#116 - A Grim Escort

From the journal of Diva’un Mur'ss, last of House Zaughym, Bale of Nightfall, Drinker of the Blood of Erebus the Thrice Unforgiven, Bringer of Darkness

Hope is weakness. Hope betrayed me. Without hope I would have bided my time and betrayed Katashka at a moment of my choosing. But I let myself believe for a moment that great events could be altered. I allowed hope in a coalition of heroes who Katashka had taken notice of, who had defeated all who had stood against them.

Now as I surveyed them, I was left with a single question. How does such an unlikely assemblage of disparate rogues manage to murder their way into prophecy?

I had prevailed upon them the urgency of preventing Katashka’s servants from unleashing The Mire of True Hunger on the world. I had spoken of the war that would surely result, of the pestilence that would spread and the loosening of Katashka’s bonds. The best I could do was convince them to merely rest for an hour instead of sleeping for the night. Faced with their intransigence, I agreed to summon a sphere of protection that would at least allow them take their leisure uninterrupted.

Once the protection formed, I called Durag back from his banishment. He assumed his usual bat form and clung to my arm, squeaking. His presence was a comfort, but not his words. For while my new acquaintances merely heard animal vocalizations, in my mind Durag spoke. Avashad will kill you. Avashad will destroy me. These creatures have clouded your mind. Slay them all and you may be forgiven. Slay them while they sleep and we will be rewarded.

“It is done.” I answered through our telepathic bond. “There is no turning back. We must prevail against Lumeris, Avashad, and Katashka. Look on them. Consider them your friends. For if they fall then I fail, and if I fail, Avashad will consume all that you are."

Durag grew quiet. Then he loosed a plaintive squeak. The dragon lover smells.

It was a moment of humor and I was afraid there would be few enough of those in my future.

There was the sound of leather slapping metal.

“Grt mrrr unt!” Cypher, who had been examining a cloak we had found in Alain’s wardrobe and, in trying it on, he found himself suddenly wrapped in a living creature of batlike aspect. Of membranous and leathery folds.

Durag squeaked again, cheered by this development. Perhaps their stupidity will slay them for us.

Cypher's voice was muffled by his attacker's flesh and he flailed to pull free from its embrace. He was fortunate he was not a living and breathing creature, for the embrace of a cloaker means suffocation.

This was a foolish fate. A dome of perfect protection doesn’t help when you bring your foes in with you.

With little room to maneuver we all attempted to damage the creature without hurting Cypher, but it was not cooperating. The cloaker sported teeth and a sharp-tipped tail, which found its mark cutting my arm.

“Rowww!” said Cypher as I blasted him and his tormenter with eldritch energies.

Cypher finally managed to wrestle free and we finished off the flapping thing before it could try to suffocate a member of our party who actually needed to breath.

Perhaps a rest is appropriate.  They don’t look up to another battle.

Magnus, flopped back onto the corner of Alain’s bed, heedless of the danger of being smothered by it and we resumed our rest as best as we could on the stone floor. Clarion conjured an unseen servant, who he tasked once again with carrying a stack of shields. I do not understand why he needs four additional shields. Wynn wrapped her injuries. Izzeth stared at me. I recognize undiluted drow hatred, even if his blood is thin.

After our rest, we exited the sphere to find Arafin dozing with her eyes slitted open, periodically refreshed by a nictating membrane. She started awake and we all froze in place as a loud banging rang through the chamber from the outermost door of Alain's chamber. Something strong was obviously knocking. The knock repeated and it was decided we attempt deception.

“Go away," I yelled in my best imitation of the Blue Wraith's voice. "I must rest and recover my spent powers.”

“The master summons you,” came the muffled and very guttural reply. The speaker was either a brute, or undead. Perhaps both.

“I must rest, come back later," I replied. "The interlopers have headed back the way they came.”

“What of the drow?”

I looked at my new companions and speaking more truth than they could possibly understand, I answered, “He is dead.”

“You must report," the speaker said. This was getting us nowhere.

"I require five minutes to ready myself."

