Wex, involved in his own melee with a pair of skeletons, gave the human a single glance of astonished disapproval, and then continued his fight.
More butterflies zipped through the room, ignorant of the deadly duels being waged, and they blasted into the skeleton with the green eyes. Its eyes flared bright with every impact, but it was resilient and it well resisted the impacts. There were cracks now, here and there, but it was still well fit for combat.
The skeleton slashed Carric’s arm, drawing a spill of blood and a tremendous cry. The bard stumbled back, ready to continue parrying. The skeleton itself stopped and pointed at the sorcerer. Some of the skeletons fighting Yenrab broke off and lurched towards hir.
“Great,” Tracy exclaimed in morbid humor at his situation. Ze wove together the last of the latent energy about hir, feeling quite drained in doing so. It took a lot of effort to assemble magic as ze did. Slinging it off at the skeleton leader, ze put hir hand high, and a quarterstaff of stout oak appeared within in. Growling a bit, the sorcerous mage faced hir own skeletons.
Svein bounded forward as his second skeletal opponent was dropping. One cheek torn and mangled, he ran forward at a sprint, his armor swaying. He could see that Carric was now on the ground and looking to be in desperate need of help. Svein Novogord tried to bowl into the green-eyed thing, but it hopped back and slashed, its blade sparking as it rode across his chainmail links.
The nobleman turned to face it, swallowing down tremors of fear, a single tear escaping his right eye as he bellowed in a frantic and high voice to the wounded bard behind him, “Run, Carric, to the rear. I’ll protect you!”
Slashing left and parrying right, the human warrior kept the skeleton occupied as the bard looked up, eyes full of wonder and gratitude. The half-elf bounded to his feet and limped away towards the rear.
Good. He’s safe. Now, face it. Kill it! We fight them because this is what must be done.
The thing pinned Svein with its angry green eyes, flames flickering in and out of its skull in what Svein assumed was anger. He was terrified beyond belief as he struck away attack after attack. He hovered low, batted aside yet another strike, and struck in and up in what should have been a fabulous counterattack.
But the undead monster moved with tremendous speed. It grabbed his sword and threw it off to the side, then planted its foot into his armored chest and stomped him into the ground. The pure force beyond its attack pushed hard into the nobleman’s chainmail, forcing him to gasp for air. He felt his sternum crack and strain in the process.
“Come on, Wex, actually do something clerical and turn that ungodly thing!” Carric almost pleaded as it began to stomp towards him again.
“I can’t,” Wex replied, firing another arrow at the skeletons threatening to end Yenrab. He struggled to nock another into his short bow, clearly exhausted. “I don’t have that power. At least, not yet I don’t. The masked one has not yet seen me fit for such privilege.”
The cleric dropped his bow and drew his long sword.
“It looks like I’m up next. Got any magic left?” Wex asked, moving into a trained and relaxed crouch.
“I’m out,” said the pale-faced half-elven bard, looking into the elf’s green eyes with regret and fear. Wex’s eyes mirrored his own.
Wex the wood elf, cleric of Mask, made a decision and it was written all over his face.
“Get out of here, Carric. You’re a good man with a great skill and people need you. Go live your life,” the cleric demanded in a pleading voice, and then he charged the approaching skeleton.
***
The skeleton blazed bright as he parried its leaping overhead swing, then booted him in the gut. Out of wind but well in the fight, Wex rolled and stabbed up from the left and rear. Shick! His blade found a crack and stabbed into some bone.
One point Wex, the man thought, rolling again as the fiend try to take his head off. He dropped into a crouch and swung his short sword into another crack in the golden carapace upon its leg, scaling off a sizeable chunk of its protection.
If it had been, alive perhaps it would have snarled in anger. Or maybe it would have cursed some god, or all of them. But, with abominations, it is always so much worse. It turned its head and glared down with inhuman dispassion before it booted the cleric in his jaw, sounding an audible crack across the chamber in which they fought. And Wex twitched and rolled, groaning, and out of the fight.
