by Jeff Wilcox
“Yeah,” I said, drawing out the word in a tone that clearly communicated that I did not find it to be an acceptable solution. “Only problem I see with that is, what if the magic of the trap and the levitation are tied together? Blast the trap, and it triggers as though we’d tripped it.”
He frowned but bobbed his head. “Yeah, you’re right. We can’t take that risk.”
Suddenly, I snapped my fingers and sat forward. “I’ve got it. Dingo, I’m going to eyeball the distance from the bed to the canister. How high up is it?”
“About five feet over the bed.”
Slapping my knee in victory, I pointed at him and said, “I take up a stance and put my hands to approximate just an inch or two underneath the canister. Then, I use my amulet of teleportation to teleport right under the canister, grabbing it immediately.” I looked over at Matt and Xavier, who were grinning along with me. “Since teleportation goes through the astral plane, I don’t need to physically cross the doorway, and even if the trap covers the whole room, I’ve already caught it.”
Mulling it over, our Dungeon Master nodded appreciatively. “Well-played, sir. You manage to grab the canister, which does not drop, telling you that the trap was situated only in the doorway. However, now you get a good look at Solaria… and it’s not good.” He spoke in a grave tone, quieter than before. “She’s missing a few fingers, but that’s just the start of it. She’s covered in small cuts, bruises, and even what look like acid burns. Blood has clotted in her open mouth, which is missing her tongue, and both of her eyes have been gouged out and are nowhere to be seen.”
I made a motion of looking down as I held an imaginary canister. “By the gods… Lady Solaria! I tuck the canister away in my sleeve—the extradimensional one, so it doesn’t break—and get down from the bed. I’m going to make a Heal check to bring her around. Master Caineye! Please hurry; I need your help! Lady Solaria is… not well.”
I rolled, getting a total of 22.
Dingo shrugged. “She doesn’t wake up. Her wounds look too extensive.”
Xavier nodded. “I go inside, and when I see what Warteär Nomen did to Solaria, I gasp. She’s a creature of nature, being a nymph, so it really hits Caineye hard. I still have a cure serious wounds to cast today, so I use it on her,” he told Dingo, picking up three d8s. “Since I have the Augment Healing feat and cure serious is level-four for druids, I’m going to heal… three-dee-eight plus fifteen.” He rattled his dice in his hand and prepared to throw.
And kept shaking them.
And kept on shaking the dice.
“Come on,” Matt said after about ten seconds of waiting for Xavier to do something. “Stop jerking off your dice and throw ‘em.”
Xavier held up his finger, demanding patience. I suppose he’s slightly superstitious about how dice work (and seeing how Dingo apparently has the magical critical hit touch, it’s not too difficult to see why), but sometimes the jerking off—I mean, shaking—of dice went on for too long. At last, he let the dice fall. “I heal thirty-four hit points for Solaria,” he announced after adding the dice together, plus his aforementioned 15.
Dingo nodded and said, “Well her wounds heal, but she doesn’t wake up.”
“I’ll try a Heal check,” Xavier said, rolling and getting a 30. But still, Solaria remained unconscious.
We futzed around with various remedies to bring Solaria out of her lifeless state, but nothing worked; my rod of bodily healing had no effect, as did Caineye’s restoration spell. Even casting create water over her head availed us nothing.
“I get a bucket,” I said to several chuckles. Dingo still shook his head. At last, I threw my arms in the air, exasperated. “I give up. I poop on her chest. Does she wake up?”
The others all stared at me for a long moment, silent. Recovering first from the outburst of laughter that followed, Dingo replied, “No… and… you’re evil.”
As usual, this sent us into fits of hysterics for at least ten minutes, during which we all spouted out renditions of the exchange we’d just had, as well as numerous quotes involving, “I get a bucket,” “No dice!” and others.
“All right,” Dingo said after we’d all calmed down. “I was just messing with you back there. Anyway, you bring her around, and she wakes up in what is obviously a hell of a lot of pain. She immediately begins struggling and flailing, trying to get away from you, since she can hear your movements but can’t tell who you are.”
