by Bill Ricardi
The human answered, “Yes.”
“Good. Now, tell us about your employers, and how you got here.”
Robbie and the rest of the staff used to work for Duke Harrington in his woodland keep. After their lord was killed, they expected that there would be a succession and they would be working for whoever the new duke was. Instead, they were told to carry on as in if Harrington was still alive.
The lad explained, “The keep was taken over by clerics and soldiers. The clerics said that they were Koroth worshipers at first. But then things… changed. They started doing strange rituals and changing what they wore and what they would eat. Then they said they worshipped Duke Harrington.”
A cold chill crept up my spine. I murmured, “At the end… before I killed him, Harrington was standing in an Abjuration circle. He told me that dead or alive, he would become Koroth’s general. What if that was just the first step? He didn’t seem like the type who enjoyed being second fiddle.”
Ames scowled. “Damn. Robbie, continue.”
The young man swallowed and murmured, “We started to get taken all sorts of places. The eight of us ended up here. We serve ten of Harrington’s people, and those two mages from that school.”
Ames pressed, “That school? The Arcane University?”
Robbie nodded, “Well they used to be at least. They can’t go back is what I gather.”
“Damn right they can’t.” murmured Rick. “Probably a couple of the traitors from Royal Moffit who helped steal the Arcane Syphons.”
Ames asked, “Are there any undead in there?”
The human got a shade paler. “Oh no. No, no. Well.” He paused.
The were-cat looked irritated. “What?”
Robbie said, “There are a couple of what the mages called ‘bone golems’. They said they weren’t undead. But we’re not supposed to talk about them.”
Ames nodded. “Anything else?”
The human shook his head.
The feline helped our former prisoner to his feet. “Okay, go grab your bucket of water and remember the plan. Get everyone ready, and when the fighting starts, get their butts in here. The Culinary Guild is counting on you.”
The human said, “Thank you Ames, we won’t let you down.” He opened the shed door and scampered off.
Will murmured, “Well. That’s what I call thinking on your toes, Ames. Well done.”
Reminded of toes, I set down the were-cat’s boots so they could step into the rugged footwear. Then the feline rumbled, “It seems like we have eight little sheep to shepherd once we get out of here. But I didn’t see an alternative. Leaving them here is a death sentence.”
We waited until Robbie had stepped inside with his fresh bucket of water, and ghosted in behind him. The torchlit reception room had a tall semicircular stone desk, presumably once used for admitting and checking out mental patients. We ducked behind it and observed. Time was now on our side, knowing that there were no true undead in the asylum. A half hour passed, and the only people we saw were those wearing black servant’s robes. They looked excited and seemed to be gathering their things, as instructed. All of them disappeared through the west door eventually, presumably where the kitchens were.
A quick foray through the east door revealed rows of cells, the cage doors open. They had been converted to servant’s quarters, complete with shoddy bedding and rough straw pillows. There were no personal effects, so either the staff wasn’t allowed to have anything personal, or they had already packed things up for their upcoming rescue.
That left only the north door, which was unlocked. Ames cracked it open slowly to peer through. A sharp flick of their tailtip told the rest of us that we should follow, as the leather clad rogue slipped into the passage beyond. Like the reception chamber, ensconced torches lit the entire length of this hallway. By the massive and permanent soot marks on the stone ceiling, I deduced that the same lighting method had been used a hundred years ago as well.
We did our best to retain stealth, unlike the enemy. It was clear that there was a large group up ahead and to the left. They were laughing and making noise like they didn’t have a care in the world. As we crept up the hall, we saw a semi open chamber. It likely served as some sort of staff meeting chamber or a break room, when the facility had a real purpose. Now it served as a place for Harrington’s thugs to drink, play games with pornographic playing cards, and insult each other.
