D&D 09-Return of the Damned

by T. H. Lain

  "Your turn," said the elf before he climbed into his bedroll.

  Krunk rolled to his feet and wiped the sleep from his eyes. The others were fast asleep.

  The fire burned low in the pit Whitman had made. Tasca had been smart to keep it small. There was no point in attracting more attention than necessary.

  Picking up his mace, Krunk walked around the fire. A small pile of branches rested nearby. Krunk smiled. Despite what Whitman said about him, Tasca was an upstanding fellow.

  Krunk sat for a while, poking at the fire with a long stick, throwing another branch on when the flames grew too weak.

  The night passed slowly, stars moving imperceptibly across the sky. The dwarf became sleepy again. Shaking his head, Krunk got to his feet and went to collect more wood for the fire.

  Before trudging to the riverbank, the cleric hung his mace from his belt. It was mid-summer, and the waters of the River Delnir were low. Spring runoff had deposited plenty of firewood high on the banks, and Krunk quickly made a heaping pile to carry back.

  "That should last till morning," he said as he bent down to pick up the wood.

  Something that felt like two huge rocks hit him on the back. His face crashed into the pile of branches, and he was pinned to the ground. The air was driven from his lungs.

  Krunk twisted as hard as he could to right and left, but he was stuck. Whatever was on top of him was either larger or stronger than he, or both. He heard a crackle and a pop, like a bone being separated from its joint. A burst of warm, damp air rushed across the back of his neck, setting all the tiny hairs on end.

  The dwarf cleric could hear his heart beat in his ears. His thoughts raced. The smell of rotting flesh reached his nose, and a sharp pain ran down his spine. In a flash he understood.

  Vampire.

  Regdar awoke with a start, his hand instinctively wrapped around his greatsword. He shook his head and sat up. The others were sleeping, and the fire had all but gone out. A smoking pile of dull, red embers was all that remained.

  "Krunk," he said in a loud whisper.

  Only the sound of the running river, several paces away, answered back.

  "Krunk," he said again, a little louder this time.

  In the low glow of the embers, Regdar could see Whitman sit up straight, clutching his hammer to his chest.

  Regdar got to his feet and crossed to the dwarf. Without a word, Whitman reached over and shook Tasca awake, laying his finger across his hps, signaling silence. The elf got the hint and lifted himself from his sleeping roll while retrieving his rapier.

  Regdar turned to wake Clemf.

  A heavy, wooden club swung through the air, just missing his head. The big fighter stumbled back and let out a shout, surprised by the attack. In front of him, hunched over the sleeping form of Clemf, stood a ghastly black and green monstrosity.

  The creature's body was covered in rippled scales, and the back of its neck sported something like a fish's fin. Though it looked like a giant lizard with a long, winding tongue, it stood erect like a man. In one hand it held the club that had almost crushed Regdar's head. In the other it carried a large shield.

  At first, Regdar thought the creature's eyes were reflecting the dull glow of the fire. Then he realized they were burning a fiery red all their own. The monster, whatever it was, opened its mouth and let out a whooshing hiss. Its teeth were long and jagged, but what impressed Regdar the most were the fangs that protruded from the thing's upper and lower jaws. Four in all, and each looked as long and sharp as Tasca's rapier.

  Clemf, still curled under his blanket, rolled over and continued sleeping while the monster crouched above him.

  Circling to one side, Regdar moved away from the fire, trying his best to get behind the thing. His ploy worked, because the creature spun and moved away from Clemf.

  "That's a good little lizard vampire thing," said Regdar, wishing he had gone to sleep in his armor. "Come and get it."

  As if responding to the big fighter's taunt, the lizard creature leaped at him. It moved with surprising speed and grace, its tail slithering along the ground behind it. Regdar dodged back, fighting defensively, keeping anything he might not want bitten off as far away from the creature's mouth as possible.

  The greatclub swiped in at waist level. Regdar bashed it away. A claw slashed out of nowhere from the other side. Regdar sidestepped it. Teeth snapped shut before his face, moonlight glinting from the long, sharp fangs. Regdar almost gagged on the foul stench of rotting flesh. He stumbled back again.