“I can lead them away,” Cypher offered. “I can appear as The Blue Wraith.”  He opened one of the potions he carried releasing a stored magic which altered his appearance quite convincingly. One moment, he was his warforged self, the next he looked exactly like Alain ir'Valesh.

The party seemed split about Cypher taking the risk. While he countered that he was of little use for now and was otherwise spent, I thought the risk would be too great, especially because he didn’t sound like the mage he impersonated.

Finally I revealed my most powerful magic. One I had hoped to save until the last moment, but that moment seemed to be upon me. By using one of the few remaining spells contained in my torc, I could cause all of us to seem as other than what we were.

After another stalling exchange with whatever waited on us beyond the Blue’s Wraith’s antechamber, we decided that I would appear as the room's former occupant and the rest of the party would be concealed as his bodyguards, the walking suits of armor he had animated. I argued that Arafin could be disguised as one of the evil nagas that inhabited these caves, but she vociferously declined.


In agreement, I held the Torc of House Zaughym and used its most powerful spell to hide us all. In the moment I decided Arafin’s pride shouldn’t condemn us to discovery and clothed her in illusion as well.

Seeing that she wore the visage of one of the enemy nagas, she rose to her full height angrily and spit a caustic poison at my feet.

“If you do not take me to my mate," she said, "I will kill you myself."

We all stood ready as Magnus removed the spikes from the outer door and opened it. In the hallway beyond stood a ghoulishly decayed hobgoblin whose odor was highly offensive, the zombie of an ogre, and one of the few undead beholders Trazzen has placed on patrol. It was quite the escort.

The hobgoblin was the only one of the three capable of speech—and of thinking at all. It stepped aside to let us out and then led the way west. The ogre filed after it and the long-dead beholder floated behind us. None of the creatures seemed to question my armored escort, and my ruse as the Blue Wraith was effective.

Cypher’s Rungo and the illusory-masked Arafin stayed behind and only followed us at a distance.

We continued westward through the columned hallway until, having passed the corridor we had entered from, it was clear we were not headed toward the Rumdhal Cauldron. Where, then, were we supposed to report?

I cleared my throat, mentioning that “It was too bad that I had forgotten to buy a new cauldron.” I was never comfortable with unplanned dissembling. I bent low to tighten the strap on my boot, hoping the rest would be ready for what would happen next. I focused my energies, sprinted towards that rear where the beholder floated, and unleashed four blasts of dark energy, hexing it. Fortunately, our escort were not quick to react to our attack.

Although some of its necrotic flesh was blasted away, the undead beholder showed little sign that I inflicted upon it power that I had used many times with fatal results. Magnus charged the two creatures that had been leading us, bashing the debased hobgoblin, while the remainder of the group attacked the beholder.  Wynn was able to strike repeatedly with both ends of her partisan, a weapon with unusual reach. Cypher was reduced to merely firing crossbow bolts from the inventive arm attachment of his—understandable in his depleted state. Izzeth brought a powerful beam of moonlight down upon the suspended ball of malevolence which caused it to begin to smoke. Clarion ran forward and grappled the thing with his own hands, keeping it from retreating.

The struggle continued despite all of our attacks. Although blinded in death of its central eye, the beholder turned one of its bent eyestalks upon Clarion, damaging him gravely with a mere gaze. Clarion released the thing and swung his staff instead. All of us focused our attacks but the beholder held its ground until finally it looked up into the light that was burning it. It hovered for a moment, winced with its remaining eyestalks, then fell hard to the ground, smoldering from the radiant light.

Behind us, Magnus had held his two opponents at bay while we finished the rear guard.

I ran to join him, again sending my most lethal attack against the ghastly hobgoblins, staggering it but not felling it. All of our attacks weakened but didn’t stop the two undead monsters, until Izzeth once again brought the silver-white beam of light down upon them. Injured as they were, the conjured moonlight seemed to stab at them from all sides, and both creatures fell to the stone floor, truly dead.

Even as desperate as this “Winter Coalition” is, they have some fight in them.

Hope is weakness and I have hope.