Moving through the Holt was difficult; the floor was covered in debris, rubbish, damaged furniture, broken off doors and window shutters, the debris was clearly the remnants of a great battle, and an ensuing ransacking by the Verkreath. Aside from the constant danger of twisting ones ankle, the danger of making excessive noise was ever present. Elira felt surprisingly relaxed, given her situation, being walked backwards towards the fiends who had carved her to pieces and devoured her companions. She expected there to be a fight, she almost savoured it, she burned to slay some of the Verkreath, if not all of them, for the injustice they had served her.
Whether it was due to the Verkreath being cautious and trying to prevent intruders walking through the Holt undetected, or merely by chance, they had positioned themselves in such a way it appeared to be difficult to get onto the first balcony without attracting attention.
Staying close to the wall, the companions moved through the shadows in single file. The Verkreath were moving around, snarling and hissing at each other, drinking and eating. It was several hundred metres before they would get to the stairs to the first balcony, but stealth rather than speed was of the essence. Votrex took the lead, then Saul, followed by Brael, Vashni and Korhan. Everyone had their weapon unsheathed, at the ready, the logic being if they were detected they could possibly silence their foe before the alarm could be raised. As they climbed the treacherous stairs to the first balcony Korhan gently tapped Vashni’s shoulder and gestured towards the ground level of the opposite side of the chasm. Several of the dwellings had been converted into cells, the cells had what appeared to be dwarves in them. The dwarves who had the strength to approach the bars looked drawn and in a state of despair. If their captors approached they would scatter to the back of the cells. Some of them had clearly already had limbs removed; they all looked like they’d been there for some time.
Vashni sighed. “Ri§ine, I share your sadness at their fate, but look at the numbers! There is no way we can defeat this many Verkreath, they outnumber us twenty to one, you are not yet fit, Votrex is encumbered. The best chance we have of helping these dwarves is to return to Cormaroth and try to get the empress to send a battalion of troops down here.”
“We can’t just leave them!”
“I’m sorry Ri§ine, we must.”
Closer to the front of the marching line Saul was following Elira, occasionally glancing down to the mass of scraggly fur lurching around the chasm floor. He too had noticed the ‘living larder’ at the other side, and was horrified. It was made worse when he saw a dwarf, or what was left of him lying on his back on a table, while several of the rodents were carefully removing his limbs. He lay still, he was not struggling. Saul quickened his step to catch up with Elira. “Is he dead? Why does he not struggle?”
Elir shook her head inside her harness. “He is not dead. The process of carefully removing a body part, then preventing them bleeding to death or getting infected is difficult. They would not be able to do it with their victim’s thrashing around on the table, screaming in agony. They gave Arkon, Trevil, and me... A powder, it paralyses you completely, it prevents you from moving your limbs. You are still conscious, you can still feel every cut, yet you cannot move, you cannot even scream.”
Saul shuddered visibly and looked sadly at the victim, lying placidly while his limbs were being removed. Part of him, a big part of him desperately wanted to put an end to this evil, to rescue this poor soul from his abhorrent fate. Yet it was not possible, trying to intervene would merely ensure their deaths and prevent them sending help once they were in a position to do so.
Elira frowned at Saul, seeing his hurt. “You can’t help him, the best service you can do is to get out of here alive and send help, so that all his kinsmen don’t meet the same fate.”
They all saw the table, the victim. They all felt desperately helpless and sad. The temptation to leap into the fray, carving them left right and centre and trying to free these victims was always there tugging at them. Saul turned to Brael and whispered. “How many ‘living larder’ do you think they have? How many in number do you think they are?”
Brael paused, casting his eye about them, then shrugged. “I know what you are thinking Saul Karza - but look at them, they are not fit to fight. I doubt there are more than fifty captives, most of whom are missing at least one or more limbs, all of whom look malnutritioned and weak.”
As he spoke his eyes fell on a dwarf in on of the cells, a dwarf with red hair and a thick, matted beard. He was missing a shoulder and arm, but was on his feet, his remaining right hand gripping the bars of his cell. His eyes were fixed on Brael and Saul. Brael gasped. “He’s seen us!”