Frowning seriously, I adopted my Kaiyr-voice. “Lady Solaria,” I said softly but firmly and quickly, “listen to me. It is I, Kaiyr. Please, do not struggle or talk; we shall take care of you, but you must calm down. Let’s get her out of here and to a different and hopefully safer room.”
“You carry her out of the room and down the hall, but as you reach the main entrance, you find the double doors hanging open,” Dingo told us.
“What the fuck?” Matt objected. “We didn’t leave the doors open!”
Dingo just grinned. “Ah, but standing there, in the doorway, are three short fellows—”
“Aw, shit,” I sighed, already knowing who it would be. “It’s those brothers, isn’t it?” I thumbed to the loose-leaf sheet I kept notes on. “Those Lillik guys.”
“Who?” Matt asked, the question completely understandable, as it had been about two months, real-time, since we had seen these halflings, and we had only seen them once.
Xavier answered for me. “The little bastards who killed Astra when she was nailed to the cross, right before the battle with Sayel.”
Matt chuckled, nodding as he remembered the session from several weeks ago. “That’s right… ‘Why is your mother a whore? That’s a taunt,’” he quipped to jog his memory.
I glared at Dingo, who understood it to be Kaiyr looking at the Lillik brothers. “What do you want?” I asked after getting everyone’s attention with my long stare.
“The brothers saunter into the temple and look around. Nice roof, says the one, referring to the new ventilation in the ceiling, courtesy of the black dragon. The eldest of them demands that you hand over the ledgers that you found in the temple.”
I scowled and held my arms out, indicating I was still handling Solaria. “I have neither the time nor patience to deal with you right now, I tell them, and I know of no such ledgers. Search the temple, but do not appear before me again. Arvanos Sinterian’s interdict against bringing you harm may not keep my spite leashed for very long.”
Dingo chuckled. “It’s okay, says the eldest brother, we hate you, too. Nothing personal; you’re just so stuck-up and self-righteous.”
I glanced over at Xavier meaningfully. “I am leaving. I look at the Lillik brothers. I suggest you do what must be done and never again appear before me.”
Xavier raised his eyebrows. “Caineye’s more than riled up, too, you know,” he said. “I’m going with Kaiyr.”
“As they leave, I pull out the ledgers and hand them to the halflings,” Matt said. When Xavier and I stared at him in shock for giving the bastards what they wanted without giving them a hard time, he shrugged. “Wild’s been reading them all week and been taking notes on them. Most of it’s fluff, and they’ll have to sift through it, too. I hand it over to them without a fuss.”
Dingo raised an eyebrow. “Well, that went faster than we’d expected, says the one as he takes the ledgers from you, Wild. Without further ado, the Lillik brothers leave, slamming the temple doors behind them.”
I stared at the bunked beds in our room as though the temple’s doors were before me. “Should we see them ever again,” I intoned, my deeper Kaiyr-voice deathly serious, “I will kill them. They shall find no mercy. Kaiyr is so furious that anyone near him, which would be Caineye and Wild, I guess, can see that, around his right hand, even though he’s holding Solaria, a little golden mote of light is floating in the air.”
Xavier gave me a stunned look. “I stop and stare at you. Master Kaiyr…”
I turned from him slowly. “I do not respond, m
erely walk away to find someone who might be able to restore Solaria’s eyes.” I brightened. “Luckily, since it’s such a low-level spell, remove blindness/deafness should be pretty easy to come by.”
“What level?” Dingo asked.
“Second.”
“Does it repair eyes that have been physically gouged out, or does it just counter the effects of blindness/deafness and other magical blindness?”
“Uh, I dunno,” I said, picking up his Player’s Handbook, which always seemed to find its way into my grasp during sessions. “Let’s find out. Uh… looks like that’s a yes. As long as there’s a face to support them, the spell will grow new eyes right back.” I sighed. “It’s too bad regeneration is a level-seven spell. Solaria won’t be talking for a while.”
The other guys got a chuckle out of that. We got things straightened out for the in-game night, and Dingo chose that time to bring things to a close for the out-of-game night. “All right, guys,” he said. “Good job killing that dragon. You three are proving to be better in combat than some of the larger parties I’ve run. Unfortunately, as well as you guys did against the dragon, since I leveled you last time, there’s nothing here to gain.”
