by C. M. Carney
The aberrant traitor locked eyes with Gryph, a horribly placid grin on his face, and then turned his back to him, fist raised high. The warborn carrying the adamantine cube marched, but Tifala and Ovyrm stayed behind, staring straight at Gryph and his fellows.
“Tif,” Wick said in a desperate tone. Gryph placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and the small man looked up at him, tears brimming in his eyes. “Promise me we won’t hurt her.”
“Even if it means my life,” Gryph said.
“Xeg help save pretty lady too. Push blue-haired midget or tall pointy head if must to save, but save will.”
“Um, thanks,” Wick said with a grimace.
A war cry flowed over the lake and drew their gaze. The elves were roaring defiance and smashing swords against breast plates. Arrows and spells launched into the warborn, killing several of the cube bearers. As they fell more replaced them and the cube continued its inexorable journey towards the far shore.
Swirls of black fog zipped in and out of the box, corrupting more rangers, paladins and casters. Those taken by the weapon turned on their comrades, killing them without emotion or regret. The free rangers pulled back, under the command of Gartheniel the half elf Steward. They did their best to slow the advance of their brothers turned foes without killing them.
Gryph watched as Myrthendir strode forward with confident ease, his ever-growing army of enslaved soldiers parting to let him pass like the Red Sea before Moses. Each step the traitorous elf lord took put more combatants between him and them.
Myrthendir stopped and looked up. Gryph followed the angle of his gaze to the Spire, the dead empyrean tree, that had once illuminated the valley, bringing peace and ease to all its residents. His mind flew back to a conversation he’d had with Barrendiel the first time he’d laid eyes on the tree the El’Edryn had called Aurvendiel.
Some can no longer say her name, the ranger captain had told him. They refer to her as the Spire. Others believe someday she will be rejuvenated and that day will mark the beginning of a new epoch in the history of the Realms.
But you do not believe that? Gryph had asked.
I am a realist, Barrendiel had replied. Losing Aurvendiel was a terrible blow to our people. Without her light the El’Edryn devolved into the various elven races that now populate the rest of Korynn. We who live in her shadow still cling to what we once were, but soon we too will no longer be El’Edryn.
Bile rose in Gryph’s throat and he knew that he was missing something. Control of Sylvan Aenor was only a step to Myrthendir’s goal, not the goal itself. Which means there was something he wanted more than an army of warborn and elves.
What if Myrthendir was not a realist? What if he had discovered a way to bring the tree Aurvendiel back to life? The influence his aberrant mind could have on the once mighty tree and the epoch it would bring to the Realms was too terrible to consider.
Gryph’s eyes snapped from Myrthendir to his army and then back to his own pathetic force. He hated to kill people who were not responsible for their actions, but he knew casualties were inevitable.
He turned to the imp, resting on Errat’s shoulder. “Xeg, can Avernerius clear a path for us?”
The imp grinned again and disappeared in another flash of crimson flames. A second later he was back atop Avernerius, steering the demon via its horns like some insane puppet master. The abyssal terror roared and swung its magma blade back and forth in slow deadly arcs. Warborn fell, burnt and screaming. The demon lumbered forward as dozens of arbalest bolts flew at him.
This time the demon did not, or could not, raise its magical shield and most the bolts found their mark. Most ricocheted off of the magma plates that protruded from the demon’s skin, but some found the small gaps between the plates. The demon didn’t pay them any heed as Xeg turned it towards the arbalest wielders.
The massive hellbeast moved like a cat hacking up a hairball, but then a stream of magma flew from its mouth, dousing the closest group in molten rock. Those who were lucky instantly turned to spots of oily soot, while the unlucky had limbs melted away, living long enough for their screams to flow over the Deep Water.
Gryph ran, and the others followed. Soon they were behind the demon, wary of its cloven hooves. We need to get to Myrthendir, Gryph thought at the others and sidestepped a claymore blow from one of the warborn. Gryph activated Counter Attack and Impale and his spear bit into the warborn’s side, slicing between the plates of thick armor. The massive man grunted and swung again. Gryph used Dodge and ducked under the clumsy blow, spinning his spear and jamming it into the creature’s neck.
He activated Analyze.
Warborn: Level 15 - H:280/S:320/M:180/SP:180
Warborn are the epitome of Thalmiir artifice. These bipedal automatons are unlike any other creation built by the ancient High Dwarves as they possess souls offered in tribute by the fallen warriors of the Alliance.
While they are incredibly tough warriors, they are naïve and raw, unformed as individuals and as a people. They will obey the commands of whoever wears the Iron Crown.
Strengths: Unknown Immunities: Unknown: Weaknesses: Unknown.