Then there was Carric.
Heavy melee still sounded from Yenrab’s corner. He could see Tracy fighting a couple of skeletons with a quarterstaff. Jenn Eric was still pumping quarrels into any skeletons he could target. And he had no idea where Bern had disappeared off to.
“I guess I have to be my own barbarian, huh?” the bard asked the approaching skeleton whilst dropping his crossbow to the dusty floor beneath. He wouldn’t need that in the afterlife anyways, he thought grimly.
His noble rapier, a weapon much favored by the rakish men and women of his profession, shrikked forth from its scabbard, quickly finding a balanced point to his fore. His other hand held a dagger, close to his side and playing safety to his primary offensive weapon. Bards are not the best at melee combat, but they certainly know how to hold their own.
Cling. Clang. The rapier dashed forward here and there, striking ineffectual but well-placed blows against the figure before him. In and out it flashed, the green-eyed skeleton not even attempting to block. Then it slapped his hand, knocking the blade out to the side and onto the floor. Carric brought his dagger up to stab at its skull, and had that arm grabbed as well. The thing pulled his arm hard, sending pain and paralysis through the entire joint, and Carric moaned out in agony. And then, all at once, the flame in its eyes flashed and faded, and it dropped forward to the ground. Carric, his arm shrieking in torment as it flopped about, sidestepped the corpse of the corpse with deft and sure movements. Standing over top of it, looking very much the heroic figure, was Jenn Eric Enpeasea. The human bard’s dagger protruded from the top of the skeleton leader’s skull, lodged through a crack in the golden covering and then wedged in hard enough to kill whatever source powered it.
“Gods above, Jenn Eric,” Carric Smith panted, surprised to be alive. “Thank you. That was amazing!”
“Let me heal you, friend Carric,” he responded with a smile. “This battle is far from over.”
***
Yenrab was dying.
This isn’t something the orcish race often realizes, generally being well dead by some tremendous blow from some other strong and feral foe before passing.
But, even in the fog of his anger, crouched underneath the flailing and sharp-boned hands of a dozen gold-encrusted skeletons, he knew his time was coming. He could feel his anger, the anger of the Great Bear, bleed out with the blood that sustained him.
One more good hit, and I’m done.
He struggled not just to keep fighting, but to even keep his breath. He panted hard, as he deflected and attacked. He gasped and wheezed as he smashed about himself in a blind frenzy. When any being is cornered with near-death, it reacts with the most energy and power that it has ever exuded before. Yenrab struggled with every ounce of power that he could muster, and he began to weep when two of their number smashed apart before him, tears splashing down even as he continued to fight. Bern stood there in his fading vision, having risen from the ground with his dual khopeshes, and having broken through the ring of monsters to save him.
“Keep on, Yenrab! Mate, I’ve got you!”
His audio wasn’t so sharp anymore, with a bit of fade and reverb, but he knew he had a chance. His rage faded as his body demanded escape. He swung an axe down to up in a murderous arc, tearing the skull off of another skeleton and sending it smashing into the wall behind, and then turned to run to the rear.
In some small and hopeful part of his mind, he made it. He won. He tore away from those creatures to turn and face them again on his terms, with his friends to heal his wounds and to give him back the stamina he
now so lacked.
But he didn’t. As he ran back and away from the mob about him, they tore at him. The monsters tore new scrapes into ravaged flesh and one brained him with its fist in the back of his skull, sending him to the ground.
“Yenrab!”
The cry was universal. Bern screamed it as skeletons tore into him and brought him down as well. Carric yelled it as he took back up his crossbow and fired bolt after bolt. Tracy exclaimed it as ze finished off the last of hir own attackers, turning about to find new opponents. With all of the various combat that had occurred, they were now six.
