too fast.  

Still, Dana was able to keep ahead of it for several moments, darting and weaving in a complex yet flowing series of leaps and rolls.  With each passing second the lamia seemed to grow more enraged, and as Dana neared the confines of the corner it finally connected with a darting backslash, the edge of the axe slicing through the mage armor and tearing a long gash in her exposed thigh.  Dana stifled her cry of pain, focusing on her mental discipline as she rolled with the cut and came back up into a ready stance a few feet away.  Now it was the lamia that was in the corner, and Dana had more move to maneuver back out into the open space of the chamber.

But the lamia was already coming again, axe raised for another cut.  

And staggered, as a long arrow from Benzan’s bow slammed deep into its shoulder.

“Leave her alone, you monster.”

The lamia screamed, although it was less in pain than in frustrated rage.  Dana took advantage of the pause to dart back another few feet, to where Benzan stood with his bow in his hand, another arrow already fitted to the string.  Behind him, Lok stood on shaky but determined legs, and Delem was already tending to Cal, pouring life-saving healing energy into him.  Elly was up as well, still wan from the blood she’d lost, but a healing potion from Benzan—his last—had stopped the bleeding from her side.

All of the companions were still battered, but they stood firm together as the lamia regarded them with a look of pure hatred.

“Let’s finish this,” Lok said.  He hefted the bronze longsword they’d found in the tunnels under Taboo Island on the Isle of Dread, looking like grim death itself in his blood-covered armor.  

The lamia, driven beyond any thought of flight by the magic of its spell, charged right into the knot of them, its stolen axe sweeping a broad arc before it.  Benzan’s last arrow slammed hard into its torso, injuring it further but not stopping it, and the tiefling tossed his bow aside and drew his sword.  Elly once again set her spear, and this time the tip dug a deep channel in the lamia’s side as it came forward.  The lamia screamed again, this time in real pain, and tried to swing at Elly.  Lok, however, stepped forward and took the blow on his shield, fully aware that one more hit would likely fell him once again.  The genasi’s shield held, however, and as he turned the blow aside he drove the sword deep into the lamia’s chest.  While not as skilled with the sword as with his axe, the blade nonetheless penetrated deep, backed by the full strength of the genasi, still boosted by the potion he’d drunk earlier.  

But the lamia, lost in the power of its magic, fought on.  With multiple opponents close at hand it lashed out blindly, swinging the axe in great sweeping arcs.  Dana, knowing her own weak attacks would have little effect on the raging creature, stepped behind Lok and cast a spell, touching the genasi to fill him with a pulse of healing energy.  That boon was timely, as well, as one of the lamia’s blows connected hard a moment later, barreling through the genasi’s defenses and adding a fresh hurt to his tally.  

But Lok did not go down, and the lamia’s attackers redoubled their efforts, swarming around the outnumbered creature.  Elly backed up and stabbed again, this time in the rear, driving her spearhead deep into its flank.  Benzan joined the melee and took advantage of the creature’s distraction to launch a devastating sneak attack, his blade tearing into it from the opposite flank.  Delem, having stabilized Cal, joined in the battle from ten paces away, firing a pair of magic missiles that streaked unerringly into the creature’s body.  

S’reth struck for damage that could have slain two lamias, faltered.  The magic slipped away, and she could feel her life going with it.  She looked down at the creatures that had slain her, the creatures _she_ had brought here, but in her last breath she didn’t think about bad choices or missed chances.  No, she saved that final breath to offer one last curse at the world, at T’roth and the others, and at these… people… that had done this to her.  

Only she never got a chance to utter that oath, as Lok took the lamia’s head from her shoulders with one clean swipe of his sword.  

The companions gathered around the body of the lamia, the stones around them slick with their blood commingled with that of their foes.  All of them were seriously wounded, and each felt keenly the knife’s edge upon which their fate had been balanced.  

“Well, that was something,” Benzan said.  That said, he turned to start looting the corpses, his attention drawn first to the silver ring that he’d spotted on one of the lamia’s forepaws.  

The others spent a few moments collecting their breaths, drinking their remaining healing draughts, or casting spells to do the same to the most injured.  With the battle over, each of them became aware of the biting cold, a stark contrast to the wet heat back on the Isle of Dread.  Finally, once their immediate needs were seen to, Elly voiced the matter of most pressing concern.

“Where are we?”


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## Horacio (Apr 30, 2002)

Wow!
What a battle!
Epic! 
Thanks a lot, LAzybones, I really needed my fix


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## Broccli_Head (Apr 30, 2002)

Horacio said:
			
		

> *Wow!
> What a battle!
> Epic!
> Thanks a lot, LAzybones, I really needed my fix  *





I agree! What a fight! My favorite line is when Lok says, "Let's finish this, " and draws his sword. Very vivid. I can imagine the bloodied and battered party surrounding their foe for the last tango....

Can't wait to see where we are!

B.H.


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## Maldur (Apr 30, 2002)

That was great!!

Awesome fight

I hope your trip was inspiring enough to write more of these great scenes.  Dana and Cal really saved the day, while not being the tanks 

When will we be reading more?


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## Lazybones (Apr 30, 2002)

Hey, thanks for the praises, guys!  I liked the way that the scene came together as well--some days it just flows better than others.  In some ways Dana is the weakest of the companions when it comes to battle, so I was glad I was able to write her a strong role in this confrontation.  Although actually, with her bonuses from Wis, Dex, and Cha (the last comes from her Mystic Wanderer prestige class), mage armor, and fighting defensively, her AC does manage to get pretty high.  Too bad she's not bright enough to take Expertise.  Soon, though, she'll get some pretty cool prestige class abilities.  Plus she'll get third level spells soon, to better fill in the void left by Ruath's death (or will the halfing return?  Remember she's still in the bag of holding, under Gentle Repose).  A few of the others are approaching their prestige class thresholds as well, but we'll get to that...

Assuming that I can get onto the boards, I'll have the continuation up tomorrow morning (around 8 am PST).  

LB


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## CoopersPale (May 1, 2002)

Still enjoying this story hour Lazybones!

just chimed in for another "fan post".

keep it up!

Bludgeon


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## Horacio (May 1, 2002)

Waiting for the next update


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## Lazybones (May 1, 2002)

Book IV, Part 5


“Where are we?”

It was Lok who finally answered that question, once they had explored the ruins above the sunken chamber and moved to its outer edge.  It was late in the day, the sky above an unbroken expanse of gray, and the cold wind only intensified as they pressed on.  The companions drew out stashed cold-weather clothes and fur-lined cloaks, most of which had been kept in Lok’s bag of holding for most of their time on the Isle.  Once they had left the immediate area of the battle with the lamia and her ogre servants they paused in the shelter of a crumbling wall for food and drink, a meal hastened by their need for answers.  They knew that they were back in Faerûn, both by the renewed connection of the clerics to their gods and by the familiar tongue used by the lamia, but other than that, the cold was their only clue to their current location. 

The ruin was situated on a bluff that sat on the shoulder of a range of massive, snow-topped mountains that ran to the north and west.  Winter had just been beginning on Faerûn when they had first been transported to the alternative prime plane of the Isle of Dread, and now it had to be in full flower, as they had spent several tendays exiled in that strange land.   

The ruin wasn’t especially large, perhaps half the size of one of the city blocks back in Waterdeep, but it held about it an air of advanced age, as if it had stood there on that lonely bluff back in the time when the human empires were not yet conceived.  What purpose the place might have once served was lost now in the destruction that untold ages had wrought upon it.   

Once they emerged from the edge of the ruin and gained a clear view of the edge of the bluff, they took in a collective breath as they regarded a broad vista that stretched for hundreds of miles around them.  To the north and west lay an unbroken expanse of mountains, but to the southwest hilly plains could be seen, along with a forest that pressed up against the foot of the range to the west.  To the east, as far as they could see, the horizon was a vast, barren expanse, open land broken only by the occasional cluster of rocky hills naked of vegetation. 

“This must be how the gods see the world,” Dana breathed, as they all took in the majesty of the grand sight.  It was as if the world was laid out before them, a natural tableau.  

“I know where we are,” Lok said, finally, breaking the spell that the view had cast over them.  Five pairs of eyes turned immediately to him, seeking the answer that had thus far eluded them.  

“Anauroch,” Lok said, indicating the waste.  “Beyond yon waste lies the High Ice, a glacier that makes the desert seem verdant by comparison.  These mountains behind us are the Ruathym, occupied by orcs, dwarves, and other hardy races of the farthest ranges.”

“Well, friends, it looked like we started in the West, and have found our way to the North,” Cal said.  

“Found our way home,” Lok said to himself, too quietly for those around him to hear.  

* * * * * 

The identification of their surroundings replaced some of their uncertainty, but it did not provide answers on what to do next.  Lok’s knowledge of this particular region was entirely second-hand, as his people had lived more to the west and north of this barren place.  Indeed, as they headed down a narrow track that led down from the bluff to the southwest, it seemed as though they had the world to themselves this day, as even the natural beasts that lived in the mountains seemed of a mind to give the bluff and its forsaken ruin a wide berth.  

The path led them along their desired course, for the route to the southwest offered the best prospect for leaving this isolated place and returning to some vestige of civilization.  It was a long road, for it was a goodly hundred miles or more to the nearest settled area, the remote dwarven fortress of Citadel Adbar.  Beyond that lay an even longer road to Sundabar, and the other cities of the Silver Marches.  A long hike indeed for the companions, but few alternatives presented themselves on this cold, blustery winter day.

While the ruin offered ready shelter from the elements, none of them had been willing to tarry there.  Instead they made their camp for that night within a rocky dell some miles away from the bluff.  They sent a vigilant watch, but for once no enemy emerged to threaten them.  With the morning came the same cold wind and darkened sky, the gray above showing a more malevolent shade that promised a storm before too long. 

“Looks like rain… or snow, perhaps,” Cal said.

“Yeah, it just gets better and better, doesn’t it?” Benzan said grumpily, still wiping the sleep from his eyes as he sat down to their meager breakfast.  While they were still above the treeline, Lok had found some dried out scrub brush that he had coaxed into a small fire with the help of Delem and some of the oil left among their stores.  It wasn’t much, but at least they had hot coffee.

“That’s the last of the coffee,” Lok said.  

“All right, that’s it,” Benzan said, standing up suddenly.  “I’m lodging a formal protest with the forces running this multiverse.  Why couldn’t they just let us travel back to Baldur’s Gate, where right now I could be sitting in a nice, warm tavern with a mug of ale, a sideboard of juicy beef, perhaps a saucy wench bouncing on my knee…”

He trailed off wistfully, oblivious to the daggers in the looks he got from both Dana and Elly.

“All right,” Cal said.  “We’ve got a long road ahead of us, that’s for sure, but we’re together, and at least we’re back in Faerûn.  That’s something.”

“Yeah, but at least it was warm back on the Isle of Dread,” Benzan said, subsiding with a final huff of justified indignation.  

The scanty breakfast left them all hungry, but it was the best they could do with the limited supplies they had remaining.  Dana suggested that they would likely find game and edible plant life once they reached the forest, but it looked like a few more days of hiking remained before they made it there.  They all felt particularly conscious of the absence of Ruath, who’d had the power to conjure up foodstuffs using the divine power of Tymora.  Now the halfling woman was also stored in the bag of holding with their other gear, preserved by a spell of gentle repose from Dana.   

They spent the day marching along the trail, making slow but steady progress.  The clouds above seemed content to withhold their wet cargo for now, a small blessing but one welcomed by the tired companions.  

Around noon (or their best guess, as the clouds continued to shroud the sun quite thoroughly) they paused for a brief rest and another small meal at the base of a steeply sloping ridge.  

As they rested Dana came over to where Delem was sitting, a short distance separating him from the others.  “You’ve been quiet, lately,” she said to him.

He looked up at her, not certain what to say, although his feelings were written clearly on his face.  

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I know this must be tough on you.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he finally said after a minute’s awkward silence.  “I’ve been acting like a little child, and it’s not fair to you… or to Benzan.”

At the mention of the tiefling’s name, Dana suddenly looked uncomfortable.  But she hid it well, and an instant later a wry smile had fallen back into place across her face.  “Benzan’s got nothing to do with our friendship,” she told him.  “I know this is awkward, but… I don’t know.  My life has changed so much since I met all of you, I’ve discovered things about myself and the world that I never knew were there.  I met a follower of Selûne, once, when I was young—he seemed… strange… somehow, like he wasn’t quite part of the world you and I live in, that he possessed a sort of deeper connection to… to life itself, I guess.  To the universe, and its secrets.  He said that he was a ‘mystic wanderer.’  I guess that’s what I am, now.”

“I… I understand, I think,” Delem replied.  “My own understanding of things has changed a lot, too.  Each time I think I understand a little more, I’m reminded of how much I don’t know.  I mean, I have this power, power to destroy.  And yet, at the same time, my connection to Kossuth gives me the power to heal, to save lives.  Strange, how destruction and renewal are two sides of the same coin.”

“See, this is why I like talking to you,” she said with a more genuine smile.  “Of all of them, you really do understand.”  She stood, seeing that the others were making preparations to continue on their march.  Suddenly, though, she looked around, uncertainty crossing her expression.

“What is it?” Delem asked.  “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s not right here,” she said.  “It’s gotten quiet all of a sudden…”

Delem stood and looked around, and so he was the first to see the four flying creatures that darted low over the crest of the nearby ridge and swept down toward them.  They looked like giant eagles, if eagles could have the heads of feral elk with multi-pronged, sharp-pointed antlers.  

He barely had time to shout a warning to the others before the things attacked.


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## Broccli_Head (May 1, 2002)

*geography?*

so did they arrive at the ruins of Ascore? don't have my handy Faerunian travel map with me but That's what I'm thinking since  you describe Citadel Adbar as only several hundred miles away.  I like to get an idea of the lay of the land in the stories that i read. helps put thing in context. 

will they be passing Hellgate Dell?


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## Lazybones (May 1, 2002)

Broccli_head: They are quite near Ascore, in fact that place will be mentioned in an upcoming post.  Something else is happening there, though... we'll see if it affects the group any.

I'm home today sick (brought a cold back with me from NYC, it seems) but so far I've been playing multiplayer Jedi Knight II all morning rather than writing.  I'll try to be good and maybe get another update up later.

LB


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## Horacio (May 2, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> While the ruin offered ready shelter from the elements, none of them had been willing to tarry there.  Instead they made their camp for that night within a rocky dell some miles away from the bluff.  *They sent a vigilant watch, but for once no enemy emerged to threaten them.*  With the morning came the same cold wind and darkened sky, the gray above showing a more malevolent shade that promised a storm before too long.




Wow!
That was new! Nobody tried to kill them? 



Please, more!


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## Lazybones (May 2, 2002)

Book IV, Part 6

While enjoying a brief noontime respite from their long trek through the mountains, the companions are attacked suddenly by a quartet of ravaging perytons.  

Delem’s shouted warning was still lingering in the air when the first of the creatures knifed down the sloping length of the ridgeline and into their impromptu encampment.  The perytons held their sharp antlers before them like lances, aimed squarely at the defenders as they reached for weapons or called to mind the power of magical spells.  

But the perytons had crept up on them by flying low over the nape of the terrain, and had gained almost complete surprise.  Only Delem, who’d seen them appear over the crest of the ridge above, had time to react.  He called upon the power of his magic, drawing the flames from deep inside him to smite yet another enemy that threatened him and his friends.  

To his surprise, the rush of power that came at his call felt different than anything he’d done before, and instead of magical missiles or a stream of burning flame, a small bead of liquid fire sprung from his hand and raced up the slope toward the diving creatures.  

The bead exploded in a raging inferno, a fireball fully forty feet across that sent a wave of heat rolling down toward them.  Delem stared at the conflagration in amazement as it dwindled and then faded away into wisps of smoke that quickly dissipated in the wind.  

His amazement was cut short as he realized that the fireball had exploded too far away, only catching one of the creatures in the rear as it dove, burning it severely but not enough to slay it. 

The first of the perytons targeted Lok with its charge, fixing a long point of its antlers on his chest as it swooped down at him.  Lok barely had time to raise his shield to take the charge, but it was enough to deflect the potent force of the impact.  Benzan, a few paces away, wasn’t so luck as the second creature gored him through the protection of his mailshirt, driving him back and leaving a dark red stain on the creature’s antlers.  

The second pair selected their own targets, the first slamming into Elly with enough force to knock her roughly prone.  The last, the one injured by Delem’s spell, bore in directly toward the sorcerer, its jagged, tooth-filled maw opening in a ragged scream as it sought to return the pain that had been inflicted upon it.  Delem stood there in terror at the creature’s horrific appearance, but at the last instant Dana crashed into him from the side, knocking both of them down and under the deadly course of the creature’s attack.  

The perytons had scored blood on their first attack, but if they expected an easy victory, they were not destined to be satisfied against this bunch.  

The force of their dive abated, the perytons hopped awkwardly a few feet above the ground, their wings beating furiously as they continued their attacks with multiple strikes from antlers, claws, and teeth.  Lok’s adversary tore at him while the genasi blocked each attack in turn, until one claw tore through his defenses and raked an angry gash across his forehead.  The genasi had shrugged off far worse hurts in the past, however, and responded with a mighty chop from his axe that sent the creature reeling.  It screeched at him in pain and anger, but even as it came at him again Lok responded with a backswing that caught it in the belly, opening a second vicious gash that sprayed tiny droplets of frozen blood onto the stone.

Cal rushed to help Elly against her adversary, which was tearing at her prone form, giving her no relief from its violent attack.  Cal fired a color spray at the creature, which stunned it long enough for Elly to roll out from under it and regain her footing, a little unsteady from the multiple wounds she’d already taken from its attacks.  The woman rushed to pick up her spear while the peryton fluttered around, trying to regain its bearings.

Benzan drew his sword and tore into the creature, the warrior and the peryton going at each other with fully unbridled force.  Benzan took another thrust from the peryton’s goring antlers, but was able to withstand its other attacks through judicious combination of his dexterity, mithral armor, and magical shield.  His own blows were telling, although the creature’s desire to tear him apart was not noticeably reduced by the injuries it suffered.  The two continued to spar in a storm of steel and feathers as the battle raged on around them. 

Dana arched her back and sprung back up to her feet as the creature that had dove at Delem spun and awkwardly flapped back toward them.  Dana was ready for it, in a defensive posture that allowed her to dodge a vicious thrust of its sharp antlers.  It managed to catch hold of her shoulder with one claw, however, tugging her slightly off-balance.  While Dana recovered quickly, the peryton took advantage of the brief distraction to lock its slavering jaws around her outstretched left forearm.  Dana gritted her teeth in pain and yanked the wounded limb roughly free from the thing’s bite before it could get a firm grip.  

Dana’s delaying action had given Delem another chance to strike at the creature.  Focusing his thoughts, he called up another series of magic missiles.  Demonstrating that the increased power evidenced by the fireball was not a fluke, this time he managed to create three missiles, each slamming into the creature’s body in rapid succession.  Already wounded by the fireball, the peryton staggered and collapsed to the ground, flapping its wings uselessly as its life ebbed from its misshapen form.  

Lok, meanwhile, had dispatched his adversary with one more devastating swing of his axe, and was already moving to aid Cal and Elly.  The peryton that Cal had stunned had recovered enough to see that this fight was not going the way of his side, and even as Lok approached it beat its wings feverishly in an outright bid to flee this combat.  Cal managed a parting shot from his crossbow, but the missile flew wide of the departing creature.

The last peryton, however, the one fighting Benzan, gave no indication of seeking retreat.  If anything, it came on more ferociously, focused entirely on a single-minded effort to bring down the tiefling.  It tore and bit at his chest, thankfully protected by his magical mithral chainmail.  Even so, he took several hits from its scratching claws and thrusting antlers, although none of the wounds were really that serious.  In return, he’d managed another hit that scored the monster’s body deeply.

The ultimate winner of the confrontation would remain undetermined, however, for the arrival of Benzan’s friends led to a speedy end to the battle.  A spear thrust and axe chop later, the peryton bled out the last of its life on the barren stone, and quiet returned again to the mountains.  

While Dana and Delem tended to their wounds, the others regarded their strange attackers.  Benzan reflexively rubbed his chest with a hand streaked with blood, as if reassuring himself that everything was in its proper place.  

“Now, that was something,” he said.  

“Perytons,” Lok told them.  “They’re not uncommon in the northern ranges.  They are driven to tear out the hearts of their prey, and immediately consume them.”

“Yeah, it’s good to be back in Faerûn,” Benzan said, with a wry side look at Cal.  “Home sweet home.”

After gathering their gear, they set out again along the trail.


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## Maldur (May 2, 2002)

nice way of anouncing delems level up!

btw your plan of creating the best read stoy (by posting on the temp boards) is great . Unfortunatly your story is a bit behind there 

Laterz, Maldur


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## Lazybones (May 3, 2002)

Thanks for the reminder, Maldur!  I've updated the story through part 6 on the temp boards (I'll try to remember and post to both), and remember, you guys can always drop by my website when the boards are too crowded to get in .  

The whole group is in the process of levelling up; I'll post their new stats at my Rogues' Gallery thread sometime this weekend.

* * * * * 


Book IV, Part 7 

It took another full day of hiking along the twisting mountain trail before they reached the fringes of the forest.  As if on cue the snow began to fall shortly thereafter, starting with just a few scattered flakes but rapidly settling on a moderate but constant downfall that soon covered the world around them with a uniform coat of white.

Without a clear idea of where they were going, other than the fact that they wanted to get out of the mountains, the companions spent the rest of that day working their way down the steeply sloping route that led down into the low country below.  The forest was quiet, with no signs of life other than the noise of their own passage.  

The air was bracingly cold.  Dana had her magical cloak, and Benzan, for all his complaining, could resist the cold due to his heritage, but the others felt it keenly, and the weather combined with the short rations was beginning to have an effect on them.  At least they had ample wood for a fire that night at their campsite, and the following morning Dana prayed to Selûne for spells that would offer Cal, Lok, and Elly some protection against the harsh elements.  She was also able to locate some bark that provided a bitter tea that offered some substitute to their exhausted supply of coffee.  Benzan took one sip and pronounced the stuff utterly vile, but they all drank it nonetheless, welcome for anything that could take the edge off of the cold that suffused their weary bodies. 

They spent the next two days traveling gradually to the southwest in such fashion, Dana renewing the endure elements magic each morning and using her nature lore to find them edible plants to eat.  Dana’s cloak also had the power to conjure up a small amount of magical food each day, which she shared with her companions.  Even with that and her skill, however, it was clear that they would not be able to continue the hard pace with such meager fare.  The bag of holding was now empty, at least of anything edible.  

On their third morning in the forest, Dana was in the middle of her prayers, the others gathered close around their fire nearby, when she suddenly felt an epiphany.  Her eyes popped open in surprise as she felt a new thread of power connect her and her goddess.

“What is it, Dana?” Cal asked, noticing the change that had come over her expression.

“Nothing… just give me a few minutes,” she said, opening her mind again to the power of Selûne.

“It’d better not be another monster,” Benzan said.  “I’m not fighting another battle until we get some real coffee—not this ogre-piss we’ve been drinking.”

“And how would you know what ogre piss tastes like?” Delem offered, drawing a laugh from Cal and Elly.  Benzan glared at the sorcerer, but didn’t respond to the jibe.

“I’ll be glad when we finally get out of these mountains,” Elly said.  “This reminds me of a vessel I once crewed on that went north to Luskan late in the year.  We were caught in a storm that nearly destroyed the ship.  Since then I’ve made it a point to stay in the more southerly climes come winter.”

“Yet people do live in places like this, despite the weather,” Cal said.  He went on to tell them about the Uthgardt barbarians of the far north, the hardy dwarves that lived in citadels carved from the mountains, and the omnipresent orcs that seemed to blast down out of the Spine of the World with each new generation.  They listened to his descriptions with interest, although Lok seemed slightly distracted.

Cal lost his audience, though, when a flat spot near the fire was suddenly filled with a tall pile of foodstuffs, from a dozen plump loaves of trailbread to a medley of multicolored fruits and vegetables!

“What the…” Benzan said in surprise, then their gazes turned collectively to Dana, who stood there looking at them with a smug expression.  

“Thank the goddess,” she said with a smile.  “I’ve been awarded access to a new class of more potent divine magics.  Looks like you’re not the only one who is expanding their powers, Delem.”

“Well then, give my thanks to Selûne, then,” Benzan said, as he reached for a loaf of bread.  He hesitated, and asked, “This isn’t going to taste like that stuff Ruath used to make for us, is it?” he asked.  

“Shut up and eat,” Cal said.  He wove his hand over the food, casting a minor cantrip to enhance the flavor of the divinely-provided meal.  All of them dug into the conjured food, but they’d barely begun to eat when they were interrupted by a call that came from the forest a short distance away.

“Hello the camp!”

The food was momentarily forgotten as weapons were drawn and spells called ready to mind.  The snow, still falling in scattered flakes, made it difficult to spot whoever had spoken, but the voice hadn’t been loud enough to carry too far.  

“Do you see him?” Cal asked Benzan in a whisper.

“No, nothing,” the tiefling said.

“Show yourself!” Cal shouted, while the others faced warily in the direction from which the initial call had come.

Two shadows materialized from within the line of trees a short distance away, and approached the camp.  They were clad in white cloaks that blended with the snow-covered landscape, and as they neared the companions could see that they were men.  Or more specifically, as they approached close enough to make out details, a silver-haired elf, in the company of a burly warrior who looked to have more than a hint of orcish blood.  That combination alone made them an unusual combination, but their isolated surroundings made travelers of any sort out of the ordinary.  The elf carried a composite longbow and a slender sword at his hip, while the hafts of a pair of battleaxes protruded above the shoulders of the half-orc, who wore a shirt of chainmail under a thick fur vest.  

“Hail, and well met, travelers,” the elf said in a friendly and melodious voice.  The half-orc said nothing, but fixed them with a stare as cold and hard as the stones around them.  

“Good morning,” Cal said.  “Bit of a cold spell we’re having, isn’t it?”

The elf’s eyes traveled over each of them in turn, taking their measure before returning to Cal’s diminutive frame.  “Indeed.  We saw your fire, and came over to see what manner of travelers would be out in weather like this, in such a forbidding place.”

“We could ask the same of you,” Cal said, his tone still light.  “I mean no offense, but elves and orc-kin are not known as boon companions.”

“Gorath and I… well, ours is not a typical story,” the elf said.  “Though I see that you, as well, might have a few tales to tell in that regard.”  Subtly, without being too obvious about it, his gaze shifted briefly to Benzan and Lok in turn.  “But I am forgetting my manners.  I am Lariel of the Silver Bow, arcane archer of the court of Evereska.  This is my ‘boon companion,’ as you say, Gorath, a ranger of the High Wood.”  The half-orc nodded almost imperceptibly, but uttered nothing more than a slight grunt.  Cal, in turn, introduced each of them, giving only their names without more elaboration for now.  

“You are far from your homelands,” Dana offered.  

“As are you, priestess of Selûne,” Lariel replied.  “Or do I miss my guess, that you are of Western Heartlands stock?”  

“You are perceptive,” Cal said.  “It is a cold morning, and while we must on our way shortly, a little lingering around a warm fire can never hurt.  Would you like to join us?  There is hot food, if you like.”

The two companions exchanged a quick glance, and Lariel nodded.  “A generous offer, and one that we would be happy to accept, though we too must be on our way before the day grows too full.”

Warily the two groups returned to the fire and Dana’s summoned food, facing off on two different sides of the circle across the flickering flames.  It was clear that each side had questions for the other, but Lariel deferred to Cal and his friends, as the hosts of this impromptu gathering.  He took a beaten iron mug of hot tea from Elly while his companion devoured an entire loaf of trailbread and a wide assortment of fruits.  

For a few minutes they ate in silence, and then Cal said, “So, you said that you had an unusual tale to tell, Lariel.  I am a storyteller myself, and always enjoy hearing tales of unusual meetings, such as this one.”

Gorath shot his companion a quick look that clearly bespoke caution, but Lariel seemed to be at ease.  “There are dark tidings throughout the North this winter, whispers of trouble that perhaps you have heard?”  When Cal didn’t reply, he went on, “The orcs have been troublesome, but that is not uncommon.  There have also been rumblings of ogres on the move in the Ice Mountains, but the dwarves at Citadel Adbar would know more of that than I.  But Gorath, and I, we are here investigating some darker rumors, rumors of shadows stirring in the old dwarven ruin that was once Ascore.”

Lok showed a flicker of recognition at the name, and Lariel saw it, for he said, “Ah, so perhaps you know of this place, then?”

“I am from this region,” Lok said, “though I have not seen the snows fall here in some years.”  To the others, he said, “Ascore is at the end of the old northern road to the south of here, several days travel, I’d guess.  It once marked the edge of the old dwarven empire of Delzoun, and was a port, on the edge of the inland sea that is now the barren sands of Anauoch.”

“I’ve heard the name,” Cal said, though he didn’t elaborate. 

Shadows…” Dana said.  “What do you mean?  Is there some sort of evil dwelling in the ruins?”

“Perhaps,” Lariel replied.  “You have heard no word of this, then?”

“We are only newly come to this region ourselves,” Cal said.  “A portal transported us here, against our wishes.  We’ve had a bit of difficulty over the last few days, but haven’t seen any sign of a more organized evil.”

“Just a lamia sorceress, some ogres, and a few perytons,” Benzan said brusquely.  “An average tenday for us, I’d say.”

Lariel regarded him with a raised eyebrow, but didn’t reply.  Instead, he said to Cal, “So, where do you seek to go from here?”

Cal looked around at his companions.  “Well, I think we all pretty much want to get out of these mountains, and someplace a little more civilized, for now.  After that… well, probably back to the Sword Coast or the Western Heartlands, I suppose.”

“A long journey,” Lariel said.  “And I wish we could help you find your way, but we have pressing business of our own, as I said.  There’s a pass to the west of here, just a few hours’ travel from this place, that will take you swiftly to the main road that cuts up to Citadel Adbar.  The road to Sundabar is easier, but no less dangerous, and much longer—tendays, at least, on foot.  I’d warn you of the dangers present in the mountains, but it seems like you’re well able to care for yourselves.”

“Thank you,” Cal said.  “And good journey to you.”

“Good journey,” the elf replied, as he and his companion stood and shook the snow from their garments.

“Thanks for the food,” the half-orc ranger grumbled around a mouthful of bread, the first words he’s spoken since their meeting.

And with that, the two swiftly departed to the southeast.

“Strange pair,” Benzan commented.  

“No stranger than our mix,” Lok replied.  

“He dodged my question about what they were looking for,” Dana said.

“Yes, I noticed that too,” Cal said.  “In any case, though, we’ve got a destination now, and with luck we’ll soon be able to rest and catch our breath before setting out again.  I wish them luck, but whatever those two are looking for, hopefully it doesn’t concern us.”

But as they gathered up their gear, including what was left of the food conjured by Dana, the priestess of Selûne could not help but glance over her shoulder, southward where the elf and half-orc had vanished.  

She couldn’t say how she knew, but somehow she wasn’t so sure.


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## drnuncheon (May 3, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> * The bag of holding was now empty, at least of anything edible.
> *




Oh my God...

THEY ATE RUATH!



J


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## Broccli_Head (May 3, 2002)

Did I ever tell you how much I love the Realms? Thanks LB for bringng me back to my favorite adventuring spot...the NORTH. 

I can imagine the  snow-covered moutains and forests of pine..It is a stark, yet beautiful land. 

Looking forward to much, much more adventure in the region.


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## Horacio (May 5, 2002)

drnuncheon said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Oh my God...
> 
> ...




AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!

They ate Ruath! They ate Ruath!  



Great update!


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## Maldur (May 6, 2002)

Oh stop about the eating of Ruath. Everyone knows halflings should be eaten with chili and rocksalt!. And as they were all out of supplies they wouldn't have had either. So the halfling is safe.

 

Great update, Lazybones.

ps If someone wants to look up the quote on eating halflings find Mary Gentle's Grunts. Its a great book.


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## Lazybones (May 6, 2002)

Book IV, Part 8

_Journal Entry
8 Alturiak, 1373 Dalereckoning

It has been some time since I have sat down to write down a recalling of events in this journal, but for the first time in a long while I have some extra time on my hands to reflect on, as my uncle Donweddin used put it, “what was, what is, and what will be.”  We’ve been here in Citadel Adbar for a full ten-day now, and while it’s good to feel warm again  (and not to have to worry about monster attacks coming at any moment), I’m already feeling the itch in my feet for the open road.  The dwarves are not unkindly hosts, but they do not take well to strangers and the guest quarters underground are cramped and sparse.  In the above-ground portion of the fortress there is at least the comfort of the open air, but the pleasure of that is undermined somewhat by the constant noise and smell of the dwarven metalworks there.  It runs day and night, and not without reason.  Citadel Adbar has earned its reputation as one of the strongest fortresses in all of Faerûn, and it seems that Lariel’s words about the dangers of this region were not unfounded.  There has been no violence since we’ve been here, but several of the dwarves I spoke with mentioned recent sightings of orcs and ogres in the area, and they indicated that such incursions were becoming both more frequent and more brazen in their challenge to Adbar’s control over the surrounding lands. 

The fate of Ruath still weighs heavily on my mind, although I know that I must eventually accept that the choice was hers to make.  One of my first stops on our arrival here was the temple of Moradin.  It took some doing (and showing some of the gems that we brought back from the Isle of Dread) to get in to see the High Priest, but once we met he was not unsympathetic to our cause.  Especially once he found out Ruath’s affiliation; it seems that the Harpers are not unknown in these parts.  Perhaps Lariel and Gorath… but that is a subject for another time.

It took a fairly generous donation to persuade the cleric to seek the Soul Forger’s intercession, only to find that Ruath’s spirit did not wish to return to the mortal shell that we’d so painstakingly preserved for her.  I cannot say that I am surprised, after all that I knew of her.  I earnestly wish that she has finally found happiness, at Tymora’s side.  

We buried her in the ground in a nearby valley, outside of the fortress.  I know that she would have wanted that.

One consolation, at least—we were able to restore Dana’s hand, again through the good graces of the church of Moradin.  She was very grateful, and none of us begrudged the gems it took to see the deed done, not even Benzan.  As I recall, it was he who first suggested that we sell the black pearl that he found to raise the necessary funds.   

