With a sound that was part sigh and part moan, the soiled sorcerer resigned himself to the unpleasant reality that he would have to continue the rest of this adventure beshat … He strained – but not too hard - to hear his comrades.
***
Earlier, when they had all been searching the mausoleum for the rumored secret passage, neither Val nor Ar-Raguel, the only other member of the party who had detailed knowledge about the many deities and demigods of Gaearth, had noticed anything unexpected among the holy symbols on display. Until the party had discovered and revealed the wall as a clever concealment for the chamber below it had appeared in every way to be just another wall of crypts, the back wall of a nook in the mausoleum. It was perhaps 25 feet wide by some fifteen feet tall with at least a dozen crypts built into it and the nook was mirrored by an alcove with the same dimensions directly across the mausoleum’s main hall. The architecture and artwork of this modest temple to the dead spoke to Val (as inanimate objects often did, which, while fascinating at times, was usually just disquieting): the mausoleum had been built long before the fall of the Duke of the Northlands and the King on the Lake. The people who had lived and died here decades and centuries ago looked to have been worshippers of mostly gods of fertility, good fortune, the hunt and military success.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
When the rogues and Dudley had begun looking for traps and triggers on the staircase after they had puzzled out the locks and catches which had ingeniously hid and held the wall in place, Val decided to inspect the cantilevered facade more closely.
While studying the leading edge of this huge wall-sized door - the surface which had been hidden until the wall had been swung wide open - he noticed some sort of strange symbol. It was a crudely drawn face, a simple line-drawing consisting of a black circle, bisected vertically, and with what looked like a stitched mouth and red eyes. There were simple horns in the drawing too which somehow managed to make the face look also like an iron mask.
The image and its elements were too vague for Val to interpret; they could each have so many meanings. Regardless, this was definitely not the sigil of any common god the people of this fiefdom had worshipped.
This was a foul symbol.
He ran his fingers across the drawing. The black lines were a thick coarse paint made of ash and grease, probably animal fat – the ash probably burned bones. The red eyes weren’t made from paint. They were blood stains – and much to Val’s relief, not fresh. He examined the gruesome rune for only another moment before deciding that this was worth letting everyone else know about. Val called down to Rocco about the disturbing symbol with the blood red eyes but received no reply from his brother. As Val turned and began to walk back to the top of the stairs he heard Rocco shout from down the stairway, “That’s no statue!” Val jogged the last few steps to the top of the stairs getting there in time to witness Sammy aggressively persuade the wayward warrior from continuing his flight down the stairs. Despite Sammy’s initial success, a contrite and deterred Rocco nevertheless managed to trip the trap with the help of his errant torch and voila: portcullises everywhere.
Just as Dudley had predicted, the crevice at the top of the doorway hid one and it fell only inches in front of Val with a great deal of noise and force. Had he taken just one more step towards the staircase he would undoubtedly have been knocked unconscious if not crushed to death by the great iron grate.
Yay?
Val stepped up to the iron bars that now separated him from the rest of his party. He gripped them as he peered beyond the gaps feeling very much the prisoner even though he had a hunch he was on the safe(r) side of the portcullis.
“Guys?” He impotently called out as he watched everyone slide away from him.
Val next heard the screeching and howling from the secret chamber which left him with little doubt that indeed he was on the safer side of the bars. His companions however had tumbled away into some horrible cacophonous ruse. Val was possessed of a bit of his brother’s height but he was in no way capable of lifting the 20 foot wide, 10 foot high wrought-iron grate.
Puny human.
Our brother is a near giant. It’s made me complacent in some things.
Like getting around to seeking out the secrets to some spells that could grant you super human strength?
Exactly. Now help or hush; shit’s hittin’ the fan I think.
Val could do nothing now but watch from afar as Rocco started to pick himself up at the bottom of the stairwell only to be struck by Sammy and then Ar-Raguel in rapid succession. Val’s little brother came crashing down again landing awkwardly on the elfkin.
The rest of the party fared a bit better.
Dudley righted himself roughly at the bottom of the stairwell and Billy took the whole collapsing stairwell in stride, practically skating down the ramp. Despite the horrible howling she managed to keep her wits about her and began firing on …
Were those things what I thought they were?