  The creature paced forward, letting out another hiss.

  "Foul beast," hollered Whitman. His hammer was poised for a blow.

  The lizard creature reacted quickly and swung its tail at the stout dwarf. Whitman tried to jump clear, but the scaly appendage hit him in the feet. He tumbled across the ground and down the river embankment.

  Regdar lunged forward, taking advantage of the distraction. His blade caught the creature below the jaw, opening a wound along its neck. Black ooze dribbled out, and the beast's attention returned to the human fighter. It waggled its long, gray tongue, slopping foul-smelling liquid all over the ground and on Regdar's sword.

  The creature hissed, then spun around in time to catch Tasca's rapier on its shield. The blade made a hollow thump as it hit, and the tip stuck in the soft material. Leaping into the air, the elf kicked out with both feet against the lizard thing's shield, one on each side of his lodged sword. The impact forced the creature back a step, and Tasca fell to the ground, his sword once again in his hand.

  Regdar stepped in again, taking a mighty swing at the vampire's tail. He connected with a crash. A heavy scale broke into bits and scattered in the moonlight. Regdar was rewarded with a heavy thump to the chest as the tail flicked back. It knocked the wind from his lungs and the man from his feet.

  Landing hard on his back, Regdar tried to inhale. He couldn't. It was as if the air around him had been sucked away. Time slowed down, and everything he did, even blinking his eyes, felt labored and difficult. He stared up into the dark sky. The moon seemed so big among the tiny stars. His head felt like a watermelon, and the skin on his face felt hot and red.

  Then something moved into his field of view, something larger even than the moon. Clutching his sword in his right hand, the big fighter looked up into the gaping maw of the vampire lizard. Its red eyes burned as they looked down on him. It growled, a sound that filled the surrounding space, drowning out all other noise—the wind, the crickets, even the rushing river.

  The monster leaned forward to glare down at him, and a gob of thick, black liquid splashed across Regdar's face. The lizard creature flew out of his view, and a huge forearm emblazoned with the image of a longsword came in, followed immediately by Clemf's tightly gritted face. Then it too disappeared.

  Regdar gasped again, this time with limited success. Sound returned to his ears. He heard the burbling river and the sucking noise of Clemf's sword plunging into monster's flesh. Rolling to his side, the fighter struggled to his feet.

  Tasca and Clemf battled the monster from either side. The elf teased scales from its body with his dancing blade. The enormous human bashed large chunks of flesh from its hide. Somehow the creature had lost or discarded its club and shield. Spinning first one way, then back, the vampire swiped with its claws. It hissed at both men but was unable to focus on one without opening itself to a deadly assault from the other.

  The standoff was broken when a hurtling, twisting mass of dwarf and hammer flew over the riverbank and plunged on top of the vampiric lizard.

  Whitman's hammer crashed into the monster's reptilian head, making a hollow sound like a mallet on a coconut. The creature's skull ruptured. Chunks of yellow curd shot out in a wave. The resulting splash covered the head of the dwarf's weapon with dripping ooze.

  The vampire collapsed to the ground.

  "Agh!" shouted Whitman as he landed. "Brain juice! Vampire lizardman brain juice on my hammer."

  Regdar opened hi
s mouth, then shut it again. He was sure there was something worse in this world to get on your hammer, but he couldn't think of it at the moment.

  Tasca and Clemf stepped back from the slumped monster, looking quickly in all directions to be sure the area was clear. Regdar checked to the riverbank.

  "Anybody see Krunk?" he asked.

  "No," said Whitman, now on his knees feverishly rubbing dirt on his hammer.

  "No," replied Clemf.

  "Over there!" Tasca broke into a run, pointing at something with his sword.

  Regdar and Clemf followed.

  Just at the edge of the embankment, where the plain sloped down toward the River Delnir, lay Krunk. He was facedown and spread-eagle atop a pile of branches.

  Regdar crouched beside him. Blood covered most of the back of his head, neck, and shoulders, brimming from a savage wound where the monster had bitten nearly through his neck. His arms and most of his face were scratched and cut.

  "He put up a fight," said Regdar.