With our clerical needs seen to, there was little cash remaining for our other needs.  We replenished our stock of ammunition and supplies, of course, although Dana’s newly discovered powers makes the latter a little less critical.  I’d wanted to acquire a new wand of color spray, as my current device is approaching the end of its usefulness, but no such item could be found here.  The dwarven mage I spoke to was quite a character—he said something to the effect of, “we dwarves don’t truck with illooshuns and fairy charms, gnome.  Now, if ye care to buy some real magic…”

I didn’t get any ‘real’ magic, but I was able to buy a pair of minor healing wands from the temple of Moradin.  I gave one to Dana, and kept the other myself…

That reminds me of another thing of note.  In search of an artificer who could help us to identify the blades we brought back from the Isle, we were directed to a smithy located deep under the mountain beneath the citadel, in the bowels of the old dwarf-built complex of tunnels and caverns.  It took almost an hour just to reach the site—gods, this place is huge!  We were introduced to a dwarf who seemed as old as the stones themselves, a venerable figure named Karroth.  I suspected that this dwarf was possessed of a significant magic of his own, and the way he swiftly gained the measure of our items quickly confirmed my suspicions.  He was particularly interested in the bronze swords, especially the one that we’d found on the encrusted throne in the cavern where we fought the kopru.  He said that it bore an enchantment similar to the elf-blades once forged in Myth Drannor, that it had the power to protect its wielder from magic of the mind.  The longer we remained the more interested he seemed in the item, and we agreed to return so that he could study it more.  I spoke with the others, and we agreed that we had little use for the weapon—Lok has his axe, and such a blade is far too large for me.  Benzan could use it; certainly it would have helped him in our clash against the lamia—but he is far too attached to his current weapon.  Karroth confirmed that Benzan’s sword is possessed of an independent intelligence, but would say little more about it except to state the powers of which we were already aware.  

Once he saw that we might be interested in selling the blade, Karroth grew very canny, and offered to take it and the other bronze sword we had found—the one taken from the leader of the tribesmen on Taboo Island—and in exchange he would improve the enchantments upon our current weapons.  While I cannot help but think now that we agreed a little too readily, a bargain was struck and we left our items in the care of the venerable smith and his helpers.  Benzan seemed torn, his unwillingness to leave his blade in the care of another warring with his desire to improve the weapon.  Or was it the desire of the weapon to be improved, that won out in the end…?

In any case, the smith was true to his word, and Lok and Benzan seem pleased with their newly improved weapons.  My shortsword bears a sharpness that it has never had, and it now casts a faint glow, not enough to read by, but enough to brighten a dark passageway.  Dana’s kama and Elly’s spear have also been improved by the smith’s art.  Delem does not generally use a melee weapon, but the smith gave him a half-score of crossbow bolts that he insists are of special efficacy against giants, a category that includes ogres.  

Ah, I nearly forgot.  Benzan and Delem have learned to fully use their new magical rings.  Delem’s ring of telekinesis is quite powerful, but its magic is only usable once per day.  Benzan’s ring, the one that he took from the lamia, has the power to cloak its user in shadows, making him virtually invisible except in bright light.  

I cannot help but think that this item could prove to be very dangerous in the tiefling’s hands.  

Delem and Dana appear to have mastered their new magical power.  Delem, in particular, has achieved a great deal of power for one so young.  I hope that he will continue to rely upon my guidance in helping him direct his talents in worthy directions.  

As for my own power… I, too, was on the cusp of several new discoveries in my magical research.  While my powers come through hard work, and not through the innate powers of one such as Delem, they too can carry a high price.  While it was not an easy decision, I have decided that the price has become too high for me, for now.  My desire for more powerful magic was blinding me to the truly important things, to the everyday discoveries and new experiences that I left Waterdeep to find.  I have decided that for the moment, I am going to place my research aside and focus on my other talents, the road of the bard that I have neglected of late.  My companions were very understanding when I told them, but I cannot help but think that perhaps my decision may end up costing all of us, when we face whatever challenges lay on our road ahead.  

And then there is Elly.  I suspect that she has news for me, something that I have suspected was coming for some time now.  I have hardly seen her this past tenday, but even as I write these words she has just entered my chamber, and stands waiting, thinking that I cannot see her from my perch at this borrowed desk at which I write._ 

* * * * * 

Cal put down his pen and pushed the low chair away from the desk.  “Hello, Elly,” he said.  

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Not at all.  Please, come in and sit down.”  He gestured toward the only other chair in the room, like his own a plain, unadorned piece fashioned from stone slabs.  “I can heat up the tea, if you like—it’s far better than that stuff Dana made for us back on the road.”

Elly smiled, but shook her head.  “No, thank you.”  The young woman looked slightly uncomfortable, and she worried the hem of her tunic as she sat down on the hard stone chair.  

“So, you’re leaving us?” Cal said, pouring himself a cup of tea after channeling a minor cantrip to heat the water to a satisfactory temperature.  

Elly looked up with surprise.  “How… did Benzan tell you?”

“No, I haven’t seen Benzan today… but I’ve seen the way you’ve been acting, lately, and I could tell that you’ve been ready to move on for some time now.”

Elly nodded.  “There’s a merchant caravan headed out tomorrow morning, through the Underdark to Mithral Hall.  It’s a long trip, but it will take me a goodly part of the way back to the Sword Coast.  I miss the sea, and the life I had there.  Kael had a lot of friends, and I know I’ll be able to find a berth on another vessel come spring.”

“I understand,” Cal said, stirring his tea before taking a sip.   

“Why are you all staying?” she asked him.  “I thought you wanted to get back to the Western Heartlands, almost as much as I did.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt we’ll make our way back soon enough.  But Lok’s from around these parts, and he’s said that he wanted to visit his homeland before making the journey back.  We’re meeting with one of the dwarven elders tomorrow afternoon, someone who might be able to tell us more about what’s been going on up here and what we might expect if we head further north.  All we’ve been hearing so far is a lot of rumor and contradictory reports, although it seems Lariel was right about the troubles that are plaguing the North.”

“I think I’ve had enough of those kinds of troubles,” Elly said softly.  

Cal put his tea down on the edge of the desk and crossed over to her.  He took her hands in his own.  “You’ve been a great friend and ally, Elewhyn, and an integral part of our group for the last few tendays.  I know the others feel as I do.  We’re sorry for what you’ve lost, but hope that one thing you’ve gained, if nothing else, is some lasting friendships.”

“Thank you.  It… it means a lot to me, it really does.  Sometimes I think that _Raindancer_ was cursed, the way all of us kept dying, one after the other, all the terrible things that befell us.  I’ve often asked myself, why me?  Why was I the one to survive, the one to escape that horrible place?”

“Life is just like that, sometimes,” Cal said.  “We can only control our own actions, and not the whims of what fate elects to throw in our path.  I’d like to think, though, that the bravery of Horath and the others have won them favorable places in the next life.”

“But… they died someplace else… not on Faerûn… what if… what if their souls were stranded there, in a strange place?”  The last came out almost as a whisper, and Cal felt for the genuine pain at the woman’s loss.  Horath had been very close to her, a lover and a support, and it was clear that she hadn’t yet had time to work through the pain of bereavement.

“I know that’s not true,” Cal said.  “I know, because I have personal confirmation that Ruath is safely ensconced at Tymora’s side, and that she’s content there.”  Well, at least he hoped that the latter was true, but he kept certainty in his voice, for the sake of the young half-elf.  “You’ve got a lot of life left ahead for you, Elewhyn, and your pain will ease with time.  Believe me, I know that from experience as well.”

“Thank you,” she said, bending low to enfold the gnome in a warm embrace.  Blinking back a tear or two, she rose to depart. 

“You’ve spoken with Benzan, then?”

She nodded, but didn’t say more, and Cal didn’t pry.  

After Elly had departed, Cal returned to the desk and his journal.  He took a sip of his tea and picked up his pen, but after staring at the writing on the page for a long minute placed the pen down and closed the book.  It was late, and he didn’t feel like writing any more tonight.


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## Lazybones (May 6, 2002)

As the group has now all leveled-up I have updated the Rogues' Gallery thread.

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

Thanks for reading,
LB


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## Horacio (May 7, 2002)

So you're also a master of the diary format!


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## Maldur (May 7, 2002)

I know you play this in your head, but are there some players, we should envy?

I think your actually improving.

To quote Horacio: "More, more!!"


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## Broccli_Head (May 7, 2002)

Thanks for the update LB. I really enjoy the journal from Cal's perspective.


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## Lazybones (May 7, 2002)

Horacio: yeah, I don't know what it is with gnomes and diaries... 

Maldur: I've thought about starting up a game again, but I haven't had much luck finding adult players in my area.  I envy the SH authors on this board who have a group of close friends they've gamed with for years and years.  I'm really looking forward to Neverwinter Nights for the reason that it might help facilitate online D&D gaming for those of us who don't have a local group of players.  Hey, maybe I'll start an online game with my story hour readers!

Also, thanks for the compliment.  Sometimes I don't notice the improvement until I go back and read stuff I wrote 5 or 10 years ago.  

Broc: Glad you enjoyed it.  I do try to vary the perspective/tone of the story for variety's sake.  

I'm not entirely happy with the way that parts 9-10 are turning out, so I'm going back to the drawing board, but should have something to post tomorrow.  

Thanks all,
LB


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## Horacio (May 8, 2002)

Gnomes and diaries are like corn flakes and milk, like cowboys and horses, like elven swords and heaps of dead orcs. A Gnome, a diary 

Waiting for the update today. Because from tomorrow until Monday I will be out of town, without computer and internet


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## Maldur (May 8, 2002)

Let us know when you have neverwinter night online 
(only the time difference might be a bit of a problem)

Horacio: have fun, and we'll keep the story warm and safe while you'r away


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## Lazybones (May 8, 2002)

Book IV, Part 9

In a stone chamber deep within the network of dwarven tunnels under Citadel Adbar, Lok dreamed.

His unconscious mind traveled over a mottled landscape of dark browns and grays.  It was the mountains he was seeing, mountains familiar from his youth, where he was raised by his foster father in the aftermath of the destruction of his people.  Most people saw the mountains as harsh and forbidding, but Lok, who could feel the thrum of energies within the stone, they had always been a place of comfort and solidity.  Now, however, as his dream carried him through over familiar terrain, a disembodied figure without form or substance, he saw that the picture in his memories had changed.  The outline of the peaks and valleys was the same, but something… _dark_ hung over the land, a taint that filled the winter landscape with a chill not born of the icy wind or the thick drifts of white snow.  

There were forms, too, in the mountains as Lok traveled through them in his dream, figures that were shadows like him, shapes that emerged and then faded before he could fully recognize them.  Numerous forms that he recognized even in that quick viewing: ogres, harsh, brutal, and powerful.  Of its own volition the dream took him across familiar byways to a place he remembered, Caer Dulthain, home of the dwarves that had found him on a battlefield and taken him warily in to raise into manhood.  Now, however, the dwarf town stood quiet and abandoned, yet as Lok drew nearer, he felt a tingle pass through him that raised a hackle of fear even through the dream…

But Caer Dulthain was not his destination, and even as he felt the dark presence lift he was penetrating deeper into the mountains.  Abruptly he realized where the dream was taking him, but it seemed that he was powerless to affect its course as he was borne invisibly down a narrow shaft that appeared at a familiar place in the mountains, carried down into the deep ways that underlay Faerûn.  

To a place that he had once called home.  To the Underdark.

His progress slowed as he floated through the forgotten haunts of the Urdunnir, through the tunnels that had once been filled with the vibrant sounds of his people.  Once there had been the laughter of children and the unceasing sounds of the work of the stone dwarves.  Theirs had been a life of single-minded purpose, seeking to live simple and quiet lives in a place that was not hospitable to either.  Their enemies were many, from the Deep Dwarves, the evil duergar, to the mysterious and powerful dark elves known as the Drow.  Other things lived in these dark reaches as well, wondrous and mighty entities that possessed powers that would have staggered the minds of surface-world sages and arcanists.   

Lok felt the burden of memories stir in him as he floated through the abandoned corridors of his dream.  Why had he returned to this place, and why now?  Was it simply a byproduct of being cast here upon the borders of his homeland?  Was it the trips of memory he had taken of late, using the memory-stone that was the final gift of his mother to him?

He mused over such questions, but then he found himself moving again, traveling swiftly through a maze of darkened tunnels and underground chambers.  He quickly left the borders of the urdunnir community and penetrated into areas that he’d never even heard of, let alone seen.  He soon lost track of where he was or where he was going, but even as his mind swam with the barrage of stimuli he felt himself slowing, arriving at a new destination.  

He was in a large natural cavern, hovering at the edge of one of numerous tunnels that led to other destinations in the vast Underdark.  He could hear the faint tinkle of water falling from a height, and could see the hulking shapes of mineral formations accumulated by centuries of falling water.  He did not know where he was, and he found that now, finally, he had some volition over his movements.  Cautiously he moved forward into the place, his darkvision allowing him to see as clearly as if he were standing on a sun-bathed field in the realms above.  

His own feet made neither mark nor sound on the stone as he crossed the great chamber.  He paused as another sound came to his sensitive ears; a sound of metal striking metal.  It was a familiar sound to the genasi, whose skill at metalworking was quite advanced.  Curious, he followed the noises to one of the corridors that led off of the main chamber.  

He followed the twisting curves of the tunnel for some time, his efforts rewarded as the noises he’d heard grew steadily louder.  He rounded a corner…

And nearly stumbled in surprise as he regarded a guardian, a sallow-faced figure that he instantly recognized as a duergar, one of the Deep Ones.  He reached reflexively for his axe before he remembered that he was in a dream, and that neither he nor the other had substance or reality.  Even as he watched the enemy dwarf faded into insubstantiality, as if its form was just lightly etched onto the world of Lok’s dream.

Drawn forward now by a desire for understanding, Lok moved past the shadowy guardian into another chamber that opened off of the passageway.  There was light, there, a red glow that caused his eyes to blink a few times in adjustment, and then he saw…

The light came from a working forge, but that only occupied one small corner of the chamber that spread out before him.  Dozens of small tunnels branched off around the perimeter of the place, and Lok realized that they were mineshafts, penetrating deep into the uneven stone.  After a moment Lok belatedly realized that the room was occupied by numerous clusters of shadow-figures, forms that were hunched over and wrapped in a cloak of misery as they trudged across the uneven floor of the chamber and came into and out of the mine openings.  

Lok was moving before he could think about it, clambering down the rough slope that led down to the chamber floor from his vantage.  He reached the nearest of the figures and tried to grasp it, but his fingers passed through the form as if it were made of smoke.  He had already identified it, however—the shadowy dream-shape was one of his people!

He heard a voice, then, a voice that filled his consciousness and drove away any hint of doubt from his mind.  

_Long have you been away, my son,_ it said, the words deep and sonorous in his mind.  _You have returned, and now you are ready to take upon your shoulders the duty for which you have been marked.  For it is you that I have chosen, Lok, to free my children…_

Even as the mental echoes of the voice began to fade, Lok sensed something coming up from behind him.  He spun around, frozen as he sensed a massive shadow rise up out of the darkness there, pressing close, tearing…

With a deep gasp torn from his chest, Lok shot up in his simple bed, looking around in confusion for a moment until he realized where he was.  It was his room, deep under the dwarven citadel, still quiet in the fastness of the night.  His axe was beside the bed where he’d left it, and his armor was laid out on the table just a few feet away.  

Every moment of the dream remained fixed in his mind.  He felt something in his hand, and opened his fingers to reveal the silver disk there, the memory-stone that had been given him by his mother and which remained the sole remaining legacy of his people to him.  He knew that he had put the stone in the pocket of his coat before going to bed, the coat that still hung on the back of a chair beside the table a goodly six feet away.


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## Salthorae (May 9, 2002)

*Oooo*

Go Lok, Go Lok, Go Go Go....hehe okay sorry. Excellent writing LB. I know i've only posted here...umm once before, but I keep up with the story everyday and I can't wait to see what you're gonna do next with my fav. LOK!! 

Is that a divine Champion PrC we just saw get attached to Lok? Dwarves rule da school!


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## Lazybones (May 10, 2002)

Salthorae: doh!  That would be a perfect prestige class for Lok... only I've been preparing him to take another and he doesn't have the prereqs.  I could rearrange his skill set, I suppose.  Well, either way, Lok will continue to rock as he reaches higher level.  Look for more genasi goodness in the upcoming chapters, as the group gets in over their heads (again)...

Speaking of which, here's the chapter I posted on the "test" boards today...

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 10

The old dwarf’s name was Koll Wallbasher, and his garb, while intended to be ceremonial, was also functional, with a shirt of mail links forged from shining mithral and greaves of thick plate covering his arms and legs.  His eyes were all but lost within the forest of his thick eyebrows and the ridges of wrinkles born of centuries of hard living here on the edges of civilization.  But those shrouded eyes shone with a sharp cunning, and they measured the five adventurers who now stood before him in one of the small audience chambers that abutted the Council Hall under Citadel Adbar.  

“Caer Dulthain—that be quite a hike, especially nowadays.  Take a good tenday, if not more, to reach the place.”

Cal, once again serving as spokesman for the group, shrugged slightly.  “We’ve traveled longer distances, honored elder.”

“So, yer set on this course, then, an’ nothin’ I be sayin’ be turnin’ yer way from it,” the old dwarf said to them, his fingers drumming idly on the surface of the stone desk in front of him as he spoke.  

“Aye, sir, you have the way of things,” Cal said with a slight nod of deference to the aged dwarf.  

Lok had only notified them of his decision to pursue the lingering question of the fate of his people that morning, obviously troubled even through the stony mask he normally wore over his emotions.  At first, he’d tried to insist that the choice was his, and so thereby the risk of the undertaking.  All of them had heard at least some tales of the treacherous Underdark, a place of shadows and secrets and dangers that the surface folk only whispered of even in the bright light of a sunny day.  Lok’s intent was to travel aboveground to Caer Dulthain, where he’d been fostered, rather than head directly into the deep ways that connected with the lowest levels of the tunnels under the dwarven citadel.  The genasi’s own knowledge of the Underdark came only from scattered memories, and he felt that the best place to start was where he’d first emerged upon the surface world, so many years ago.

While he admitted that he had little more to go on than a few scattered memories and his dream-vision of the past night, Lok’s conviction in his new mission was absolute.  And thus his friends had made their decision unanimously, to join their companion as he sought out the truth of what fate had ultimately befallen his people.  

“The Underdark is not a place to be trodden lightly,” Benzan had said, his own face darkening with some private memory of his own.  But even the tiefling insisted on joining the genasi on his quest, agreeing with Cal’s simple assertion, “You’re our friend.  Of course we’ll help.”

Now they stood in audience before the elder dwarf, a senior member of the council that advised King Uhren Dunhammer, the current monarch of the Citadel and the tunnel city beneath it.  They had not revealed the full story to him, of course, only telling him of Lok’s desire to travel to Caer Dulthain, the place where he had fostered as a youth.

“We don’t be havin’ much contact with the far settlements anymore,” Koll said to them.  “Fact is, we haven’t heard anythin’ from the neighborhood of Dulthain in near a year, now.  What we *have* been hearin’ is word of orcs, and ogres, swarmin’ through them mountains north of ‘ere like they haven’t since my grandsire’s time.  We’ve had a few run-ins, already, ‘tween them an’ our patrols, and they’re a tough lot, tough like stones themselves.”

The companions exchanged a quick look.  For a dwarf to admit as much, particularly to outsiders, bore some significance, and they thought back to the ogres they’d encountered during their clash with the lamia sorceress.   

“Fact is, even with the fruits of the Thunder Blessing, there just aren’t enough dwarves to man all the holds along the northern ranges,” the old dwarf went on.  “We’ve got to hold on to what we can…”  He trailed off, and they could see that his eyes were tired, worn down by long years of fighting to hold on to dreams once majestic and glorious, memories of a forgotten time when the dwarven race waxed great among the long-faded empires of the ancient past.  

“Well, we’re not looking for trouble, but we’re prepared for whatever we might find on the journey,” Cal said after the silence drifted on for a few more moments.  

The dwarf shook his head, and a hint of fire returned to his eyes as his thoughts returned to the present.  “Aye, good then, for yer like as not to find it,” he said.  “An’ since you’re goin’ to be makin’ the journey, then, maybe yer can be helpin’ us at the same time.”

The companions exchanged another quick glance, and Cal said, “Of course, anything that we can do to repay your generous hospitality…”

“Fact is, there’s more that we should be knowin’ ‘bout what’s been going on in the northern reaches than we do.  For a long time Adbar’s been considered the end of the road to most warmlander folk, and it saddens me to say that many dwarves been takin’ on that line of thinkin’ too.  Me, I’ve never been one to wait until yer enemies come knockin’ on yer door before yer start thinkin’ about ‘em.”  

“Since yer goin’ that way anyway, I’d like yer to serve as scouts fer us, let us know what might be lurkin’ ‘round them hills up yonder.”  The ‘hills’ he referred to were the Ice Mountains, a harsh, forbidding range that put anything short of the Spine of the World itself to shame.

“Of course, we don’t mind keeping our eyes open for anything that might threaten the dwarves,” Cal said, “but I’m not certain that we’ll be returning this way…”

“I’ve done a little diggin’ on yer all,” the old dwarf continued, as if Cal had not spoken, “and it seems like yer a tough lot yerselves, or I’d not be askin’ for yer aid on this matter.  I’ve got someone I’d like to go ‘long with yer on this trip, another pair of eyes and a strong arm to boot.  Someone who can get word back to us, whatever yer find up there in them mountains.”

Cal nodded.  “A strong dwarven warrior would be a welcome addition…”

Koll snorted, interrupting him.  “Jerral’s not a dwarf, but a human, a tracker originally up from down yonder in the Silver Marches out by Silverymoon.  Fer a human, though, Jer knows the mountains, and owes me a favor to boot.”

Cal looked back at his companions, to gauge their reaction.  Lok was clearly still thinking about the obligation laid upon him by his dream-vision, and Delem seemed distracted by some other concern, in fact barely seemed to be paying attention to the current scene.  Dana just shrugged, trusting the gnome’s judgment.  Benzan, however, had something to add.

“It is convenient for you that we’re heading in the direction that you want us to go anyway,” Benzan said.  “What do we get out of it—other than mortal risk and great danger, of course.”

The dwarf’s eyes glinted in the light of the room’s torches as he fixed them on the tiefling.  “Yer friend’s got a new hand,” he said, indicating Dana with a nod, “and yer weapons are better than they were.”

“Meaning no disrespect, of course, but we paid quite handsomely for those favors,” Benzan shot back.  “And I’m sure Karroth enjoys his new blade very much.”

“Ah, the bronze spell-blade.  Yes, the King does appreciate your… generosity… in providing him with such a fine weapon.” 

For a moment, Benzan appeared to be taken aback, but Cal stepped smoothly into the gap before he could make a retort.  “We are pleased that the King appreciates our gift.  In turn, since the road ahead will be difficult, as you so eloquently noted a moment ago, perhaps His Majesty might be willing to part with some equipment that would help keep us… intact?”

The dwarf laughed, a gruff guffaw that filled the small chamber.  “Har, you’ve a silver tongue, gnome!  But I believe we can accommodate yer needs.”

He reached into a drawer and tossed a small cloth bundle onto the desk.  It rattled slightly with the sound of metal clinking on metal.  He tugged one edge of the wrapping free and unrolled it, revealing several small items that gleamed in the light of the torches. 

“The rings are enchanted with an aura that provides protection against cold,” the dwarf said, indicating a pair of bronze rings each set with a single gleaming red stone.  “Should be useful, where yer goin’.”

The dwarf next indicated a small amulet that dangled from a simple rawhide throng.  The design was of a hammer and forge, done in silver, set with a pair of blue azurite squares that sparkled in the torchlight.  “You’ll find this a potent boon,” the dwarf said.  “It gives its wearer the gift of sturdiness and sound health—and the toughness to take a few more hits to boot.”

Finally, he pointed to the last item, a small and rather plain-looking flat stone.  With obvious respect for the thing he turned it over, revealing angular dwarven runes etched on the opposite face.  “This one’s a gift from our High Priest, and our highest gift.  Keep it safe, fer you’ll be wantin’ it should the need arise.”

“What is it?” Cal asked.  

“It’s a rune-stone,” the dwarf said.  “It stores a spell like a scroll, only it can be used by anyone who touches the runes and calls upon their power.  This one bears a potent magic indeed, for placed upon the chest of a fallen ally and its power invoked, it will summon him back to life.”

The companions examined the stone in wonder, already familiar first-hand with the powerful magic that could raise the dead.  Benzan, however, was more pragmatic in his outlook.

“Well, we’ll probably be needing that last one,” he said. 

“Your gifts are well appreciated, honored elder,” Cal said.  “We would be happy to undertake your mission as part of our upcoming journey.”

“Excellent.”  The dwarf took a last longing look at the items atop the cloth, then rewrapped them and pushed the bundle across the desk toward the companions.  As Lok stepped forward to take it, the dwarf went on, “If yer ready, then, I’ll have Jerral meet yer on the morrow, at yer quarters, along with a dwarf who can show yer to a tunnel that’ll take yer to a trailhead that’ll speed yer journey.”

“Thank you,” Cal said, with a final bow. 

As the companions left the audience chamber, Benzan chimed in, “So, who gets what?”


----------



## Lazybones (May 10, 2002)

Book IV, Part 11 

In the end, they decided that Cal and Delem would take the _rings of warmth_.  Dana’s cloak already protected her from cold, and Benzan’s unique heritage afforded him similar protection.  As he already had two magical rings in his possession, Delem in turn gave his _ring of protection_ to Dana, bolstering her defenses.  Cal kept the stone with the rune of _raise dead_ in his custody, and they ultimately voted to give the amulet to Lok, as their front-line fighter would likely have the most need of its power. 

Their strength thus reinforced, the companions returned to their quarters to take whatever rest they could before the coming day marked the start of a new journey.  Lok and Delem left to scrounge a few more last-minute items for the bag of holding, including bundles of extra arrows and crossbow bolts, while Cal returned to the temple of Moradin to acquire a few more potions of healing.     

Without a specific chore to attend to, Benzan felt a little restless.  He stopped by Cal’s quarters to find that the gnome had already left, but as he was walking down the hall in the part of the fortress reserved for the infrequent guests of the dwarves, he found himself drawn to another door a short distance off.  

He hesitated for a moment, his hand hanging above the door to knock.  Why did he suddenly feel nervous?  

_You’re being an idiot,_ he told himself harshly, and then he knocked deliberately on the door.

“Come in,” came a voice from beyond the portal.

He opened the door to see Dana sitting on the edge of her cot, threading a new set of laces onto her calf-high leather boots.  She looked up as he entered, and he couldn’t quite read the hinted feelings that quickly crossed her expression.

“Hello,” he said.  

“Hi.  Leave the door open, will you?”

“Afraid I might try something?”

If her earlier expression was ambiguous, the dry look she shot him now was anything but.  “Hardly.  It’s just… well, after a tenday down here in these tunnels, I’m feeling a bit… _crowded._  I’m glad we’re leaving, if only to get out into the open air again.”

“Once we get further north, you might miss the warm comforts of this place,” he pointed out.  

“Like Cal said, whatever we find, we’ll deal with it,” she said.  

“You sound confident.”

“I suppose.  Maybe I’ve just gotten comfortable with you guys and what we’re capable of, as a group.”

His aimless walking into the room had brought him to the small table adjacent to her bed.  “I never got a chance… I mean, I never thanked you for saving my life, when we were fighting that lamia.”

“That’s not necessary.  We’re adventuring companions, we look out for each other.  You’d do the same for me, or any of the others—you’ve stuck your neck out a number of times, in fact, if I recall correctly.”

Dana had spread her gear out on the table, and he drew a crossbow bolt out of her quiver, twirling it between his fingers.  “You know, when I was dying there… I remember looking up and seeing you.  I thought you were a celestial or something, come to claim me.”

“I don’t expect a celestial would be the one to come for you,” she said idly.

His brow tightened and his expression darkened, but he didn’t reply.  He half-turned from her as he slid the bolt back into the quiver, but she’d already seen the change.  

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “That was… it was a thoughtless thing to say.”

With an effort, he brought back his trademark grin.  “I’ve said more than a few thoughtless things in my time,” he said.  “Or so someone keeps telling me.”

She laughed with him, and he came a step closer, leaning against the edge of the table as he faced her.  

“I know we haven’t gotten along at times.  But, well… I’m glad you decided to come with us.  Back in Baldur’s Gate, I mean.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said, and when she looked up at him this time, something flashed in her eyes.  

He saw it, for when he came closer there was no resistance, no wry comment, no turning away.  She half-rose up from the edge of the bed as he started to bend…

“Hello!  Hope I’m not interrupting anything…”

The two friends turned toward the door, the feelings that had built up between them in past few moments evaporating at the intrusion.  Standing there in the threshold was a woman.  She was somewhere in that borderland between youthfulness and maturity, perhaps in her early thirties by the look of her, although her face wore the mark of both a hard life outdoors and the signs of other, less tangible strains.  Her hair, tied back into a functional ponytail, was jet black, as yet untouched by gray, and her eyes were a striking emerald green.  She was tall and muscular, no more than an inch short of six feet if that, her body lean and gifted with the tone that comes only with regular and sustained exercise.  Her fur-lined tunic did not fully conceal the tell-tale gleam of mail links underneath, and she carried herself with the air of one who knows how to use the weapons she carried—in this case, a heavy composite longbow and two axes, one somewhat larger than the other.  

“Hello,” Dana said, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.  “Is there something we can do for you?”

“If you are the ones I’m supposed to meet, then I reckon so,” she said.  “Seems like that rat bastard Koll has a little plan cooked up for a scouting mission north, and just my luck, I happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Story of my life, I suppose.”

“I’m guessing you would be Jerral, then,” Benzan ventured.

“Ah, so I see that wiry old tunnel worm did mention me, then,” she said.  She came forward, her stride long and confident, her grip strong when she gave Benzan a clout on the shoulder.  “That’s me, all right.  I understand you’ve been suckered into this little expedition too, and I’m going to be holding your hands while we take a little stroll into the dragon’s maw, so to speak.  Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“They’re around,” Benzan said.  “We were planning on leaving tomorrow morning, with the dawn.”

“The dwarven elder said that one of his men would guide us to a pass that leads in the direction we’re headed,” Dana said.

“Yeah, well, that old brick would be lucky to find his way out of a closet—I’d wager he hasn’t been more than a few miles away from this place since I was crapping myself in diapers.  Don’t worry, though, I’ll steer you right.  Listen, there’s a few things I wanted to pick up before we leave, but I just wanted to come by and say hello while I was up here.  I’ll be by in the morning to collect you, so be ready to go and all.”

Without pause she turned and left.  Belatedly, they realized that they hadn’t even told her their names.

“Well, that was something,” Benzan finally said.  “I don’t mind having a little more muscle on this trip, especially if she can back up all the talk, but she seems a little pushy, if you ask me.”

“There’s something going on underneath all that bluster,” Dana said.  “She isn’t as good at hiding it as she thinks.”

A pause followed, then Benzan said, “Dana…”

“I know,” she said, without turning.  “Look, we’ve got a long road ahead of us tomorrow…”

He hesitated, his arm hanging in the air between them for a moment, then he let it fall.  Finally, without saying more, he turned and left, letting the door close behind him as he departed.  

Dana just stood there for a long moment, and when she finally turned back toward the exit, the conflicting feelings were written clearly on her face.  Finally, almost reluctantly, she turned toward the table and started packing up her gear.


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## Horacio (May 12, 2002)

I'm back!
I'm back!

And there were two sweet updates waiting me in this story! 
I'm happy


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## Maldur (May 13, 2002)

Nice!
I wonder what the'll encounter on this journey.

Was the lamia-sorceres a portent or a "random" encounter?

Horacio: How was your trip?

To quote myself: "more, more!"


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## Horacio (May 13, 2002)

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Horacio: How was your trip?
> *




Very well, thanks for asking!
I went to Nantes, a fairly bigger city some 300 km from Brest, to see some friends. In Nantes there are three good RPG stores, so I came back with a good bag with new stuff (Seafarer's Handbook, Twin Crowns, Hollowfaust).


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## Lazybones (May 14, 2002)

Glad to have you back, Horacio.  My story hour keeps slipping to page 2 when you're not around.  

Maldur: the lamia was initially a random encounter that I created for flavor, but she (and more particularly, her companions) are related to what's going to be happening further down the line...  

I couldn't post earlier today since the internet was down at work .  I did manage to sneak in some writing time (sometimes the Monday funk pays off) and wrote up drafts of a few more chapters.  Let's just say that the group is going to be looking at more or less constant battle for a while (and something BAD is going to happen to one of them... muwahahaha).

Anyway, here's the update.  Since I'm ahead now I might even be able to manage a post-a-day for a while.  Thanks everyone for following the thread, and as always, post any feedback or questions and I'll get back to you in a day or two.

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 12

They got an early start the next morning, leaving even as the dawn was brightening the eastern horizon in the mountains above the dwarven citadel.  It was well into the afternoon, however, when the group emerged from the tunnels into the fresh air, guided by a pair of dwarven scouts to a watchpoint in the mountains miles from where they’d started their day.  There they parted company with their guides, and Jerral led them into the mountains proper.  

It was a cold, blustery day, and the companions were grateful for their magical protections from the cold.  Only Lok was without such boon, and even he did not complain when Dana laid a minor spell upon him to mirror the benefit she and the other enjoyed from their magical items.  Jerral seemed unhindered by the cold as well, and Dana suspected that she also possessed some item that kept the worst of the effects of the weather at bay.

They spent the rest of that day and all of the next penetrating deeper into the mountains.  True to her word, Jerral’s guidance allowed them to stick to the fastest route through the harsh range, their gradual but constant pace allowing them to eat up the miles.  They set camp in valleys located below the treeline, where fuel and food could be found to help speed the cold and lonely nights.  

For the first two days of marching they encountered no hostile foes, either natural or more sinister in origin.  Jerral kept them all informed about the hazards around them, but they all noticed that she kept a distance between herself and them, and emotional wall clearly designed to keep them out.  She rebuffed several attempts to discuss herself or her history in more detail, but there was one thing that she didn’t bother to keep hidden, and which became abundantly clear after even a short distance along the trail.  

Jerral hated the ogres and other giants that lived in these mountains, hated them with a fiery passion that was evident in the way her face changed whenever one of such creatures was mentioned.  Maybe that was what kept her warm, that burning hatred that the ranger clearly kept well stoked deep in the confines of her heart.  

The reason for such hatred remained, for now, a mystery.

By the third day of their trek, each of the companions was beginning to feel the wear of the hard travel and the chill of the mountains, even through their magical protections.  They had thus far been lucky and avoided any major storms, although the wind never seemed to let up, shifting and blowing from different directions from one hour to the next.  There was snow on the ground now more often than not, and they spent longer stretches of each day in desolate landscapes devoid of anything but alternating patches of white snow and gray stone.  