Unformed as individuals and a people? Gryph looked back at Errat, who nodded, his face full of grim regret. We will help them if we can Errat, I promise, Gryph sent.
I will dedicate my life to it, Grimliir added, even as he sliced a warborn’s arm off with his reciprocating blade.
Wick was keeping a mesmerized ranger at bay with chthonic bolts, while Errat turned his axe against another of his brothers. They were holding their own, but a quick glance back towards Dar Thoriim showed Gryph the warborn reinforcements would soon overtake them.
We need to get off this bridge.
You’re the asshole who wanted to get on it, Wick thought.
Xeg, port us to the other side?
No do. Too far. End up in middle of handsome baldies and pointy heads. They stab, stab, murder, kill you. Hmmm, maybe Xeg will port.
No, Gryph yelled through the link.
Wick grumbled. Why didn’t you tell us that before? Wick cut off any response. Yeah, yeah, we no did ask. I get it. Wick dodged a sword swipe from the ranger and speared the man through the eye with a chthonic bolt. A pulse of regret flowed through their bond and they all felt the loss of the elf’s life. His eyes widened as he saw the reinforcements getting close. We need a new plan here.
Avernerius swung his blade through a group of warborn and elves who’d come in too close, buying them a moment’s respite. The abyssal terror looked down upon Wick, and Xeg peeked his grinning face over the beast’s horns.
Breathe fire dumb dumb, why for think Xeg give fire. Burn bridge.
Gryph had no time to wonder what the hell the imp was blathering about, but Wick’s mental laugh pushed through the bond and Wick turned towards the approaching horde of warborn. The gnome opened his mouth and crimson flame erupted in gouts.
The flames slapped across the surface of the bridge and stone melted. Gryph did not know how hot flame had to be to melt solid rock, but the air was as hot as a blast furnace. The bridge bubbled and globs of molten stone flowed along the edges of the bridge and into the Deep Water. The lake roiled and sizzled and steam rose, clouding the warborn’s approach like morning fog on the Thames.
Wick’s flame seared through the span and he closed his mouth, cutting off the flame. A loud burp, accompanied by puffs of smoke, rumbled forth and Wick slapped his chest a few times like a man easing habanero induced gastrointestinal stress.
Back up boys, Wick sent through the link. They backed up while Avernerius continued to swing his sword, keeping the enemies off their back. Wick opened his mouth again and more of the flame belched forth. Half a minute later the span snapped and fell into the Deep Water, the white-hot edges casting a cloud of steam about them.
A thunderous roar of pain rose, ruining their moment of victory and Gryph spun to see dozens of arbalest bolts, arrows and spells punch into Avernerius. The demon stumbled and lur
ched forward, tossing Xeg from his horny perch and dumping him into the midst of the enemy forces.
Xeg, Wick screamed through the link, chased by a flash of embarrassment. Before anyone could react to the emotional outburst Xeg ported back onto Errat’s shoulder.
No worry purple goober, Xeg okay. Nice know love Xeg though.
I don’t…., came Wick’s embarrassed response, but then Avernerius fell onto his face, pin cushioned by dozens of fletched shafts and dotted with a dozen smoking craters. His body slammed onto the bridge, crushing several enemies who’d stayed too close.
Bye, bye puny demon, Xeg thought and then Avernerius’ body disappeared in a flash of chthonic flame.
You really need to learn the meanings of words, imp, Wick thought.
No call Xeg imp, Xeg way more than imp.
What is imp? Errat asked.
Can we focus people? We have an army bearing down on us and we lost our tank. Gryph thought, and dual cast Water Blast. He aimed the combined jets of water at the approaching enemy, tossing several from the bridge and dousing the entire span. He continued to blast warborn and elves into Deep Water, buying as much space between the enemies and his people as he could.
The jet ended as suddenly as it had begun and Gryph raised his spear above his head and waited. The warborn were first to their feet, and they marched with calm purpose towards them once more. As they got closer, the tip of Gryph’s spear flowed with sparks. He saw Wick glance at him nervously. Stand back, he thought and waited, heart thundering at the emotionless wave of death that moved at him.
Um, now would be a good time.
Not yet.
The warborn lowered their spears and continued their advance. Wick backed away.
How about now?
Wait for it.
The closest warborn pushed his spear forward and Gryph activated Dodge and then punched the butt of his spear onto the bridge. Yrriel’s Maelstrom discharged and a bolt of chain lightning blasted from the spear and tore a ragged hole through the chest of a warborn so close that Gryph could smell the charring flesh as he died.
Tendrils of electricity twined around the dead man’s legs conducted by the water Gryph had blasted at him and he fell, spasming as the last discharges pulsed through him. Despite the warborn’s innate 50% resistance to all magical damage, his initial strike had still killed the bipedal automaton. Was it the proximity?