There was a moment of tension, would he somehow raise the alarm? As it happened, the dwarvish fortitude won the day and instead of screaming for help, the dwarf looked pleadingly at them to free him, and presumably his companions. Brael held up five fingers on one hand and waved his other hand around to gesture that they were only five of them, and they would not be capable of defeating the Verkreath host. The dwarf looked sadly at him and nodded acceptance. Brael finally gestured that they would leave, but return in greater numbers. It was difficult to say whether the dwarf understood because at this point one of the Verkreath noticed the dwarf and followed his eyes. When they came to rest on Brael and his companions, the beast snarled and screeched, pointing at the balcony which they were edging along.
What happened next was a blur. Tens of rodentine faces turned to look at the balcony, all snarling, hissing and drawing weapons. Without pausing they swarmed towards the foot of the stairs, at the same time, more Verkreath, having been alerted, came rushing out of one of the larger caverns which led onto the other balconies. The numerical disadvantage the warriors faced was getting worse by the second.
As Votrex, adjusted his stance, preparing to meet the approaching Verkreath head on, Brael grabbed Saul’s shoulder and pointed at a stack of barrels on the chasm floor. “That looks like lamp oil wizard! Hit it with a magic missile!”
As Korhan and Vashni were backing up the stairs, Verkreath were charging up towards them.
Saul, upon hearing Brael’s advice quickly rolled his sleeves up and attuned himself to the ambient magic. “Fir§a mamirxic §osh!”
As he threw his arms towards the barrels a bolt of energy, glowing white with a halo of red around it, materialized and raced towards the barrels. Votrex was already about to meet his first opponent when it struck. The flash was blinding, and the sound of the oil exploding rang and echoed throughout the chasm, dislodging debris and loose rock on the higher levels, sending it tumbling to the chasm floor. A fireball erupted from the barrels slamming into all the surrounding Verkreath, engulfing them in flame.
Votrex’s opponent slowed and covered his eyes to shield them from the glare. As he did Votrex’s axe slashed horizontally splitting the furry creatures abdomen open, spilling it’s foul smelling intestines onto the steps. Another darted forwards and took its fallen comrades place, slashing at Votrex’s head. He caught the blade on the head of his axe and faster than the Verkreath would have thought possible the axe slammed back into it’s neck, slicing it’s throat open in a fountain of blood and sending it falling from the balcony to the chasm floor.
Korhan and Vashni were giving ground, finding the Verkreath to be difficult opponents. They would block, parry, and slash or stab, and then have to quickly back up, despite Korhan’s strength and Vashni’s unerring accuracy. The only thing which was keeping them alive was the narrowness of the balcony, preventing too many attacking at once and the fact that they had the higher ground. Even so, the ferocity of the Verkreath was intimidating, and they were unrelenting. If their comrades fell, they would simply clamber over them and use their corpses to attempt to meet Korhan and Vashni at a more even height.
The prisoners were rattling their bars and shouting, the whole Holt was alive with activity. Verkreath were still rolling around on the floor trying to put their burning fur out. Votrex shouted to B
rael, who had joined him at the front, slashing and blocking. “Brael! Make for that big stone arch, I’ve had an idea!”
Brael nodded and pressed forwards, taking several nicks and slashes as he did.
Korhan and Vashni too had not escaped injury free, in truth Korhan would have fared better, if not for his sore, wounded and weakened state. As he backed up the stairs, one of the Verkreath on the chasm floor climbed onto a table and cracked a long whip at Korhan’s ankles. He’d almost been out of reach, but the tip just wrapped around his ankle. As it bit, the Verkreath pulled hard, taking his legs out from under him. At the same time a line of Verkreath on the other side of the balcony had taken up bows and unleashed a hail of arrows at Korhan and Vashni. Her only escape was to do a quick, back-walkover to get clear, leaving Verkreath surrounding Korhan.
Even though her evasive move had been swift and elegant, a stray arrow slammed into her upper arm making her grunt in pain. As she staggered, and gripped the roughly made arrow, another slammed into her hip, nearly taking her off her feet. She threw an arm to the wall for support and called out. “Brael! Saul! Votrex!”