“We’re getting close,” Jerral said, as they afternoon turned into evening on that third day, but she didn’t elaborate.  All of them noticed the way she kept searching the landscape with her eyes, however, and the attention she spent finding them a sheltered, out of the way spot to camp that evening.  Their fire that night was small and carefully banked, and they slept under double watches in a dell sheltered by the stony hand of a massive outcropping of ancient rock.  

But their luck held, and no hazard threatened their rest that night either.  Still, they pressed on, heading incrementally closer to their destination, charging a winding but constant course steadily to the northwest.

Another day passed with cold winds and tired feet.

* * * * * 

“Looks like a forage party,” Jerral muttered.

“Yeah, a pretty damned big one,” Benzan agreed, shifting slowly, careful not to dislodge any of the stones that cradled his prone form.  

The two lay across the crest of a small hill overlooking a barren, stony dell.  Gathered in the area below their vantage were at least a score of orcs, their coarse grunts and foul curses clearly audible even more than a hundred paces away.  While several of the creatures were keeping a casual watch on the surrounding mountains, most were engaged in butchering and dressing a massive carcass.  Whatever their prey had been was now impossible to discern, but from the bones that were left it had obviously been a goodly twenty feet in length when alive.  The smell of roasting meat hung thick in the air, drifting across the clearing on the smoke that rose off of a small but persistent fire.  That smell had been what had alerted Jerral half an hour previous, and had allowed the companions to creep up on the site undetected.

“They don’t seem worried about being detected,” Benzan commented, as they watched the orcs going about their work.

“They think they own these mountains, now,” Jerral said, as she scanned the entire scene, casting every detail to memory. 

“Ah, the ogre’s coming back,” Benzan said, twitching as his hand crept reflexively toward the thick staff of his bow.

The ogre, a massive brute of a thing, was indeed approaching the site from the far edge of the dell, carrying a huge battleaxe across his shoulders.  It was obvious that the thing was in command of the group, from the way that he shouted orders at the orcs and they way they leapt to obey.  They seemed to be hurrying their activities here, taking down the most recent strips of half-cooked meat that were hanging over the fire and bundling that and other packages of meat torn from the dead beast for travel.  

“They’ll be leaving soon,” Jerral said.  “We’d better tell the others.”

Benzan copied her moves as she slowly crept back from the crest, and then moved swiftly but cautiously down the far slope of the hill to where the others were waiting for them.  Benzan noted that she moved with a smooth grace along the uneven surface, and that her chosen route took her almost naturally from one source of cover to the next.  His estimation of her skills took another notch upward, and he found himself almost anticipating the confrontation that would likely come very shortly.

The others were waiting where the two scouts had left them, huddled in a natural bowl within a ring of six huge boulders at the base of the hill.  

“Well, what is it?” Cal said, his curiosity unable to await their report.  

“Orcs,” Benzan said.  “About a score, led by a rather nasty-looking ogre.  They’ve killed something big, and they’re about to pack it up and head back to wherever they came from.”

They digested that for a moment, then Dana said, “Well, do we take them, or let them go?”

“Maybe we can follow them back to wherever they’re lairing,” Delem offered.

“That might get you a little more trouble than you’re ready for, boy,” Jerral said wryly.  

Delem bristled, but Lok spoke over whatever retort he might offer.  “What is your recommendation, ranger?”

Jerral turned to the genasi, the slightest hint of surprise on her face quickly replaced by cool control.  “If there are orcs and ogres in this area in numbers, we can’t hope to keep dodging them forever.  If we do take them, however, we have to make sure that none escape to notify the others of our presence.  For all we know this area is crawling with them, and we don’t want to bring more down on us than we can handle.”

“Fine, we’ll take them out quickly, then,” Cal said.  “Delem?”

“I have just the thing,” the young sorcerer said.  “If they stay in a close group, I should be able to take out most of them in one blow.”

“Whatever you do, we’d better act quickly,” Jerral said.  “They looked like they were getting ready to leave, and we don’t want to be chasing after them on the trail.”

“Perhaps I can help ensure that none escape,” Dana said.  She didn’t elaborate, but all of them knew how effective she was at moving quickly, especially when magically enhanced by one of her spells.  

“Good,” Cal said.  “Delem, why don’t you go back up the hill with Benzan and Jerral.  Lok, Dana, and I will circle around the base and prepare to cut off their retreat if they strike for the trail.  Your fireball will be the cue to strike.”

“No offense, boyo, but Delem’s not the most… _stealthy_ of the group.  They’re not paying much attention, but they do have guards posted.  One shout of alarm, and this’ll get a whole lot harder.”

“Unless you’ve suddenly learned to cast fireball…” Delem began.

“Quiet,” Cal said, cutting off the brewing debate.  “If we linger here any longer, they’ll be away before we get started.  I’ll make Delem invisible; that should give us an edge at getting surprise.”  He took his wand of mage armor out of his pocket, summoning its protection around himself, Delem, and Dana as a standard precaution.  “Dang thing’s near empty,” he said to himself as he put the wand away and began uttering the flowing syllables that would trigger the power of his spell.   

The result of Cal’s spell was immediate, as he finished his invocation the sorcerer faded from view until he could not be seen at all.  

“Let’s go, then,” Jerral said.  “Stay behind us, Delem, and try not to shift any loose rocks.”  She and Benzan—and presumably, Delem—quickly retraced their steps, working their way back up the slope of the hill.   

“All right, let’s get going too,” Cal said, but before they left he paused once more.  “Here, Dana, this might help you,” he said, quickly casting another spell.  The young woman felt a tingle of power as the effects of _cat’s grace_ filled her lithe frame, enhancing her innate agility.  

“Thanks,” she said.  She followed Cal and Lok as they began picking their way around the base of the hill.

* * * * * 

The orcs barely knew what hit them.  

They had nearly packed up their burdens, moving quickly under the attentive gaze of the ogre, when one of the sentries heard a sound, a faint hint of words that carried to him on the wind.  The orc turned, its crossbow coming up reflexively as it sought out the source of the sound, but it saw nothing but bare stone as far as he could see.  

He turned back just as the world around him exploded into fire.  

“Wow,” Jerral said, as the fireball collapsed in on itself, revealing a flame-blasted ring that radiated outward from the center of the dell.  While not every orc had been within the radius of the blast, a dozen blackened corpses marked the potency of the spell, and the plaintive cries of several wounded orcs that had been on the edges of the fireball sounded pitifully on the wind.  

The ogre had been caught within the periphery of the blast, but as the flames faded away it still stood, and it was angry.  It started shouting commands to the remnants of its troop, trying to rally them against their still-unseen adversaries.  Whether it could have stopped the rout became moot a moment later, as a pair of long arrows slammed into its chest a mere handspan apart, and the brute staggered back, falling with a loud crash onto the scorched stones.  

“Nice shot,” Benzan said. 

“And yours,” Jerral said, already fitting another arrow to her bow.  She marked her target, an orc fleeing for the trail, and dropped it with a solid hit between its shoulder blades. 

A few of the orcs had spotted their attackers, and their cries of alarm were drawing the attention of the others, but most of the survivors of the initial attack were now focused only on escape.  Four made it to the edge of the trail and nearly escaped the deadly line of fire from the far hill, only to find their way blocked by a thick wall of dense webs that sprung up between two flanking boulders.  Two managed to retreat quickly enough to avoid being tangled, only to find themselves facing an axe rimmed in a deadly sheen of magical frost.  

They tried to fight back.  They really did.


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## Lazybones (May 14, 2002)

D'oh!  The computer didn't register my last response as a new post, so consider this a self-bump.


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## Maldur (May 14, 2002)

Your forgiven 

"They tried to fight back. They really did."

hahahaha, this line made my day , it really did (and its only 8:15 in the morning)

thx lazybones. (once a day your spoiling us)


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## Lazybones (May 14, 2002)

Book IV, Part 13

“Remember that time we took on twenty hobgoblins?” Benzan said, as he checked a orc quiver for any usable arrows.  His suspicions about the quality of orc fletchers confirmed, he tossed the quiver casually aside.  “I don’t remember it being this easy that time.”

“I didn’t have the power then that I have now,” Delem said, shielding his nose against the foul odor of roasted flesh that rose from the battlefield.  

“They were overconfident, and it cost them,” Jerral said from a short distance away.  She was looting the bodies in a more methodical fashion, darting quickly from one smoldering corpse to the next.  “Next time it won’t be so easy, I think.”

Benzan walked over to where the body of the ogre lay, the creature’s muscular form impressive even in death.  “I hope there aren’t many more of you back home,” he said to himself, running his hand involuntarily over his throat.  A scar still ran there, despite Dana’s healing of the wound.  

He saw something that glimmered slightly around the thing’s neck, and got closer.  The dead ogre wore an amulet on a throng around its neck.  It was a crude device, forged in iron, shaped like a bull’s head.  When he grasped it, he thought he felt a tingle, just for an instant, then he cut it free and examined it more closely. 

“I don’t recognize this symbol,” he said, as Jerral came up behind him to take a look.

“Nor do I,” she admitted.  “But I don’t like the look of it, all the same.”  

“Let’s go see what Cal’s gotten out of the prisoners,” Benzan suggested.

The tiefling, Jerral, and Delem rejoined their companions, who were standing over the tightly bound forms of the two orcs that Cal had trapped in his web.  One of the orcs was chattering on his guttural language, which seemed to suggest that Cal’s new _charm person_ spell had taken hold.  Dana, as always, was translating its responses using her spell of _comprehend languages_.  

“What have you learned thus far?” Benzan asked as he came up to join them. 

Cal looked up at him.  “Well, it’s not good.  Apparently there’s a sort of alliance between the orcs and the ogres in this region, several tribes of each from what this bloke’s describing.  The ogres are the dominant faction, but it goes beyond brute strength.  There’s an intelligence behind it all, someone or something calling the shots.”

“And ogres aren’t known for their intelligence,” Benzan noted.

“Right.  Apparently Obould Many-Arrows himself has sanctioned the alliance, though he’s not directly involved with what’s going on way up here.”

“Who?” Delem asked.

“‘King’ Obould’s name is well known in the North,” Lok said.  “At one time he ruled the fortress of Felbarr, before dwarves and men from Silverymoon took it back.  Last I heard, he was still head of several tribes in the mountains to the south, although he must be getting on in years, now.”

“Oh, he’s still tough enough, tough and canny as he ever was,” Jerral added.  “It would be just like him to stir up some trouble up here, to distract attention from whatever he’s planning further south.”

“Any idea who’s leading the ogres?” Benzan asked.

“Apparently, they’re all followers of some sort of ‘bull-god,’ at least from what we’ve been able to figure out from this orc’s ramblings.  They’ve got a holdfast near here, although the orc says none of them have been allowed inside…”

“No, don’t tell me, let me guess,” Benzan said.  “Caer Dulthain.”

Benzan didn’t need Cal’s reply—the way Lok’s jaw tightened at the mention of the name told him the answer.  

“So now what do we do?” Delem asked.  “I’ll admit, our skills have grown considerably, but we can’t take on a whole tribe of orcs or ogres, let alone several.”

“Why do I get the impression there’s more?” Benzan asked. 

Dana answered him.  “The ogres have taken over an old iron mine the dwarves had abandoned, in the vicinity of Caer Dulthain.  They’ve got some dwarves, along with some Uthgardt tribesmen they’ve been able to capture, and they’re using them as slaves to extract ore they’re using to forge weapons.  The orc says that they’re shipping at least some of the weapons south, to Obould’s armies.”

“Oh, why does this sound familiar?” Benzan said, with a groan.  

“We should return to Adbar,” Jerral said.  “The dwarves should be notified of this… not to mention the leaders of the Marches.”

“Yes, they should,” Benzan said.  “Except that if I know my friends here, we’re not going back… in fact, we’re going forward, and we’re going to rescue those prisoners from their captivity and be noble and self-sacrificing and probably get ourselves killed…”

“Perhaps you and Jerral can go back together, notify the dwarves…” Cal began.

“Now, don’t you start,” Benzan said.  “That’s not what I was saying and you know it.  Just because I’m _saying_ something logical doesn’t mean that I’m going to _do_ something logical, you know that.”

“Good, I was just checking,” the gnome said.  

“So, let me get this straight,” Jerral said.  “The five of you… without any backup, intend to head into a region controlled by an alliance comprised of several ogre and orc tribes, attack a well-defended strongpoint that’s just a short run from the main headquarters of the leaders of the whole operation, and then escort the prisoners right out from under their noses?”

“Um, yeah, I guess that’s about it,” Cal said.  

“You guys are crazy,” Jerral said.  “Count me in, of course.”

“Excellent!  The gnomes believe that six is a lucky number, you know.”

“Twenty would be luckier,” Benzan grumbled under his breath.


----------



## Horacio (May 15, 2002)

Wow!

Lazybones, that was superb! 

I love the resigned comments of Benzan


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## MasterOfHeaven (May 15, 2002)

/delurk

This story gets better all the time.

/relurk


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## Lazybones (May 16, 2002)

Book IV, Part 14

They left the bodies of the slain to the predators of the mountains.  There was some debate over what to do with the two prisoners, but ultimately only one course of action presented itself.  Cal admitted that his charm would not last very long, and none of them wanted to see the ogres warned about their presence in the area.  Neither he nor Lok were comfortable with the idea of killing helpless prisoners, but in the end they had to give in to the hard realities of their situation.  Jerral did it, ending it quickly.  The woman had an edge to her, that much was certain.  

They camped as many miles from the ambush site as they could push themselves before exhaustion and the advancing hour forced them to seek rest for the night.  The night was quiet, but for those on watch it went particularly slowly, as each shifting shadow and strange sound that broke the night became a creeping orc or looming ogre in their imaginations.  

The next day began miserably for the tired companions.  The air that blew down on the morning wind was from the south.  That meant it was a tad warmer, but only just warm enough to ensure that the storm that hit during breakfast dropped cold, icy rain rather than snow upon the companions.  Soaked and miserable, they pressed on nonetheless, knowing that the elements would not hinder their adversaries and so it must not hinder them either.  Even with their magical protections, they were all chilled to the bone by midmorning, only the plodding action of moving one foot after the other keeping their bodies warm enough to continue. 

The rain turned the snow on the ground to mush, and soon that became a mire of mud and debris that seemed fixed on trying to drag them down with each step.  Spills were common occurrences, even for the sure-footed among them, and soon they all looked like walking mudslides.   

But that was the better part of the day, before things got really nasty.

* * * * * 

“Damn, I—aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh… UMPH!”

“Delem!” Dana yelled, spinning at the young man’s sudden cry just in time to see the sorcerer shooting down the slope they’d just spent the last half-hour negotiating.  “Delem, are you all right?” she shouted again, already moving at an almost reckless pace down the muddy hillside, the others falling behind as they negotiated the difficult slope.  The sorcerer’s track was easy to follow, as his slide had left a wide trail in the mud that ran straight down the hillside.  

“Ow,” came a voice from below, barely audible over the wind.  Dana could just make out Delem’s muddy form, wedged against a protruding wedge of stone about fifty feet below her.  Even as she watched he tried to rise, but quickly slumped back, clearly injured by his misadventure.

The agile monk quickly covered the distance, although she herself nearly slipped on the last treacherous strip of mud.  He looked up as she reached him, and the pain was evident on his face. 

“How is it?” she asked, as she crouched beside him.

“I… I think I broke something.  My side… it’s like it’s on fire…”

“It’ll be all right in just a second,” she said, drawing his eyes to hers and locking them in a joined stare.  She cleared her mind of all of the distractions around her, drawing upon the power of Selûne as she cast her most powerful healing spell.  The familiar blue glow surrounded her hands and passed into his body, and his labored breathing eased as the positive energy worked its restorative magic upon the injured young man.   

“Thanks,” he said, as he reluctantly broke the stare and started to rise.  She helped him, careful not to slip on the mud that surrounded them. 

“Delem, are you okay?” came a concerned voice as the others reached them.  

Delem looked up at the one who’d spoken—Benzan.  “Yeah, I’m all right, thanks to Dana.”  He looked past them back up the hill, which now loomed its full height over them again.  “Sorry for being such a klutz—now we’ll have to climb that again.”

“There’s always another hill,” Cal said.  “But keeping everyone alive and intact… well, that’s more important.”

“Hey, looks like you got a little mud on you there, chief,” Benzan said.  Delem looked down at his body—which was literally _caked_ with mud, front and back.  The sorcerer then looked over at Benzan, who was only slightly less dirty himself.  Finally, both of them laughed.  It was the only thing they could do, really, in that situation, and the others joined in.  

The levity was short-lived, however.   

“What a day,” Cal said, wiping some water from his eyes.  He opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by Jerral’s warning cry.

“Ogres!”

They turned to see several ogres, the first of a group numbering a full ten, appeared over a low rise in the terrain barely sixty feet away from where they stood.


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## Maldur (May 16, 2002)

Nice as always!

Im off for a weekend of fun and games, at the best little convention under the sun, Tentacles in Bacharach am Rhein(CoC, Pendragon, Elric and everything related to Glorantha) So I hope there will be a nice pile of updates when I get back next week


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## Horacio (May 16, 2002)

Let's see a good  fight!


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## Lazybones (May 17, 2002)

Horacio said:
			
		

> *Let's see a good  fight!  *




As always, Horacio, I will endeavor to oblige you.  

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 15

The companions found their already bad day suddenly grown much worse, having stumbled across a reinforced patrol consisting of a half-score ogre barbarians.  The creatures, already in a bad mood from the weather as well, wasted no time in issuing a roared challenge and charging to the attack.  

The adventurers were not ones to hesitate, already experienced with what the ogres of the North could do.  

“Give them all you got!” Cal yelled, following his cry with the words of a spell.  Before the magic could take effect, though, Benzan was already moving, stringing his bow with a single smooth motion and fixing the first of many arrows to the string.  The mighty bow twanged with power and the first arrow was on its way, digging deep into the torso of the lead ogre an instant later.  The creature roared out in pain, but it was clear that it would take far more to stop it.  

The companions rapidly sought to oblige.  

Cal’s spell landed a second later, as magical webs sprang into existence in the center of the ogre ranks.  Anchored to the huge boulders that littered the area, several of the mighty barbarians found themselves caught by the sticky strands.  Their strength, however, already considerable and now augmented by a visceral, pounding rage, allowed them to start quickly tearing themselves free of the encumbering web, driving toward the companions with raw power.  

Seeing the effect of Cal’s spell, Delem altered his own casting slightly.  Knowing that his fireball would burn away the webs instantly, freeing the trapped ogres, he shifted his aim to the left, where the second rank of ogres was already moving around the boundaries of Cal’s spell.  At his summons a bead of fire spat from between his fingers and crossed the battlefield, erupting in a fiery roar in the midst of the charging ogres.  

The effect was dramatic, but the ogres were not mere orcs, to fall so easily from a single stroke.  When the flames cleared, five ogres were charred, but still they came on. 

Dana was casting her own spell, which had yet to take effect.  Jerral had joined in Benzan’s barrage, firing arrows into the ogres that were having the most success fighting free of the webs.  The head of each arrow, as she fitted it to her bow, burst into magical flame, each missile forming a fiery streak through the air as it slammed into its target.  Jerral’s bow strummed with even more speed and accuracy than Benzan’s, and soon that lead ogre was hurting badly.  

So far the battle was going the companions’ way, but as yet none of the ogres had been permanently taken out of the fray and they were rapidly closing the distance.  Several paused to hurl their massive spears at the companions.  None of their missiles found their targets, although one shattered with great force on the rock that Delem was standing behind, the same rock that had brought a painful stop to his fall earlier.  It was a close call for the sorcerer, as there had been no time for Cal to protect him with _mage armor_, and Delem sank again into the power of his magic.  

Lok hefted his axe and stepped forward to meet the charging ogres.  It looked almost ludicrous, the stout genasi coming barely up to the waists of the massive brutes, except that Lok had already proven his mettle against such giant foes before.  Still, with all ten of their enemies still standing, it seemed that even Lok’s bravery would not be enough to hold the line.  

Cal surrounded Dana with _mage armor,_ clutching his wand of color spray in his other hand.  He saw that all of the ogres he’d snared were making short work of his webs, so he shouted to Delem, “Fire the webs!”

Delem was just finishing his second spell, so it wasn’t clear at first if he’d heard the gnome.  His second fireball exploded on target, though, scorching the ogres in the webbing.  One of the beasts, with two arrows already stuck in its chest, went down, clutching feebly at its wounds.   

That only left nine remaining.  

Lok met the charge of the first ogre, holding his ground until the giant committed to its attack.  He dodged nimbly under its powerful but clumsy stroke and ducked under its reach, slamming his axe into its torso with enough impact to stagger the ogre through its rage.  The ogre did not fall, although it was clearly hurting.  The second ogre rushed in after its friend, its axe sweeping through a deadly arc toward Lok, but its strike too faltered as a pair of arrows slammed into it, one lodging in its side and the other in its throat.  The ogre’s momentum carried it forward, but it was already falling, dying.  

Lok spared an instant for a grateful wave to Benzan and Jerral, then he turned to face his next adversary.  More ogres were reaching the embattled genasi, but their own bulk got in the way of their attacks.  Two joined the attack on Lok, while the others circled round and came at the other companions.  

The first raised its axe to strike as it charged toward Delem, but hesitated as a flare of blue light erupted directly before it.  When the afterimage of the burst faded there was a new combatant on the battlefield, a celestial badger called by Dana’s magic.  

Only this badger was the size of a tall man, and possessed of a divine rage that matched the primal fury of the ogre battleragers.  

“All right, the badgers are back!” Benzan shouted in approval, as the creature tore into the ogre.  

Lok staggered as he took a hit that penetrated his armor and drew a gash in his shoulder, but he returned that and more with his frost-frozen axe.  His first stroke dropped the already wounded ogre he’d first engaged, and he followed through with a mighty stroke that dug deeply into the next ogre’s leg.  The ogre drew back in pain, but Lok simply spun and cut into his other remaining adversary, drawing a red line across its torso.  The genasi fought with a cool efficiency that found every weakness in the defenses of his raging opponents.  That rage gave them a stamina that let them shrug off the devastating hits from Lok’s axe, however, and they came at him with their own axes before he could recover and strike again. 

The rest of the companions could not come to his aid, however, as the remaining ogres swarmed on their position.  Cal fired a color spray from his wand into a trio charging from his web.  The first two, consumed by their lust for blood, shrugged off the effect, however, and the last only hesitated slightly, momentarily stunned by the brilliant display.  

Before Cal could be overwhelmed by the remaining pair, Benzan and Jerral leapt together into their path, their deadly bows replaced now with sword and axes for close-quarter work.  They worked well together, moving to flank the first ogre even as it swept its huge axe out at Benzan.  The tiefling took a glancing blow that dug painfully into his shoulder, but gritted his teeth and stabbed at the ogre with his sword.  The enhanced blade scored only a slight gash in the ogre’s hip, but it distracted it enough for Jerral to launch a deadly assault on it from behind with her twin axes.  Both of her blades scored the ogre’s vitals, tearing into its torso from both sides, and with a roar of pain it stumbled forward and fell to the ground.  

There was little time to celebrate their success, however, as the second ogre slammed its axe into Jerral’s side, inflicting a serious wound and driving her roughly backward.  

On the opposite flank, Delem and Dana found themselves facing the last two ogres.  One was quite occupied by the summoned dire badger, but the second, its features burned by Delem’s fireballs, hefted its axe and rushed at the sorcerer.  

Only to find the spry form of a slender young woman in its path.  Almost disdainfully, the ogre sliced with his axe to remove this puny obstruction from its path.  It was surprised when Dana twisted out of the path of its weapon almost without effort, and slashed at its arm with a small sickle-shaped blade.  The kama failed to penetrate the thick fur bracer it wore, but the attack did draw the ogre’s attention.  It took up its axe with both hands, roaring as it prepared for a two-handed strike to chop this troublesome adversary in two.  

That challenge was immediately followed by the painful sting of three magic missiles from Delem, stabbing one after the other into the ogre’s already burned torso.  

Lok had taken another hit, and he favored his left side slightly where the ogre’s powerful swing had connected.  His own attacks were no less deadly, however, and as he finished another series of powerful strokes a second ogre fell to join the first.  Lok’s last adversary did not hesitate, however, coming in with another mighty sweep even as its companion fell lifeless into the mud.  Lok turned smoothly, however, and took the blow on his shield.  The sound of metal striking metal rang out over the windy battlefield, and a look of realization penetrated the rage in the ogre’s eyes as it saw cold death reflected in the blood-streaked blade that rose once more into the air before it.  

Benzan rushed forward to aid Jerral, who was finding herself hard-pressed against her attacker.  Once again, as if they’d fought many battles together, they moved together to flank their adversary and force it to split its defenses against attacks from two opposite fronts.  The ogre responded with all-out attack, nearly taking Benzan’s head off with a powerful two-handed sweep of its axe.  The effort cost it, however, as it opened it fully to Jerral’s counter.  Her battleaxe dug deeply into the ogre’s hamstring, sending it to one knee.  Still it tried to lash out at its enemies, bringing the axe around until Benzan’s blade thrust deep into its throat.  Gurgling a final curse, it crumpled to the ground, dying.  

Benzan spun, his blade at the ready, knowing that there was one more…

Except that the last ogre on their flank, the one stunned by Cal’s spell, was fully occupied with trying to see through the swarm of illusory giant bats Cal had summoned.  It was almost funny, the way the massive brute staggered about, except that the companions knew that the axe it bore could still unleash death if they were not wary.  

“Ready?” Benzan said, glancing over at Jerral.  The woman nodded, and the two moved to flank their remaining adversary.  

Back on the far edge of the battlefield, Dana and Delem were still hotly engaged.  The wounded ogre was still coming after Dana, whose defensive maneuvers, augmented by Cal’s magical protection, had thus far kept her from harm.  Delem, meanwhile, continued to slam magical bolts into it, each volley drawing the creature closer to the point where even its rage could not sustain it.  The sorcerer turned, however, as he heard a vicious cry from his right.  His eyes widened as he saw the final ogre step forward over the bloody remains of Dana’s summoned badger.  Even as he watched the slain celestial winked out of existence, returning to whence it came.  The ogre was ravaged, its lower body streaked with multiple gashes, but that didn’t stop it from raising its axe and charging straight for Delem.  

Delem felt frozen with fear, but he also felt the thrum of power fill him, a blazing fire that burned every other feeling away.  The flames exploded out of him, enveloping the ogre even as its blade came down and found purchase in Delem’s slender form.  The sorcerer cried out in pain, but even as he felt himself falling he felt the familiar rush of Kossuth’s divine touch fill him.  He staggered back, grievously wounded but still standing, and looked down to see the flame-ravaged form of the dead ogre looking up at him with empty eyes.

Dana continued to give ground, knowing that her own attacks were of little proof against the ogre, even with the serious wounds it had already suffered.  She saw that her companions were quickly finishing the remaining ogres, and so she bought time, trading ground for defense, narrowly avoiding that deadly blade with each stroke.  

Finally, realization seemed to break through the battle-rage of the ogre.  As Dana darted back yet again it turned and regarded the battlefield, and its fallen comrades.  Even as it looked on Benzan and Jerral stepped back from the last standing ogre, and slowly it toppled, its struggles fading even before it hit the mud-slicked stones.   Lok and Cal were already converging on Dana’s position, and although Delem was clearly hurt, the flames danced in his eyes as he raised his hands to strike yet again.  

The ogre saw its own death, but it did not falter or seek escape.  Instead, it reached down and drew up a massive horn that it wore around its neck, a crude iron device that curved in the manner of a ram’s horn.  It hefted the device and blew into it, sounding a powerful note that shattered the windy afternoon and echoed repeatedly through the mountains.  

Then the ogre hefted its axe, and charged.  


* * * * * 

A few notes:

1) If you haven't already guessed, the ogres in this part of the story are enhanced with class levels.  One level of barbarian can make a considerable difference in the toughness of an ogre as an adversary, especially when raging.  The following is straight from my notes:

Ogre barbarians (bbn1)
HD4d8+10+1d12 (hp34)
AC16
MV40
Atk huge greataxe +9 melee (2d8+7), huge longspear +2 ranged (2d6+5)
Fort +8, Ref +0, Will +1
Rage 1/day for 7 rounds (when raging: +2 hit/+3 damage, +10 hit points, +2 Will saves, -2 AC)
Bbn2: hp43, +10 melee, uncanny dodge
Bbn3: hp51, +11/+6 melee

2) Upcoming is a mega-battle scene that ended up pushing a record (for this story thus far) fourteen pages in Word.  For the sake of posting I've chopped it up into smaller bits, put in a few transitions, and I'll post it on consecutive days next week (it begins with part 17).   

3) I've plotted what's going to happen through the end of book IV (thanks to boring all-day meetings at work), and while I don't want to give anything away (), I can say that IV is going to have a very dramatic (one might even say _drastic_) ending...

Thanks again to all my readers for their feedback and support.  I've noticed that readership on the story hour forum has fallen off of late, especially during the day, and I hope that the 200 user limit will be lifted soon.  

LB


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## Horacio (May 17, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 3) I've plotted what's going to happen through the end of book IV (thanks to boring all-day meetings at work), and while I don't want to give anything away (), I can say that IV is going to have a very dramatic (one might even say drastic) ending...
> *




Dramatic? Drastic? 
What are you going to do ?!?!?!?


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## Ziggy (May 17, 2002)

Hi Lazybones !

You write excellent fight scenes, IMHO the best among the story hours here. It's awesome how you are able to transform the ebb and flow of the battle into words, it's almost like being part of the battle. 

I was seriously worried about the party this time, a party of Ogres with class levels is serious business. But they are growing powerful, starting to get into the realms of true heroes. But now you promise an even bigger fight ? 

I'm holding my breath here :shudder

.Ziggy


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## Lazybones (May 17, 2002)

Horacio said:
			
		

> *
> Dramatic? Drastic?
> What are you going to do ?!?!?!? *




Heh. You'll see.  



> _Originally posted by Ziggy_
> *
> You write excellent fight scenes, IMHO the best among the story hours here. It's awesome how you are able to transform the ebb and flow of the battle into words, it's almost like being part of the battle. *




Thanks!  I've been writing action scenes for ten years now (I just recently realized that I started my first novel in 1992... feeling old all of a sudden), and I like to think I've come a long way in being able to produce convincing, fast-paced action.  I'm glad you enjoy it, and I appreciate the compliment.



> *
> But now you promise an even bigger fight ? *




Let's just say: 10 to 1 odds, and dwarven gifts needed sooner rather than later.  Read on...

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 16

“I can’t leave you alone for one second, can I,” Dana said, her tone light but her concern obvious on her face as she tended to Delem.  The sorcerer gritted his teeth as Dana continued to pour healing energy into him from her wand of _cure light wounds_, but soon his expression eased and the wound in his torso closed completely.

Around the battlefield, the others were making similar preparations, healing wounds and hastily looting the bodies of the ogres for anything useful or valuable.  Jerral stood on the stone outcropping, watching impatiently for them to finish.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” she said.  “The blast of that horn probably carried for miles…”

As if in answer, the loud note of another horn sounded in the distance, somewhere north of them.  And even before the echoes had fully faded off the surrounding mountains, a second blast came from the southwest, its deep note sounding close… too close.

“Let’s go!” Jerral said, leaping off the outcropping and running to the west.  Her companions hurried to follow, each imagining what forces might be behind those two baleful horns.  

“Where are we going?” Benzan asked.

“Trust Jerral,” Cal managed, soon fighting for breath as his short legs tried to keep up with the pace set by the ranger.  It was a hopeless cause, however, and soon he and the heavily armored Lok were lagging, the others adjusting their pace so as to not leave them behind.  The ranger moved steadily ahead of them, pausing at the crest of another low rise ahead, her eyes darting over every bend and crease in the land as she scanned the horizon behind them.  

“We’ll never outrun them,” Benzan said, as the companions reached the ranger’s vantage. 

“I know,” Jerral said.  “There’s a place, near here… I’ve only been there once, but it should serve as a good redoubt…”

“Lead on,” Benzan said.  “We’ll be right behind you.”

“We need a scout, to check behind and see what’s coming and how close they are.  Maybe I should…”

“No,  you’re the only one who knows where we’re going,” Cal said, fighting for breath as he urged them on, continuing their conversation while still moving forward.  They crested the rise to reveal another identical-seeming landscape of peaks and valleys beyond.  The gray ceiling above them was beginning to darken, promising the approach of night, but they had perhaps an hour left until visibility would start to become a problem.  

“I’ll go,” Dana said.  

“Dana, you’re fast and nimble, but those monsters… their could be hundreds of them, and  you just don’t have the ability to remain unseen that Jerral and I have,” Benzan said.  “I should go.”

“I had something a little different in mind,” the cleric-monk replied, closing her eyes as she called upon the power of her goddess.  They watched as she outstretched her arms and looked up to the heavens, and then started in surprise as she rose off of the ground, hovering effortlessly in front of them.  

“I’m just going to make a quick scout, and I’ll be right back,” she said.  

“We’ll keep to our current direction,” Jerral said.  “Follow a westerly course, and you’ll find us.”

“Be careful, Dana,” Cal said.  “Orcs are pretty good marksmen, and _dispel magic_ has a range of one hundred and fifty feet or more.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said.  “You worry too much, you know.”  And with a final wry smile, she shot up into the air, rapidly becoming just a speck as she rose several hundred feet into the air and flew speedily to the east.  

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Jerral said.  

“Neither did we,” Benzan admitted.

* * * * *  

For the next half-hour they set a rapid pace, scrambling over the broken expanse of rock and mud until they crested yet another rise to see a broad valley stretching out before them.  They had not heard the horns of their pursuers again, but each could feel a sense of malevolence dogging them, as if unseen eyes were marking every step of their progress.

None of them ventured to suggest that perhaps their pursuers had given up on chasing them.  

Now, within the valley ahead of them they could see the destination that Jerral had marked for them.  Approximately within the center of the valley stood a lonely stone tor, its flat summit rising perhaps one hundred feet above the uneven valley floor.  From what they could see, the only easy approach to the top was a rocky climb shaped like a funnel, a steep but manageable slope perhaps fifty paces across at its base but narrowing to only ten paces wide near the summit.  To either side of that climb stood a sheer cliff.

“What about the back?” Lok asked. 

“There’s a narrow trail up the rear face,” Jerral said.  “It’s not a difficult climb, switchbacking its way up to the summit, but only wide enough for one at a time.”

“I’m surprised no one else has claimed it first,” Benzan said.

“This whole area is pretty barren, even during the other seasons.  No good sources of water, and the soil is hard and rocky—the only other time I was here was in the autumn, and it was just as empty as it seems now.”

“It’ll have to serve,” Cal said.  “It’ll be dark soon—we’d better get going.”