A dozen more bolts exploded from the tip of Gryph’s spear and thrummed into every warborn within 20 feet. None of the others were killed, but they still took a whopping 234 points of damage. Several collapsed to their knees, stunned. It pushed another twenty off the bridge and into the lake.
That worked well. Let’s do that again, Wick sent.
Can’t. It has an hour cooldown period, and I used the last of my charges. It’ll take a day to recharge enough to use that attack again.
Well, we’re up dung brook without an oar.
Gryph gave the gnome a sideways glance but realized questioning the odd similarity of cultural colloquialisms separated by literal universes was not the best use of his time in the current situation.
Gryph, Wick, Errat, Grimliir and Xeg each killed several of the downed warborn before they could recover, but beyond the area of effect of Gryph’s attack dozens more stood in a formation that would have made the Roman Legions look sloppy.
What are they waiting for? Wick sent.
The formation parted like water and two figures emerged from the ocean of warborn.
No, no, no, I can’t do this, Wick blubbered through the mental link.
Tifala and Ovyrm stood at the front of the warborn. Ovrym danced his way through a series of sword forms while Tifala drew green life energy into her hands. A tense silence hung over the lake broken only by Wick’s whimper. Gryph put a steadying hand on his friend. Easy, Wick.
Easy. What in the abyss are you talking about? I will not hurt her.
Nor will I.
That’s gonna kinda put a crimp on our ability to live, don’t ya think?
Why are my brothers not attacking? Errat asked.
Jerk not elf want make dumbheads suffer. He fit in real good in Bxrthygaal.
Gryph knew Xeg was right. Myrthendir knew he could send a hundred warborn or El’Edryn at them and they would kill them. They would not want to, but they would. But, there was no way any of them would harm Tifala or Ovyrm. He wants to torment us.
I still have dibs on that kick to the nut sack.
They had no time to ponder on Myrthendir’s strategy before their friends attacked them. Ovyrm came at Gryph, his blade a blur of glinting red light. Gryph activated Parry and blocked the attack. The xydai pushed with his prodigious strength and Gryph grunted with the effort but recognized the adjudicator’s position would soon result in Gryph being exactly where Ovyrm wanted him.
The xydai was already the superior fighter, and Gryph’s unwillingness to do the man terminal damage further handicapped his options. He needed to change the rules of the contest and quickly. Ovyrm, perhaps sensing his thoughts danced backwards, taunting him from afar.
Gryph realized the distraction too late and a half dozen vines sprouted from the bridge and twined his legs, immobilizing him. His eyes flashed to Tifala protected by a shimmering green field.
Errat swung his axe back and forth, taking chunks of health from the magical barrier, but was careful not to hurt the diminutive life mistress. Xeg tried to port inside Tifala’s sphere of energy, but kept getting bounced back, muttering under his breath in the chthonic tongue. Wick stood motionless, unable to bring any attack against his love.
Wick, Gryph sent through the link. Do something. But Wick did not move.
Handsome baldies and pointy heads moving.
Gryph saw that the closest warborn and rangers were advancing on them. Shit!
We have them, Grimliir said, nodding at Errat.
The giant warborn smiled, understanding his father’s look. Little red man, shield please.
Xeg ported onto the warborn’s shoulder and a crimson sphere of energy flowed from his tiny hands, surrounding both imp and construct as a volley of fired arrows impacted. They were not imbued, and the shield held.
The metal clad father and his eunuch son ran towards the coming enemy. Grimliir took up a defensive position next to Errat and rapid-fire arbalest bolts flew from his raised arms. They flew towards the approaching enemies killing elf and warborn alike.
Errat extended his hands forward, and the air shimmered like a mirage above a distant desert road. The bridge seemed to warp as the stone took on a rubberlike consistency. Errat moved his hands up and down like a maid shaking out a blanket before making a bed. The surface of the bridge buckled, and the enemy scattered like drops of water from a shaking dog.
It knocked dozens off their feet and tossed them from the bridge. Nice job, Gryph sent as the duo rushed towards the enemy line, but then Tifala’s vines contracted, pulling his attention away from the odd duo as they disappeared amidst a swarm of enemy combatants.
Gryph grimaced in pain. Ovyrm walked up to him and placed the point of his sword at Gryph’s heart. The xydai’s eyes were blank and his expression seemed almost bored, but his sword arm was shaking.
Gryph grabbed the xydai by the arm and cast Mind Shield, pushing the spell into Ovyrm’s mind. “Fight it Ovyrm,” Gryph whispered. The xydai’s eye twitched and his sword arm dipped an inch. “Fight!” Gryph cast Animate Rope and watched as the length of spider silk eased up and around the xydai. Gryph activated the rope’s Compel ability.