We drew our weapons and readied our material components. After creeping forward another few paces, our group caught sight of the enemy while they were distracted by their games and lewd activities. Our party had once been called ‘ragtag’ by an insane elementalist named Salt. Compared to this group however, we were the picture of homogeneous organization. Three of these degenerates were clearly warrior types, all with mismatched swords, metal armor, and shields. They were playing cards for coppers. In the far corner there were two red robed clerics… I say ‘robed’, but garments had been hiked up as they engaged in some rather lewd groping that sexed one clearly as a male and the other as a female. Screaming about something unintelligible was a half orc that could best be described as a berserker of some kind, garbed in leathers with a club hanging from his belt.
The problem was the seventh creature. He was a leather clad were-wolf, looking bored and angry. And despite the racket of his companions, despite the smell of sex and alcohol in the air, despite the ungodly din that the berserker was making; the man had the presence of mind and natural talent to either hear or smell our approach.
“To arms!”
Everyone in the room dropped what (and who) they were doing, readied weapons and in some cases shields, and started to pour out into the broad hallway. We still had the advantage, already organized into a three-wide front line while the three mages started to cast the spells that we had prepared. But things would have been far easier if not for that were-wolf’s keen senses.
The first two human warriors never made it to our capable crew. The beetle guts melted from my hands, Acid Bolts finding gaps in the first man’s crappy armor. A portal appeared in the ceiling just above and in front of the second lout, and he stepped into the stream of heavy magical hailstones, which pummeled and froze him. Finally, Will’s Lightning Bolt surged through the wounded enemies’ metal armor, causing them to dance in place for a moment before falling to the ground, dead.
Unexpectedly, the half orc leapt forward with an improvised weapon: A massive iron candelabra. Tara was caught unawares, and the crazed berserker’s swing struck her right in the jaw and the forehead. The minotaur fell back, groaning, bruised, bleeding, and only semi-conscious.
As the remaining warrior squared off against Toby and the two were-creatures crossed short swords, the clerics in the back started to call upon their unholy god. I braced, expecting the lash of one of their pain oriented spells. Instead, I heard hissing. Two giant snakes appeared just a couple of paces away from our back line. They lunged and coiled around myself and Will. One of my arms was trapped, while both of the smaller human’s arms were free. We both held the heads and necks of the conjured snakes at bay. But I felt that constriction starting to tighten, to crush. The clerics kept their eyes closed, channeling their unholy power into these proxy creatures, controlling them fully, maintaining their existence on this plane.
The berserker crouched, as in if preparing to leap over the fallen Tara to assault Rick directly. Toby was having none of it. A beautiful sidekick sent the half orc crashing into the eastern wall. The paladin still had the presence of mind to block a vicious slash from the human warrior he was facing, though the follow-up backslash sliced through his chainmail and left a shallow cut on the bull’s right arm.
Ames and the were-wolf were engaged in what looked like a dance. The flashing of short swords was almost too quick to follow. Each of the rogues was using everything at their disposal: Agile dodging, taking blows within the exact tolerances of their leather armor, mind games. The lupine thrust down at Ames’ kneecap, who atte
mpted to respond by lifting the leg and trying to snap the blade against the stone floor with their boot. The were-wolf aborted the thrust and backflipped, resetting the fight once more.
I was finding it hard to breathe, but managed to keep the snake at bay. I knew that the clerics were out of the fight as long as they maintained their concentration. Will looked like he had the worse deal. Sure he had two hands to hold off any potential snake bites, but he had no buffer to protect his ribcage. The pain was etched on his face.
But everyone forgot about Rick.
With nobody to harass him, the alert mage utilized a trick that he learned from Leeson of all people. The Cloud of Stench enveloped both clerics and the were-wolf. The lupine quickly stepped up to reengage with Ames, but the clerics were in a world of their own. They were choking and gagging before they could pull their minds from the bodies of the snakes. The conjured serpents dissipated like so much smoke, as their former masters wretched their guts out over the once-clean floor.