They started down into the valley.  Delem asked, “What about Dana?” 

“She knows how to take care of herself,” Benzan said.  But the tiefling’s gaze returned frequently to the eastern sky as they made their way toward the tor.

They’d covered about half the distance to it, the stone monolith now looming above them in the twilight, when Benzan called out an alarm.  They all looked back at the crest they’d just left behind, and even those without Benzan’s keen eyes could see the movement along the ridge.  At least the armored forms they spotted were only man-sized, not the hulking forms of ogres.

“Orcs,” Jerral said.  “About a dozen, it looks like.  Probably a scouting wing for the main body.”

“They’re just standing there,” Delem said.  “What are they waiting for?”

“Reinforcements,” Benzan replied.  “Let’s get moving!”

They hurried their pace toward the tor, and they were nearing the base when another call, this time from Cal, brought their attention around again.  Instead of another enemy, however, they saw it was Dana, streaking down out of the sky to land just ahead of them.  

“What did you see?” several of them asked at once. 

“It’s not good,” she told them.  “There are two groups converging on this point.  From the south we’ve got about fifty orcs—all warriors by the look of them.  And from the north, fifteen or so ogres, plus two really big white wolves.”

“Winter wolves,” Jerral said.  “They’re tough, and can breath cones of frost.”

“Oh, this just gets better and better,” Benzan interjected.

“How close?” Cal asked.  

“They’re right behind us—just a ridge or two back.  They’ll be here in minutes.”  She shifted slightly, and they could see that she favored her right side slightly.

“You’re wounded!” Delem said.  

“Just a scratch,” she said dismissively.  “I’ll heal it when we get to cover.  The ogres have several ballistae with them—I guess I got a little too close after all.  One bolt grazed me… thanks again for the mage armor, Cal; it could have been a lot worse.”

“Strange… I can’t remember encountering ogres this well organized, or well equipped,” Jerral said.  “I’m more curious about this mysterious ‘leader’ behind this alliance.”

“Well, we’ll be able to ponder the significance later,” Cal said.  “Right now, we’d better get ready for their… visit.”

Without further discussion they hurried onward, reaching the base of the bluff and picking their way slowly up the front slope.  The route was passable, if hazardous, and they took some hope in the fact that it would be a much more difficult climb in the face of determined opposition.  

By the time they reached the summit, the light of the day was already beginning to fail.  There was still just enough illumination, however, for them to make out the movement along the far ridge and the valley below.  

Their pursuers had arrived as well.

* * * * * 

Starting Monday... battle royale!


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## Carnifex (May 18, 2002)

Finally got round to reading this story hour, and I'm very glad I did!


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## Horacio (May 19, 2002)

Dana is now a flying super hero 

Waitng for the battle...


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## Lazybones (May 20, 2002)

Book IV, Part 17

“Do you think they’ll attack now, or wait for morning?” Delem asked, as the companions prepared their bastion for an assault from the ogres and orcs pouring into the valley.

“Orcs have darkvision, but ogres do not,” Jerral said, as she picked out a sniper position that provided good cover among the boulders and a clear line of sight down the sloping approach up the bluff.  “That said, ogres aren’t known for their subtlety, or their patience.  I’d be ready for an attack at any time.”

“Benzan and Lok can see in the dark as well,” Cal noted, “and my eyes are pretty good in low light, although I don’t think we’ll get much natural light tonight.”  He glanced up at the sky, which remained an unbroken bank of dark clouds.

“Well, then you three aren’t going to get much sleep tonight,” Jerral said.  “We’d better put someone on watch on both ends of the bluff, in case they try the narrow back route up.”

The enemy forces approached the base of the tor—the companions could hear them, now, even if the night concealed their approach—but they did not immediately make a move to ascend toward the summit.  Their adversaries were making no effort to be quiet—in fact, it seemed quite the obvious, as the sound of war chants and metal clashing on metal rang frequently through the night.  

“I guess they’re not planning on a quiet evening,” Benzan observed.  He’d taken up a position at the top of the slope running up to the summit of the tor, his darkvision penetrating the night like it was day.  Unfortunately, the range of his special sight was limited, and their enemies would be able to ascend well up the slope before he would be able to see them clearly.  

Delem walked over to Cal and Dana.  “Here,” he said, removing a handful of bolts from his quiver and offering several to each of them.

“The giantbane bolts we got back at Citadel Adbar?” Cal asked, accepting the missiles.

“Yes.  I figure we should all have a few of them… I think they’ll come in handy tonight.”

The chaotic sounds from down below became quiet for a moment, drawing the companions’ attention back down to the darkness.  Then, slowly at first, a rhythmic sound shattered the night.  It was the sounding of a deep drum, pounding its mournful beat through the confines of the valley.  The beating became faster, and louder as its pulses were accompanied by the sound of metal clashing on metal.  Soon every creature at the base of the tor was participating in the ritual noise, the pounding filling the night with the promise of the violence that now seemed inevitable.  

The companions were all experienced, veterans of many battles, but it would have been hard not to get at least a little rattled at the disturbing cacophony.  But then, as the pounding below began to reach a fevered pitch, the soft sounds of a lute broke up the menace of that evil tune.  Cal’s voice, clear and strong, pierced the night, filling the companions with a renewed sense of purpose.  He sang a battle-song familiar to those who had grown up in the tumultuous Western Heartlands, a song of triumph in the face of evil and adversity.  Pitch for pitch it matched the awful crescendo from below, countering its message of dread and fear with one of camaraderie and hope.  The companions checked their weapons and went over the spells stored in their minds.  

Of course they were afraid—only a fool would not be, facing such odds.  But there was no panic, no confusion, only grim determination as they readied themselves for the confrontation.  

And then the drum suddenly stopped, and with it the night again grew still.  

Cal was the first to see it, his night-adapted eyes cutting through the darkness.  

“They’re coming.”

* * * * * 

The companions waited within the shelter of the surrounding boulders atop the bluff, as the shadowy phalanx of orcs and ogres stormed the slope.  

From the rear of the bluff, Dana crouched atop a boulder that overlooked the narrow and twisting back way up to the summit.  Although her night vision wasn’t as good as some of the others, even she had to admit that her limited offensive power could be best spared from the main line of defense.  All of the others faced the main route up the bluff, a steep, rubble-strewn ramp that ran several hundred feet from the valley floor below up to the entrenched positions where the defenders waited. 

The companions had enacted all of the preparations that they had at their disposal.  Cal had summoned _mage armor_ around himself and Delem, and renewed the protection around Dana as well.  The gnome had also cast _cat’s grace_ on Benzan, making him even more nimble and accurate with his bow.  Dana used a spell of her own to augment Lok’s endurance, toughening him even further beyond his normally incredible vitality.  Finally, Cal and Delem summoned magical _shields_ into being in front of them, to serve as effective barriers against enemy attacks. 

All of them knew, however, that it would ultimately come to hand-to-hand combat.  

“I can’t see them coming,” Delem said, holding the power of his flames ready to strike.  

Cal stepped over to Benzan.  “Can you put an arrow at the base of the slope?”

“No problem,” the tiefling said, nocking the arrow and holding it ready.  Cal called upon the power of a minor cantrip, reaching out to touch the arrowhead as he completed the spell.  The arrow brightened until it glowed with magical light about as bright as a torch.  Realizing that he now made a perfect target, Benzan didn’t hesitate, drawing the arrow and letting it fly.  It landed with a clatter among the rocks at the base of the slope, casting a bright globe of illumination around it.  

And revealing the dark shadows that were rapidly approaching, resolving quickly into the snarling faces of orcs as they entered the radius of the light.  

“Now, Delem!” Cal cried. 

But Delem was already lost in the magic, and even as Cal shouted his command he released the power of his most potent spell.  The fireball streaked down the slope, exploding at its base in the general area of the light, blinding them with its intensity.  Screams from orcs caught within the blast filled the night, although it wasn’t immediately clear how many had been taken out by the spell.  

The enemy rush continued on.  An ogre stepped into the radius of the light, and a moment later the glow winked out of existence as it found and covered Benzan’s arrow.  

Crossbow bolts began to land around the companions, although fired blind as they were, they failed to hit anything but rocks.  Benzan and Jerral had managed to fire a few shots before Cal’s light was snuffed, but as yet they too had failed to bring down any of their enemies. 

Delem cast another spell, and a row of flickering flames appeared, hovering in the air about one hundred and sixty feet down the slope.  The archers readied their best arrows now as the shadowy length of the advancing enemy line became visible further down the slope, steadily nearing the lighted area.  Thus far the orcs and ogres seemed to be making a simple frontal attack, trusting in numbers to absorb whatever attacks the defenders could unleash upon them.  

They entered the radius of Delem’s dancing lights less than a minute later, moving almost recklessly up the steep and rocky slope.  The orcs were in the front, holding crossbows, longspears, or heavy axes as they rushed onward with an almost feral intensity.  Behind them came the ogres in a disorganized line formation, several carrying huge shields covered in thick hides before them.  

“Damn, I don’t see the winter wolves,” Cal said, scanning the enemy ranks even as he fired his crossbow and loaded another bolt.  “Dana!” he yelled.

“All clear so far!” the woman yelled back from her position, along the far edge of the bluff fifty feet away.  “Do you need me there?”

“Stay on watch!” Cal said, not willing to trust that the leader of the enemy force was unaware of the one glaring weakness in their defensive position.

As the enemy line rushed past his dancing flames Delem unleashed his second fireball.  This time, the blast was centered on the enemy ranks, and exploded to devastating effect.  Fully twenty orcs fell to the enveloping flames, their bodies charred and blackened, and behind them several ogres felt the force of the fireball as well, though none of them went down. 

Still, the enemy rush came on. 

Jerral and Benzan were now able to make their shots tell, firing into the enemy ranks with deadly effect.  Lok, too, had taken his mighty bow from the bag of holding, and launched arrows that penetrated the armor of the leading orcs through sheer mighty force.

A wall of sharp spearpoints rose up out of the ground in front of the charging orc battle line, causing the lead warriors to draw up in alarm.  One cried out as its momentum carried it forward into the points, only to pass harmlessly through Cal’s illusion.  It turned to its comrades and smiled dumbly, only to collapse an instant later as one of Benzan’s arrows slammed into its lung.  

The illusion only delayed the rush for a few moments, but in that time more orcs died.  

Thus far none of the companions had even been wounded, and more than half of the orcs were lying dead or dying on the slope of the tor.  The ogre force was largely intact, however, and Dana’s sudden cry only added to the seriousness of their situation a moment later. 

“They’re coming up the back trail!”


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## Horacio (May 20, 2002)

I love Delem's fireballs!


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## monboesen (May 21, 2002)

After a long time lurking i feel prompted to comment on the great story. Well actually not so much on the story but more on the characters. 

As both a long time player and DM i must say that i don't think that many real players would multiclass in the way that the characters potrayed in this story does. Especially Cal and Delem are unlikely as multiclassing different spellcasting classes is in general a bad idea. Even though it may seem a fair deal at first it  quickly turns sour at higher levels. This is also i think, why Lok and Benzan dominates the battles, they haven't "wasted" levels. If for instance Delem had been a 8 lvl sorcerer he would have slinging fireballs for a long time and would now acces spells as Wall of Fire and Fire Shield.

I also think that any player with Dana as a character would have chosen Weapon Finesse (Unarmed) rather than Weapon Focus (Unarmed) unless it is a prequisite of her prestige class. And on the same note as Cal and Delem, the Monk class is one of the poorest classes to multiclass, and few players would do so beyond the first lvl.

Less technical but in my view more important is that Delems charisma of 17 is more or less treated only as a gauge of his magical power. Whereas Benzan, demonspawned, with a charisma 10 and a habit of being sarcastic comes across a the stereotypical charming rogue. This is a pet peeve of mine as i have often seen both low and high charisma scores misused by players and Dms alike. Charisma is by far the most difficult ability score reward fairly as a Dm and i feel that you are "guilty" of mistreating it.  Delems charisma score should mean that he has "great force of personality, persuasiveness, personal magnetism, ability to lead, and physical attractiveness" (quote from Players Handbook). His charisma is extraordinary in the same way as a popular politician, musician or cult leader and of the same “power” as Loks great strength and fortitude and Benzams and Danas great agility which are often mentioned in the story. Delem should be noticed first among the group, strangers should be interested in befriending him and women should find him alluring. Contrary to this he is potrayed as unsure and unremarkable. Strangers rarely take note of him and most social interaction is handled by Cal (whom is also charismatic and potrayed as such) and Dana is falling for Benzam. Hmm maybe i am just sorry to see another good goy loosing to the bad boy in the game of love.

Lastly i would like to point out that i truly enjoy the story very much and would never have posted this if not you had chosen to use the D&D rules as a framework for the story and strives to make it seem something that could have been played in an actual game. So keep on the good work.


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## Lazybones (May 21, 2002)

monboesen: thanks for taking the time to reply, and let me see if I can respond to some of your comments.  

First off, your comment about the power levels of multi-classing magic-users (both arcane and divine) is quite true.  I've always been of the sort who doesn't mind sacrificing game power for RP effectiveness, and the way the character conceptions for Cal and Delem came together their class splits just seemed to work within the construction of the story.  As a bit of background, I can tell you that I was pretty much committed to sticking to wizard levels for Cal all the way up (I had a high-level FRCS prestige class in mind for him) and ignoring the bard side of his character (despite several reader commentaries that they thought his character would be more likely to add bard levels).  As the story continued, however, I realized that Cal's progression as a wizard _was_ changing the character in ways that went against my original character concept.  That's why I included the scene where in his journal he comments on his decision _not_ to go for 3rd level spells for the moment, even though he knows that this might cost him and his companions later.

As for the charisma issue: you have a point here as well, and here the clash of game mechanics and plot has been a problem.  I've been guilty of "stat dumping" in this stat in 2e, and I really like stories (like Rel's) where character charisma scores really affect the game.  That said, I'd always seen Delem as a character with great potential that he needs to grow into.  I think his character has grown a lot more forceful since the initial chapters, especially when he calls upon the innate power of his magic.  Perhaps it would have made more sense to make him a wizard, but the sorcerer class just seemed to fit so well with the background I'd created.  

And it's funny that so many readers like Benzan so much, and think he's charming!  I think he's really kind of a jerk (especially toward Delem), but maybe he's won me over too and I'm subconsciously sneaking more flattering portrayals of him into my writing.   

Re Dana: I just plain forgot you could WFinesse unarmed.  And as for her monk levels, in addition to the RP element, it really toughened her up in terms of evasion and saving throws.  I think the main reason I gave her two levels is that I don't like powergamers who take just one level of a class for the game advantages .  I guess I'm guilty of that in Benzan's case, but he is going to level up in wizard eventually (I see his progression as a largely balanced on in the long run).  

Any other readers want to weigh in on these issues?

Thanks again for reading.  

LB


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## Lazybones (May 21, 2002)

Book IV, Part 18

“They’re coming up the back trail!” Dana cried, alerting the others to a flanking maneuver on their position.

“I’ll go!” Jerral said, firing one more shot that dropped an orc before darting back over the boulders toward the rear face of the bluff.  The others had to trust that she and Dana could hold whatever enemies were coming up the rear face, for they would have their hands full holding back the frontal assault that was drawing steadily nearer to their position. 

The orcs were now within sixty feet of their position, with the ogres remaining only slightly behind.  It was clear now that the orcs were being used for fodder by the ogres, to absorb the most devastating attacks from the defenders while the ogres behind kept their line intact.  Cal hastily counted and came up with a count of twelve of the brutish giants. 

No, this wasn’t looking good at all.  

Several of the orcs paused to launch bolts from their crossbows, but that strategy came to naught as the companions were either protected by several layers of magical shielding or wearing thick armor that turned those few bolts that made it past their rocky cover.  Another half-dozen, desperation perhaps overcoming prudence, simply formed a wedge and charged, hurtling themselves up the last stretch that separated them and the defenders.  

They were met by Delem’s _flaming sphere,_ which rolled down the slope right into their ranks.  The orc at the point of the wedge exploded into flames as the ball bounced right into its body, and the two flanking it fell back, scorched by the fire as well.  The others darted out of the path of the flames, the momentum of their rush broken by the spell.

Cal fired another bolt, and while he was rewarded by an orc falling, his eyes traveled back to the line of ogres that were drawing inexorably nearer.  He knew that those were the real danger, and that he had to buy his companions some time to take down their numbers some. 

Taking inspiration from Delem, he called upon the power of an illusion.  A wall of flames erupted into being between the remnants of the orc line and the ogres behind, blocking the final route up the bluff.  At first, Cal feared that these ogres, who’d already demonstrated that they were more remarkable than the average member of their species, would realize that the flames produced neither sound nor heat, and simply charge through.  He was rewarded, though, as the ogres hesitated, falling back from the illusory barrier.  

As he watched, however, he saw a looming figure, tall even for an ogre, step forward and start shouting at its peers.  This ogre wore a thick mantle of black fur taken apparently from a single massive beast, and it wore as a helmet the skull of some large creature, perhaps the former owner of the fur.  Totems dangled on a throng around its neck, and Cal felt a shudder as his eyes briefly met the ogre’s as it scanned the battlefield.  

Apparently Cal wasn’t the only one to notice the ogre leader, for one of Benzan’s arrows caught it in the shoulder as it tried to rally its reluctant troops.  Ignoring the wound, the ogre finally just walked through the illusion, drawing its allies after it through the sheer force of its personality.  

The illusion had not stopped the ogre advance, but it had bought them a few more precious moments.  

Delem had sent his flaming sphere to chase down one of the last surviving orcs, and now summoned another one that rolled down the slope into the onrushing ogres.  The first brute managed to dodge out of the route of the sphere, but it rolled on into a second, causing the ogre to slip as it retreated from the scorching flames.  The ogre cried out as it lost its footing and fell down the slope, sliding for a few yards before coming to a battered stop.  

Lok stepped out into the open at the top of the slope, focusing the attention of the ogres fully upon himself.  He drew another long arrow and let fly, the missile slamming with the full force of the genasi’s strength into the fat muscle of an ogre thigh.  The ogre, already wounded, staggered and faltered but kept its footing.  

Benzan plied his bow with unceasing fury, firing arrow after arrow into the increasing ranks of the ogres.  He ignored the few milling orcs now, focusing entirely upon the massive forms of the ogres.  He targeted those that were already wounded, blasting one with a pair of hits in rapid succession that arrested its charge and nearly toppled it.  He finished the first bundle of arrows he’d taken from Lok’s bag of holding earlier and started in on the second, his aim becoming even more deadly as the ogres drew nearer.  

While the battle up the face of the bluff raged, Dana watched the darkness where she could sense the shadowy forms moving up the narrow trail that switchbacked up the rear face of the bluff.  She wished she had Benzan’s night vision as she tried to distinguish the night’s natural shadows from those of the attackers.  Then, however, she saw a long white shape moving up the trail in the faint light, and knew what that portended.  

The winter wolves were coming her way.

Dana crept silently over to the edge of the bluff where it overlooked a portion of the trail below.  She had not been idle during her earlier vigil, having identified several large rocks that would serve her purpose.  She went to one now, and putting her full strength behind the effort she bent into it and drove it toward the edge.  It resisted at first, and then gave way with a sudden lurch, so suddenly that Dana nearly followed it over the edge.  

Careful, Dana, she thought to herself, listening to the startled cries from below as the rock pounded its way down onto the narrow trail.  Unable to see if her attack was having an effect, she immediately turned to the next stone.  

On the far side of the bluff, the few orcs left alive seemed content to leave the rest of the assault to their larger companions.  Of the forty-four that had started the climb, only five were still conscious and all but one of those sported wounds.  That final unwounded orc, content not to test its luck further, nestled down into a crack between two boulders and spent the rest of the battle keeping its head down.

The ogres had taken some punishment as well, but ten still remained to form up under the leadership of the brute with the skull-helm.  The leader had been hit by several arrows but seemed unfazed by the wounds, rallying its troops with a violent war cry before it and its followers charged up the final distance toward where Lok waited at the summit, flanked by his companions nestled in between the boulders.   

On ogre went down, stumbling on a loose patch of rocks and falling hard.  Another fell with an arrow from Benzan’s bow stuck in its throat.  A third took a bolt from Cal’s crossbow in the side—a minor wound, it seemed, except that the bolt thrummed with power as it hit and the ogre staggered as if it had been struck by a ram.  

The giantbane bolts worked as promised, it seemed.

The other ogres had worked themselves into a rage, however, and nothing short of death would stop them now.  

Lok launched a last arrow and then recovered his shield and axe in time to meet the charge of the first ogre.  Stoically he took the first hit on his shield, holding his ground even though the force of the impact threatened to drive him into the ground.  A second ogre was there almost immediately to his side, but Lok did not flinch even when it slammed a huge two-handed maul into his armored shoulder.  Either blow would have crushed an ordinary warrior.

Lok was not an ordinary warrior. 

The genasi stepped within the reach of the first ogre, and ripped his axe into its belly.  Even through its rage the ogre felt the hurt of that blow, as the axe cut through layers of flesh to score the vitals underneath.  The ogre barely had time to draw back before Lok struck again, this time drawing the edge of the axe along the unprotected inside of the ogre’s left leg.  The ogre was hurt, but consumed in its rage, it refused to retreat.  

With Lok holding his ground, the other ogres had to clamber around the boulders to either side to get at the other companions.  One loomed up over Delem, precariously balanced on the stones as it eagerly hefted its axe, but the sorcerer raised one hand—the hand bearing a certain bronze ring—and the ogre toppled over the edge of the bluff, its cry fading as it vanished into the night.  

It was a long way to the ground below.  

Another pair tried to get to Benzan’s perch on the far side of the battlefield, and the tiefling let them come to him, continuing his relentless barrage of arrows.  One hurled a spear, but the tiefling’s agility, augmented by Cal’s spell, allowed him to easily dodge the powerful missile.  In return, the ogre got another arrow in the side, bringing its tally to three thus far.  

Still, the enemy rush came on.

Cal had escaped notice thus far, having faded into magical _invisibility_ once the ogres reached the summit.  Now he positioned himself to come to Lok’s aid.  He paused a moment to add a _protection from evil_ ward from his wand to augment his defenses, then he crept into the rocks where another pair of ogres was circling around to come at Lok from behind.  Cal cast a minor cantrip, creating a sound a short distance away among a cluster of large boulders.  

“Hey, over here, you stupid brutes!” came Cal’s voice from that direction.  

Few creatures like being called stupid, so predictably the ogres turned and hurried in that direction, weapons ready to smash whoever was taunting them.  Cal let the first ogre go by and waited until the second ogre had passed his position, then he reached out and touched it lightly on the ankle. 

Electric energy from Cal’s _shocking grasp_ tore into the ogre, which cried out in sudden pain.  Looking down, it saw the source of its hurt as Cal’s invisibility faded, and smiled as it raised a heavy club to smash him.  And just a few yards ahead, Cal could sense the ogre’s friend turning to help it.  Not that it appeared to need any help against the diminutive gnome. 

Suddenly Cal’s plan didn’t seem quite so brilliant.


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## MasterOfHeaven (May 21, 2002)

Great stuff.  I'm really enjoying the battle scene so far.  As for the other issues..

Well, I agree about Delem.  I always thought it was strange that a character with 17 Charisma was so shy and unsure of himself.  He generally keeps a background role, and lets others handle the social situations, only occasionally interjecting a comment.  It would be nice to see him become more confident and take a more active role in the party, really.  

I think multiclassing spellcasters is generally not a good idea as far as sheer power goes, but I think that the added versatility brings it into at least some form of balance.  Sure, Delem can't throw off Walls Of Fire or Fire Shields, but he can heal party members when they're wounded, when he gets to 0 hitpoints or below he has a very nice Domain power to help him out, and so on.  

With that said, I had noticed in my own campaign the fact that multiclassing to or from a spellcasting class was generally not a good idea unless you severely optimized your abilities, so I changed the rules to make character level equal to caster level.  So, a level 10/10 Cleric/Sorcerer would cast a Fireball as a level 20 Sorcerer, and vice versa for Flamestrike. (Speaking of which, Delem ought to get that soon!  He should take more Cleric levels.  )    

After all, BAB and other such things stack between classes, so why not caster level?  So far, it's worked out fine, and hasn't imbalanced anything, and I am actually seeing people multiclass to and from spellcasting classes.  The pure spellcasters do not really lose out, as they gain access to the higher level spells, just as a pure Fighter does not lose out to a multiclassed Fighter/Rogue, since the pure Fighter gains more feats and a higher BAB.  

Anyway, sorry to meander off into a discussion of my campaign rules, but the subject seemed to relate to them, so I couldn't help it.  Regardless, I'm really enjoying this story hour, and look forward to it's continuation.


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## Lazybones (May 24, 2002)

Reposting the chapters that I put up during the last few days...

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 19

Dana managed to roll one more rock over the lip of the cliff ledge before she caught sight of the first white streak darting quickly up the final leg of the trail.  She could just make out shadows moving a few switchbacks further down, and hoped that her efforts had at least delayed whatever orcs and ogres might be coming.  She cast a final spell upon herself, a minor enchantment designed to enhance her movements, and as she felt the magic take hold she drew her kama and moved to the edge where the trail ended.  

The winter wolf saw her, snarled, and released a blast of frost in her direction.  

The young woman dodged nimbly back, grateful for her enhanced speed as she dodged back out of the path of the wolf’s breath weapon.  If the large beast was fazed by the failure of its attack it didn’t show it, and it bounded up the final length of the trail to leap at Dana.  

She was ready for it, her kama slicing a thin gash in its thick fur, but the wolf was even quicker to the attack.  Its powerful jaws snapped at her, digging at her forearm even as she drew back her weapon.  Dana was fast as well, though, and she was able to tear free before the wolf could get a firm grip on her, leaving several bloody gashes in her arm.  

Another shadow reared up out of the night to her right, and Dana’s heart skipped a beat before she realized who it was.  Jerral leapt up and charged into the wolf from behind, her axes tearing into its hindquarters with merciless force.  The wolf let out a cry of pain as both attacks cut deep, and it shifted its attention from Dana to face this new and more dangerous adversary.  

Back on the front lines, the companions were still hard-pressed by the raging ogre barbarians.  Lok had suddenly gone cold, his next series of attacks uncharacteristically failing to penetrate the defenses of the pair of ogres facing him.  Fortunately the ogres were having a similar difficulty, until another massive form loomed up out of the night, joining the melee.

The ogre leader faced Lok, and called upon the power of dark magics against the genasi.  A familiar feeling of gut-wrenching fear fell upon the stalwart warrior, a whisper telling him to flee, to run!  That same magic had claimed him once before, in a desperate battle on the Isle of Dread, and for a moment the genasi faltered…

But the feeling passed, and Lok fought on, fighting off the evil magic.  His eyes blazed with anger as he rushed at his adversaries, shrugging off another blow that crushed into his side to bring his axe down into a powerful arc that slammed into the wounded ogre’s groin.  The force of the blow knocked the ogre back bodily, and it fell with a loud crash to the ground in a bloody heap.  

The ogre leader, however, stepped forward over the body to face him, a wickedly spiked flail dangling from its left hand. 

Delem had not been idle on the far flank.  The ogre that had fallen earlier during the charge had regained its footing, picking up its huge spear and rushing toward the sorcerer.  Rather than try the foolish strategy of its predecessor, it simply hefted the spear over its head with both hands and tried to poke the human out of its cozy perch among the rocks.  Fortunately Delem’s magic shield was still in effect, and it deflected the first thrust wide to crash harmlessly against the stone.  Delem responded with a stream of fire, an _Aganazzar’s scorcher_ that ravaged the ogre’s chest.  The ogre roared out in pain but did not falter, thrusting again and again.  Even with his magical protections, there was nowhere for Delem to escape to, and he felt a sudden pain as the edge of the ogre’s spear managed to penetrate his defenses and tear a gash along his side.  The ogre roared in triumph—prematurely, as it turned out, as Delem launched a trio of magic missiles into its face that blasted it backwards.  Once again it lost its footing and fell, and this time it did not get up.

Benzan dropped his bow and drew his sword as his two adversaries clambered awkwardly over the rocks to reach him.  He ducked the swipe of the first ogre and darted inside its guard to thrust with his sword.  The ogre, already wounded by three of his arrows, cried out as his blade stabbed deeply into its torso, and staggered, clutching at the wound.  Benzan cursed as the ogre held onto his sword and managed to tear his weapon free only with a great effort.  He finally pulled away and turned, knowing that danger was still nearby.

It was closer than he thought, as the second ogre grabbed onto him and hurled him out over the edge of the cliff into the blackness beyond.  

Cal ducked and rolled as the ogre smashed his club into the ground where he’d been standing an instant before.  The second ogre hurled a spear at him before he could even get his feet planted under him again, but luckily for him it glanced off the edge of his magical shield and flew harmlessly away into the night.  Both ogres came at him, giving him barely an instant to defend himself… but that instant was enough, as he fired a color spray into their faces.  Both ogres staggered, dazed by the brilliant display of lights.  

Cal was already loading his crossbow with a _giantbane_ bolt as they tried to recover.  

Jerral grimaced as a blast of cold tore into her from point-blank range.  The winter wolf had been hit hard by her and Dana’s attacks, but it fought on despite the serious gashes in its thick hide.  Jerral was standing almost on the edge of the trail that wound down the face of the bluff, and she could sense rather than see the ogres and orcs that were making their way up from below.  

And furthermore, the second winter wolf was still unaccounted for.  

Dana was doing her best to distract the creature from behind, but her blows were having little effect on the creature.  Jerral timed her next attack, waiting for the wolf to lunge at her again with those snapping jaws. 

She didn’t have to wait long.  As the wolf lunged, Jerral sidestepped and brought her battleaxe down in a smooth arc.  If the wolf had been at full health, it might have dodged the blow, but in its already seriously injured condition it could not react to the attack in time.  The blade bit deep into its neck, and a cracking noise accompanied the spray of blood as its momentum carried it forward over the lip of the cliff.  

Numbed by the cold even through the protection provided by her magical boots, Jerral struggled to catch her breath even while she looked around for her dropped bow.  

She hadn’t yet found it when a roar from behind marked the arrival of the first ogre at the top of the trail. 

Lok fought on despite the pounding he’d taken.  He still faced a slightly injured ogre barbarian as well as the shaman leader, both of which seemed intent on bashing him until even his considerable fortitude failed him.  He focused his efforts on the leader, who was already somewhat injured, though he was wary of that deadly flail.

His concern was proven true a moment later when the ogre swept the flail around in a massive arc, striking his shield hard enough to send tendrils of pain up his arm into his shoulder.  Either the thing was just naturally strong, or it had enhanced its strength in some magical fashion.  Lok countered with a powerful flurry of attacks, scoring one hit on the ogre’s tree-trunk thick leg.  Blood from both combatants slicked the muddy rocks around their feet, yet both fought on.  

Cal was rewarded with a mighty thump as the enchanted bolt slammed deep into the chest of the first ogre.  The beast, already injured by one of Delem’s fireballs and by Cal’s shocking grasp, took one last step forward before collapsing.  Its friend managed a surprised look at the body, and another at the gnome, before its face twisted in fury and it charged, axe raised high above its head.

It didn’t falter when a stream of flames from Delem’s fingers washed over its body, but it sure did yell.  

Jerral turned in time to see the ogre coming at her, a mace as tall as she was clutched in its hands.  It staggered, however, as Dana shot a bolt into it—a giantbane bolt that released its deadly power into the creature’s body.  Critically injured, but still fighting, the ogre finished its stroke, the iron head of its weapon clipping the ranger in the shoulder as she dove to the side.  The experienced warrior used the momentum of the blow to roll into a defensive crouch, although the pain of the impact showed clearly on her face.  Along the lip of the trail the bulky form of a second ogre was visible, along with a pair of orcs that had served as eyes for the brutes on the difficult ascent.  

While Dana reloaded, Jerral moved to challenge the ogre and keep it from advancing, hoping against hope that Dana could keep the first creature off her back.  The ogre hesitated at the sudden ferocity and audacity of her attack, taking a gash to the hip for its trouble.  It recovered quickly, however, and slammed her hard with its axe.  The ranger’s chain shirt held, saving her life, but the impact alone sent her reeling, her entire side numbed by the force of the blow.  

“We need help!” Dana cried, not sure if the others could hear her—or if they could do anything about it even if they could. 

The ogre that had hurled Benzan off the cliff did not revel in its triumph of that troublesome enemy archer, but instead headed deeper into the boulder-strewn plateau to circle around behind Lok.  The genasi was still taking a pounding from his two foes, although the ogre shaman was also reeling from several deep gashes to its lower body.  

“Umph!” Cal cried as an ogre’s weapon finally caught him, the force of the impact from the heavy club knocking him flying.  His protections absorbed some of the power of the blow, buy even so he felt as though someone had dropped a wheelbarrow of bricks on him when he wasn’t looking.  The ogre was still coming, hoping to finish him, but Cal drew out a wand before it could reach him.  

“Well, if it worked once,” he said, firing another color spray into its face.  While the ogre barbarians had an incredible fortitude, they didn’t hold up as well against mental attacks, and again the ogre shook its head in confusion as the blazing colors overloaded its senses.  Cal reached for his crossbow again, but hesitated as he heard Dana’s cry for help. 

Looking up, he saw Delem, approaching from behind the ogre.  By the look on his face, he knew that the sorcerer had heard it too. 

“Go!” Cal yelled, turning back to the still-dangerous ogre.  The brute was already clearing its head, its eyes searching for the elusive gnome.  Cal realized that with its inferior vision, the ogre couldn’t pick him out clearly against the stone in the darkness.  

He quietly slipped another bolt into place as he prepared to take advantage of that fact.  

Lok staggered as another blow from the ogre’s flail tore into him, this time penetrating even the magical steel of his mail and ravaging the flesh underneath.  The ogre roared in triumph as the genasi half-slumped to the ground under the force of the impact, but that roar turned into a surprised yell as the genasi leapt up and slashed out again with his axe.  The blow tore into the shaman’s leg, shredding the muscles and tendons there and sending the ogre toppling to the ground.  Even as it landed it was already trying to get up, a futile gesture as Lok brought his axe down hard on the ogre’s skull.  

The attack killed the ogre instantly, but the heavy axe jammed in the ogre’s thick bone, refusing to come free.  Even as Lok tugged at the weapon with all his considerable strength, pain exploded across his back as the second ogre pummeled him from behind.  

Finally, even Lok’s inhuman physique had taken its limit, and the genasi slumped to the ground, unconscious.  

The ogre loomed over him, its maul raised high to finish him for good.