Saul glared at the line of archers, reloading for another shot and threw his arms at them, shaping and forming the ambient magic as he cast the spell, “Fir§a mamirxic §osh!”
The magic missile struck the centre Verkreath, throwing them about and scattering their weapons. Votrex meanwhile, span his back on the line he was facing, leaving Brael to fight alone. Of course the Verkreath, hoping to stab Votrex in the back had an unpleasant surprise when Elira appeared, thrusting her blade at their faces, and killing one before it’d realised what was happening, with a thrust straight through the throat, and out of the back of its neck. In the confusion, Brael grabbed another weapon from the fallen and began dual-wielding, blocking and slashing with both arms. His skill was formidable, but so was the skill of the Verkreath and before long, despite opening up several foes, sending them limping away, grasping their blood soaked wounds - he had been stabbed in the abdomen, and he’d had his thigh and his left upper arm slashed.
Korhan was on his back, kicking with his free leg and slashing with harbinger. Harbinger was an excellent sword, but its length and weight meant it was not great for defending oneself when prone. He’d block, thrust, then slash, and a Verkreath blade pierced deep into his shoulder causing him to grunt in pain. He thought again, that he was about to die, when an unearthly growl grew louder and louder. It was Votrex’s war cry, the weight and momentum of his great axe sweeping through the lines of Verkreath like a scythe reaping the corn. They’d try and block, but the speed and momentum of his blows would render their attempts to block pointless. If a Verkreath managed to outflank Votrex, they’d pause, stunned at Elira strapped to his back, who by this point would be slashing her blade at them with hatred in her eyes, while they tried to fathom why instead of Votrex’s undefended back - they had a raging dark elf slashing ferociously at them.
Votrex cleared the area around Korhan and Korhan fought his way to his feet, having to use every ounce of his strength. At this point he realised as he’d fallen, he’d taken an arrow to the calf muscle, giving him a pronounced limp and a great deal of pain.
As Korhan staggered up the stairs dragging his limp leg, he heard Votrex shout the command to him to get through the stone arch ahead. He caught up with Vashni and they both limped hurriedly towards Saul, who had joined Brael, wielding his staff as a melee weapon, trying to push the Verkreath advancing from the higher levels back up the slope, or knock them off the balcony.
Votrex, was a whirlwind of death, instead of being encumbered by the triple amputee strapped to his back, he found when a Verkreath would try to outflank him, they more often than not would take a slash to the head from Elira’s blade. The problem was, despite Votrex’s ferocity and skill, Elira was tiring, wielding a blade with her one good hand, while missing the entire opposite shoulder was difficult, she was unbalanced and it caused her to fatigue quicker. Sensing her grunts of effort growing more desperate he backed up the slope, carving a line through his pursuers as he did. Even then a Verkreath arrow, shot from lower down the steps thumped into his shoulder, burying its head in his flesh and causing him to grimace in pain, yet he gritted his teeth and continued to work his way back up, fighting as he went.
The Beren’Gedt Holt Smithy
The companions had fought their way to the stone arch which Votrex had pointed out and backed in, fending off their attackers as they did. As they backed into the narrow tunnel, Saul unleashed another magic missile. “Fir§a mamirxic §osh!”
The glowing mass of energy slammed into the pursuing Verkreath, throwing them back in a shower of sparks and charred fur, allowing the companions, at Votrex instructions to shove the mighty, thick, wooden doors closed and throw the bar on them. As soon as the extra thick double doors were closed Votrex barred them, then backed further off down the tunnel and pressed a discrete switch on the wall. When nothing happened he put his good shoulder behind one of the thick stone doors and started shoving it closed. He growled at the rest of them impatiently. “Well? Help me get them closed!”
It took all their strength to maul the heavy stone crafted doors closed. When they were closed Votrex barred them also. The sound of the hissing, snarling Verkreath suddenly became very muffled and distant.
Votrex pointed away from the stone door. “Back up! There should be one more wooden door to close!”