Ames alertly shifted left to use the were-wolf as a buffer against the berserker, who was back in the fight. But Tara had regained her feet (or hooves in this case) and was looking for revenge. Bleeding from the nose and the forehead, the cleric bellowed and went cudgel to club with the fierce barbarian, crowding the powerful berserker with her shield. The side by side contrast of graceful rogues fencing and powerful beasts clashing was somehow starkly beautiful to me.
Toby sacrificed a second minor wound, a slash across his thigh, for a killing blow. The human warrior must have been startled when the paladin simply ignored his low strike. But that state of mind was quickly erased as the Axe of McGrondle crashed through helmet, skull, and brain.
Will was still recovering from his constriction, but I knew I had to move quickly. Taking a deep breath and holding it, I drew my dagger, charged past the dying warrior, and dove into the Cloud of Stench. I didn’t count how many times I stabbed. I had to close my eyes to shield them from both the pungent stinging and the sprays of blood. So I heard rather than saw the dispatching of the female cleric, presumably by Rick if he had followed my lead.
A few seconds later, the cloud had dissipated and I was able to open my eyes. But the battle was already over. With Toby on their flank and Will back in the fight, were-wolf and half orc were out of options. There was a rain of Magic Missiles, though I was unsure which of the two was targeted. Ames’ blade flashed, and the berserker fell, dead before he hit the floor. And no amount of grace would save the rogue from both Tara’s cudgel and Toby’s axe, cornered as he was.
In the end it was a bloodbath. Had they been alert from the start and seen to their duty rather than engaging in public drunkenness and debauchery, it might have been a very different battle. Instead Toby had suffered two cuts, Will some bruised ribs, and Tara a broken nose. A combination of minor healing prayers from our paladin and cleric took care of the bleeding and the pain.
Ames reminded us of the tactical situation: The sounds of battle should have signaled our new cooking and cleaning staff to get to the shack and take cover. Which meant, if our informant was right, we had 5 more fiends to worry about, and their golems of course.
“Which means anyone you see is the enemy. No quarter.” the were-cat concluded.
We made our way up the switchback staircase at the end of the hall and were greeted by double doors. Remembering the vampire incident, Will cast Detect Magic to see if there were any wards. The only things that glowed were magical items that we already knew about. Satisfied, Toby and Tara opened the doors and raised their shields.
It was a good thing they did. One crossbow bolt went wide, but the other two would have hit the mark if it weren’t for Toby’s buckler and Tara’s larger body shield. They moved forward, slowly. I wondered why they didn’t just charge the crossbowmen before they could reload. When their combined minotaur bulk had shifted out of the doorway, however, I had my answer.
The room was large and open, perhaps intended as a recreation or group therapy chamber. The Harringtonites had converted the space into a sanctum for their gateway to the Plane of Negative Energy. The center of the room was dominated by two golems, made entirely from the twisted and fused bones of other creatures. They stood as tall as Toby and easily half as tall again. To the east, which was to our left given the shift in orientation, the three crossbowmen were calmly reloading. Finally at each far corner of the room was a figure garbed in the pine green robes given to Arcane University graduate students. The fact that they continued to wear the garb, despite their betrayal, boiled my blood. The elven man and the human woman had their eyes closed, presumably channeling something. It was highly likely that the pair was directly controlling the actions of the golems.
And yet, none of these people or creatures constituted the most dangerous threat in the room. At the center of the chamber was a square marble plinth. In the center of the plinth, there was a bowl of volcanic glass. Hovering half a pace above the bowl was a black gem of unknown origin. There was a dark halo around it where reality stopped and the nothingness started. Every instinct contained in my mortal body told me to fear that… that thing.
Ames rolled into the room, came up on one knee, and fired a well aimed shot at the female mage in the corner of the room. It would have struck the woman right in the throat were in not for the Invisible Shield held static in front of her. The sounds of combat below had meant that the mages were able to prepare, and prepare well.
Will’s Magic Missiles flew past the golems and towards the male magus, only to impact with an anti-magic barrier much like the one that the former Bishop of Koroth had used during our final battle against him. Until we could get to them and physically disrupt the channeling, or until their protective magics were overloaded or ran out, those mages were untouchable.