“Except,” I added, drawing everyone’s attention. I let the word hang in the air in a theatrical pause as I made an open-arms gesture. Then, folding my hands together quietly, I said, “Except for a sense of accomplishment.”
Matt and Dingo laughed, but Xavier, having been on the receiving end of that statement in a previous game I’d run a couple years earlier, just let out a hissing sigh and shook his head. I pointed at him. “See? That reaction is exactly why I moved back to using standard XP
[44] rules.”
Dingo chuckled as he bundled his gear together and headed out the door. After bidding him and Matt a good night, Xavier and I returned to our geekery for a bit before also heading to bed.
XXXVIII.
Wild sighed as he strolled through the expansive park behind the temple of Alduros Hol. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he stared at the sky, mistrustfully eyeing the gold-hued globe that encompassed much of Ik’durel.
It had been a rough week. Wild had barely had time to stop and sate his curiosity about anything, what with all the supply-gathering and fortifying of the temple he did with the others. More, he had barely received any thanks for his efforts—after all, he had been the one to crack the temple’s vault just yesterday. The fact that it had been heavily trapped and had begun filling with water, requiring Kaiyr to slice apart the iron door, was irrelevant. He had to admit, though, that even he had been astonished when the blademaster had hacked through the door in less than half a minute. The elf’s soulblade had cut through the steel like it was butter, and Wild, who had nearly drowned by then, had spilled out into the hallway, along with an astounding amount of wealth owned by a church whose last thought should have been amassing such a hoard.
Wild kicked a pebble into the trunk of a nearby tree and idly imagined Caineye scolding him for the deed. Kaiyr had gone right back to doting on Solaria as he had done for the entire week, ever since she had been attacked by Warteär Nomen. Even after a cleric named Talbert, one of the most powerful surviving clerics of Alduros Hol, had restored her eyes, Kaiyr had not let her out of his sight for even a moment. Caineye had let Solaria keep his telepathy amulet so she could communicate with Kaiyr, thereby depriving them all of a tool useful to them during battle and forays into the city.
Now, Wild thought, it’s not like I don’t feel sorry for Solaria, but still…. What had happened to the nymph was terrible, but it was hardly the worst thing the group had come across in their illfated travels.
He sighed for the thousandth time this day as he reasoned with himself. It was quite understandable for Kaiyr to fixate on the pretty woman, since she so resembled the ever-enigmatic Astra who had sacrificed so much for the companions. Kaiyr needed something to chase, some light at the end of the tunnel, something for which to hope.
It was as Wild was debating with himself exactly how sorry he should feel for both himself and others that he stumbled upon a rather strange sight in a small clearing. His thoughts interrupted, he glanced around cautiously. In his walk here, he had not come across a single dead tree or creature; indeed, even the plants he crushed underfoot seemed to revitalize mere steps later. But here, in front of him, stood the broken-off trunk of what must have been a massive oak or middling sequoia. Twenty feet in diameter, it was still not comparable to the tree housing Alduros Hol’s temple a half-hour from here, but it was still larger than any other tree Wild had ever seen.
“How unusual,” the halfling muttered to himself as he walked a circuit around the tree, stopping most of the way around when he came across a small, wooden door recessed into the bark, “but growing less so every moment.”
As was expected of a halfling, Wild’s curiosity overtook his judgment. He opened the door and stepped inside. Cobwebs reached down to entangle him, and he sneezed a few times before waving away the webs and dust. The light filtering in from outside was too little to see by, so Wild pulled out a torch from his pack and lit it with a tindertwig.
“Wow, really?” he asked the stale air as he crept forward. “A mausoleum?” His flickering torchlight illuminated a stone sarcophagus adorned with angels and scenes of fey revelry. A thick layer of dust had settled on the lid, and Wild had to resist the urge to use his finger to write his name in the dust.
Then something odd caught his eye. It was a painting on the wall, gilt-framed, of a beautiful woman with dark brown hair that seemed to shimmer with life in the light of Wild’s torch.