… whatever it was making sounds so dreadful that his bowels quivered uncontrollably and then - much to his embarrassment – let loose completely.
And that’s when all the torches went out.
“Val!” He heard his brother scream from down below.
With a sound that was part sigh and part moan, the soiled sorcerer resigned himself to the unpleasant reality that he would have to continue the rest of this adventure beshat.
He cast the cantrip to light the torches again, sending small sulfurous sparks in the direction of the sconces. But the torches did not light. Again he summoned the spark – but again no response from the torches. Were they out of fuel? Both at the exact same time? He concentrated on them from behind the gate and asked them if they were cursed.
“We owe you nothing!” They hissed at him in unison.
Val jerked back at the suddenness and ferocity of the response that of course no one but he had heard.
Not good.
And neither is that smell.
Hush, I’m trying to listen!
He shook off the shrieks from the cursed sconces but his ears were still ringing from the colon cleaning cries of the beasts below. He strained – but not too hard - to hear his comrades. He thought he heard Billy say something about the beasts being more Rocco’s size and then Rocco screaming again, “Val, lights?!”
“Working on it bro!”
The sconces were cursed. Now that Rocco had set off the traps in the chamber they were not going to respond to Val’s simple spells – and as a young wizard, what few powerful spells Val possessed, he thought better than to waste them on lighting torches. He reached into a small pouch on his belt and pulled out a white stone the same size and shape as the piece of onyx currently fixed in the top of his staff. A small lingering spasm in his gut made him twitch and reminded him of the warm, yet uncomfortable feeling he was trying so hard to forget.
Your ass has been magicked!
Thanks, that’s helping right now.
Years of study and lessons and you don’t possess even the simplest spell to clean your own ass. Some god damned wizard you are.
Really, bro, if you can’t be helpful just don’t be.
I think therefore I be!
Pretty much. Hush.
He pulled the piece of onyx out from its place at the top of his staff. It immediately ceased casting its magical light leaving Val briefly in total darkness. He was about to slip in the white crystal when he felt a bit of shit drip down his thigh. Revolted, he suffered an involuntary shiver which resulted in his dropping the white stone.
“Oh fuck, where did it go?”
Oh shit, did I say that out loud?
Oh shitty shit-shit, yes you did!
Val quickly reinserted the enchanted onyx stone into the slot on his staff and began searching for the dropped white stone. He could hear his flesh and blood brother asking for someone to tell him what they were facing.
Rocco, if you’re up against what I think you’re up against down there, it might be better off that you don’t know what they look like.
Their hides are beautiful though.
It’s not the beasts’ hides I’m worried about
Val continued looking for the stone as Dudley began saying something he couldn’t quite hear followed by a very loud and clear, “Duck!”
Then there was the sound of one of Dudley’s throwing hammers slamming into a wall, a wall close to the bottom of the stairwell.
That hammer was going in the wrong direction. Val noted to himself as he carefully got on his hands and knees, pulling gingerly at his leggings so as not to upset too much his pants’ cargo, and started searching along the mausoleum’s floor for his mislaid bit of magic.
“The head of an owl and the body of a bear?” Val could hear his brother asking. The confusion in Rocco’s voice might have been funny if not for the particular circumstances, circumstances which became slightly worse when Val finally saw the white stone. It had rolled under the portcullis, between the bars, and slid down the former stairway out of his arm’s reach.
Fuck fuck fuckety fuck fuck fuck.
What?
The stone, I can’t reach it.
So bring it to you dipshit.
“Dipshit”? You’re killing me. But, right. Yeah…
Mind over matter said the mad hatter.
He may not have been able to lift the portcullis but the small stone he could, even without being able to reach it. “A moi.” He spoke aloud and with those words the little stone leapt from where it had rested on the other side of the bars into the palm of his hand.
Down below he thought he heard the party split up. Billy and Rocco were taking on one beast while the rest - Ar-Raguel, Dudley and Sammy - teamed up on the other.
I bet Rocco and Billy take theirs out first.
No bet. They’re too good together.
Right? So how come…
It’s complicated man.
Val once again took out the onyx stone from his staff and again darkness momentarily surrounded him.