Tara stopped and began to invoke the glory of Melflavin while Toby did his best to distract the first of the two massive golems. The Axe of McGrondle put a significant notch in the construct’s claw when it attempted to lash out at the paladin. That gave the golem pause.
As Ames switched from their hand crossbow over to the more reliable short sword, I put a Force Bolt right into the skull of the second golem, stopping its advance as it staggered back. There was no visible damage, but I had bought some time.
Rick realized that there weren’t enough frontliners to stop a potential charge of two golems and three warriors. He opted to create Mirror Images of himself. The four Ricks went mobile, running to the east side of the chamber to get the attention of the crossbowmen, who had just reloaded.
Just as Tara’s azure warhammer came into being and started to orbit her body, the warriors aimed their powerful devices at us. The first panicked when Tara started to charge his position. His bolt deflected off of the cleric’s big shield. The second warrior’s aim was true, but his guess was wrong. One of Rick’s illusions popped like a soap bubble. The third pulled the trigger, and his bolt tore through my robes, passing between my legs, perhaps two finger-widths below my crotch. My life passed before my eyes before I realized that he had missed, just barely.
Tara and her independent warhammer both started to rain in blows on the warriors, forcing them to draw longswords instead. It was a bit too late for one of the irregulars, who caught a cudgel to the left shoulder that completely ignored his chainmail and carried on to smash the collarbone. He was knocked flat on his ass, howling, as his companions focused on their own defense.
Toby was being forced to back off, doing his best to parry the massive swings from his bone golem, but mostly succeeding in numbing his own arms. Every cut and nick from his magical axe seemed to disappear after a few seconds. “They’re regenerating!” he warned us.
Ames had no intention of going offensive against the golem that I had caused to stagger. The were-cat was nimbly dodging just out of range of the scythe-like swings coming from the construct. It was just a matter of time, however, before the feline would run out of room and get cornered. Will saw this and stepped up, casting
a Fan of Flame that singed the creature’s chest and briefly blinded it, buying Ames a little more time.
Rick saw Tara in a similar situation. Eventually the warriors would equalize and overwhelm the cleric. He charged forward and put his three bodies on the line, jabbing with his dagger to force at least one of the two standing warriors to face him. The fighter had to pay some heed to the tall human, unless he wanted to allow the mage to deliver the coup de grace to the still-recovering irregular on the ground, which Rick would be more than happy to do.
This left me with options.
In an instant I played out the likely conclusion to the battle in my head. Massive regenerating golems being pumped full of negative energy. Mages who had bought enough time with their near-total immunity to effectively corner and crush us with their constructs. Warriors who were just distracting enough to prevent us from forming a united front against the real threat.
We were going to die.
Unless.
I saw the first golem split far right, nearly touching the western wall as it chased Ames. Toby’s golem was split left, chasing him towards the melee on the eastern wall where all three warriors were currently distracted.
I charged up the middle.
The golem closest to the plinth was too slow to recover its position, and Toby lodged his axe into one boney ankle for good measure. The injured human fighter was only able to point impotently with his one good arm and shout a warning.
I was at the plinth in three seconds. Pushing the terror into the back of my mind, remembering for that split second that I had vowed to live a braver life, I reached out and touched that hovering black gem. A far different kind of drain than the one I was used to started to flood into my bones.
Then I invoked the Gloves of Secrecy, spiriting the gem into a pocket dimension.
To call what happened next an ‘explosion’ gave explosions far too much credit. I was hurled into the north wall as if gravity no longer applied to me. I heard twin screams in my left and right ears, as the mages who had been channeling the power of the rift had their minds torn out of their fugue state. Their psyches were then slammed, painfully, back into their own bodies. Both of the bone golems were scattered to the four winds. It was like blackpowder had been ignited inside of them. More accurate perhaps: It was like every seam and joint of the constructs had been blown apart individually.