Dana fired another bolt at point blank range into the ogre threatening Jerral from behind, the enhanced weapon poking another deep hole in the raging barbarian.  The ogre didn’t go down, but it turned from the embattled ranger to face Dana, fury burning in its eyes.  It slashed out with its mace, the heavy head of the weapon passing only inches from the young woman’s face as she dodged reflexively back.  She gave ground, drawing it after her, hoping that Jerral could hold on her own. 

The ranger refused to give ground, trading blow for blow with the ogre in an unequal contest of strength.  The orcs, unable to climb the final length of trail around the blocking bulk of the ogre, held back and waited for the resolution of the melee raging before them.  Jerral managed a cutting slash with her off-hand weapon that added another injury to the ogre’s tally, but in return it dealt her a punishing blow with its axe that knocked her roughly to the ground.  The ogre stepped boldly forward as the battered woman tried to rise, and stepped heavily on the hand that was reaching for the haft of her bloody battleaxe.  

Jerral screamed in pain.  

“No!” Dana cried, unable to reach her companion through the guard of the ogre still menacing her.  She could do nothing to intervene as the ogre standing above Jerral reached down, grabbed onto the woman’s neck, and hurled her off the cliff into the darkness.  

Even that moment’s distraction cost her, as the ogre facing her caught her with a solid blow with its mace that knocked the breath out her and drove her roughly back against a nearby boulder.  

Only a few of their original foes remained, but with Lok down, Benzan and Jerral gone, and the others battered and reeling, the fate of the companions seemed balanced on a razor’s edge.


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## Lazybones (May 24, 2002)

Book IV, Part 20

The desperate melee between the remnants of the ogre and orc forces and the companions raged on, only a few solid blows separating each side from victory or defeat.  

Lok had taken down the ogre shaman, but in turn he’d been knocked out by another ogre that now loomed over him, ready to finish the job.  A second ogre was circling to aid its companion, having toss Benzan off the cliff, but it seemed as though its aid would not be necessary.

Neither ogre noticed the shadowy figure that levitated back up over the lip of the cliff, immediately ducking to recover the discarded bow lying a few yards away.  

The wounded ogre hefted its maul to crush the lingering shreds of life out of Lok, but even as it started its downward swing an arrow slammed home into the base of its skull.  The ogre staggered, its scream cut off by the quickly approaching haze of death, and it slumped to the ground.  

The second ogre turned in surprise to see Benzan, who leapt onto a protruding rock, another arrow already nocked to his bow.  

“I don’t think so,” he said to the creature, drawing and firing before it could even grasp what had happened.  

Cal gave way as a lumbering ogre stormed after him.  The ogre’s club came up for another strike, but even as it slammed the heavy weapon home Cal was gone, rolling forward between its legs and coming up behind it.  The ogre started to turn, but even as it did pain exploded through its lower body as Cal shot another _giantbane_ bolt into it.  

The ogre took another step toward him, but it had been pushed just too far.  The rage that had carried it through the battle began to fade, taking with it the surge of energy that had enabled the ogre to fight through its wounds.  Now it faltered, and with that hesitation came the end of its strength.  

Even as it fell, Cal was already running toward the rear of the bluff, where the battle still raged.  

Dana shook her head to clear the stars from her vision as the ogre that had struck her loomed over her again.  Her eyes widened as its mace slashed down at her again, and she only just managed to duck in time to keep her head from being splattered all over the rock.  The ogre lifted its weapon to strike again, but it staggered as a stream of fire bathed its torso in greedy flames.  

“Stay away from her!” Delem yelled, the tips of his fingers wreathed in flame as he stepped nearer.  The sorcerer cried out in pain, however, as a bolt clipped his shoulder from the side.  The last remaining ogre, along with two orcs, had gained the bluff and now approached from the side, weapons at the ready.  

Delem, however, did not give way.  He turned to face these new adversaries, his magical shield turning to face in their direction.  

“Come on then!” he cried, lost in the flames that danced in his eyes.

And they came.  

Benzan dodged back as the ogre came on, heedless of the arrows that stuck in its hide.  It seemed that having sought to slay him once by throwing him off the cliff, now it wanted to finish the job with its axe.  As he avoided the first rush he drew his sword, using its power to lift him again off of the ground.  

As the ogre looked up at him hovering twenty feet above the ground, dumbfounded, Benzan sheathed the sword and fitted another arrow to the string of his bow. 

“I wish you could see the look on your face right now,” he said to the ogre, right before he fired the arrow into its face.  

“Delem, look out!” Dana cried, as a second ogre rushed at the sorcerer from his flank.  The hard-pressed youth stumbled as the brute’s mace bashed through both his shield and his mage armor to clip his shoulder, knocking him back a step and driving him to one knee.  Both ogres lunged in, eager to finish him, but he drove them back with a fan of _burning hands._  Already wounded, the spell drove both ogres closer toward doom, but for the moment both fought on, driven now by a fury that approached madness.  

The orcs, wiser perhaps, held back, firing their crossbows at Dana as she tried to come to Delem’s aid.  Their bolts missed the agile young woman, however, moving with magically-enhanced speed as she lashed out at one of the ogres engaged with Delem.  The ogre all but ignored her, focusing on the more dangerous mage, even when Dana’s magically sharp kama dug a shallow gash into its side.  

Delem’s defenses absorbed the first attack, the magical shield holding against the force of the ogre’s huge mace.  The second ogre shifted slightly, telegraphing its attack with a wide sweep of its axe.  Delem saw it and ducked under the sweeping blade, but he could not react in time as the ogre changed its grip and slammed the haft of the weapon into the sorcerer’s face.  Delem crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, blood flowing from his smashed nose.  

“No!” Dana yelled, her face a mask of pain and frustration as the ogres ignored her puny attacks.  The first ogre turned slowly to face her, while the second reached down for Delem’s limp form. 

“I believe the lady said, ‘No,’” Cal said.  

The ogre looked up in surprise just in time to see the bolt that caught it solidly in the chest.  The missile barely penetrated the thick fur of its coat, but it was enough to release the stored energy of the weapon, specifically designed by dwarven artificers to kill giants.  

In this case, it did just that. 

The last ogre turned as its companion fell and looked around the battlefield, which had suddenly grown very quiet.  The sound of the wind seemed preternaturally loud in the sudden silence.  

The two orcs, again showing a wisdom normally beyond their ken, had already fled, leaving the ogre the sole enemy left standing on the battlefield.  

The ogre looked at Dana, her kama bloody in her hand.  It looked at Cal, who calmly loaded another bolt into his crossbow.  It looked at Benzan, who approached, an arrow nocked to his bow.  

“Is Lok…” Cal asked, without looking away from the ogre.

“I fed him a healing potion.  He’s stable,” Benzan replied.

The ogre fixed them with a gaze that was pure hatred.  “Ochbek chital nacros baphomet!” it cried, as it raised its mace to strike at the nearest enemy—in this case, Dana.

Cal’s bolt and Benzan’s arrow both struck it in the back as it turned, and the creature screamed a terrible scream as it staggered and fell.  It tried to get up again, despite its mortal wounds, but Benzan was quickly there to finish it.  

Dana was already at Delem’s side, pouring healing energy into his battered form.  “He’ll make it,” she said as Cal approached, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as the built-up emotion from the battle now threatened to overwhelm her.  

“What about Jerral…”

“The ogre… threw her off the cliff, there,” Dana said, indicating the trailhead.  “I… I don’t see how she could have survived.”

“I’ll go,” Benzan said, the dark expression he wore invisible to them in the night as he started down the trail.  

“I suppose that we won,” Cal said, more to himself than anyone else, as he surveyed the charnel-house that was the battlefield around them.  His own emotions were a roiling storm inside of him, but he knew that for the moment he needed to be strong for them, that the night around them could still hold dangers.  

With a soft sigh, he hurried back to where Lok had fallen.


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## Lazybones (May 24, 2002)

And now, for today's new post:

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 21

Cal broke some of the twigs he held in his hands and fed them onto their fire.  The flames were more of a gesture than anything else, the small blaze adding little in the way of heat to their shelter.  _At least we have hot tea,_ he thought, grabbing at even the smallest positive to brighten the hard realities of their situation.

They were in a narrow cave that penetrated some twenty feet into one of the thousands of hillsides that layered the region.  Outside, the omnipresent cold wind continued to blow, but at least the narrow cave mouth, partially shielded by a huge boulder, kept most of its force outside.  One particularly stubborn gust managed to sweep into the cave, causing the tiny fire to flicker and dance.  With a frown, Cal turned to check the moorings on the blanket that they’d hung over the entrance to block out some of the cold air.  That task done, he headed deeper into the cave.  

His gnomish eyes had little difficulty seeing in the poor light.  The fact that the ogres lacked good night vision was one of the reasons they were still alive, he thought to himself as he regarded his companions.  

Dana stirred in her sleep, murmuring something that the gnome couldn’t clearly make out.  It was clear that the young woman had suffered more than physical wounds in the confrontation with the ogres and their orc allies.  The physical wounds were all healed now, a day and a half after that battle, but Cal knew that the others would take longer to heal.  Dana had proven her mettle, however, and Cal knew that she would be there beside them when it was time for the next confrontation.  

He looked over at Delem, sleeping peacefully by comparison, but Cal knew that the young sorcerer had his own demons that haunted him.  The gnome was a little troubled by Delem’s behavior during the battle.  Delem had done his part—more than that, as his spells had devastated the enemy and turned the tide in their favor—but his actions had been accompanied by an attitude that was somehow… well, different, for Delem at least.  

Cal’s gaze traveled to Jerral, lying motionless in the rear of the cave.  For a moment an irrational fear set in, and he crept closer until he could make out the reassuring rise and fall of her chest.  Cal understood better than the ranger could know what she must be feeling now.  Like him she had been called back from death, the power of the dwarven rune-stone restoring life to her broken body.   While grateful that her new companions had used the stone to bring her back to life, Jerral had been quiet and moody since her resurrection. 

Cal understood, and gave her the space she needed to come to grips with what had happened. 

He turned as he heard Lok push aside the curtain and enter the cave.  

“Anything?” Cal asked, softly so as not to wake the others.  

Lok shook his head as he poured himself a cup of lukewarm tea.  After a testing sip, he laid the metal cup carefully on the stones right on the edge of their fire.  “Benzan’s coming back also,” the genasi said.  “It looks like we’ve shaken any pursuit, for now.”

“We inflicted quite a blow on them,” Cal noted.  His brow furrowed again as his thoughts traveled once more to their adversaries and what might lie ahead for them.

They were still fixed on the same goal of traveling to the iron mine, and investigating whether they could rescue whatever slaves the ogres were keeping there to mine the iron ore for their weapons and armor.  Their enemy knew of their presence, now, and would not be caught unawares again, but Cal still held onto hopes that they could bypass the main bodies of the orc and ogre tribes and succeed in their mission.  The orc captive they’d interrogated said that both the orc and ogre forces were dispersed, with fairly large groups established days’ travel apart throughout the region.  That was logical, Cal thought, considering what they’d already seen of the barren nature of the mountains in winter.  With too many numbers crammed together into too small an area, starvation would likely do their work for them in thinning out the enemy strength.  

Still, Cal knew that what lay ahead would be difficult, another trial for the companions.  He glanced back at the others sleeping in the rear of the cave, and he hoped that they would be up to the challenge.

The curtain opened again to reveal Benzan, who stepped into the now crowded confines of the cave.  The tiefling sported a new vest of white fur, courtesy of one of the winter wolves that they’d slain.  The mystery of what had happened to the second wolf that Dana had spotted on her flying scout had been solved when they’d examined the trail leading down the rear face of the bluff.  The second wolf had been halfway down the winding trail, one of the heavy stones that Dana had rolled off of the cliff resting solidly atop its crushed brainpan.  

_Maybe Ruath’s watching over us still, sending us a little luck,_ Cal thought to himself.  

“There’s no sign of any living creature within at least a few miles of here,” Benzan reported, gratefully accepting the heated mug of tea that Lok handed him.  “That latest storm pretty much blew away all the signs of our travel from the bluff.  Looks like we’ll have more snow again tomorrow, as well.”

“It’ll cover our tracks, and make it harder for patrols to spot us,” Cal observed.  

They turned as a sound from the back of the cave indicated that the others were stirring.  Jerral was the first to join them, running a hand through her unkempt hair.  

“How are you feeling?” Cal asked.  

“Alive.  Mostly,” the ranger said.  “Is that more tea?”

“Here, let me heat it up a bit,” Cal said, casting a minor cantrip to warm the contents of the small metal pot.  He filled a small cup for Jerral, and two more for Dana and Delem as the two shook the sleep from their heads and joined the group around the small fire.  

For a long moment, nobody said anything, the six of them just standing their in shared silence.  Then, finally, Jerral said, “So.  We’re still going to do this, then?”

Cal nodded.  “I know we’ve suffered a setback…”

“Funny, that’s not the word I would have chosen, to describe being *killed* and all.”

“Well, my ma always used to say, death is just another part of life,” Benzan said. 

Jerral rounded on him.  “You seem to treat this all rather lightly,” she said, her emotions creeping into her voice as she spoke.  “This is serious, you know that, don’t you?”

It was Lok who finally spoke, his deep voice filling the confines of the cave with the genasi’s calm tones.  “We all understand, believe me.  Levity is the shield that lets us deal with the horrors that people in our position must face every day.  We’ve stared into the darkness, each one of us.  We just choose to not let it _become_ us, ranger.”

Jerral just stood there, and it was clear that the building tension within her was draining at the genasi’s words.  Finally, she said, “There’s a lot more to you than a strong arm and a sharp axe, warrior.”

Cal put his hand on the ranger’s arm.  “If we’re to go on, we’ll need your guidance, Jerral, and your strength.  Only you know these mountains well enough to find our way through the enemies that will be out there, trying to destroy us.”

Jerral’s gaze traveled over them all, and at each pause she found only determination, even from Dana and Delem.  

She took a deep breath, and nodded.


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## Horacio (May 24, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> [B“We all understand, believe me.  Levity is the shield that lets us deal with the horrors that people in our position must face every day.  We’ve stared into the darkness, each one of us.  We just choose to not let it _become_ us, ranger.”
> [/B]




Wow!

A movie script writer would pay for such a quote...


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## Maldur (May 27, 2002)

Im only off for a week and he starts a massive battle scene!!

That was very impresive. Like Horacio said: "WOW".


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## Horacio (May 27, 2002)

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Im only off for a week and he starts a massive battle scene!!
> 
> That was very impresive. Like Horacio said: "WOW". *




Wow²! Now people quote me!


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## Lazybones (May 27, 2002)

Thanks, guys!  Horacio, I'm glad you liked that quote.  Lok doesn't say much, but I try to make his statements memorable (he's a bit of a philosopher beneath that warrior exterior, I think).  Maldur: welcome back!  

I'm still a bit ahead in the story, so I can promise another post-a-day week... and another dramatic ending to this week's storyline (although we're still about twenty posts from the end of book IV).  Thanks for reading!

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 22

Two days later, the companions stood at the edge of a canyon that stretched out before them like a slash torn in the land.  It was still early in the day, the sky above still covered by gray clouds although the snows had relented for the moment.  

It hadn’t been too hard to find this place, given the rising plumes of black smoke that rose from the depths of the place, accompanied by a variety of foul smells and the incessant noise of heavy machinery.  The canyon was perhaps three hundred feet across at its widest point, although lengthwise it ran for several thousand yards.  From the companions’ vantage perched among the rocks near one tapering point they could see several trails that ran down to the uneven floor of the canyon almost two hundred feet below.      

Most of the activity evident below was centered around the far end of the canyon.  Sprawled amidst the broken stone they could see several ramshackle buildings, several of which disgorged a constant stream of smoke and noise.  Slag heaps rose in haphazard fashion back from the buildings, and heaps of refuse and other trash were evident wherever a dip in the terrain offered a convenient dumping ground.  Through the haze that hung in the air they could make out numerous creatures moving about below; ogres instantly recognizable by their size, smaller armed warriors that were likely orcs, and other bent forms they took to be slaves.  Benzan’s keen eyes also noted several dark openings in the canyon walls, probably the entrances to mine shafts, and they could make out a dark pit in the center of the canyon, partly obscured by a large wooden A-frame that probably supported a lift.  Another lift was visible on the near side of the canyon edge, adjacent to one of the steep trails that led down into the valley.  Beside the lift stood another stone building, a squat two-story tower that also showed obvious signs of neglect and disrepair.

Lok shook his head as he took in the scene before them.  “This is not the work of dwarves,” he said.  “Dwarves do not engage in such indiscriminate damage to the earth.”

“We’ve been lucky thus far,” Jerral said, as she intently scanned the scene below them.

The others silently agreed with the ranger’s assessment.  They had been fortunate, first in the storm that had concealed their continued progress through the mountains, and then in the good fortune that had kept them from running into any more enemy patrols.  At one point during a break in the storm they did spot a fairly large force consisting of several dozen creatures in the distance, moving south, but they were able to give them a wide berth and avoid being detected themselves.  Jerral had found an apparently little-used trail that had taken them around a cluster of peaks to this valley, where they’d started detecting the signs pointing to the mining camp within the canyon almost immediately.  

Now, however, it looked like another confrontation was pending shortly.  

“I don’t see that many of them,” Delem said.  “Orcs and ogres, I mean.”

“Could be more of them in the buildings, or the mines proper,” Dana pointed out.  “In this weather, I don’t think I’d want to spend much time outside either, if I could help it.”

Lok shifted, his face darkening as he made out something else amidst the clutter below them.  Cal sensed it, and asked, “What is it, Lok?”

Jerral frowned, her stare fixed out into space like a dagger.  “Near the base of the far cliff, above the shaft openings.”  They all looked in that direction, but it was very difficult to see with all the smoke in the air within the canyon. 

“What is it?” Cal asked.  “I cannot see.”

Jerral’s jaw had tightened, and her words were clipped and cold.  “There are captives… they are attached to the stone above the mine entrances, crucified.  I cannot be sure from this distance, but they look to be dwarves.”

Lok rose, slowly and deliberately, as the woman ranger spoke.  He picked up his axe and started toward the stone structure near the trail that led down into the canyon.  He managed only a few steps before Benzan moved quickly to block him. 

“Get out of my way, Benzan,” the genasi said.

“We share your feelings on this,” Benzan replied.  “We’ll take down the bastards that did this, but let’s do it right.  Jerral and I will go in first, supported by the magic-users, and we’ll strike before they even knew what hit them.  For all we know, there might be a hundred orcs and ogres down there—we’ll do none of the surviving captives any good if we rush blindly in, and get killed.”

“We’re a team,” Benzan added.  “Don’t worry, we’ll have need of your axe soon enough.”

Lok met the tiefling’s gaze squarely for a long moment, then he nodded.  

“Let’s get ready,” Cal said, one of his wands already appearing in his hand.

* * * * *

“I hate this duty,” Throk said, shuffling his feet in an effort to warm himself.  It was a futile gesture; the same slits in the walls that gave them a commanding view of the surrounding area let the wind blast into the cramped confines of the tiny room with its full wintry force.  The room didn’t even have a stool to sit on; its only features were a crude wooden weapons rack and a ladder that led down to the guard post’s main floor.  

“Ah, shut yer trap,” Uleg replied.  He leaned against the wall, drawing a whetstone along the slightly curving length of his sword.  “You rather be out in that, on one of the outer patrols, mayhaps?”

Throk didn’t respond, and after a moment Uleg looked up at his companion.  The other orc was peering out through the slit that faced to the west.  The day was at least relatively clear, a break from the persistent storms of recent weeks, but even the diffuse light from the gray skies above, when reflected on the patches of snow all around, played havoc with the night-accustomed vision of the orcs.  

“What is it?” Uleg asked, sheathing his sword and reaching for his crossbow.  

“Thought I saw something, moving in the rocks,” the orc replied.  His companion squeezed into the narrow space behind him, and peered out across the uneven landscape.  

“Ah, I don’t see nuthin’,” Uleg finally said.  “There ain’t a livin’ thing within ten miles of this place, save them damned ogres and their slaves down in the pits.”

Throk didn’t respond at first, but as he scanned the terrain without seeing any other signs of movement, he relaxed slightly and leaned back.  “Yeah, I hate them too,” the orc said.  “We’re nuthin’ to them, you know.  Braxus, he told me that a few warriors of Gorux’s crew made a few snide comments around where Soroth could hear.”  His voice had dropped lower reflexively, although with the wind blowing as it was, even a dedicated eavesdropper would have been hard pressed to hear the words from more than a few feet away.  

“Stupid,” the other orc noted.  “What happened?” 

“What do you think happened?” Throk said, forgetting himself and raising his voice in his anger.  Catching himself, he added, more quietly, “Soroth blasted them to pieces, of course.”

Uleg shuddered.  “I guess it could have been worse.”

Throk nodded, understanding what his companion was getting at.  Soroth was a horror, but he was nothing compared to his father, the being that the ogres called the Master…

Their conversation was interrupted by an abrupt cry of alarm from below, followed by a gurgling of pain and blood.  The orcs shared a look of surprise, then Throk reached for his crossbow while Uleg reached for the horn that hung from a sling at his side.  

But even as the orc raised the horn to his lips to blow a warning, a shadowy form slipped in front of the arrow slit right in front of him.  His eyes widened as he saw his death in the form of the steel arrowhead held at the ready in the hands of the archer who was somehow hovering right outside the slit in the observation tower, twenty feet above the ground.  

He did not have long to ponder the answer to that mystery, as the long shaft of the arrow slammed into his throat, knocking him back to fall in a noisy clatter against the weapons rack.  

Throk fumbled with his crossbow as the dark archer smoothly nocked another arrow and drew back the string.  Too late, Throk realized that all he had to do was fall to the ground, out of the line of sight of the opponent on the far side of the arrow slit.  

Too late, as an arrow buried itself deep in the orc warrior’s shoulder.  Throk went down, his side a fiery blaze of pain.  He looked up to see Uleg propped up against the wreckage of the weapons rack, the orc’s eyes glazed over in that vacant stare worn by the dead.  The orc warrior called up a desperate reserve of strength to crawl over to the ladder, but he’d barely managed to drop his legs down into the shaft when he slipped and tumbled down into the space below.

Throk landed solidly on his back on the packed earth floor of the guard post’s lower level.  He nearly lost consciousness as the impact drove a renewed pain through his entire body, and it was several long seconds before his lungs could draw a few tenuous breaths.  The world swam around him as he levered himself up on one elbow, trying to grab enough breath to call for help.  

When he looked up he saw that he was not alone.  A small figure—a gnome, he belatedly realized—was standing there, holding a wand in one hand, and a small sword in the other that seemed to gleam with a pale inner light.  

Throk reached for his dagger, but the world went black even before he felt the thrust of that shining sword into his chest.  His last conscious thought, strangely, was of relief, for even though he’d failed in his assigned duty, where he was now going, at least the Master would not be able to reach him and exact punishment.


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## Horacio (May 27, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *Throk reached for his dagger, but the world went black even before he felt the thrust of that shining sword into his chest.  His last conscious thought, strangely, was of relief, for even though he’d failed in his assigned duty, where he was now going, at least the Master would not be able to reach him and exact punishment. *




That was creepy! 
The Master sound really scary...


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## Lazybones (May 28, 2002)

Book IV, Part 23

Gaera Silverheart slowly faded back into consciousness.  On earlier such occasions that return had always been accompanied by pain, but now she felt only a numbness that suffused her limbs and made her thoughts run slow like molasses.  

The pain that cascaded upon the dwarf, however, was not primarily a physical one.  She knew that she was close to death, and regretted even that release from her suffering.  She was afraid of the reckoning that would come upon her death, of being confronted with the failures that had been begotten of her choices.  

_Rothar, I suppose you were right in the end, after all,_ she thought grimly.  The dwarf fighter had sought her aid in fermenting an uprising against their captors, but she had refused him.  Her beliefs, firmly rooted in the tenets of her faith, had led her to the choice to keep her vocation secret, to help her captive people by remaining at their side and easing their suffering.  Rothar’s revolt had been crushed, its leader’s very soul consumed by the evil appetites of the Beast.  In that, she had been right, but at least Rothar had ultimately had the courage to resist, to fight back even against impossible odds.  

She could not feel the cold, although she was vaguely aware of the still-blowing wind.  Her spell had long since faltered, she knew—the last spell she had cast, the last spell she would ever cast.  She regretted that too, now, the spell of elemental resistance that had kept her alive through that first storm that had burst upon them right after the ogres had bound her to a thick beam and wedged her up here, dangling ten feet above the ground below.  

She had gotten careless, her identity finally revealed after almost four months of working her arts in concealment under the very noses of their captors.  It had been an act of compassion that had betrayed her, an act of healing a broken friend where one of the guards could see.  The orcs usually weren’t that alert when it came to monitoring their slaves, but that day… how many days ago had it been?—her luck had finally run out.  

Yes, maybe Rothar had been right… No, wait, it wasn’t Rothar, but Rogath, who had come to her, who had led the abortive revolt… She’d known Rogath for fifty years, how could she have made such a foolish mistake… Everything was so confused…

She felt a stab of irony that pierced her befuddlement.  After her capture, but before the Warden could get his mangy hands on her, she had prayed to Berronar Truesilver for a potent spell, beyond any magic she had ever worked before.  And the divine one had answered her plea, given her the means to injure the Beast.  

Of course, now she would never get a chance to use it…

She looked up, and saw that the sky, typically an unbroken sea of drab gray clouds, had broken directly overhead.  Through a narrow wedge-shaped gap, shaped like a long dagger, Gaera could see blue so stark that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.  

Never again to see the sky…

Belatedly, fighting through the fog of her senses, she became aware of something else, a familiar sound.  Her eyes dropped back down—reluctantly—from the sky to the canyon before her.  A battle was raging there, between the orcs and ogres that were their jailors, and a mixed group of adversaries.  

A dream.  It had to be a dream, Gaera thought in the deep part of her mind that was still capable of thinking.  

As she watched, she could begin to make out scattered details about the battle and the combatants.  A pair of orcs, battleaxes raised above their heads, charged a young human.  The human stood his ground, and as he lifted his hands a blaze of fire erupted that engulfed both of the humanoid warriors.  When the flames cleared, both orcs were charred corpses, but the man had already turned toward a low stone building that was quite familiar to Gaera—the main barracks of the orc guards.  She watched as the young man pointed, and a ball of flame appeared in the sole doorway of the barracks, blocking any further orcs from exiting the structure.  

Nearby, on a small outcropping of stone, a pair of archers stood back-to-back and fired a blizzard of arrows at their enemies.  The pair, one man and one woman, were already surrounded by an extended ring of fallen foes, some with as many as three or four arrows jutting from their crumpled forms.  Gaera saw a flicker of movement in time to spot a huge ogre, its two-handed maul nearly as big as it was, emerge from one of the other buildings to rush toward the pair.  Apparently they saw it as well, for the two spun in unison and sent a flurry of missiles into it.  The ogre pressed forward, despite its hurts, already raising its club to sweep the pair off of their perch.  

Now Gaera knew her vision to be a dream, for she’d never seen a pair of archers fire so quickly, and with such deadly accuracy.  By the time the ogre reached the stone a half-dozen arrows already jutted from its body, and even as it staggered a final step within reach one of the archers—the woman—fired a last shot directly into its face.  The arrow exploded with flames as it hit, and the ogre slammed down hard onto the muddy earth.  

Gaera spotted a flash of brilliant color that drew her attention once more.  There, a short figure—a gnome or a halfling, perhaps—was fighting beside a human woman against another cluster of orcs.  Several orcs, stunned by the spray of colors, fell to the ground dazed, while the woman intercepted another pair, knocking the first prone with a smooth snap-kick and then easily deflecting the powerful but crude swing of the second.  

Gaera tried to speak, to hail these imaginary warriors for their bravery, but she could not will her mouth to move to form the words.  As he gaze traveled once more over the battlefield, however, she noticed one more combatant.  

It was hard to see how she could have missed him the first time.  The final warrior had the squat shape and heavily armored outlines of a dwarf fighter, and he faced off against another ogre.  As the ogre lifted his two-handed axe to strike Gaera felt a momentary pang of sadness for the warrior, but to her amazement the dwarf took the solid blow to his torso and, instead of going down, countered with a swing of his own axe that dug a deep gash in the ogre’s shin.  The ogre reflexively stepped back, favoring its savaged limb, and the dwarf took advantage of the opening to strike again, tearing a mighty hole in the ogre’s belly with an overhead strike that laid the massive brute out on the cold stone of the canyon floor.  

In a matter of moments she’d witnessed a tiny group of warriors accomplish more than Rogath and his brave but outmatched band had managed.  But as she heard a familiar bellow and saw a familiar form emerge from one of the buildings, she knew that the battle was far from over.  

The ogre known as the Warden had appeared on the battlefield, accompanied by a pair of his enforcers.  All three were big even for ogres, and the Warden was clad in a coat of iron mail that only increased the aura of menace that hung over him.  Although she couldn’t see it clearly from this distance, Gaera knew that his face was a horrible mask, the right side a mess of scar tissue from burns he’d suffered long ago, the eyesocket on that side an empty pit.  The ogre bore a massive double-bladed axe, which he raised as he and his allies waded into the battle.  

They barely managed a half-dozen paces when a storm of fire exploded around them.

Gaera blinked at the intensity of the fireball, but she was not surprised to see all three ogres still standing after the flames dispersed.  The Warden did not hesitate, ignoring the new burns covering his body as he gestured for his enforcers to split off and attack the different groups of adversaries.  He himself charged directly for the dwarf warrior, who set his feet firmly on the ground and stood his ground before the terrible force of the mighty ogre’s charge.  

Gaera winced as the clang of steel on steel resounded through the canyon.  For all his obvious skill and fortitude, the dwarf clearly felt the impact of that first stroke, staggering and nearly stumbling on the slick mud.  Before the Warden could follow up with another attack, however, the dwarf suddenly lunged forward within his reach, scoring with a glancing blow that nonetheless drew blood through the heavy armor that the ogre fighter wore.  

It was clear that their battle was far from over, but both combatants had now drawn blood.  

On the flanks of that confrontation, the dwarf’s companions had engaged the other enforcers.  The archers fired their arrows at the first ogre, but this one was better protected and several of the missiles stuck in the layered leather protecting its joints or bounced off of the thick breastplate it wore.  Still, it took several telling hits, apparently shrugging off the hurts as it closed to attack.  It drew a massive two-handed sword and swept it over the outcropping.  The male archer managed to jump away a moment before the blade arrived, but the woman took a glancing hit to the shoulder, knocking her roughly to the ground below.  She was quickly up again, however, and the pair immediately dropped their bows and drew melee weapons, closing to flank the dangerous ogre swordsman.

The second ogre fighter menaced the wizard who had conjured the fireball.  This ogre’s weapon was a massive glaive, with which he could easily strike at a foe ten paces distant.  The wizard held his ground, however, and even as the ogre thrust his weapon at the bold young man he released a stream of flame that washed over the ogre like a tidal wave.  The wizard paid for his attack, however, as the glaive in turn tore into his shoulder, staggering him.  

The wizard was hard-pressed, but his companions sprang quickly to his aid.  The gnome marched boldly forward, and for an instant Gaera swore that she could hear the martial stirrings of a war song on the fickle currents of the wind.  Then it was gone, but as she watched the gnome fired a crossbow bolt into the ogre’s side.  The woman’s action was even more brash, as she darted with impossible speed across the battlefield toward the ogre, an almost ridiculous little blade clutched in her hand.  As she drew within the ogre’s incredible reach it slashed out at her with its glaive, but somehow she was able to twist out of the deadly arc of the weapon and sweep close within its reach, lashing out with a clearly ineffective blow to its armored torso.  

Gaera recognized the woman’s strategy, for all that it was suicidal, as she drew the ogre’s attention away from her companions.  The ogre obliged her, dropping the glaive and drawing a long, wickedly curved blade from the scabbard at his hip.  

The dwarf and the Warden continued to trade blows, and it was rapidly becoming clear that the dwarf could not hold out long against this adversary.  Even as he absorbed the punishment from the double-bladed axe, however, he managed to lash out with counters that soon left the ogre’s legs dripping with blood.  Gaera knew all too well that the Warden was no ordinary ogre, however, and she despaired at the chances of the brave dwarf against this implacable opponent.  She willed him to hold out just a few more moments, and she realized that she was muttering the words of a prayer under her breath.  

The two archers had now engaged their ogre adversary directly, and it soon became clear that their skills were not limited to the bow.  The ogre had struck the man with a blow that would have sliced him in twain had he not been just a little bit too quick.  Even so, the glancing hit knocked him roughly back against the stone outcropping, blood seeping from his ravaged side.  The ogre sought to press its advantage, but the woman took advantage of its distraction to strike from behind, tearing a deep gash in its back with her battleaxe.  The ogre roared and turned to face her, only to open itself to a deep thrust from the man as he sank the entire length of his sword into the ogre’s body.  The ogre’s yell of anger became a cry of pain, and the two drew back as the ogre fell in a bloody and thrashing heap to the ground.  

On the opposite flank the other ogre continued its attacks against the nimble woman.  She dodged a sweep of the sword but too late recognized it as a feint.  She flipped backward in a surprising evasion, but the tip of the sword still drew a deep gash across her torso.  She cried out but kept her footing, favoring her side as she drew the ogre after her.  

As the ogre connected, however, the young wizard was already summoning another spell.  Another blast of flame erupted from his hands and splashed over the ogre’s back.  Gaera could almost feel the young man’s rage from where she hung as he played the flames over the ogre’s torso, neck, and head, and when the flames died the ogre died with them.  

The Warden’s enforcers, terrible creatures that had slain more than their share of dwarves, had been defeated.  But the dwarf warrior battling the Warden had come to the end of his endurance.  Gaera’s heart skipped a beat as the mighty ogre lashed into the dwarf with a devastating series of blows.  As the last stroke connected he was knocked sprawling, and although he fought to rise it was clear that he was barely holding onto consciousness.  The Warden let out a roar of triumph and stepped forward to finish it. 

But he found himself confronted by the tiny form of the gnome, who looked up at him with defiance writ clear on his face.  

The Warden did not hesitate, bringing up his axe.  Before he could strike, however, the gnome sang a brief but discordant melody, a few notes that sounded with the potency of magic.  The ogre hesitated, and then swayed, caught up in a daze that held it there for a moment, incapable of action.  

But the daze only lasted a few seconds, and when the ogre cleared its head, its anger was a terrible thing to behold.  

But so was the ferocity of the companions, who had not been idle during the delay.  

The archers had recovered their bows, and even as the Warden took his first step forward arrows started tearing into his armored form.  One shot punctured the armor at his hip and dug deep into the muscle underneath, the wound flaring with the flame infused in the magical arrow.  The woman archer held her ground and kept up a steady barrage of arrows, while the man fired once and then rushed forward, ready to bolster his friends against the ogre’s still-dangerous rush.  