  "Wouldn't you?" asked Tasca.

  Regdar shrugged, feeling a bit stupid.

  Clemf kicked the dirt. "It had to be the cleric," he said.

  Tasca looked up, shaking his head. "What are you talking about? It could have been any of us."

  Clemf stowed his sword and raised his hands in the air. "Yeah, it could have, but it was the cleric."

  Tasca slumped as he realized what Clemf meant.

  "There's only one thing we can do," Regdar said.

  He stood. Lifting his sword over his head, he brought it down with a heavy grunt. The blade sliced through the bloody remains of Krunk's neck, and the dwarf's head rolled free.

  Tasca jumped back. "Are you mad?" he screamed. "He was our friend."

  Clemf, too, looked uneasy.

  Regdar grabbed the dismembered head by the beard. "He was, but he wouldn't be when he rose from the dead. Help me with his body," he said.

  The others looked on, horrified.

  Regdar stood up and looked at the elf and the human, Krunk's head still dangling from his hand.

  "He was bitten by a vampire," he explained. "If we simply bury him, he'll come back as a vampire." He looked the other two men in the eyes. "Something tells me a holy man such as Krunk here—" he lifted the upside-down head, its eyes peering out lifelessly at the others—"would rather not return to the world as an undead monster." He turned and headed down the embankment. "Now, if you really were Krunk's friends, you'll help me bury him in the river, so he can ascend in the afterlife, or whatever it is dwarves do when they die."

  The next two days were silent and uneventful If not for the family of rabbits Tasca shot for dinner the second night, the rest of the journey to the base of Mt. Fear would have been completely forgettable. As it turned out, the elf knew a thing or two about finding wild herbs and roasting fresh game. Dinner that night was delicious.

  Late morning of the third day brought the party to the wooded area marked on Jozan's map. The looming, jagged top of Mt. Fear towered above the plain. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the circle of clouds lingering around its peak slowly dissipated, showing off the deep chasm between the two wicked points that distinguished this mountain from all others in the land.

  At its base, a dense growth of trees formed a ring around the mountain. Unlike other forests, this one grew up out of a fetid, rotting swamp. Tangled brambles intermingled with algae and pools of rotting vegetation. The tree roots didn't plunge into rich, fertile soil to pucker the ground in long, oval mounds. Instead, they reached out like hungry fingers, groping into the graying filth of the swamp, looking like thick, chaotic spiderwebs as they crisscrossed each other in search of food.

  Regdar stopped the men at the edge of this sloppy ring.

  "Jozan said we'd find the slavers inside this, the Marsh of Haelor." He put his hands on his hips and looked at the dense growth. "If I were evil, I'd definitely find this place homey."

  Tasca stepped up beside the fighter. "Listen, Regdar, I know what you say your cleric pal told you, but something doesn't make sense here."

  Regdar turned to the elf. "Yeah, Naull's in there—" He pointed to the swamp—"and we're out here."

  Tasca nodded while biting his lower hp. "That too." The edges of his lips curled up into an amused smile. "But I meant that if the guys we're looking for are slavers, why would they set up camp in a swamp?" The elf wrinkled his brow. "Not exactly a prime location to do business."

  "He's right." Whitman ran his fingers through his long beard. "I've seen slaver caravans. They travel the same routes as the carnivals, and they're not the type to set up camp anywhere for more than a night, maybe two at the most. They're constantly on the go—not real popular in areas where they capture their slaves. But they need people to kidnap and people to sell to. Why would they hole up in forsaken spot like this?"

  Regdar nodded. "Remote as it is, this region is still under the protection of Duke Ramas. He's not a man who tolerates slavers. Maybe they're just taking a rest in a place they consider secure."

  "Could the cleric have made a mistake?" asked Tasca.

  Regdar remained grim. "It wouldn't be the first time. Still, he said he'd been given signs from Pelor." He shrugged. "The god of the sun works in strange ways. It's possible Jozan misunderstood the details but not the intent. Where Pelor's concerned, Jozan knows what he's talking about." The big fighter turned away from his friends and continued walking. "Whatever the case, I'm not going back until I find Naull or I'm convinced she's not here."