I need the elfkin.
What?
I need the elfkin.
Which elfkin? Wait, you’re not one of my voices. You can’t be here.
I can be anywhere I need to be, and while the Drow would make an interesting acquisition for so many reasons, she unfortunately lacks certain skills I need. You’ve violated my home. I will take the other elfkin.
Who is this guy?
I have no idea.
Although, I must admit, your mind is unlike any I have ever encountered. Perhaps I will take you too?
How about none of us?
Val slipped the white stone into his staff and it exploded with the light of a half dozen torches. He closed his eyes and tossed the staff like a spear down into the chamber, his minds’ eye guiding it to the sounds of Rocco and Billy battling below.
You need to get out of my head now. My friends need me.
“Allez-vous en!” Val brought his hands together in a powerful clap in front of him. His body jolted as the intruder was ejected.
Seriously, who was that?
I have no fucking idea.
How did he get in?
Dude, I can’t tell ya’ and right now I can’t fucking worry about it because we have to try to help those poor bastards downstairs and … Oh shit, Billy is being tossed across the chamber below and … wow … no seriously wow. Did you see that?
Yeah, how does she do that?
They saw the Drow all have a bit of spider blood in them.
Billy was safe by the sconce screaming at Rocco to kill the beast she had just been … riding?
Rocco mocked the beast as he charged it. Billy and Rocco had succeeded in severely injuring the monster. It bled from wounds on its thigh, arm and torso. Its right eye was a bloody gelatinous mess. But still it moved with speed and ferocity. The injuries hardly appeared to have in any way incapacitated the beast. Rocco and the great bear with the owl’s head slammed into one another. The sound of the two giants colliding was shocking to Val even at his distance from the fight. Somehow, with wing and sheer will, the monster had avoided being pierced by either of Rocco’s swords and in fact had wrapped its great winged limbs around his brother trapping Rocco in a …
Bear hug. Shoulda’ saw that comin’.
The beast was not content to simply disable Rocco. Injured and threatened, the monster’s intention to completely annihilate its opponent was made clear as it brought its beak of saws and knives down on Rocco’s head.
Rather than wrestle against a stronger opponent, Rocco pressed into the beast tighter ducking his head into its neck. The serrated beak scraped down the back of Rocco’s helmet but found purchase on his right shoulder.
Rocco’s armor was a mish-mash of chain mail, plates, studded leather – the best pieces of any armor they had come across that might possibly fit someone of Rocco’s stature. With a great deal of help from Dudley, Rocco had crafted an impressive custom combination of various armor-crafts - impressive enough to hold up against the beast’s mandibles which grinded and scraped against the metals of Rocco’s mails but did not find their way into his flesh. The armor could not, however, protect Rocco from the enormous strength and pressure of the beast’s jaw. Val felt Rocco’s clavicle crack as the beast tried to gnaw through the chains and plates protecting the warrior’s body.
Hang on bro. I’ve got this.
Less frustrating and far more useful than sharing thoughts with his “imaginary” brothers, Val could also share thoughts with his flesh and blood brother.
The Great Valandil to the rescue? Rocco tried to joke even though they both knew he was in terrible pain. They could both feel it. Try to be a bit quicker than you were with the lights, eh?
That was a shitty situation for me too. But I have a clear line of sight now so…
Val pantomimed the action of pulling back a bow string and ‘aimed’ in the direction of the creature crushing Rocco. “Pïu,” he said quietly and let fly his magic missile. It hit its mark. The monster felt the sting of Val’s unseen arrow and reared its head back with a furious cry releasing Rocco’s shoulder from its jaw but not its formidable grasp on Rocco’s body.
“Pïu, pïu, pïu,” Val motioned like an archer again, releasing more of his magic on the beast. This time the creature released Rocco – but not in the way Val had hoped. Perhaps under the impression that it was Rocco somehow causing it pain (the bleeding, beaten, mutated bear probably had no idea from where the invisible darts originated), the monster sought to rid itself of its torturer and lifted Rocco off the ground, hugging and crushing Rocco even harder - Val felt one of Rocco’s ribs crack - and then, grabbing Rocco with one of its enormous taloned bear paws, hurled Rocco into the statue, which, as Rocco had guessed, was no statue.