They limped as fast as they could away again to another set of thick wooden doors. Votrex closed and barred them, and the sound of the Verkreath died down to almost nothing. Korhan was the first to slump down, his back against the wall, grasping at the arrow embedded in his calf muscle. It was a strange sensation, this moment of calm amidst the chaos, the sound of the Verkreath muffled and distance, yet present. The doors wouldn’t hold them indefinitely, and a cursory glance seemed to suggest this chamber or set of chambers was a dead end. Vashni saw Korhan testing the arrow in his calf, preparing to pull it free. She hobbled over to him, as fast as she could, grunting with discomfort and trying to avoid snagging her protruding arrows on things. “Stop Ri§ine! Do not pull it out; it will do less damage if I whisper it out.”
Korhan paused and allowed her to kneel next to him and whisper to the wound. Sure enough the flesh parted away from the arrow head and the arrow fell out effortlessly, she continued whispering, watching the contaminants ooze out, then the flesh knit quickly back together.
Brael, gripping his gushing wound on his stomach growled at Votrex through gritted teeth. “Do we have time for this dwarf? How long will the doors hold them?”
Votrex, having seen the work Vashni was doing on Korhan, stopped tugging at his arrow. “The balcony is too narrow for them to use a battering ram. The doors to this place are thicker and stronger than any others in the Holt. The only way they will be able to get in without using magic, is by building a fire next to the outer wooden door, and burning as much of it away as they can - then smashing the stone doors with tools or by using black powder, and then there’s still the inner doors - I would wager we had at least a couple of hours or even more, if we need them.”
Saul looked around the room properly for the first time; it was a larger room than the others appeared to be. It had tools and materials strewn around, including a large forge with bellows and anvils - it was a blacksmith’s workshop, a smithy. “Why all the reinforced doors Votrex?”
Votrex chuckled, despite his injury. “The doors are to prevent smoke, fumes and noise penetrating the main Holt. Even though the smithy is built larger to make them less prone to echo, the sound in here when a dwarf is hammering steel on steel is deafening. It bounces off the walls and ceilings amplifying and vibrating, it would destroy your ears to work in such an environment for a long time. Look at the leather smithing helmets; they have incredibly clever ear-protection built into them.”
Brael had slumped down next to Korhan, he was losing a lot of blood through the wound in his abdomen and starti
ng to look pale. He looked back and forth as he sat, “This is a welcome respite dwarf, but I see it’s a dead end, we will have to face our fates eventually.”
Votrex shrugged. “Actually gravian, it’s not a dead end. Remember the flues built into the dwellings so the smoke and fumes can be extracted? Well, those are only a few inches across, too narrow for people to travel through. However like all chimney’s they occasionally need sweeping. So there is a main wider flue, which is big enough to accommodate a person, as the smithy always produces the most smoke and fumes it always originates at the smithy. The smaller flues branch onto the main flue and draw air through something we call ‘the venturi effect’ air passing over the flues causes them to suck fumes out from the opposite end.”
“Hmmph, so you think we can leave the Holt through the flue above the forge?”
“I know we can.”
“Where does it lead?”
“Eventually to the surface, or to another part of the Warren, side-tunnels created for maintenance of the main tunnel, or even old, seldom used tunnels that have since been replaced by the larger ones. There will be a way out.”
While this conversation had been continuing Vashni had finished cleaning and sealing Korhan’s new set of wounds with whispers. She moved towards Brael next, “Brael, allow me to clean and close your wounds.”
He shook his head, “No Vashni, please attend to yourself first.”
She smiled weakly at him. “Let me at least see to the gaping wound in your belly, tis oozing a lot of blood.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She placed her lips near the mass of rough hessian and now partially dried, sticky blood then screwed her face up. “You should lie flat, so I can join the fibres back together properly.”
He maneuvered himself so he was flat on the stone floor of the smithy. She pulled clear his hessian tunic, which he’d been wearing since they’d pulled him from the chopping block in Trest and began whispering to his wound. He lay still, allowing her to work, occasionally grimacing, his face a brief contortion of pain as the muscles and tendons joined themselves back together. The cleaning part of the process took a long time, and by the time she was closing the outer wound, the skin together, she looked tired and weak.
Deathsworn Arc: 02 - The Verkreath Horror Page 13