“She is quite beautiful, is she not?” asked a voice from just over the halfling’s shoulder. Startled but curious, Wild jumped momentarily before turning to see who had addressed him.
“Oh, uh, er, yes, indeed,” he stammered, trying to find his tongue again. “Am I, ah, intruding?” He just then noticed that the sarcophagus’s lid now rested against the wall—how had it gotten there? Then he looked back to the man standing before him. At six feet in height, the imposing figure was as tall as Kaiyr—perhaps even a bit taller. His clothes, while tidy and obviously of good make, looked well-worn and very old; it was in a style of frilled collars and cuffs Wild had only seen in old paintings. His black hair was cut just above his shoulders, and eyes the color of blood reflected the firelight in Wild’s hand.
“No, not at all,” said the man from the sarcophagus, striding around Wild to admire the portrait. “After all, I already know that you are not here to despoil my love’s place of rest.”
Wild frowned, his curiosity piqued yet again. “Your love’s place of rest? Isn’t this also yours? Are you dead?”
The tall man, hands clasped behind his waist, let out a barking laugh as he turned to Wild and flashed him a grin accompanied by four longer-than-necessary canines. “Yes, somewhat, and not quite, in that order,” he replied. “But I forget my manners. Please, welcome to my home. You may call me Atradeus. And to explain my answer to your final question, no, I am not quite dead; I am vampyre.”
Wild frowned and rubbed his neck. “You’re not going to, you know….”
Again, Atradeus laughed. “No. I am not a vampire, but vampyre. An important distinction, I would think. As for the blood thirst, I weaned myself of such a necessity long ago. I assure you, you have little to fear from me, small one.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid,” Wild said honestly. “I was just wondering what it would be like to be bitten. Anyway, Mr. Atradeus, my name is Billcock Wild. Most just call me ‘Wild,’ though.” He dipped a little bow.
Returning the gesture in a move that involved a flourish of his black cloak, Atradeus said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Wild. What brings you to my humble abode?”
Remembering what had brought him here, Wild sighed inwardly. “Oh, many things. I was actually just wandering through these woods. I didn’t know you were back here. I was just getting away from all the terrible things that have
been happening in the city.”
Atradeus frowned, concerned. “What is happening to Ik’durel? Have I overslept some great event?”
Wild raised an eyebrow and stared back momentarily. “Well,” he began, and over the course of nearly an hour, the halfling related all the happenings in Ik’durel, as well as some of his relevant adventures with Caineye and Kaiyr.
“That is quite a tale,” Atradeus said when Wild finished. They had long ago wandered outside so Wild could show the vampyre the great globe around the city; this also served to prove that Atradeus was no vampire and could walk freely under the sun. “I regret missing the moment when I could have prevented this mess. It would seem that I woke up a few centuries later than I had anticipated. Because my wife was born and is buried here, I consider myself something of this city’s unofficial guardian, a job I take quite seriously.”
Wild could tell the man was not bluffing; Atradeus radiated a nearly-tangible aura of power, and the halfling was willing to bet that Atradeus would not have any trouble in challenging and defeating the halfling and all of his companions—together. Looking up at the taller man, Wild let a smile creep onto his face. This Atradeus fellow might just be the ally they had been looking for. “Why don’t you come to the temple with me? I’ve got a few friends I’d like to introduce you to.”
As Wild skipped ahead, Atradeus lengthened his stride to keep pace with the eager halfling.
*
Xavier and I had gotten tired of sitting on our thumbs in the temple and outside of it after a group decision to move out of the temple, and then back inside at Atradeus’s suggestion. We just felt like we hadn’t gotten anywhere, even though we had rescued a few more survivors of the poisonous gas, secured our position, and met Atradeus, who spent most of his time away from the party and doing who-knew-what.
Our main concern was the large number of enemies we might have to face in the future. We spent an entire session simply scouting the city, counting enemies, and gathering supplies along the way. One of the aforementioned individuals we rescued from closer to the city’s center was an elven bowyer named Carthas, who, after some decent Diplomacy checks, was convinced that coming with us and lending us some of his higher-quality wares would be in his best interests.