The wizard added his own voice to the barrage, launching a series of magical bolts that blasted through the ogre’s defenses and dug fiery pits in his body.  The other woman had rushed to the dwarf’s side and was already tending to him, while the gnome had retreated to stand over them, as if challenging the ogre to try to get through him.  

The Warden, unused to foes that resisted his cruelty, released a yell of frustration and anger and pain that echoed off of the walls of the canyon.  He rushed the gnome and swept his axe in a mighty curve that sought to simply pound the life out of him.  The gnome, however, smoothly dove forward and rolled, and the axe passed scant inches harmlessly above him.  As he came up he lifted a wand, firing another blast of dazzling colors into the ogre’s face.  

The Warden cried out once more, but the cry became a gurgle as another, final long arrow buried itself to the feathers in his throat.  

The terrible ogre that had been the bane of the slaves of Caer Dulthain fell, bleeding the last of his life from the many wounds that scored his body.  

Gaera became aware that tears were flowing freely down her face as she watched the ogre lying there.  It was too bad that none of this was real, she thought, but as she felt her body begin to shake she at last felt ready for what would come, at the judgment that she would have to face when she made the transition into Truesilver’s radiant realm.  

At least there would be no pain, there.

Her vague thoughts were interrupted, however, as she felt a dark, forbidding presence—a familiar presence—appear nearby.  Her heart twisted in her chest as she recognized its significance, realized finally that this was no dream. 

If anything, it was a nightmare.

She closed her eyes and heard the roar, a bestial, inhuman sound that originated from somewhere above her but quickly filled the canyon and the surrounding mountains with its evil cadence.  Despair crashed down around her as she faded back into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.  There, at least, she would not be forced to watch the brave adventurers she’d just seen as they confronted their doom.  

The Beast, the being that the ogres called the Master, had arrived.


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## Horacio (May 28, 2002)

Oh my God! Lazybones, that was really wonderful! 
I love the change of point of view!


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## MasterOfHeaven (May 29, 2002)

Great.  Just great.  "His very soul consumed by the Beast".  Anyone remember "One shall be consumed in the fire, his soul forever lost.."  (or something along those lines).  Ah well, as long it's not Delem that bites it, I'm happy.


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## MasterOfHeaven (May 29, 2002)

Oh, by the way, I'm *assuming* Delem will not die since you said you plan for him to take a prestige class, but you just never know.  

Another thing...  I was looking over Benzans sheet over in the Rogues Gallery, and isn't he now suffering an experience penalty?  His Rogue levels don't count, of course, but his Conjurer level is two levels away from his Fighter levels.  Poor powergaming Benzan must now suffer!   

Seriously, I'm going to make a request for this Story Hour...  Make Delem more assertive and strong in social situations.  Right now the two leaders seem to be Cal (acceptable) and Benzan (unacceptable).  I mean, who really has the high Charisma here?!  

Why, even now, in the General RPG forum, there's a thread about the alternate Sorcerer that Monte Cook invented, and reading Sigils post you'll note how the Sorcerer is described as a powerful, forceful type of character, who makes his way through the world using his strength of personality.  Read now!  

http://test.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?threadid=13571


No pressure, though.    I really am enjoying this Story Hour, and I look forward to seeing how the characters overcome this latest challenge, and how they develop in the future.


Edit:  And one other thing... isn't Cal a little all knowing and wise for a guy with 8 Wisdom?  I vote you upgrade the statistics of all the characters to at least 32 point buy.  Although this isn't really a democracy...


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## Lazybones (May 29, 2002)

MoH: Actually, Benzan's Arcane Schooling feat (from the FRCS) allows him to treat wizard as though it was a favored class for him.  In earlier books I established his origin as Unther, and mentioned that his mother had... um... "taken up" with a wizard for a while during her flight from...  

Well, I haven't really developed that part yet, but we'll get to it!  

I've tried to show the conflict between Cal's high intelligence and low(er) wisdom at a few places, such as his difficulties in coming to grips with being killed and raised from the dead, and the internal conflict over his two vocational paths.  As we've all been deluged with Star Wars over the past few months, maybe I'm guilty of "yoda-fying" him. 

I do appreciate the comments from those who have taken the time to examine the characters and their stats carefully.  I'm trying to keep the story "honest" within the D&D milieu.

As for what's going to happen... well, other than to say that I've already set the plot for the rest of Book IV, you'll have to read to find out:  

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 24

Benzan stood warily near where Dana and Delem were tending to Lok, an arrow fitted to his bow.  Although they had just defeated the orc and ogre forces defending the canyon encampment, he felt uneasy, as though there was a danger lurking just at the edges of his senses, a vague undercurrent of dread that sent a chill down his spine.  It was a feeling he’d felt a few times before, and each time his premonitions had been accurate.  

The battlefield was quiet, for the moment.  If there were more orcs or ogres about, they’d apparently elected not to approach these obviously dangerous combatants. 

After winning surprise and overcoming the half-dozen orcs warding the watchtower along the canyon’s south end, they had moved quickly down the narrow trail that ran down into the canyon proper.  The footing had been treacherous, with mud from the recent storms covering seemingly everything in sight, but they were determined to strike quickly while the bulk of their magical enhancements were still in effect.  They were well within the radius of rusted machinery and crude buildings that marked the mine encampment when the first hue and cry rose up from an orc sentry, launching the quick and violent battle that had just concluded with another victory for the companions.  Lok had gone down, crushed under the sheer power of the armored ogre leader, but as Delem and Dana poured healing energy into him he seemed all right.  They had all taken something of a beating, but none of them were so naïve to think that they had reached the end of their course here.  

“Here,” Cal said, approaching Benzan with his wand of healing in hand.  “You’re hurt.”  Benzan had already drunk a healing potion that had taken the sting off of his injury, but he let Cal add his own power to restore him more closely to full strength.  

“I haven’t seen any prisoners,” Benzan said.  “Save those.”  He indicated the hanging bodies over the mine entrances, a gruesome sight even from this distance.  

“They’re probably kept in the mines below,” Cal said.  “We’ll find them and…”

“By the gods!”

They all turned at Dana’s cry, and followed her gaze to the top of the cliffs to the north.  There, perched at the edge of the cliff, they could all see a sight that froze the blood in their veins.  

It looked at least superficially like an ogre, if an ogre could be twenty feet tall, with a bull-shaped head capped with a pair of long, dangerous horns.  Its body seemed all muscle and bone, the former bulging as though the creature’s skin could barely contain the tensile power in its limbs.  Its face was bestial and yet its eyes, twin embers set deep within its skull, flared with a warped intelligence that was evident even more than a hundred yards away.  When those eyes swept over the companions, each felt as though a sliver of their soul was being stripped away and their inner being laid bare for the monstrosity to view.  

It lifted its head and roared, an alien sound that sent a dagger of fear through the hearts of even the most stalwart among them.  

“What… what is that…” Jerral breathed.

“It’s a demon!” Benzan spat, the words torn from him as he stared up at the thing.  

“Run…” someone said. 

But a moment later the demon took the initiative, vanishing in a sudden rush of air…

…and rematerializing an instant later, near the base of the cliff, just a stone’s throw from where they were standing.

Benzan was the first to react, drawing and firing even before conscious thought.  The shot struck the creature high in the chest, but the arrow, even backed by the considerable power of Benzan’s longbow, simply glanced off of the creature’s thick hide without effect.  

For a moment they could only stare at the demon, its presence even more imposing now that it was closer to them.  A heartbeat later, though, Cal’s voice cut through their indecision and fear, sounding a clear, simple command.

“ALL RIGHT, LET’S KILL THAT THING!” the gnome cried.


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## MasterOfHeaven (May 29, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> 
> “ALL RIGHT, LET’S KILL THAT THING!” the gnome cried. *





Ahhhh... there's the low Wisdom I was looking for.  

Yeah, I forgot about that feat.  Well, good luck to the group, I hope they can pull this one out of the fire.


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## Horacio (May 30, 2002)

Cliffhanger!
Why another cliffhanger!
AAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG!


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## Lazybones (May 30, 2002)

Book IV, Part 25

In their travels, the companions from the West had faced many dangers, horrible opponents that they had defeated through teamwork and sacrifice.  But now, confronted with the power of the Beast, a demon more imposing and terrible than anything they could conceive, they found themselves confronting their greatest challenge.  

They did not hesitate, knowing that even more than their lives, their very souls were at stake in this battle.

At Cal’s cry they leapt to the attack, but even their moment’s hesitation allowed the demon to get in the first strike.  The demon raised one muscled arm and pointed at them, and a dark, twisted, roiling cloud of corruption erupted around them.  Cal, Delem, Lok, and Benzan were familiar with the evil power of the _unholy blight_, having survived a similar attack from a cleric of Cyric long ago.  They were tougher now, but so too was the dark energy of the demon.  The companions staggered from the cloud, each fighting off a lingering sickness that seemed to cling to their souls like a taint.  

Lok emerged from the cloud already beginning his charge, although the demon was too far away for him to reach quickly.  Dana, however, her speed still augmented by the _expeditious retreat_ spell she’d cast during the earlier battle, quickly caught up to him and touched him on the shoulder.  

“Good luck,” she said to him, as the power of her spell passed into the genasi, and he lifted into the air with the power of magical flight.  Lok met her gaze for an instant and nodded, then shot off quickly in the direction of the demon.  

Jerral had emerged from the opposite side of the cloud, and quickly fitted an arrow to her own bow.  The arrow burst into magical flames as she drew and fired, but even though her shot hit the creature her missile bounced off as harmlessly as Benzan’s shot of a few moments before.  

“We can’t hurt it!” she cried, her voice cracking on the edge of panic.  

“My sword bears a more potent magic—it should be able to harm it!” Benzan replied, hoping that his guess was true even as he drew the sword and he broke into a run toward the creature.  He didn’t glance back, hoping that Jerral was following him.  

Despite her fear, the ranger hefted her axes and did.  

Delem emerged from the fading edges of the blight, hardly the worse for wear.  He pointed toward the demon and summoned his most powerful spell.  A bead of fire blasted from his fingertips and streaked past his charging companions to explode against the body of the demon.  The fireball scorched the stones of the cliff face with its intensity, but when the flames cleared, the demon stood there, utterly untouched.

The demon made a wretched gurgling sound, which the companions belatedly realized was laughter.  

Cal was the last to become visible as the blight faded into wisps of nothingness.  He lurched and staggered forward, clearly hit hard by the dark power of the demon’s magic.  He saw his companions already moving to the attack, and for a moment a twinge of uncertainty passed through the gnome’s small frame.  He understood better than any of them—save perhaps Benzan—the nature of what they faced, and he knew all too well that the magic he possessed would be of little or no use against such a monstrosity.  He felt once more a surge of guilt—had he failed his companions, electing to turn aside from the path of greater magical power as he had?  Would more powerful spells have enabled them to vanquish this adversary?

But the gnome was not one to let such thoughts steal his resolve, and with determination he pushed them aside for deliberation later.  Right now, his friends needed the best that he could give.  Calling up every ounce of fortitude that he could muster, the gnome began a rousing song to strengthen the resolve of his companions.  At the same time, he drew forth a wand that he’d purchased after a battle with another demon in a faraway place.  Somehow he knew that the _protection from evil_ summoned by the wand would not keep this foe fully at bay, but he hoped that whatever protection it _could_ offer would give his allies an edge that they would most certainly need.  

Even as he sang, the gnome rushed forward, his short limbs carrying him slowly but steadily to where the demon waited.  

Only the beast was not waiting idly for their arrival.  As the companions neared it the demon reared up and issued another terrible roar that shook the very stones of the cliff behind it.  Then, as it lowered its head again, it called upon more of its dread magic, calling into being a cloak of dark, wavering, unholy energy that filled the air around its massive form like a second skin.    

Lok, flying in a straight line toward the creature, did not hesitate, hurtling toward the creature’s head while he lifting his axe to strike.  The demon, with its incredible reach, lashed out at him with a massive claw before Lok could draw near enough to strike.  The heavy blow rang off of the genasi’s shield, knocking him off his course and sending him twisting through the air.  When the demon drew back its hand, however, there was a gash in its palm, and fat drops of hot ichor dripped from the wound to sear the stones below.  

Lok had drawn first blood. 

“See, it can be hurt!” Benzan shouted in encouragement, although inwardly he wondered how they could possibly injure the creature enough to slow it, let alone slay it.  Still, he grimly charged onward toward the creature’s flank, hoping that Lok could distract it enough for him to get in a telling blow.  

It would have to be a low blow, for Benzan barely came up to the creature’s knee.   

Delem also drew nearer, frustrated by the creature’s apparent immunity to his fire spells.  He called upon the power of Kossuth to summon a minor spell to aid his companions, a blessing to counter the dark forces that hung around it, but he knew that his friends needed his firepower to have a chance. 

Looking up at the huge bulk of the creature, an idea came to him. 

Dana approached the creature from the far side, moving at an incredible pace over the slick stone.  As it struck Lok she was already summoning the divine might of Selûne, channeling the power of the goddess into a divine bolt of searing light that she blasted into the chest of the demon.  

It was a potent spell, and one newly acquired by the mystic wanderer, but as the beam of light struck the demon and its writhing cloak of darkness it fragmented and disintegrated into a harmless splash of reflected energies.    

Lok, meanwhile, had recovered and dove again at the demon, his own battlecry matching the terrible, eager growl of the demon as it met his rush with its own charge.  Lok’s axe clove downward and tore into the demon’s shoulder, releasing another spray of ichor that steamed in the cold air as it dripped down the demon’s torso.  The demon, however, responded in kind, twisting its head to and fro in a sudden motion that drove its horns into the genasi’s armored form.  One thrust slashed through his defenses and gored him deeply in the side.  The demon did not relent, lunging at Lok with both outstretched claws.  The warrior managed to twist in the air and deflected the first rake with his shield, but the second massive claw closed on his hip and squeezed, crushing the genasi within his armored shell.  

Benzan saw Lok’s plight and charged at the creature from the flank.  Close up, the creature was even more imposing and unnatural, its long legs bending at two joints rather than one, ending in cloven hooves that were the color of old bloodstains.  Benzan raised his sword to strike, but even as he did he felt a strange sensation roll over him.  His stomach twisted and a roaring filled the back of his mind, but within those disorienting feelings there was something else, a disturbing empathy with the demon that touched something deep inside of him.  

Benzan cried out as he fought through the disorientation and thrust his blade at the demon’s leg.  The blow missed badly, however, the magical bronze glancing harmlessly off the demon’s armored hide. 

The demon, however, turned and looked down at Benzan.  As those fiery eyes locked on his, he felt a dark presence enter his mind.  

*Ah… greetings, brother,* a sibilant voice sounded within his thoughts.  *You I will allow to live, to watch as I tear your mortal friends asunder, and feed on the essence of their souls…*

Benzan cried out again, a terrible moan of despair as the demon’s laughter echoed in his mind.

The others were rushing to help, but it seemed as though nothing they did could affect the demon.  Dana tried her magic again, summoning a spell to dispel the dark shroud protecting the demon.  Her power faltered against the fell power of the Abyss, however, and the cloak of roiling energy barely flickered under her attack.  Cal added the bolstering effect of his voice, but he was still too far away to use his wand to protect his companions.  Jerral was close enough to see the effect of the demon’s stare upon Benzan, and even though she wasn’t the target of those eyes she felt a twisting terror crawl through her skin just being close to the thing.  Every instinct told her to run, even as the pure horror of the monstrosity whispered that flight would be futile, that the demon would not stop until it had destroyed all of them utterly.  

Belatedly she realized that she was running, not away, but toward the demon, and that she was screaming incomprehensibly at the top of her lungs as she hefted her axes with white-knuckled hands. 

As the demon glanced down toward Benzan, Lok shook himself free of its grasp and launched another series of attacks.  His strokes were powerful, but they struck the intangible wisps of black energy around the demon and glanced off as though they were steel plate.  The demon’s head snapped around, and it locked its eyes on the stalwart genasi.  Lok lifted his axe, ready for whatever fell power the demon might release upon him. 

Yet he could do nothing as lines of black energy, each as thin as the strands of a spiderweb, formed around him.  He tried to fly out of their grasp, but the strands held him there, forming in the blink of an eye into an intricate prison of lines and angles that held him within their matrix. 

And then, Lok vanished.  

“No!” Benzan cried, shocked by the sight out of his haze and into action once more.  He saw Jerral, screaming madly, slash into the demon’s right leg with her axes.  The blows had no apparent effect, but they drew the demon’s attention in that direction even as Benzan renewed his attack on the demon’s left.  This time his sword bit into the limb, penetrating through the energy shield and tearing the muscled flesh beneath.  The thrust wasn’t deep, but by the demon’s roar it clearly felt it.  

Benzan drew his sword back out of the wound and spun around to the rear of the creature, hoping at least that he could get one more thrust in before the demon tore him to pieces.  

By then, however, the demon had other things on its mind.

Delem had not been idle while his companions desperately battled the demon.  Having seen it casually shrug off his most powerful spell, he knew that his fire had little chance of affecting it through its potent resistances and magical defenses.  As he looked up at it, however, its huge bulk looming against the backdrop of the canyon wall, he’d had an idea. 

He raised his hand, the one bearing the bronze ring whose power had already come to their aid several times.  His gaze focused on a narrow cleft halfway up the length of the cliff, where a large boulder was pinioned within a natural fork formed by the gap in the stone.  Focusing his full concentration through the ring, he tried to touch the rock with his mind.  

It was heavy, far heavier than the ring’s power could lift, but he wasn’t trying to lift it.  

Only nudge it free.  

Sweat broke out on the sorcerer’s face as he focused on the stone, adding the power of his own will to that held within the ring.  The stone shifted in response.  Delem saw only the stone, did not see Lok trapped within the _maze_ spell cast by the demon, did not see Benzan stab it in the leg, did not see it turn and direct the full force of its hatred upon the tiefling.  He saw only the stone, shifting, rocking, falling…

The boulder slammed squarely onto the demon’s skull, filling the air with a sickening cracking noise as it drove the creature’s head forward and down.  The demon staggered, but did not fall, lurching like a drunken man one uneven step forward, then a second.  Its head came up again, its terrible visage now made more fearful by the threads of black blood that ran down across its face and the fury that blazed like twin suns within its eyes.  

The demon lurched forward, its double-jointed legs driving its bulk inexorably forward like a charging bull.  Benzan and Jerral tried to slash at it as it passed, but their weapons glanced harmlessly off its hide, and the creature ignored their futile attacks.  Cal leapt out of the demon’s path, its massive hooves crushing the ground only a few feet from where he’d been standing, but the demon paid him no heed either.  

It was clear what the demon’s focus was.  

Delem held his ground—there was nowhere else he could go, not with the charging mass of the demon coming straight for him.  His gaze fell to the ground at his feet for a moment, but when he looked up again, the demon looming over him like a juggernaut, the flames were dancing in his eyes.

A stream of fire blasted from his hands into the demon’s chest, their eager tongues flashing across the demon’s body.  

The demon, unharmed by Delem’s attack, lowered its head until it was nearly bent in two, slamming the bony bridge of its forehead into the sorcerer’s comparatively frail form.  The shock of the impact knocked Delem backwards with the force of a battering ram, to fall limply to the ground ten paces away.  The demon’s momentum carried it forward until it stood over his unmoving body.  

The others were already running to their companion’s aid, although the demon’s rush had carried it beyond their reach for the moment.  Only Dana, her speed enhanced by the power of her spell, was there immediately, and she screamed as she leapt and slashed at the demon.  Her kama could not hurt it, but she continued cutting at it as it reached down and scooped up Delem in its massive hands.  

“Let him go!” Dana cried out in frustration, knowing that nothing she could do would hinder this monstrosity.  

The demon cast its gaze down at her, panning its stare to take in all of them, as well as the limp form clutched in its hands.  Benzan, and Jerral ran up and halted a few yards away, with Cal just a short distance behind, still closing.  

“Let him go,” Benzan repeated, his voice as hard as the bronze sword that he held at the ready before him.  “We can still destroy you, demon.”  

The demon returned his stare with reflected hate, but the fact remained that the demon _was_ grievously hurt, the effects of the attacks by Lok and Benzan and Delem’s stone clear on its otherworldly form.  The demon also knew that the genasi would soon return, his arrival dependent on his intelligence and his ability to work his way through the extra-planar corridors of its _maze_.  

The demon looked down at Dana, who had backed off to join the others in a half-circle facing it.  The young woman’s eyes widened as the demon’s sickening voice sounded in her mind. 

*You love this one,* the demon’s voice said.  

“Yes,” Dana whispered.

*Then come and claim him.  I will be waiting.*

And the demon vanished, teleporting away with Delem’s unconscious and battered body.


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## Horacio (May 30, 2002)

He has gor Delem!


Wonderful, as always


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## Reg Dword (May 30, 2002)

So this is why you posted in the rules forum a few days ago about teleporting with an unconscious person!


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## Lazybones (May 30, 2002)

Reg Dword said:
			
		

> *So this is why you posted in the rules forum a few days ago about teleporting with an unconscious person! *




You got me .  

I guess I'm going to have to be careful about what questions I ask in the rules forum from now on, lest I give too much away .  

I'm still a little ahead in the story, so I'll be able to keep up the post-a-day for a while longer.  Thanks for reading.

Next post: aftermath! (and a new NPC)


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## Reg Dword (May 30, 2002)

You don't have to worry about a lurker like me. I'm not going to tell anyone.


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## MasterOfHeaven (May 30, 2002)

Ahhhhh!  He got Delem!  Oh well, hopefully Delem will survive.  That was  a smart move with the ring, at least.  Great post, Lazybones.


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## Lazybones (May 31, 2002)

Book IV, Part 26

Gaera felt herself being dragged slowly back into consciousness.  Her first thought was one of reluctance, that the peace of death was being denied her.  She could not resist the pull, however, and so she opened her eyes.  

She saw the sky, and realized that she was lying prone.  Her arms were still splayed out behind her, but she was no longer bound to the beam.  With an effort she managed to turn her head to the side, to see a gnome looking down at her.  He was clad in a brightly colored green tunic mostly covered by a thick winter cloak, and as she watched he tucked a wand back into an inner pocket.  

“How do you feel?” he asked her.  

“I…” she said, uncertain of what to say.  Then she saw the gnome’s companion, standing beside and behind him—the dwarf warrior she’d seen before.  Close up, she could see that there was something strange about him, his skin a dusky gray and textured like uncut stone.  

On a whim she tried to rise, and to her surprise found that she could, albeit with difficulty.  She looked at the gnome and his dwarf companion, and at their surroundings.  

They were still in the canyon, a short distance from the mine opening where she’d been hanging.  She could smell the hot stench of death in the air, the familiar odor bringing back with crashing intensity memory of all that had happened.  Her head dropped, sagging not due to physical weakness but rather with the heavy weight of despair.

“What is it?” the gnome asked softly. 

“You should have left me there,” she said.  “You should have left me to die.”

“That doesn’t sound like anything I’ve ever heard a dwarf say,” the gnome replied.  

“You do not know the depths of my failures.”  She sagged back, suddenly feeling very old, very tired.  It was hard to believe that young Rangor had approached her, sought to woo her!—only a year before.  Before the ogres had come.  Before everything had changed.  

The gnome looked up at his dwarf friend.  “Get Dana.  Her constitution has suffered—my healing cannot help her any further.” 

The dwarf nodded, and started off.  Gaera felt a little better at his absence, less confronted by her shame.  Shaking off some of her lethargy, she looked up at the gnome again.  

“You healed me?” she asked.  

He nodded.

“You are a cleric, then?”

“No, a bard, actually.  I’ve found that wands of healing come in really handy, though.”

She looked around.  “Where is the ghour?”

“Excuse me?”

“The ghour—we call it ‘the Beast’…”

“The demon.  We drove it off, but it took one of our company with it.  We will be seeing it again, I think.”

The gnome’s tone was sad, but fixed with a determination that caused Gaera to reevaluate him and her current situation.  She realized that she’d let herself sink into self-pity; understandable given what had happened, but inexcusable now.  

“Where are the others?”

“The prisoners?  My companions are gathering them up.  We can’t stay here long.”

“No…  Help me up, please.”

The gnome did so, and Gaera found that she could stand, if unsteadily.  “My name is Gaera Silverheart.  I am a cleric of Berronar Truesilver.”

“Balander Calloran—my friends call me ‘Cal’.”

“Thank you, Cal, for rescuing me.”

They both looked up as the dwarf returned in the company of a young human woman.  Gaera instantly perceived the deep sorrow that hung over her, evident in the way she carried her body and the deep hollows under her eyes.  Instinctively she reached out for her, stumbling slightly as he legs gave out from under her.  Cal caught her, and supported her as the young woman approached.  

“Gaera, this is Dana, a cleric of Selûne.  Dana, Gaera is a cleric of Berronar Truesilver.”

Dana nodded absently, and Gaera could see that the hurt she had suffered went deep.  To Cal, Dana said, “When are we leaving?” 

“As soon as we can get all of the prisoners together.  Lok says that there is a back way he knows of to Caer Dulthain, and a place where the captives should be safe until…”

He trailed off, and Gaera realized that they intended to confront the demon once again, to face the ghour in its lair.  

“What’s the matter?” Cal asked with concern, noting the tear that flowed down the dwarf cleric’s face.  

“It’s nothing,” Gaera said.  “Nothing but the restoration of hope to a soul that had forgotten its promise.”  She directed the last words at Dana, and for a moment the two women shared a look between them, a look that spoke of deep inner hurts.  Dana broke the connection, but she closed her eyes and opened her heart to the power of her goddess, reaching out to touch Gaera and pass restorative power into her.  

When it was done, Gaera straightened, and drew a deep breath.  While she had not been fully restored, some of the vigor had returned to her, enough so that she felt she could move and act.  She would need to, now, she realized.  It was time to change roles, from a supporter to a leader.  

“How many prisoners are there in the mines?” Cal was asking.  Although the question wasn’t directed at her, she answered it anyway. 

“There are not many of us left,” she said.  “Perhaps thirty dwarves, although few are warriors, and all have been weakened through long suffering.”  Though not as weak as they might have been, Gaera thought, thanks to her own covert efforts.  She’d let Rogath down, but she knew that her people would give a good accounting of themselves.  

“There are also a handful of others—several human merchants, a man of the Uthgardt, even a few humanoids that are not allies of the orcs or ogres,” she went on.  “Some may be able to fight, if given the chance.”   

“What can you tell us about the demon?” Cal asked. 

Gaera looked over the gnome’s shoulder to see the others approaching—the two archers she’d watched during the earlier battle, and a rag-tag collection of dwarves, humans, and the other captives of the ogres.  

Free, for the moment.  An hour before, she might have allowed herself to think blackly on that, to find only despair in their chances, but no longer.  

Free for the moment would be enough.

She turned back to the gnome.  “I’ll tell you on the way.”


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## Lazybones (May 31, 2002)

Just a quick note that my story hour (at least the first three books) is available on the ENWorld story archive page (http://www.d20reviews.com/Story.htm).  It's long (252 pages in Word), but zipped it's only about 380kb or thereabouts.


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## Horacio (May 31, 2002)

Hey, Lazybones, if you want, I can pass it to pdf for next update of the page. Non Windows users would prefer it in pdf...

So, if you want, before sending Morrus next update (next month, I suppose), send me it and I will pdf it.


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## Lazybones (May 31, 2002)

Thanks for the offer, Horacio; I've got Acrobat and the PDF converter in Word at work so if I decide to go that route, I can do so.  I'll probably update the file once I finish book IV.  At the moment, it looks like B4 will come in at about 33-34 chapters (so about the same length as books 1 and 3). 

Have a great weekend, everyone!


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 1, 2002)

Damn cliffhangers.  They have to rescue Delem soon!    Well, I'm off to go cheer for the Lakers, I'll check back again tomorrow.


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 3, 2002)

No more weekend breaks, Lazybones!    Looking forward to the next update, and keeping this from falling off the first page.


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## Horacio (Jun 3, 2002)

I want my update! I want my update!


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## Maldur (Jun 3, 2002)

Lazybones, I hope you didn't get a busy workload for this week as I ( and others, like Horacio) would really like the daily updates to continue.

I do hate cliffhangers


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## Horacio (Jun 3, 2002)

Maldur said:
			
		

> *I do hate cliffhangers  *




Not you. Me. Me. I DO hate cliffhangers


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## Lazybones (Jun 3, 2002)

Thanks for waiting, guys.  I had a very busy weekend: dancing lessons, playoff basketball (Sacramento Kings ), bicycling, WNBA game (that's our women's basketball league, for my European readers), bought Soldier of Fortune II for the PC, and cleaned the windows of our house (whew!), but now it's Monday and I have plenty of story for you this week.  Oh, and lots of cliffhangers  (I know you guys _say_ you hate them, but I don't believe you! )

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 27

Less than an hour after the ghour demon had taken Delem and teleported away, the adventurers and their new companions left the canyon and set out again into the mountains.  They headed roughly northwest, Lok leading them along a little-used dwarf trail that rapidly gained altitude along a jagged ridgeline before descending into a long, twisting ravine.  

They were all on edge.  After their experience in the canyon they were all fully aware that the demon had the power to appear at any time, and they already knew that these mountains were still crawling with ogres and orcs.  The freed prisoners had equipped themselves with gear taken from the slain orcs, but even with bows and axes and clad in shiny breastplates they all looked frail and downtrodden.  Cal and Dana had used their wands of healing to treat those with injuries, but most of them had just been beaten down for too long, and only time would enable them to fully recover.  

In addition to Gaera, there were thirty dwarves, all of whom had toiled for months in the mines and clearly showed it.  There were four humans: three ragged men of the Silver Marches who were all that remained of a caravan taken in an orc raid two months past, and an Uthgardt tribesman named Nanoc.  Nanoc was nearly as thin and malnourished as the others, but when they handed him a spear something smoldered in his eyes, and unlike most of the others he had no difficulty keeping up with the pace that Lok set.  Finally, there were several humanoids, three hobgoblins and a rather battered gnoll with mangy fur and a glint of madness in its eyes.  

They didn’t give a weapon to that last one.  

As their motley column made their way up the narrow trail, Benzan pulled Cal aside.  “It’s the crew of the _Raindancer_ all over again,” the tiefling said quietly.  

“I know, I was thinking the same thing,” the gnome admitted.  “We’ll try to keep them out of harm’s way, but…”

He trailed off, but he didn’t really have to finish.  Both understood that in their current circumstances, there could be no guarantees.

As they watched the line of former captives file past, Benzan adjusted his new gauntlets.  Their departure had been hasty, but the tiefling had not forgotten to search their fallen foes for items that might be useful in their cause.  He’d immediately noticed the unusual gauntlets worn by the ogre leader, the one Gaera had called the “Warden.”  The heavy leather fingerless gloves, backed with thick mithral rings, were obviously of exceptional make, and when they had shrunk down to the size of his hands on removal from the dead ogre his suspicions that they were magical were confirmed.  Once he tried them on their function was obvious, as he could feel the surge of strength in his arms.  

That would prove useful in the coming confrontation, he thought.  

Benzan caught sight of Dana, bringing up the rear of the column, and the sight of her seemed to add a weight to his heart.  “Do you think…  I mean, Delem…”

Cal sighed.  “I don’t know, I just don’t know.”  He clapped Benzan on the side.  “Come on, let’s get moving.”

Slipping back into a silence broken only by the constant whisper of the wind, they pressed on.  

* * * * *

They day rapidly grew older as Lok led them over the back trails for an hour that became two, then three.  Caer Dulthain was located only a few miles from the canyon mine, Lok told them, but the miles were difficult ones along the trail that he led them.  There were easier routes to the dwarven town, but none of them suggested that route, knowing that they would be much more likely to run into orc or ogre patrols that way. 

They saw nothing, however, save the occasional footprint or discarded trash that served as a reminder of their foes.  The ogres had apparently picked the region fairly clean of any natural wildlife, leaving only a barren wasteland in their wake.  

They stopped frequently to give the former captives a chance to rest and eat some of the provisions they’d stolen from the larders of the ogre jailors.  After each successive break it became more difficult for them to rise up and hit the trail again, but with Gaera’s ceaseless urging none of them fell behind.  The single-minded purposefulness of the adventurers was contagious, or maybe it was the way they cast wary looks constantly around them, as if each moment they lingered invited another attack.  

The afternoon was well advanced when Jerral, who had been scouting ahead, returned to the head of the column where Lok, Benzan, and Cal were leading.  “There’s a small box canyon up ahead,” the ranger reported.  “It looks clear, but there’s a few structures near the entrance.”

Lok nodded, and something unfathomable crossed his expression briefly at the news.  They moved on, and soon emerged at a vista overlooking the canyon.  To their left, the trail ran down a short defile to the canyon floor below.  Lok hesitated, gazing out over the barren terrain.  

“What is it?” Cal asked him.

“I have returned home,” the genasi said.  “This was my home.”

The companions exchanged a look but did not speak further as Jerral led them down the trail into the canyon.  The walls of the canyon sheltered them from the full force of the wind, and although the canyon floor seemed just a rocky expanse of drifted snow and plain stone there was also a sense of peace here, as if this place could somehow keep the troubles of the world outside at bay.  

“There’s another trail that leads up through a cleft in the rocks, about two hundred paces back from the canyon entrance,” Lok said, gesturing toward the point he indicated.  “It leads up to another ridge trail that will take us to a back way into Caer Dulthain.”  Jerral looked at Cal, who nodded, then she hurried off to scout the trail.  Behind them, the freed prisoners milled about, uncertain what lie ahead for them.  

Dana, who was still bringing up the rear, came over to join them.  “This isn’t a good place to rest,” she said.  “Too exposed.”

“I know,” Cal replied.  He looked to Lok, whose attention was fixed on the two simple stone structures half-hidden among the boulders near the entrance to the canyon about a bowshot distant.    

“Lok?” Cal prodded.  

“We should start up the trail,” the genasi said.  “There’s a place we can rest a few hundred yards up along the ridge.”  He turned to face them.  “I’d like a moment alone, if I may.”

“We shouldn’t split up,” Cal said.  “Benzan, why don’t you stay behind, then catch up to us along the trail.”

The tiefling nodded, and he and Lok headed toward the stone buildings.  Behind them, the others crossed the canyon and started up the narrow trail that ran up the cleft in the far cliff. 

As the two friends neared the buildings, Lok looked up at Benzan.  

“Go ahead,” the tiefling said.  “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

With a grateful nod Lok crossed to the first building, feeling the first surge of returning memories drift into his mind.  He thought back to the years he’d spent in this place, just him and his adoptive father, rarely seeing the other dwarves of Caer Dulthain even though the town was just a short hike away.  That had been fine with him; the other dwarves had rejected him due to his unique heritage, and while that had stung him at the time, he now realized that their reaction was just confusion at something that they could not understand.  