The armor was being displayed on some sort of mannequin - itself a dark piece of art, an amalgam of quartz, glass and iron slag – which shattered as Rocco’s flailing body slammed into it. Shards of crystal and glass along with hunks of unformed iron and plates of heavy armor were sent flying in every direction. Rocco crashed down onto and then rolled off of the pedestal destroying (and being nearly pierced by) the stonework flames that had surrounded the statue. He finally landed face down on the ground next to the base, semi-conscious, wheezing and bleeding from cuts on his face.
Despite Val’s best efforts, the monster was still not down. It let out another one of its bowel busting bellows in the general direction of Rocco’s limp body. Val saw that Billy abruptly stopped her work at the sconce when Rocco went crashing into the statue. She had taken the sconce, the metal work, apart. It looked more like a lever now with gears and cables attached to it - all connected to more machinery within the wall.
What has she discovered there?
Her body language suggested she was about to head back to the melee to help her part-time paramour.
“I’m on it pretty lady!” Val screamed from atop the stairwell.
Billy stopped, turned around and gave Val a nervous nod as she returned to her work.
Time to take out the big guns.
Val reached into another pouch on his belt and pulled out two small packages, each about the size of his thumb. They were carefully folded pieces of paper, the contents within secured by a bit of sealing wax.
Careful, this spell doesn’t always hit its mark.
The damn thing is standing almost directly in front of me.
Yeah but you do still have a load of shit in your pants.
Again, are you trying to help or hinder?
Situational awareness! It’s extremely important at moments like these!
He unwrapped the contents of each packet, in one a dried rhubarb leaf, in the other the sort of thing that only wizards truck in: the dried stomach of a black adder. He crushed and rubbed the desiccated delicacies between his hands with a fair bit of spit. When both his palms were covered with sticky ash he turned them towards the beast below and in a low voice said, “Laisse une marque.”
The beast stumbled back as if it had been struck in the gut by a great hammer. Its bellowing ceased instantly and it fell to one knee, gasping rather than screaming now. Unlike the invisible missiles which left no sign of the injuries they caused, this time the damage was unmistakable. The stab wound on the monster’s torso opened up wider, fresh blood began pouring from it anew and worse for the disfigured demon, the wound was now hissing and sizzling as if someone had thrown acid on the creature’s chest and abdomen. It kneeled, steadying itself with one arm, momentarily immobilized, wheezing, bleeding, twitching but still not down.
They are tough fuckers aren’t they?
The bestiaries and codices of creatures said they were relentless but it didn’t say anything in the manual about bowel howls.
Take it up with the college next time you see your masters, in the meantime –
Rocco. Gotta’ wake him up.
The arcane spells and magic which Val employed to launch invisible arrows and tear open wounds from afar differed in their source from the mental abilities he also possessed. When casting spells, wizards directed energies already extant in the world around them; like a teamster driving a wagon with his team, a sorcerer expended little energy for enormous results when casting spells. A user of magic was a director of energies but not their font. And so, generally speaking, a sorcerer suffered little when beguiling, enchanting, and when necessary, dealing damage to those who would do him and his harm. But telepathy, telekinesis, the manipulations of minds … these operations took their toll on the operator. Moving a tiny stone as he had done a minute or so earlier required perhaps no more effort than the physical act itself. But sharing his consciousness with someone who had lost theirs, this was a far more daunting and difficult display of psychic prowess.
Up, up, up, Rocco!
I can’t move my arms ... or my legs ... what’s happening? Oh my gods, did I break my back?!?!
Easy bro’, easy. You’re unconscious. That’s all. You can’t move or feel anything cuz you’re not awake.
Not paralyzed?
Not yet. But the beastie is only down for a short count. And when he catches his breath he’s gonna’ come right for you. So you have to share this water with me.
That is a beautiful bowl you have there, Val.
Yes it is, and it’s full of my mind. So don’t drink all of it, just sips until you wake up.