  The others fell in behind him, skirting the edge of the wooded area, looking for a passable entrance into the tangled swamp.

  Whitman sniffed the air. "It reeks."

  "That's your upper lip," quipped Tasca.

  "Swamp gas," corrected Regdar. He stopped again, peering into the interior. "How do you suppose they got in? The four of us could step tree root to tree root I suppose, but a larger group, especially one with an unwilling hostage, would want a more stable path."

  "Maybe Naull went willingly," said Clemf.

  Regdar turned and grabbed Clemf by his chestplate, shaking the man.

  "Hey now," complained Clemf. "I'm just saying . . . Let's consider all the possibilities."

  Regdar glared for a moment longer, then let him go. "It's not a possibility." His frustration was near the boiling point. The woman he loved might still be alive and captive. He wanted to smash something, kill those who held her hostage, punish whoever kept her from him.

  But he couldn't.

  He couldn't do anything except look for a needle in a haystack.

  But Clemf was right. Regdar wasn't certain of anything, least of all whether Naull was even alive, and his frustration was starting to wear at the edges.

  Tasca broke the silence, interrupting the tense moment. "There, just under those hanging vines." The elf pointed to a solid-looking dirt path in the dark interior of the forest, just beyond a large, murky field of water.

  Clemf turned away, and Regdar looked to where Tasca pointed.

  "I see it," replied the big fighter. "But they'd have to cross the water. Do you think it's shallow enough?"

  "There's only one way to find out," replied the elf.

  "Yes," interjected Whitman, "but what do you think lives in water like that?"

  "Eels," replied Clemf. "Big ones."

  Regdar turned to the tattooed human. "Why would you say that?"

  Clemf pointed to the water near the far edge.

  Regdar turned back. Sure enough, he saw a giant ripple move through the water, pushing away the scum in an S shape.

  Whitman was already pulling a coil of rope from his pack. "I'll go first," he said matter-of-factly. "You boys tie off. If one of us falls in, the others can pull him out."

  "What if a giant eel gets one of us?" asked Tasca.

  "Don't worry," said Whitman with a smile. "If elf flesh tastes as bad as it smells, the eel will spit you back out again." He chuckled as he finished tying the end of the rope arou
nd his waist. "Or it'll gag you back up."

  Tasca shrugged his shoulders. "He might seem offensive if he weren't short enough to fit inside my boot."

  "I'm not short," hollered the dwarf, wading into the grimy water.

  Tasca tied off behind Clemf, third in line. "Gets him every time." He laughed and followed the tattooed man into the swamp.

  Regdar put his hand on Clemf's shoulder.

  "I'm—" started Regdar.

  Clemf cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry," he said. "I'd be the same way if my lady were in trouble." He gripped his friend's arm, then waded into the swamp.

  Regdar took up the rear, his left hand firmly on the rope around his waist, his right gripping the hilt of his greatsword.

  The water was cold, and the muck floating on top smelled like rotten goblin flesh. The bottom of the swamp was squishy, and it made forward movement quite hard. Still, despite the difficulties, the water came up only to the top of Regdar's thigh (right below Whitman's chest), and it seemed the swamp was passable after all.

  Whitman made it out the other side and onto dry land without a problem. Clemf followed, then Tasca.

  Regdar could feel the bottom sloping upward under his feet when something brushed the back of his leg.

  Tasca opened his mouth. Regdar listened to hear what his friend had to say. It sounded like water rushing past his ears. Then Tasca's face disappeared. What was going on? he thought. Fetid swamp water rushed inside his armor, bringing with it the cold and the realization that his feet had been pulled forward from under him.

  Landing on his back on the squishy bottom, Regdar looked up into blurry blackness. He reflexively tried to breathe, but the thick water quickly cut off that urge. He had swallowed some through his nose on the way down, and a burning sensation now ran down his nostrils and along the back of his throat. He managed to keep hold of his sword, but it wasn't doing him any good down here.

  The creature, presumably an eel, was wrapped around his legs. It continually tightened and loosened its grip. The sensation of being squeezed then released then squeezed again was unsettling, and Regdar struggled against it.