He rounded the first building and looked inside through the wide opening in the front.  He felt a brief surge of anger when he saw that his father’s workshop had been thoroughly looted, with only a few shattered remnants of workbenches and a few bent pieces of metal left as scraps.  The anger quickly faded, though—what else could he have expected—and was replaced with a soft sadness.  There would not have been much left here, anyway, as the practical dwarves would have reclaimed the valuable metalworking tools shortly after he’d announced his decision to leave.  He realized that his disappointment was more because he’d hoped to see some reminder here, something familiar to spark more memories of the good times that had once been.  

The house was in much the same condition, so he quickly bypassed it and crossed to the small plot of cleared land nestled in a ring of stones behind it.  The summer garden was just a wide drift of snow, but Lok recognized instantly what he’d been looking for.  He crossed to the single flat stone that just protruded from the snow, and knelt beside it.  He ran his hand over the surface, brushing aside the snow and revealing the dwarven runes that had been painstakingly etched into its surface. 

“Father,” he said.  “I have returned.”

For a moment he just knelt there, alone with the whispers of the wind.  

“I’ve tried to live as you taught me, father.  Our there, in the world, people have judged me because of who—because of _what_ I am.  I have tried to remember the words that you said to me, to accept who I am and to use the abilities given to me to always live with honor and fight for the greater good.”

“It hasn’t been easy, father, but I have done my best.  I have found good companions, a strange lot, to be sure!  As if I should speak so…”

“I once asked you about my purpose, father, why I was here.  You said that every man has it within his power to answer that question for himself, and in the end, the balance of his choices mark the kind of man that he is, and the kind of life that he has lived.  I am still not sure what my tally will be, father, but I hope… I believe that you would have been proud of me.”

Lok bowed his head in a gesture of respect, and then slowly rose.  As he turned to head back, he caught sight of something and paused in surprise.  

At the edge of the patch of snow-covered earth, although he hadn’t spotted it before, a single flower—a small iris with tiny violet-blue blooms—could just be seen jutting through the snow.


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## Maldur (Jun 4, 2002)

Ending on a positive note?  Your getting soft in your old age Lazybones 

Nice update, when do we get more?


ps WOW I beat Horacio, I replied first


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## Horacio (Jun 4, 2002)

> *As their motley column made their way up the narrow trail, Benzan pulled Cal aside. “It’s the crew of the Raindancer all over again,” the tiefling said quietly. *




Your PCs are using metagame knowledge 
Great update!


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## Lazybones (Jun 4, 2002)

Maldur said:
			
		

> *Ending on a positive note?  Your getting soft in your old age Lazybones *




Oh, I can assure you, things are going to get real dark real fast...



> *
> Nice update, when do we get more?
> *




Right now!

* * * * * 


Book IV, Part 28

Lok and Benzan quickly caught up with the others resting along the trail, and once reunited the group started out again along the trail.  This path wound along the top of a ridge that undulated back and forth but followed a steady course to the north.  To their left the ridge followed the course of a broad gorge, perhaps two hundred feet across and half that in depth.  To their right stretched a broad expanse of jagged hills that resembled the wrinkles in a very old man’s face.  In every direction massive peaks loomed over them like great white mounds, particularly to the north where they eventually formed an imposing wall that stretched along the entire breadth of the horizon as far as they could see.  

“The Ice Spires,” Lok told them.  “Beyond them, only cold and ice hold dominion.”

They had not covered much ground when Benzan, who along with Jerral had taken the lead, hissed a warning back at them.  Quickly the column scattered, its members vanishing into the rocks along the trail.  

Cal and Gaera rushed forward, careful to stay low.  “What is it?” Gaera asked, glancing around at the barren and apparently empty landscape.  

“I caught a glimpse of something… moving up the gorge in this direction,” he said, already stringing his bow as he crept forward and laid on his belly along the edge of the nearly vertical drop.  The others gathered behind a cluster of loose boulders a few feet farther back from the edge, giving them an only slightly less obstructed view of the gorge below. 

For a long moment, there was nothing to see there, although the uneven floor of the gorge and its twisting course made it difficult to see too far down its length.  As they watched, however, something briefly passed into view in the gap between between two boulders, a bulky form that quickly vanished again from sight.  

A moment later, however, another form appeared in the opening, and then another.  

“Ogres,” Benzan commented needlessly. 

“How many?” Jerral whispered, but Benzan shook his head.  “We’ll see soon enough—they’re coming this way.  They’ll pass right below us.”

“Pass the word back—everyone stay in cover, and stay out of sight,” Cal said to the nearest dwarf.  The dwarf nodded, and soon word was moving down the length of the column. 

“What do you think?” Cal asked Benzan, as the tiefling crawled back to their position.  

“I’d say they’re probably looking for us, maybe scouting the approaches to Caer Dulthain.  If we can slip past them, then we might have a clear route to the town—especially if Lok’s ‘back way’ isn’t widely known.”

“They’ve been here a while, so I wouldn’t count on that,” Cal said.  “Plus, if we do slip past, we risk having them come up on us from behind.”

“Well, yes, there’s always a down side.”

“Here they come!” Jerral hissed, drawing their attention back down to the gorge.  The first ogres were just coming into view around a bend in the gorge, several hundred yards away but drawing nearer.

“Oh, no,” Gaera said.  

“What is it?” Cal asked.

“That ogre in the lead—it’s Soroth.”

“I get the feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but who’s Soroth?” Benzan asked.

“Soroth is the spawn of the Beast, a half-fiend,” the dwarf cleric explained.  “He’s young, still a child by ogre standards, but he’s dangerous, a powerful sorcerer.”

“Great.  Just great.”

Cal glanced back down the length of the trail, verifying that everyone in their group was out of sight.  He and his companions crouched warily among the rocks, their bows at the ready, trying to keep even their breathing quiet.  Benzan slowly crept forward until he could see the pathway along the floor of the gorge, careful not to make any sudden movements that might draw attention from below.

The full column of ogres was now visible, and a quick count netted a total of thirty-five, including the leader.  Now that he was closer Benzan could clearly make out the distinctions that set Soroth apart from the others.  He was at least two feet shorter than the other ogres, but still looked imposing with a broad, muscular frame wrapped in a heavy white coat of winter wolf fur.  Two small horns jutted from his forehead, and he carried a longspear with a glimmering head that seemed to flash with reflected light even in the gray light that filtered down from the overcast skies above.  Behind him, two columns of heavily armed and armored ogres marched in a lumbering cadence that shook the air with the sound of heavy boots on stone.  Several carried the massive crossbows that resembled ballistae, and all bore a variety of other weapons that were huge, powerful, and deadly. 

Benzan signaled back to the others what he saw. 

“Thirty-five,” Cal breathed.  And this time, they didn’t have Delem’s fireballs.  Jerral saw his look and nodded grimly, and her own hands tightened on the haft of her longbow.  

The ogres drew closer, until they could all clearly hear the sounds of their passage.  They were traveling quickly despite their bulk, and within just a few moments their line was passing almost directly under them.  From their hiding places above, the companions held their collective breath as they waited.  

Then a voice lifted up from below, uttering a short phrase.  Even without seeing its owner, somehow each of them knew that it belonged to Soroth.  

At their questioning looks, Gaera whispered, “They’re stopping!”

“Why?” 

“I…”

But she never got a chance to finish her reply, for at that moment one of the dwarves, leaning forward to steal a glimpse of what was happening in the gorge, slipped.  A cascade of rocks tumbled over the edge of the precipice, rolling down into the gorge below.  

“Oh, crap…” Benzan said.


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 5, 2002)

Ouch.  Well, good luck to the party.  They'll need it.  Great job as always, Lazybones.


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## Horacio (Jun 5, 2002)

Oh oh... Another hopeless battle of our heros and a handful of former prisoners agains a far superior ennemy... I've already read that in this story hour 

But they were hobgoblins and now they are ogres... 
Will the party power have grown up enough to survive to that?


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## Lazybones (Jun 5, 2002)

Horacio--yes, I'd forgotten that we've done this before!  But while ogres are a lot tougher (esp. w/barbarian levels, and a half-fiend sorcerer leader instead of a cleric), they aren't as organized or disciplined as hobgoblins, and as we'll see, the tactical situation favors the defenders this time.  Still, the upcoming battle may get bloody...  Here's round one of the confrontation, with more to come.

* * * * * 


Book IV, Part 29

“Oh, crap…” Benzan said, as the rocks clattered down into the gorge, giving away their position.  Even as thirty-five pairs of eyes shot up toward their hiding places, the tiefling rose up and drew back his bow, targeting the ogre leader.  Even as the twang of his bow marked the first attack of the engagement, Cal’s voice sounded loudly a few feet behind them.

“Let them have it!”

All hell broke loose as the world exploded with the sounds of battle.  

A flurry of arrows and bolts descended into the gorge, as the companions and their new allies opened fire on the ogre columns.  There were no shortage of targets, and while many arrows bounced harmlessly off the stones of the gorge or stuck in the layered hides that the ogres wore, others inflicted wounds.  

Benzan’s first arrow missed, slicing past Soroth’s head as the ogre spun around, already shouting commands to his forces.  A shot from another source stuck in the ogre’s arm, but even as Benzan drew and fired his second shot, the sorcerer uttered a magical incantation, holding up one palm toward them as if to push the missiles away.  

The result was immediate, as Benzan’s arrow struck some invisible barrier and glanced harmlessly away.  A second shot, from a dwarf’s crossbow, suffered a similar fate a moment later.  

“Damn!  That sorcerer’s got some sort of magical protection!” Benzan shouted in warning.  He did not hesitate, already shifting his aim toward the next ogre in line as the brute cocked its massive crossbow and loaded a javelin-sized bolt into its groove.

“I got him,” Jerral said.  She’d already scored several hits, but now she shifted aim, drawing one of her few remaining red-tipped arrows out of her quiver and targeting the sorcerer.

Despite being caught by surprise, and being in a very difficult position tactically, the ogres responded quickly.  A group of about twenty were already running down the gorge to the south, rapidly leaving the range of the archers above, while those with crossbows covered their retreat.  The ballistae, though powerful, were not particularly accurate, and the defenders had the advantage of height and good cover.  Even so, one dwarf fell transfixed by a mighty bolt, slain instantly, and a second staggered as a ricochet glanced off of his temple, opening a jagged cut.  

The companions kept up their barrage, however, and their attacks began to tell.  A pair of ogres were down, struck by over a dozen arrows between them, and many others had taken multiple hits.  These ogres were the elite of the Beast’s forces, however, and as they began to respond to this attack the beginnings of rage began to build in their veins, a rage that, once it took hold, would drive the ogres into a frenzy of violence and blood.  

Jerral cursed as her fire-arrow narrowly missed the ogre sorcerer, its flaming head tracing a bright streak through the air that ended with it shattering against a stone.  Soroth, however, looked up, and pointed toward the ranger woman, calling upon the power of a spell.

At his call, a jagged streak of lightning erupted from the sorcerer’s hand, blasting up into their position.  Jerral’s eyes widened and she leapt backward, but she wasn’t fast enough to avoid the brunt of the blast as it tore into her body and knocked her roughly on her back.  The course of the bolt nearly hit Benzan as well, but he managed to duck behind the cover of a nearby boulder just in time to avoid being blasted.  

“Damn it, we need magical arrows!” he shouted in frustration, rising out of cover just long enough to send another arrow down toward one of the few ogres left milling below.  

“Give me your quivers,” Gaera commanded.  Benzan looked at her, read the determination on her face, and then unslung his quiver and tossed it to her.  Lok, too, gave his quiver over.  The cleric dumped the arrows onto the ground, and started gathering them together in a tight pile.  “I need more, I don’t want to waste any of the power of this spell,” she said.  “We’re going to need it,” she added to herself in an undertone.

Cal started to hand her his quiver of bolts, but she shooed him away.  “All of the missiles must be of the same type,” she told him.  She looked up as Lok reached into his bag of holding and drew out one of the bundles of arrows they’d purchased back in Citadel Adbar.  He handed her the bundle, and she added it to her pile.   

While the cleric prepared her magic, the others continued their attacks.  Jerral, singed but still conscious, returned to the line and continued firing, sharing her quiver with Benzan.  The bulk of the ogre force had already vanished out of sight around the bend in the gorge to the south, and Soroth was already leading the remnant in that direction, the ogres maintaining a withering barrage from their massive crossbows to cover the retreat.  Two more ogres had gone down, but another of their party had fallen as well—one of the human merchants, a bolt catching him squarely in the back of his skull while the man was reloading his crossbow.  

Benzan fired one more parting shot at long range, ducking back down before he even saw whether the shot hit or missed.  Gaera, he saw, had leaned back against the stone, a tired look on her face, and for a moment he thought he saw the faintest hint of a glow around the pile of arrows before her.  

“We’ve got to get moving,” he said.  “The way those ogres move, they’ll circle around and be following us up the trail in no time.”  

“I know,” Cal said.  “Lok, we’re on your ground—is there someplace near here where we can make a stand?”  

Gaera lifted herself up with some effort, drained from casting her newest and most powerful spell.  “Knuckle Ridge,” she said.  “The trail there runs up into a narrow cleft in the ridge, only wide enough for one opponent at a time to climb.”

Cal looked over at Lok, who nodded.  “I know it.  It’s the best choice, and not far,” the genasi said. 

“All right then,” Cal said.  “Lok, you know the trail—start moving out the dwarves and the others.”  The genasi nodded, and rose.  Cal turned to Jerral, already drawing out his healing wand.  The ranger’s tunic had been charred away to reveal the links of her mailshirt underneath, and the skin of her neck at the edges of the garment was blackened from where the energy of the lightning bolt had burned her.

“I’m all right,” she insisted.  “I can fight.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the gnome said.  “But we’ll need everyone at full strength for what’s to come.”  She nodded, and he touched the wand to her chest, uttering the command that released a flow of positive energy into her battered body.

“I’ll distribute these arrows,” Benzan said, reaching for the bundle at Gaera’s feet.  But the dwarf took his arm, forestalling him. 

“Is something wrong?  I thought these would penetrate the sorcerer’s defenses.”

“No,” she said.  “I mean, yes, share them, but you must not use them all in the coming confrontation.  This spell… it is a special grace, a gift from my god.  I intended it for use against the demon.  The spell enhances fifty arrows, but use them sparingly, and be certain to save some for the final battle.”

“How long will the enchantment last?” Cal asked her.

“Six—no, seven hours,” she replied.  “By then, it must be done.”

Benzan nodded, and he took up the arrows, slipping a handful into his own quiver and handing others to Jerral and Lok.  “I’ll see to the rest, and let Dana know what we’re doing,” he said, starting down the line.  

Cal helped Gaera make her way back to the trail, and the dwarf nodded at him gratefully before starting off.  Cal turned back to see Jerral standing there, watching him. 

“I don’t know if you counted, but there’s thirty-one left, including that sorcerer,” she said.

“I know.  But we’ve got to do what we can, right?”

She looked at him intently for a moment.  Finally, she said, “If we get out of this, I’d like to try you at poker.”

“Waterdeep rules?”  

She nodded.  “All right then, it’s a date,” he said.

He turned to see that their column had all passed onto the trail, save for Benzan and Dana, who were engaged in a quiet exchange as they brought up the rear.  The tiefling looked up as the pair reached them.  

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Jerral said.  Shifting her attention to Dana, she said, “Why don’t you and Cal join the others.  Benzan and I will bring up the rear, and see if maybe we can’t slow those ogres down a little bit.”

“Be careful,” Cal cautioned.  “Those ogres are fast, don’t forget.”

Dana smiled, but it was clear that it was forced.  “We always tell him that he worries too much,” she said to Jerral as she started down the trail.  When she looked back at the two rogues, however, her face was serious.  “Be careful,” she said to them.  For a moment, as her eyes lingered on Benzan, she looked as though she wanted to say something more, but then she turned and joined Cal in hurrying after the others.  

Jerral turned to Benzan, who was watching the young woman’s departing form.  “Ready?”

Benzan shifted his attention back to the ranger.  “Yeah.  Let’s see if we can’t leave a few surprises for those bastards.”


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 5, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *
> 
> 
> “Be careful,” she said to them.  For a moment, as her eyes lingered on Benzan, she looked as though she wanted to say something more, but then she turned and joined Cal in hurrying after the others.
> *




Wow.  That was a long concern period for Delem.  What was that, 20-30 minutes?    Damnit, I miss Delem.  Hopefully he'll learn a few things from the Beast while he's a captive.  Maybe he'll realize he needs to stop being such a weak willed pansy, and needs to start planning how to conquer the Realms!   

He does worship Kossuth... maybe he could take over the Red Wizards, heh.


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## wolff96 (Jun 5, 2002)

Wow. 

Just had to post.  Piratecat, Wulf, and Sagiro are all on hiatus lately, so I started reading your story after it was recommended to me. 

I read through the entire compilation and have since caught up to the current place in the Fourth Book.

You have an EXCELLENT story going here, and a real gift for making the fight scenes seem alive. Just wanted to add my 2 cents... I love your story hour! I'm going to have to add it to the ones I check on a regular basis now...  

Edit: Now that the Rogue's Gallery is MIA, is there someplace we can take a look at the stats of the various characters?


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## Lazybones (Jun 5, 2002)

Thanks wolff, and welcome aboard!  I generally update weekday mornings around 8 am PST.  

The Rogues' Gallery is still around, just buried under "Bits and Pieces."   Here's a link to my thread: http://test.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=658.  Hmm... maybe I'll add a link in my sig as well.


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## CoopersPale (Jun 6, 2002)

Hi,

I'm amazed that you can continue to make a daily post lazybones!!

That is some awesome level of motivation you have there - especially when you're producing quality like this!

Anyone else think that there's something going on between Jerral and Benzan?

Throw in a bit of Delem and Dana, and we've got some love triangle/love quadrilateral action happening....

Love your work


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## Lazybones (Jun 6, 2002)

Thanks Bludgeon!  You can thank a boring, boring job for my high volume of production lately... the short writing breaks and visits to ENWorld that I sneak in during the day are the only thing keeping me awake through the more mundane tasks, I think...

The funny thing is, the last time I was unemployed (briefly), I had all this time to write but I could never motivate myself to do so.  Ah, well.  

Anyway, here's the next post...

* * * * * 


Book IV, Part 30

Time crept slowly onward as the companions and their allies fled down the trail, each of them all too aware that each minute brought their ogre pursuers closer.  That thought added speed to their steps, but as they pressed on the inevitable hand of weariness and stress began to take its toll.  The former prisoners, in particular, rapidly exhausted the energy boost born of desperation and fear, and soon their pace had slowed to a crawl despite the repeated urgings of Cal and Dana.  

At one point a startled cry erupted back down the trail behind them, its source out of sight but not sounding very far distant.  Dana and Cal shared a look, and the mystic wanderer had even taken a reflexive step backward before Cal forestalled her.

“He knows how to take care of himself,” he assured her.  “We have to keep moving.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, helping a pair of dwarves who were leaning heavily on each other, moving forward through will alone.  

* * * * * 

The formation that the dwarves called Knuckle Ridge rose up like a long dagger across their path, its uneven length broken by knobs of massive, weather-smoothed stone.  It did sort of look like the back of a clenched fist, Cal thought, as he regarded the area ahead.  

He immediately saw what Gaera had meant when she’d said that this place was their best bet for a defense against the ogres.  From where he was standing, on a low crest a bowshot away from the ridge, the trail ran down to a narrow natural bridge that fell away to each side to a drop of at least a hundred feet.  That treacherous path reached the ridge and ran up into a steeply sloping culvert perhaps ten paces wide at its base; this route offered the only convenient access to the summit of the ridge perhaps thirty feet above the level of the trail below.  Other than that crevice, the only way up to the ridge was to scale the crumbling, thirty-foot cliffs to either side; not an easy task even when the way was not defended.  

Lok had already started leading their ragtag company across the narrow path toward the ridge.  As Cal turned, however, he saw that Dana had paused behind him, and he immediately divined her intent in lingering.

“Dana…”

“I’m going back for Benzan and Jerral,” she said.  “Don’t try to stop me.”

Cal opened his mouth to reply, but as if on cue, Benzan appeared around a bend of the trail about a hundred feet back of their current position, Jerral running just a few steps behind.  Dana hailed him with a wave, but as soon as he spotted them, Benzan shouted a warning.

“Go!  They’re right behind us!”

Cal grabbed Dana’s arm, but the woman was already moving, turning and leaping down to the path that ran across the narrow spit of stone between them and the ridgeline.  Cal followed, his short legs causing him to rapidly fall behind the woman as she started across the gap.  Anticipation of battle took the edge of his earlier exhaustion, and he saw that Lok had already reached the cleft, and that he and Nanoc were already helping the tired dwarves ascend to the crest.  

The gnome heard footsteps behind him, and then Benzan was there, helping him along.  “We’ve got to teach you that spell Dana has, that helps you move faster,” he said chidingly, but Cal saw that he kept glancing back along the length of the trail behind them.  

“I thought you were going to slow them down,” Cal replied, huffing a little as he ran. 

“Yeah, well, we tried.  Got one with a deadfall trap, but I don’t think that the others are going to slow down for anything short of death.”

“I thought as much,” Cal said.  Their conversation ended there, as he had to dedicate all of his energy to running toward the narrow gap in the cliffs ahead.  He schooled himself not to look to the side of the pathway.  The way was sound enough, as the bridge was a good six paces across even at its narrowest point, but beyond that edge it was a long way down.  

He saw that Lok was waiting for them, standing at the base of the ramp with his shield and axe slung and his longbow in his hands.  Most of the dwarves had reached the top of the cleft, and Cal could see Gaera directing them to defensive positions in preparation for the inevitable assault.  

Cal had just reached the base of the ramp, Jerral and Benzan right on his heels, when he heard the shouts from above and the bellowing cry from behind.  

He turned to see the first of the ogres emerging from amidst the boulders flanking the trail on the far side of the bridge.  Then his eyes narrowed as he marked Soroth amidst the first rank of warriors, holding aloft his longspear and roaring a command to his forces.  The half-fiend pointed the spear toward them, and even across the distance Cal could sense the marshalling of magical power.  

“Go!” Benzan shouted, pushing Cal ahead up the ramp even as he drew one of Gaera’s magically enhanced arrows from his quiver and fitted it to his bowstring.  Beside him, Lok and Jerral were doing the same.  

But the half-ogre sorcerer was faster, and before they could fire he spoke a word of dread magic and a jagged bolt of lightning erupted from his hand, traveling up the length of the spear before it lanced out toward them.  Benzan nudged Jerral and the two tumbled out of the way of the stroke, barely avoiding the force of the blast.

Lok, however, was not so fortunate.  The electrical energy of the bolt slammed hard into his chest, driving him back against the wall of the cliff.  A few feet back, Cal also felt the effects of the blast, although he was spared the full force that Lok had absorbed.  Even so, he felt his skin tingle with sharp pain as the energy tore rapidly through him, and he could smell the acrid tinge of ozone mixed with burned flesh as the last flickering vestiges of electrical energy from the bolt drained away into the ground.  

The defenders atop the ridge had already opened fire, and bolts and arrows started falling amidst the leading ranks of ogres.  As before, most fell wide or stuck in the ogres’ hide armor, but several struck flesh and stuck, adding another tally to the list of wounds suffered by the ogre barbarians.  Several targeted Soroth, but even though the missiles seemed true, at the last moment they glanced aside as if hitting an invisible barrier. 

Soroth’s defenses were still in place, it seemed. 

But Benzan and Jerral, having avoided the lightning bolt, were already on their feet again and drawing their bows.  Benzan shot first, his magically enhanced arrow knifing through the air, its power enabling it to slice through Soroth’s shields like a hot knife through butter.  The arrow lodged in the sorcerer’s leg, drawing a cry of pain and surprise.  It felt more of both an instant later as Jerral’s arrow joined Benzan’s, sticking the ogre in the arm.  

Fury blazing in its eyes, the half-fiend yelled another command, and a wave of ogres descended upon the trail, bellowing a cry of attack at the top of their lungs as they rushed the defensive redoubt of the companions in the beginnings of an all-out assault.  Arrows from above lanced into them from above, but the ogres, consumed now by the rage of battle, seemed unstoppable.  Several took multiple hits, but seemed unfazed by wounds that should have dropped an ordinary creature.

Benzan, Jerral, and Lok retreated up the ramp, firing their bows as they gave ground.  Benzan fired again at Soroth, but the sorcerer had retreated back within the cover of the boulders and his shot missed.  He knew that they hadn’t heard the last out of him, however, and he fervently hoped that the ogre didn’t have too many of those lightning bolts left to toss around.  

For the moment, however, his attention was drawn to the nearly thirty ogres bearing down on them.  

_Boy, we could really use Delem right about now,_ the tiefling thought to himself.  On the narrow bridge, the ogres would have no room to dodge their sorcerer’s fiery blasts.  They would just have to make do with what they had, Benzan thought, angrily pushing the thought aside as he drew and fired again.  The arrow slammed into the throat of an already-wounded ogre, staggering it.  The ogre’s momentum carried it forward, but it lost its footing and plummeted over the edge into the open air beyond.  In an instant it had vanished from sight.  

Twenty-eight left to go.

The lead ogre had reached the mid-point of the bridge, and as it and its fellows drew nearer the defenders’ shots finally began to take some effect.  A second ogre went down, its chest riddled with arrows, and as the one behind it stepped over the body it too fell, an arrow from Lok’s mighty bow stuck through its eye.  The others came on without hesitation, however, leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades without concern.  

Cal reached the top of the ramp, and he moved quickly to the side to where he could get a vantage over the approaches below.  His own magic had been of no use in the battle with the demon, but now he had a few surprises left for the ogres who would soon be on their position.  

Benzan and Jerral reached the top of the cleft as well, continuing their barrage upon the charging ogres.  Lok, bringing up the rear, turned and stood blocking the last few steps to the top of the ramp, holding the gap even as he continued to fire arrows down at the attacking horde.  

Then a trio of glowing blue bolts streaked across the gap and slammed into the genasi, each successive impact driving Lok just a little bit back.  Lok grunted in pain, but took the hits, and he did not retreat from his position as he tossed his bow aside and unslung his axe and shield.

“There, in the rocks,” Jerral said.

“I see him,” Benzan muttered darkly.  He’d already marked the position where the enemy sorcerer had hidden, given him a clear line of fire of the battlefield for his spells while leaving him well protected against the archery of the defenders.  

Benzan took a deep breath and forced himself to ignore the charge of the ogres as they swept up toward the ramp.  They would be on them in moments, now, but he had to trust his allies to keep the rush at bay, at least for a few moments.  That sorcerer was Benzan’s target, and he knew that he had to neutralize the threat before his magic could pick them apart.

The tiefling sank into his own magic, calling upon a simple spell.  His talents were little more than those of an apprentice, but he’d learned how to integrate them into his own considerable skills.  He felt the noise of the battlefield fall away, and saw his target—only his target—as he spoke the words of the spell.  

And then, as it had before, he saw the ogre leap into clear focus, Soroth’s face framed in a crack between two boulders, seemingly close enough to reach out and touch.  

But before he could fire, the ogre pointed again, and another bolt of liquid electricity arced toward them.  

Lok hefted his shield and axe, waiting for the first ogre to make it up the ramp.  The ogres were ignoring missile fire this time, going for an all-out charge.  One ogre made it halfway up the slope before stumbling, a half-dozen arrows stuck in its hide shirt and limbs.  It tried to get up again but never made it, as another pair of arrows shot down and stuck in its neck and shoulder.  The ogre fell and rolled down the slope, knocking one of its comrades sprawling.  

The others, however, came on.


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## Lazybones (Jun 7, 2002)

Book IV, Part 31

Dana leapt down into the cleft, coming up behind Lok and touching him lightly on the shoulder.  Healing energy flowed from the young woman into the genasi, easing some of the hurts he’d taken from the force of the sorcerer’s lightning bolt and magic missiles.  The task done, Dana retreated to the top of the slope and loaded her crossbow.  All of her useful spells were cast; all she could do now was add her force to the ongoing barrage.  

On the other side of Lok, the Uthgardt barbarian, Nanoc, also leapt down onto the ramp, an orc shortbow in his hands.  At point blank range he fired a shot that sank to the feathers in an ogre’s chest, deflating the massive brute.  Even as it fell, though, the others rushed up the ramp, heedless of losses or injuries.

The barbarian unslung a mighty waraxe from across his back, looked at Lok, and smiled.

Benzan gritted his teeth as yet another lightning bolt blasted into the ridge.  He saw a dwarf crouched a few feet away flung into the air, his face a blasted mess.  Tendrils of energy erupted from the point of impact and sought him out, stabbing into his leg and arm, but he fought through the pain, ignored everything but his target.  

He drew and released.  For a moment the arrow hung in his vision, traveling in slow motion across the distance that separated him and the ogre sorcerer.

A few feet away, Jerral had narrowly missed being caught by the blast.  She too had targeted the sorcerer, and like Benzan, she too had called upon a special power to make this shot, of all the arrows she’d fired today, count.  

The rangers of the North called it “hunter’s mercy,” a state of concentration so intense that it allowed the archer to fight through all distractions and strike a killing blow.  She’d felt it only once before, on a long all-day hunt where she and Seth—the memory brought a pang of pain that he had to crush mercilessly to continue—had tracked a rogue worg that had wandered down out of the mountains and was stalking the game trails of her forest.  She’d finally caught a glimpse of the creature, through a maze of tree trunks, momentarily unaware of her presence.  The creature had been instead fixed on Seth, who was approaching from the other direction, unaware of his danger.  Before she could think she had drawn, aimed, and fired, all with a purity of intent and motion that had ended with her arrow lodged into the wolf’s throat, slain.

Seth had been so impressed with her, and that night they as they had lain together, he had told her so, among other things…

Jerral was suddenly aware that she was crying, and that her arrow had already flown, fired without conscious volition from her bow.  She realized that she felt pain in her side, that another lightning bolt had struck nearby without her even realizing it. 

Benzan’s arrow was the first to strike.  While it missed the sorcerer’s eye that he’s been aiming for, the magically empowered arrow hit the half-fiend’s head just an inch higher, tearing a jagged slash in its forehead as the arrow glanced off of the thick bone underneath and spun away into the rocks.  Soroth cried out and lurched backward, clutching at the wound as blood flowed down into his eyes.  The motion lifted him out of the relative safety of his shelter amidst the rocks, and provided an opening for Jerral’s arrow just a few heartbeats later, which sank to the feathers into the sorcerer’s chest.  Soroth wiped his eyes clear and looked down at the wound in surprise, barely feeling any pain at all even as his heart pumped a river of blood out through the hole that the arrow had torn in the organ.  

Almost in disbelief, the ogre sorcerer took a few tentative steps forward, before lurching to the side and tumbling off of the cliff into oblivion.  

Even as their leader fell, however, the other ogres had rushed blindly into the cleft toward the line of defenders, lost to the rage of battle.  For a moment, the charge had faltered as several of the leading ogres fell to the arrows and bolts of the defenders, but then a massive brute, bearing a huge double-bladed waraxe, broke free of the pack and swept up the ramp with a cry of violence and fury.  An arrow jutted from its neck, and another pair were stuck deeply in its fur jerkin, but none seemed to hinder the creature as it tore in at the pair of warriors holding the summit of the cleft.  Lok held his ground until the last instant, dodging just in time to deflect the powerful overhand strike from the ogre with his shield.  He and Nanoc met the ogre with a combined attack.  As the barbarian lunged within its reach the ogre responded with an almost casual backswing that sliced deeply into the Uthgardt warrior’s shoulder.  Seriously wounded, Nanoc refused to give ground, bringing his own axe around in a powerful arc that tore mightily into the ogre’s torso.  The ogre grunted in pain but held its position, bringing its axe up to finish this human warrior for good. 

But then Lok was there, his own axe coming in from the opposite side.  Unable to reach as high as the tall barbarian, he went low, his frost-rimmed blade savaging the ogre’s knee joint with the full force of the genasi’s strength behind it.  The ogre stepped reflexively back, and when it put its weight on the crippled limb it buckled, shouting out in defiance as it fell with a loud crash on its side, skittering several yards on the loose rocks of the slope in a chaotic jumble.  

A tight knot of ogres had taken advantage of the attack to push forward, however, and as they swarmed around and over it seemed as though the stalwart pair of defenders would be overwhelmed by their surging rush.  Cal had not been idle during the exchange, however.  Even as the first ogre fell to Nanoc and Lok’s attacks, the gnome looked down over the edge of the cleft and cast a spell.  At his summons sticky strands of magical webbing burst into being, filling the space between the narrow walls and engulfing the tight mass of ogre attackers crowded within.  The ogres were incredibly strong, their already considerable prowess enhanced by their rage, but in the confined space there was nowhere to go to escape the clinging webs.

Still, they tried.  The foremost pair, only a few giant-sized paces from the summit, reached down and tore free from the webbing that clung to their legs and ankles.  When they looked up, however, they saw death waiting for them above.  When the webs had appeared, Nanoc had been poised to charge into them, to bring the fight to the trapped ogres.  Lok, however, realizing that such a move would only ensnare them as well, grabbed the barbarian on the arm, holding him back.  

“Let them come to us, lad,” he suggested, reaching down to recover his bow.  The barbarian, already hovering on the edge of battle rage himself, looked at the genasi for a moment with anger in his eyes, then realization set in and he nodded, bending to recover his own bow.  

So when the lead pair of ogres tore free, it was only to feel the sting of arrows fired point-blank into their thick hides.  Lok fired, hit, reloaded, and fired again.  While he lacked Benzan’s talent with the bow, the heavy pull of his weapon allowed him to impart incredible power to his shots, and with his second hit the first ogre crumpled in a bloody heap.  Beside him, Nanoc fired several shots as well, and while they lacked the power of Lok’s arrows the second ogre was soon bleeding from new hurts as well.  Several of the dwarves had crept to the edge of the cleft and were now adding their own missiles to the barrage against the hapless defenders.  Some had run out of arrows but used heavy rocks instead, hurling their crude but deadly stone missiles onto the heads of the ogres fighting free of the dense webbing.  