Wow, your mind has some serious kick –
Rocco awoke, spitting up blood and water and folding into a fetal position as cramps wracked his body. Val, who had his eyes closed and had been holding onto the portcullis bars while he visited Rocco’s mind, collapsed to the ground and began vomiting when Rocco came to, his trance ending rather violently. Billy looked up at Val when she heard the coughing and heaving. She was about to say something when Sammy’s body came soaring into the stairwell.
Ejected from the other battle in much the same way Billy had been just moments earlier, Sammy, being smaller and lighter, was hurled with far greater speed and force than Billy had been. Sammy hadn’t the time (nor the preternatural access to arachnid acrobatics) that Billy had. His tiny spinning body slammed into the right hand stairway wall a dozen or so steps up from where Billy was working. If Sammy had been conscious during his flight, he was no longer so by the time his body slid down the wall and landed on the ramp. Val sat up at the noise and found Billy staring at the motionless halfling.
“Are you close?” Val asked.
“Yeah, I am.” She called back up to him
Val wiped some spittle from his mouth. “Then keep at it. I’ll cover you all as best I can.”
Billy returned to her work. Val’s eyes returned to Rocco’s lumbering form. He was clumsily and with great difficulty sitting up and taking in his surroundings.
Val, I’m so dizzy.
That makes two of us brother.
I don’t know if I can-
The beast roared. It stood up again as soon as it saw that Rocco was conscious and struggling to get to his own feet. It moved slowly and with great effort towards Rocco who was less than 20 feet away and trying to hoist himself up using the pedestal as a crutch.
Val, my swords … I dropped them when it threw me into the statue. There’s so much glass and metal everywhere … I can’t see them … so dizzy.
Val had perhaps two or three seconds to do something. He was also unable to find Rocco’s swords in the litter of steel, stone and glass – for all he knew they had been thrown clear out of his view. But there was one weapon impossible to miss even from atop the stairway and thankfully it had not moved far: the statue’s dragon-scale blade.
Val closed his eyes and projected his mind into the chamber below again. The blade may have looked slender and delicate but it was as heavy as if it had been molded from lead.
How do dragons fly covered in such heavy scales?
Gripping the metal bars so tightly that his finger nails cut into the palms of his hands, Val pushed with his mind as hard as he ever had. He violently twitched as the blade on the floor of the chamber began to vibrate, first gently, then violently and then it began to spin and slide slowly across the floor. The beast had all but closed the gap and was almost on top of Rocco who was still not completely standing up. Rocco struggled just to lean against the pedestal. Disoriented and breathing with enormous difficulty Rocco stared up helplessly as the monster raised its taloned paw and swung at the wobbly warrior.
Rocco wasn’t capable of much, but falling was something he was still able to do, and fall he did, ducking out from under the monster’s swing which connected instead with the quartz pedestal. The beast gashed its hand on the remaining crystal and bits of mannequin left on the base. Rocco landed on his back to the side of the beast. Straining, but still with impressive speed, the beast turned on him. Rocco felt around on the ground with his right hand for anything that might suffice as a weapon as the beast fell on him. He brought his left arm up weakly to protect his head as the beast loomed over him and completely filled his vision. Rocco braced himself to receive the crushing weight of the monster when he felt something slide into his sword-hand.
A sword.
Val was half-collapsed and leaning on the bars now. His nose was bleeding and tears ran from his eyes. The blade had seemed impossibly heavy to Val’s mind but he had managed to slide it a few feet into Rocco’s hand.
Whereupon the sword’s blade erupted into flames.
Huh, how about that?
But not just simple fire. Each small carved flame that made up the blade came alive, twisting and turning and spitting like molten metal. The beast had already committed itself to falling on Rocco as the warrior pulled the pommel of the blazing sword to his breast plate and pointed it sword straight up, flames snapping and licking towards the beast as it fell upon the blade. The mass of the creature and force of its fall insured the sword speared the beast clean through. Val could hear the hiccupping and gurgling last gasps of the monster along with the sounds of searing flesh as the beast slid down the blade and landed almost softly on Rocco. The company’s warrior was trapped under the beast, but finally, the beast was dead and the chamber filled with the unexpectedly appetizing smell of seared bear flesh.
 |
| your sword is aflame |
Flaming sword and evil symbol images original artwork by author.
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