For several moments longer the ogres pressed on into the grinder, ignoring their wounds and their terrible losses at the hands of the defenders.  Three more actually reached the summit, pushing through the webs via brute force and launching attacks at Lok and Nanoc.  The pair recovered their melee weapons and held their line even as more arrows and bolts tore into them from the flanks.  Nanoc took a solid blow that knocked him sprawling, and even Lok was staggered by a bruising smack from a two-handed war club.  Even as the ogres sought to press their momentary advantage, however, Benzan and Jerral leapt into the melee, tearing into the ogres from behind.  Benzan thrust his sword to the hilt into one ogre’s side, dropping it, while on the opposite flank Jerral slashed her axes through another ogre’s hamstrings, crippling it.  Lok finished the last one with a pair of devastating blows from his axe, toppling the ogre onto the still-thrashing bodies of its companions. 

And with that, it was over.  With that final violent surge the remaining ogres realized the looming outcome of the fray, the grim specter of impending death finally penetrating the haze of their battle rage.  Those in the rear of the rush were the first to break, realizing that their fellows were being slaughtered, and that their leader had been slain behind them.  The dozen that had not made it into the area of effect of the web fell back, most already sporting several arrow wounds, and as their fellows died their withdrawal became an out and out retreat.    

As they moved back across the bridge several more fell, struck down by the continued harassing fire from atop the ridge.  Benzan and Jerral recovered their bows, and with their deadly accuracy added once again the retreat became a rout.  Six ogres made it across the ridge and back into the relative shelter of the boulders, as last arrow from Benzan’s bow chasing them as they vanished around a bend in the trail out of sight.  

The companions looked around them in amazement.  The cleft was crowded with the stinking bodies of nearly a score of ogres, and that was in addition to those who had fallen on the bridge or tumbled away over the cliffs.  Several of the bloody forms still entrapped in the webs moved weakly as their lifeblood seeped from their many wounds, and these the defenders put down without mercy or hesitation.  The dwarves and other captives had suffered too much at their hands for such considerations as fair play to take hold in these circumstances.  

Of the defenders, only a handful had been killed—one dwarf slain by a lightning bolt, and a second who’d stepped to close to the edge of the cleft and was run through by an ogre spear from below.  Nanoc and some of the others had been seriously injured, but all recovered quickly at the touch of Cal’s wand of healing.  

“I can’t believe it,” Benzan was saying.  “We defeated so many, and it wasn’t even close…”

“We were lucky,” Cal admitted.  “We drew them into a confrontation on ground of our choosing, and they were too stupid to realize that they were charging into their doom.  Fortunate, too, that you and Jerral were able to take out that wizard of theirs.”

Benzan glanced over at the woman ranger, who was already moving amidst the bodies, checking to make sure that all were dead.  The look she wore gave him a shiver—it was a cold look, a look that seemed almost as dead as the creatures they had just slain.  Benzan looked down at his tunic, which was soaked red in the blood of the ogre he had run through, and he wondered how he looked to the others around them.  For a moment he considered getting a clean shirt from Lok’s bag of holding, but then he decided to just leave it. 

There would likely be more blood to come, he thought grimly. 

Gaera sought them out then, her own face creased by the heavy weight of responsibility.  “We must move on,” she said, although her expression betrayed her own exhaustion.  “It will be dark soon, and the enchantment upon the arrows…”

She didn’t finish—didn’t have to, for each of them knew that despite this victory, one final confrontation awaited them.

* * * * * 

Editorial note: _Hunter's Mercy_ is a ranger spell from _Magic of Faerun_.  It basically lets you score an automatic critical threat with your next shot.


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## Rugger (Jun 7, 2002)

Damn cool. As usual, LB 

It's interesting to see how the combat's are becoming less and less "glamorous", and the party is beginning to see the death and destruction that come with the violence. And the many near-death experiences, too!

Keep up the great work!

-Rugger
"I Lurk!"


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 7, 2002)

Nanoc needs some Barbarian lessons.  He lets a pitiful Genasi outfight him?!  Oh well, guess we can't expect the level of power and skill you see from the great Barbarians, like the original, Conan.  Heh.  

I'm telling you, Lazybones, if you're going to throw that little wink in there, you better show some respect and make Nanoc a damned powerful warrior!    Actually, it would be great if the party took a new NPC in.  I really like Barbarians.


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## Horacio (Jun 7, 2002)

I think you must know that Lazybones' NPCs live less than a Star Trek's red shirt, so maybe you really don't want Nanoc as a PC .D


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## Lazybones (Jun 7, 2002)

Horacio said:
			
		

> *I think you must know that Lazybones' NPCs live less than a Star Trek's red shirt, so maybe you really don't want Nanoc as a PC .D *




Oh, come on, Horacio.  Just because Corus & Jolan, Telwarden, Horath, Varrus, Maric, Ruath, and virtually the entire crew of the _Raindancer_ died, doesn't mean that Nanoc, Jerral, and Gaera will follow!  

Hmm... on the other hand, with the climactic confrontation with the demon coming up, maybe you'd better not get too attached to all of them...

MoH: heh, I'm glad someone caught the Nanoc-Conan reference (not too subtle, eh?).  Yep, I love those old REH characters (every five years ago I dust off my old Conan series, the one that came out in 12 books, and just dive right back in).  

Rugger: thanks!  With the higher levels of the characters, their ability to create carnage increases as well.  I think it's unrealistic for "good" PCs to just shrug off such destruction lightly, even if it's in a worthy cause.  

I was going to leave you this Friday afternoon with one more update, but since I've got a busy weekend ahead and I wanted to leave you with a proper cliffhanger, I've decided to go ahead and post TWO chapters, with the finale of book IV to come on Monday.  Parts 32 and 33 aren't that long, but they set the stage for what's to come, enjoy!

* * * * * 

Book IV, Part 32

The companions and their allies hurriedly gathered up their gear and prepared to depart the scene of their most recent clash with the demon’s ogre forces.  There was a slight delay as Benzan crossed the bridge to the site where the half-fiend sorcerer had plummeted to his death.  Using the power of his sword, the tiefling levitated down to where Soroth’s broken body lay wedged amidst the rocks below.  A quick search turned up some jeweled trinkets and some coins, all of which found their way into his purse, and what he’d really been looking for: the sorcerer’s longspear.  He’d noticed something unusual about the weapon in the way that it gleamed even in the poor light, and when he finally found the weapon, intact despite the long fall, his suspicions were confirmed.  The weapon was clearly of exceptional quality, and when he grasped it, he felt a tingle pass through his arm as electrical sparks danced along the length of the long steel blade at its tip.  

Returning to his companions, they elected to give the magical spear to Nanoc for the moment.  The barbarian had acquitted himself bravely against the ogres, and they knew that they would need every bit of strength they could muster to have a chance against the demon.

Their wounds were fully healed by Cal’s wand, although the device was depleted of magical strength by the time that the last injured member of their company was treated.  Dana still had some charges left in her wand, but they knew that they could not afford more delays that would wear them down and tax their resources.  And none of them believed that the demon would wait idly and allow them to rest and recover their strength.  

No, it was time to finish it, one way or the other.  

They followed the mountain trail beyond Knuckle Ridge, fully aware that the light of the day was deepening further into twilight with each bend and twist of the path.  The dwarves had no trouble navigating in the bad light, but those without darkvision had to be increasingly led as they stumbled into protruding rocks and wavered toward crumbling edges that dropped out over dark precipices.  All of them were beyond exhaustion by now, continuing only through numb will, placing one foot ahead of the other in a seemingly unending sequence.  Despite the risk of more patrols Cal began a marching song, a low-pitched tune with a steady beat that soon had them moving in cadence with the lyrics that he made up as they went.  

A scant half-hour that had seemed far longer passed before they came to a fork in the trail.  To the left the path led down into a wide gorge whose bottom was shrouded in shadow.  To the right, the path led up the shoulder of a looming mountain, its faces covered in white snow.  There the group paused, and a parting of ways presented itself.   

“The mountain is Tor Drothgal, the Throne of the Gods,” Gaera told them.  “There are hidden paths and dark places beneath its bulk, places where few can hide from many.  I will take my people there, and the others, and there we will await word of your fate.”

The companions nodded in response.  While numbers had aided them thus far, bringing the weakened and malnourished former prisoners into Caer Dulthain to confront the demon would only be akin to murder.  Those unfortunates had already fought for their freedom against Soroth and his ogre horde; now the battle against the Beast lay in the hands of others.  

“Good luck to you,” Cal said, clasping the dwarf cleric’s hand.  She nodded and regarded him with an intent look. 

“And to you,” she said. 	

Nanoc stepped forward, clutching his new spear.  “I will go with you,” he said, his eyes blazing with a single-minded determination.  

Lok clapped the man solidly on the shoulder—and he had to reach to do that.  “Your strength is welcome,” he told the barbarian.  “Together we’ll give that demon something to worry about.”

Gaera nodded.  “There is one other I can send with you,” she said, gesturing behind her.  A short, stocky dwarf stepped forward at her bidding, his face all but lost in a veritable forest of thick, disheveled beard.  Dark, beady eyes regarded them from under furry brows.  He wore a dirty cuirass of boiled leather that still bore bloodstains from its original orc owner, and a pair of hand axes jutted from his belt within easy reach.

“This is Gornik,” Gaera said by way of introduction.  “He’s a delver, and he has volunteered to guide you into Caer Dulthain.”

“A delver?” Dana asked.

The dwarf spat noisily.  “That’s a fancy name—most calls us tunnel rats,” he said.  “We’re the ones that know how to walk the dark ways, and know all the hidden corners.”

“You know the danger, that we’re going in to challenge the demon?” Cal asked.

“Yeah,” the dwarf said.  “I’ll get yer in there, and yer’ll worry about slayin’ the thing.”

The gnome nodded, and the dwarven delver moved to join their side of the group while they made their final farewells to Gaera.

“Remember, strike quickly!” she urged them at the last.  “The demon’s magic is powerful, even more deadly than its physical might.  Don’t give it the time to pick apart your defenses, for it will find your weaknesses—and exploit them.”

“We know,” Benzan said.  “Don’t worry, we’ll finish it.”  With the last statement his glance shifted briefly to Dana, but the cleric-monk looked troubled, and her attention was fixed out into the darkness beyond them.

With that the two groups parted, and while Gaera led the former prisoners up along the trail to Tor Drothgal, the company of seven started down the winding path into the gorge that led to Caer Dulthain.  



(part 33 to immediately follow)


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## Lazybones (Jun 7, 2002)

Book IV, Part 33

Within a hundred paces the narrow, twisting path had descended so fully into shadow that those with darkvision had to physically guide the others.  Unwilling to risk a light, they huddled closely together and continued down the steep slope.  

As they made their way deeper into the gorge a thick, cloying mist rose up from below to meet them, and they could hear the sound of falling water from somewhere below. 

“I’m surprised that everything isn’t frozen over,” Cal commented softly as they continued their descent.

“There is heat trapped in the ground, here, beneath the rocks,” Lok explained.  “It’s one of the main reasons that the dwarves located their town here, back in the days of Delzoun.”

“It’s an impressive land,” Benzan said.  “Too bad we’ve been doing nothing but fight since we’ve gotten here.”

“The North is a place of stark, pristine beauty,” Jerral said, her tone slightly wistful.  “It can also be harsh, though,” she added in an undertone.  Benzan glanced over at her, able to clearly read the sadness in her expression even in the darkness, but he did not press her.  

Their guide paused at a broad landing where the trail turned back in upon itself and then sank further down into the gorge.  Instead of heading for that route, however, the dwarf crept silently to the back of the ledge, where a thick stone overhang sheltered a shallow alcove in the cliff face.  The dwarf slipped into the alcove, which to all appearances looked like a dead end.  

Gornik slipped along the blank rock face at the rear of the alcove, pressing his fingers briefly at several locations into tiny crevices in the stone.  As he finished, those with darkvision could see a thin crack appear in the stone, a crack that widened until a narrow doorway stood gaping into pure blackness ahead of them.  

Gornik peered into the darkness, then turned and gestured for the others to follow.  Benzan and Lok helped the others, and soon the entire company had disappeared into the darkness beyond the portal.  They could hear the sound of the secret door grating shut behind them, and then they were enveloped in silent darkness. 

“We’re going to need some light,” Cal said.  He drew his shortsword, its pale light casting a blue glow on the faces of his companions.  That illumination wasn’t enough for the humans to see by, however, so he cast a quick cantrip that conjured a magical source of light.  He put the light onto a coin and handed it to Dana, and thus equipped they moved into the dwarven town of Caer Dulthain.

The area immediately beyond the secret door was a guardpost, with narrow horizontal slits in the walls to either side to allow defenders in the spaces beyond to target intruders that forced their way through the portal.  A corridor ran deeper into the mountain, its walls smoothed by the expert hands of dwarven tunnelers.  Everything around them was quiet, the silence an almost tangible feeling in the air around them.  Even the sounds of their footfalls on the stone seemed preternaturally loud as they started down the corridor, Gornik warily leading them at the very edge of their light.  

The corridor slanted slighty downward but provided no difficulties for them after the arduous climbs along the mountains trails earlier.  They passed by several side chambers that had the look of storerooms, most of which were now empty save for some old, rotted barrels and some careless litter.  

After traveling perhaps a hundred paces down the straight length of the corridor, Cal’s light indicated an intersection ahead of them.  The passage split, one fork leading to their left and the other to their right.  Gornik crept up and looked down both passages, then turned to face them.  

“Left leads up to the main cavern, where the dwelling places of the town are located,” the dwarf said, his voice deliberately low so that they had to strain to hear him.  “The right fork leads down to the deep halls, not much down there save some old mines and natural caverns.”

“Well, which way should we check first?” Jerral asked.

“Maybe I can help,” Dana said.  She stepped forward until she was standing at the intersection of the two corridors, then closed her eyes.  She spoke the words of a spell, calling upon the power of Selûne.  Then she turned, slowly, until she was facing toward the right passage. 

“That way,” she said, pointing down the darkened length of the corridor.   

“Did you sense Delem?” Cal asked, as Gornik led them down the right passage.  

“The spell can’t find people, but I fixed it on his ring,” she said.  

“How far does it work?” Cal asked.

“Roughly six hundred feet.”

“We’re close, then,” Benzan said, checking his weapons.  

The corridor continued for a short distance before it turned slightly to the right, the slope in the floor deepening as the passage became a long, curving ramp.  Following the contour of the passage, they traveled in a full circle down the length of the slope, until the ramp gave way once again to a more or less level passage that ran straight on ahead.  

Dana had moved forward, her steps growingly slightly faster with each minute until she was nearly walking on Gornik’s heels.

“Careful, Dana,” Cal cautioned.  

“The spell only lasts a few minutes,” she explained.  “If we delay, we won’t be able to find him again.”

“If we rush into a trap, we won’t be of any good to him either,” Cal insisted.  Dana’s look showed her frustration, but she allowed Gornik to take the lead again, the veteran tunneler checking the walls, ceiling, and floor of the passage with each step he took.  

A minute later they came to another intersection, this one presenting them with three choices.  Each appeared identical, although as they stood there the faintest hint of an odor, a dank, musty smell, could be detected from the passage to their right.  

“Which way, Dana?” Cal asked.  

The mystic wanderer screwed her face up in a moment of intense concentration, but the look of disappointment that followed betrayed the outcome of her search.  “I’ve lost it,” Dana replied, “but before it faded, the spell was pointing generally in that direction.”  She indicated the right-most passage.

“The old cistern,” Gornik said.  “Hardly used ever since they ran a main up to the town proper.”

They started down that passage.  “This is too easy,” Jerral said.  “I don’t like it—why haven’t there been any guards?”

“Maybe the demon doesn’t know about the secret exit,” Benzan said.  “Maybe they’re up in the town above, or guarding the main entrance.  Maybe the demon’s waiting to spring them on us all at once.  Maybe we’ve killed them all.  Whatever, it doesn’t matter, we’re committed.”

“I wasn’t disputing that,” Jerral said testily, her tension bringing an edge to her tone. 

“Quiet, all,” Cal said softly, defusing the growing tension with the calm quiet of his voice.  “There’s a room up ahead.”

The light soon illuminated what Cal’s sharp eyes had discerned, a small square room with a domed ceiling.  The floor, set with cracked stone tiles, was clearly old, and a pair of long stone tables against the wall to their left were dusty and cluttered with broken wooden pails and layered cobwebs.  Another passage continued in the center of the opposite wall.  

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here recently,” Jerral said, examining the tables.  

“Remember, the demon can teleport itself,” Cal reminded her.

As there was nothing of interest apparent here, they crossed to the far passage and continued on.  The passage rapidly gave way to a broad stone staircase that descended steeply yet further into the earth.  The companions started down, and as they progressed they could hear their footfalls echo slightly from ahead, as though the sounds of their movements was filling a larger space up ahead.  Each of them tried to be quiet, with varying degrees of success, but it was as if the entire world around them was silent and empty, with themselves the only living things to shatter the quietude.   

They emerged at the end of the stairs in a circular room, roughly ten paces across.  The floors and the lower half of the walls were tiled with the same crumbling stone they’d seen above, and the ceiling was again a vaulted dome reinforced by a ring of thick buttresses.  To their left an old, rusty apparatus jutted from the wall, apparently a pump of some sort.  A great stone basin stood beneath it, its interior filled with cobwebs.  The center of the room contained a narrow shaft in the floor, perhaps three feet across, with an old bucket still attached to a length of frayed rope beside it.  An open doorway in the far wall revealed another staircase that descended sharply to the left. 

The musty smell was stronger here, and as they entered the room they could smell another odor wafting up from the shaft, an unpleasant air of decay that twisted their nostrils and caused their stomachs to roil in protest.  The place was quiet, though, and after a brief search they crossed to the stairs and started down yet again.  

“I wonder how far underground we are,” Benzan whispered.  

“Far,” Lok said, his armor making a slight clanking sound with every step the genasi took.  

The stair wound down in another tight spiral, and after several twists they could see another opening ahead, a wide stone arch.  As they neared the landing at the bottom of the stairs, they could see watermarks on the stone walls, discolorations that indicated that this entire area had once been submerged.  

Beyond the arch the opened a large empty space, a chamber that seemed filled with darkness.  The sounds they made echoed back to them from deep within the place, indicating that its size extended well beyond the limits of their light sources.  The place had once been, as Gornik had indicated, a huge cistern, the main water storage for Caer Dulthain.  

The smell was stronger now, an almost overpowering odor of corruption that hung in the air like a taint.  And as their light pushed back the shadows at the edges of the chamber, they could see that the stone floor was littered with a jumbled collection of muck, foul waste, and broken white objects that each of them soon realized were shattered bones.  

The bones of dozens, if not hundreds, of creatures.  

“I really don’t like this…” Jerral whispered, as they slowly edged into the room.  

“Delem!” Dana hissed, the others turning toward her in surprise as even that sound loudly echoed through the large space.  

Behind them, Gornik hung back near the entrance, unwilling to enter this place that was so obviously tainted with an evil presence.  The companions barely heeded him, so intent they were upon the malevolent darkness.  

“I don’t see anything,” Benzan began…

Then a massive CLUMPH sounded behind them, accompanied by an impact so heavy that the floor of the cistern shook with its force.  The companions spun as one, and their faces took on a uniform stare of fear and horror as they regarded their foe.

The demon stood there, its power and presence amplified here in its chosen sanctuary.  It still bore the marks of their earlier encounter, although its wounds had closed to form ugly scars in its thick hide.  They could now see the ledge above the arch where it had hid, waiting for them, and they could just make out the smashed lump under one of its cloven hooves that had up until a moment ago been their guide, Gornik.  

A terrible sound filled their minds, the voice of pure evil.

*Welcome,* it said.


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## Talindra (Jun 7, 2002)

oooo....three posts in one day.....I feel spoiled....and at the same time tortured.  I don't want to wait until Monday!


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## Ziggy (Jun 7, 2002)

Hi Lazybones, I'm stille here.

Looking forward to the last big fight, a Ghour is a big fight for a party at medium levels. 

And another NPC bites the dust, but should have guessed that from the description:



> Gaera nodded. “There is one other I can send with you,” she said, gesturing behind her. A short, stocky dwarf stepped forward at her bidding, his face all but lost in a veritable forest of thick, disheveled beard. Dark, beady eyes regarded them from under furry brows. He wore a dirty cuirass of boiled leather that still bore bloodstains from its original orc owner, and a pair of hand axes jutted from his belt within easy reach.




...should have removed those bloodstains, a red shirt (or cuirass in this case) is sure death is this campaign 

.Ziggy


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## Horacio (Jun 7, 2002)

Wonderful cliffhqnger!
I don't want to wait until Monday!!!!


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 8, 2002)

Is anyone else having a flashback to Mortal Kombat, here?    Heh.  Great posts Lazybones.  I can't wait to see what happens.  Nanoc must smash the Beast!  The others can take care of the details.


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## Maldur (Jun 8, 2002)

AAARgh, lazybones your cliffhangers are getting worse!

NIce story, but GET ON WITH IT!!!


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## Lazybones (Jun 10, 2002)

Book IV, Part 34


Confronted by the full awesome might and fell power of the demon, the companions, this time, did not hesitate.  

Benzan, again, was the first to act, drawing and firing a magical arrow before the demon could unleash its abyssal powers upon them.  The demon was prepared for the confrontation, its cloak of dark energies surrounding its form once again a like a grim halo, but the arrow enchanted by Gaera’s divine magic lanced through its defenses and bit into its flesh, sinking into its torso.  Beside him the others lifted their bows as well, fitting their own enhanced missiles to their strings.  

The demon reared up and uttered a mighty roar, the sound of which shook the very stones of the cistern walls around them.  The roar echoed and reverberated and built in force until each of the companions felt as though their heads would explode with the sheer force of the sound.  Most of the warriors, with their grim fortitude, resisted the power of that roar, but Cal staggered and fell to the ground, stunned, and behind him, Benzan screamed and clutched at his head, dropping his bow.

To the tiefling, it seemed as though the roar was sounding directly within his brain, blasting his senses from within.  Even as the roar died away he crumpled, the world spinning around him as he fought to remain conscious.  

But even with two of them taken at least momentarily out of the fight, the companions lashed back.  Nanoc and Jerral missed with their first shots, but Lok fired an arrow that penetrated its layered defenses and stabbed deep into its thigh, drawing a roar of pain from the already enraged demon.  

The demon took a step toward them, as if to close for melee, and Lok immediately dropped his bow and unslung his axe and shield.  Before the genasi could charge, however, the demon unleashed another dark power from its bag of tricks.  A wave of warped, perverted mental energy swept over the companions, twisting their minds and clouding their thoughts.  Those with stronger mental discipline were able to hold their minds clear through force of will.

But Lok and Nanoc both succumbed to the effect of the demon’s _confusion._

Dana felt helpless, her own weapons useless against the demon’s otherworldly resistances.  Still, after witnessing the devastating effect of its first few attacks, she knew that she had to do something to aid her companions.  Most of her spells were gone, cast in the earlier battles that day or expended for healing, but even as her companions fired their bows she took a scroll from a pouch, releasing the stored divine power there as she read the words written upon the vellum.  A shimmering field of magical force appeared around her, bolstering her defenses beyond that already provided by Cal’s mage armor.  Thus protected, she rushed at the demon, hoping that she could draw its attention to her, if only for an instant. 

Her course took her past Lok, and she was completely unprepared when the genasi turned and struck at her with his axe. 

The blow tore through her defenses, catching her with a glancing blow to the shoulder that spun her roughly around.  She rolled with the force of the strike and came up into a defensive crouch, her entire side stinging with the pain of the wound.  Awareness belatedly came as she saw the vague look in Lok’s eyes, and she darted quickly back, out of the genasi’s reach.  

Meanwhile, Nanoc, also caught in the grasp of the spell, just stood there, a blank look on his face as his bow hung uselessly at his side.

Jerral realized that her companions were being pared away around her, but she kept up her attacks, firing arrow after arrow in a rapid sequence at the demon.  Its thick hide still deflected most of the arrows, but she managed a pair of hits, each drawing the demon incrementally closer toward its destruction.  The demon, however, was not standing there idly.  It charged forward, nearly trampling the _confused_ Lok as it came.  Jerral held her ground before its rush, and as she drew her last magical arrow, the ghour descended upon her.

_I’m coming, Seth,_ she whispered in her mind as the demon’s massive bulk loomed over her. 

The arrow glanced off of the demon’s skull, but not before it dug a dark black runnel in the flesh above its eye.  The demon bent its head forward nearly to the ground as it lashed into the ranger, twisting its head to and fro as it gored at her with its deadly horns and tore at her with its clawed hands.  The brave ranger tried to grab her axes and fight back, but she took several hits and as the demon snapped its head back up, it smashed her solidly in the chest and knocked her a good dozen paces back to land hard in a crumpled heap on the floor.  

She did not get up. 

 Just a few yards away, Nanoc shook his head, trying to clear it of the confusing welter of babbles and whispers that were playing loudly in his thoughts.  He saw the demon smash into Jerral, and the sight of the woman being mauled drove a wedge of pure anger through the confusion in his mind.  All of the abuse, the humiliation, the suffering he’d suffered at the hands of the ogres came pouring out in a cascade of rage as he picked up his spear and charged at the demon’s flank.

The magically enhanced steel head of the spear, backed by the strength of the barbarian’s muscles and his rage, tore into the demon’s side.  The demon roared and staggered, and when it turned to face this new foe the promise of death shone in its eyes.  The barbarian yelled out something in his people’s language as he twisted the haft of the spear and thrust deeper, but the demon did not relent.  Instead it reached down and clutched the barbarian’s head with a clawed hand, crushing him as it lifted him into the air.  Nanoc screamed and dropped the spear, clawing at his belt for his dagger as the demon tightened its grip.  Before he could act, however, the demon slashed its head into the barbarian’s body.  A long horn impaled Nanoc through the chest, and the young man instantly went limp as the demon reared its head back and roared in triumph, the barbarian dangling from the side of its head like some grim ornament.  

Then it reached up with both claws, and tore the man to pieces.  

Cal shook his head as he tried to clear his mind.  Everything around him was quiet, although he could hear a ringing in his ears that refused to stop even as he fought his way to his feet.  For an instant he wondered what had happened, then he turned and saw the demon.  

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lok, the genasi just standing there behind the demon.  He wondered what fell magic the demon had unleashed upon his friend.  As he looked that way he saw Dana, gesturing and saying something that he couldn’t hear.  Then Lok turned to look his way, and when the gnome saw the vague look in his friend’s eyes, he understood. 

Then that look was replaced by a sudden look of undisguised rage, and Lok started in his direction, already raising his axe.  

Thinking quickly, Cal cast a spell.  Since he could not hear, he could only trust to his skill to get the verbal components right.  His luck held, and he could feel the magic flow in response to his call.  

An image appeared in Lok’s path, a figure of a leering, armored ogre.  Predictably, the genasi raised his axe and charged toward the figment, compelled by the power of the ghour’s glamour to attack.  But the illusory ogre, controlled by Cal’s thoughts, retreated, giving ground before the genasi’s rush.  Driven on to greater fury with each step, Lok rushed after it, and when it finally stopped and set its feet, he all but hurled himself at it with a powerful overhand strike.  

Except that when he struck the illusion it vanished, revealing only the muscled leg of the ghour, facing the other way as it killed Nanoc.

Lok’s frost-frozen axe bit deep into the demon’s calf, opening a long gash that spurt forth fetid black ichor.  The demon, caught off guard by the unexpected attack, staggered forward a step before it turned to regard the genasi with hatred in its alien eyes.  

Already seriously wounded, the demon perhaps should have retreated once again, but with the taste of blood fresh on its tongue, and several foes already fallen before its attacks, the demon thrust on in a fury of violence.  

Turning on Lok, the demon launched another series of attacks, but it found the genasi a difficult target.  It slashed at him with its goring horns, and while one of the spearlike horns slammed hard into his armored shoulder, Lok refused to give ground or falter in his attacks.  The ghour balled its hands into fists and slammed them down into the ground, intending to simply crush this troublesome warrior, but Lok spun smoothly out of the way, countering with a stroke of his axe that dug a long gash in the demon’s forearm.  

Benzan, meanwhile, had staggered to his feet, still groggy from the aftereffects of the demon’s roar.  As his gaze traveled around the battlefield, however, he felt something twist deep inside of him.  He saw Nanoc—or rather, what was left of him, in two bloody piles on the floor.  He saw Jerral, lying in a heap farther away, unconscious or maybe dead.  Cal and Dana seemed all right, although Dana had suffered a serious wound to her shoulder, and Lok was tearing at the demon, the two exchanging a titanic series of blows that looked, for all of the genasi’s prowess, that it could end only one way.  

Before he was even aware of the action, his sword was in his hand, and he was charging at the demon from behind.  Even as he built up speed Lok tore again into the demon’s leg, adding yet another wound to its tally of injuries.  The demon had been savaged by their attacks, its body a mess of tears and punctures, but it fought on as if unaffected by its wounds.  Even as Lok raised his axe to strike again the ghour slammed its fists down once again, catching the genasi hard on the face and chest and staggering him.  The ghour roared, reaching for him with its claws before Lok could recover and counter.

_Strike true,_ a voice within his mind whispered.  He felt himself lifting off of the ground, empowered by the levitation power of his sword, even though he could not remember consciously invoking its power.

He thrust deep, plunging the sword to its hilt into a crease in the demon’s back.  Instantly a flood of black blood poured out over the blade down his hand, scoring him with hot pain as the ichor burned away his shirt and savaged his flesh.

The demon, however, suffered far worse.  As Benzan screamed in pain and anger and drew out his blade, falling backward, the demon staggered forward, nearly crushing Lok beneath its bulk.  Dana darted in and grasped the genasi warrior, pulling him free as the demon slumped and then collapsed in a noisome heap on the stone floor.  

As the companions gathered around it, the demon seemed to deflate, like a waterskin that had suffered a tear.  Its black blood poured out onto the stone floor, and as the toxic fluid gathered, a cloud of dark, roiling steam rose up out of it and began to gather above the corpse of the demon.

“What in the name of the gods…” Benzan breathed.

The cloud formed into a putrid, pulsating mass that seemed almost alive.  As they watched in horror, they could see a single bright spot within the dark mist, like a flickering flame trapped within the enveloping folds of vapor. 

For a moment, they could all hear a sound within their minds, a sound of twisted, mocking laughter.  

Then the cloud broke apart, and disintegrated into nothingness.

With the death of the demon, the malaise holding Lok had faded, although he was grievously injured.  Dana used her wand of healing to stabilize him, then she rose, heading toward the back of the room, still holding the coin that bore Cal’s light.  

“Delem…”

“Dana, wait!” Benzan cried.  But the young woman was already moving beyond his reach, and the tiefling’s attention was distracted as he saw Cal cross to where Jerral’s motionless form was lying.  

“Is she…?”

“She lives,” Cal said, with relief.  He glanced over at Nanoc’s remains, however, a look of sadness in his eyes.  

There was no doubt there.  

Benzan hurried after Dana, while Cal tended to Jerral.  Dana had already crossed to the far edge of the cistern, where her light had reached the far wall of the place.  Benzan’s boots crunched on fragments of bone as he moved quickly to where she stood, frozen, facing the wall. 

“Oh, no…”

He saw what Dana had seen, and his blood froze.  There, hanging about ten feet up on the face of the wall, was Delem.  The young man’s face was frozen in a look of pure terror, but that was nothing in the face of what lay below.  His chest had been torn open, and they could see the white spears of his ribs laid bare.  All of his organs were gone, leaving only a gaping hole where once the heart of the young sorcerer had beat.


END OF BOOK IV


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## Talon (Jun 10, 2002)

OH MY GOD!

What a great finish to book IV. I thought for sure that Delem was going to survive. I don't know how the companions are going to get along without their powerful Wizard now. Great story as always Lazybones.

Chris


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 10, 2002)

AUGGGGGGH!  My two favorite characters, both dead in one post...  Whyyyyyyy?!  Damn it.


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## wolff96 (Jun 10, 2002)

Lazybones said:
			
		

> *The cloud formed into a putrid, pulsating mass that seemed almost alive.  As they watched in horror, they could see a single bright spot within the dark mist, like a flickering flame trapped within the enveloping folds of vapor.*




I hate to break it to you, but Delem isn't dead.

If that "flame trapped within the darkness" isn't Delem's soul, then I'm a Dire Ape's Uncle.

Great writing, as always, Lazybones. When can we expect Part V: The Search for Delem to start?  Or will he be just coming back as an villain/trapped soul/petitioner?


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## MasterOfHeaven (Jun 10, 2002)

wolff96 said:
			
		

> *
> 
> I hate to break it to you, but Delem isn't dead.
> 
> ...




Duh... really, George?  Tell me about the rabbits!   

His soul is still around (and apparently trapped by a Demon.. beautiful) but his physical body has been destroyed.  Thus, he's dead.  When Cal got killed the first time, his soul was still around.  But he was still dead.  Just because your soul survives doesn't mean you're still alive.


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## Horacio (Jun 11, 2002)

He is dead, his soul has been stolen and his friends most free his soul to resurrect him... Good plotting for next book!!!!!!!


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## Lazybones (Jun 11, 2002)

Greetings, readers...

Well, we've come to the end of another book of _Travels_.  I'll be starting the Book V thread shortly--I was going to just continue this thread, but we're not that far off from 200 posts and I don't want to have to cut over in mid-thread.  I like to keep my reader comments, questions, etc. intact even though it means my view counts will never get as high as some of the other story hours .  

Book V will contain the story of Lok's quest to free his people from slavery in the Underdark.  Delem will not be forgotten, but the characters clearly aren't ready yet for what's needed to free his captive soul.  I haven't plotted out the exact details yet, but suffice it to say, that plotline will include (subject to the whims of the author, of course):


a certain obsidian statuette of a six-fingered man that Benzan has carried throughout the entire story
details of Benzan's bloodline (Benzan!  *I* am your father... NO!!!)
various demon lords and some abyssal politics
Cyric
a certain prophecy from book 2 (sorry, MoH )

Assuming I manage to write that far, it may even be an _epic_ storyline...

Your support and comments have been what's kept me doing this for longer than I'd intended.  This story was originally just going to be a short break between my regular writing projects, but it just sort of kept going!  I guess I like praise more than constant rejections from agents and publishers .  So thanks again for reading, and I'll see all of you in the new thread.

Ken aka Lazybones


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## Horacio (Jun 11, 2002)

Ken aka Lazybones, when you begin a new thread, don't forget posting here a link to it, please


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## Lazybones (Jun 12, 2002)

*New thread*

Here you go: http://test.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=14878

I've opened with another poll, so be sure to vote.  I've also updated the Rogues' Gallery (see sig for link); the group's now at ECL 9.


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## Dungannon (Nov 11, 2002)

*bump*

Lazybones, these books are simply too good to leave buried near the bottom of the Story Hour boards.  I hope it's not too long before Delem can be brought back from the depths of the Underworld, as he is my favorite character, although Lok is running a close second.  Anyway, keep up the great work and I'll see you on the Book V thread.


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