With Bern down, incoherent and bloody, the skeletons pushed forward towards a new goal. The sorcerer. And Tracy, angry, with uncharacteristic tears suddenly upon hir face, hir quarterstaff in hand, was well-set and ready. The first skeleton came in and had its torso, a crack already in place, smashed well apart, the body halving and dying in midair. A second and third collapsed with crossbow bolts in their own respective cracks. But the remainder pushed on, slashing and ripping at the unarmored get of Coraellon, threatening death with each bloody gash.
Still, the things were finally falling en masse.
The undead are broken. This fight is over, Carric realized as the mundane remnants of the fight advanced on them.
Jenn jumped in, destroying the fourth, while Tracy wrecked a fifth, and Carric fell over, exhausted, attempting to skewer the sixth.
As the thing loomed over him, mindless, ready to tear off his face, Jenn Eric Enpeasea leaped atop its back and finished it off with a dagger, once again, through a crack in its skull.
Chapter 35: Destiny Rewritten
How to be an Adventurer—How to Say Goodbye
When destiny is around the corner, the intelligent adventurer should be sure to take care of matters of family and estate.
Step one is to write a will. Whatever place you happen to be in, using whatever means are necessary, a will is a vital and necessary way to move on from your mortal coil while also giving hope to those who live on. Wills not only give new adventurers a better starting chance at questing, they can also be used to give clues into how to defeat various monsters, and can contain valuable tips on combat.
Step two is prayer and atonement. We live in a world full of gods, many of whom are willing to offer paradise to those who have earned it. Make your case for entry.
Step three, dear adventurer, is to accept that it might all end, here and now. Accept that you will face your destiny, with your heart full and your soul sound, and that you will accept the outcome without flight, but with plenty of fight. You will not go down quietly and you will not surrender.
The prepared adventurer is a true hero, even with feats left unsung. Fight the good fight, and never be afraid to die a true hero.
***
Enpeasea healed and coddled the wounded as best he could with the magic he had remaining while Carric used bitter but energizing healing potions and draughts to stop the bleeding and to restore vigor and power. They were tired and hurt, but all very much alive.
Yenrab gestured to Carric, leaning against the wall while lying on the floor. “That was a heck of a thing you did back there, running up front and blasting them like that.”
Carric gave him an appreciative smile.
“I mean it, man. You might be a bard, but that was a heck of a barbarian thing you did back there.”
His smile blossomed into a pleased and full-on smile. It looked strange on top of his bruised face and swollen eyes.
“Thanks, Yenrab!” the bard replied, feeling quite happy with himself.
Bern was sitting against another wall, and he clapped. The others joined in.
“Let’s not forget Enpeasea,” Carric added, looking at the new member of their party through new eyes. Unlike the rest of them, the man looked quite fresh and untouched. Had he even gotten hit?
Wex hooted.
“Hells yes, don’t forget Jenn Eric Enpeasea. Did you see him out there? The guy knows right where to put his dagger and end the fight.”
“Yes, yes, for sure that was impressive,” Carric Smith replied, instantly regretting his words of praise.
Bern laughed. “That bard, mate, he knew what he was doing. His quarrels just couldn’t seem to miss! Jenn, man, you knew exactly what to do and where to do it, for sure.”
Jenn Eric smiled and laughed. “I just played backup,” he said with modesty.
“Yeah, good job, Jenn,” Carric said again, just a little bit of a grudge starting to season his tone.
“Let’s hear it for Jenn Eric Enpeasea!” Yenrab said with his tremendous and boyish enthusiasm. Again the party clapped.
“Wex, you were no slouch yourself,” Carric Smith called out, changing the subject. “You were willing to sacrifice yourself for me!”
Wex looked at him with an unflinching gaze.
“You know, man, I wasn’t sure I was going to do that at first,” he stated, his voice calm and self-questioning. “But Svein running into battle with that thing just, I don’t know, it was a good example. And bards are a treasure where I come from. I know, I was giving you some hard jokes and laughs earlier, but really, you seem to be a good man, Carric Smith.”
“Thank you, Wex. Those words mean a lot. In fact, honestly and truly, you can never know how much I needed to hear all of that,” the bard stated with a pained face.
“We all need someone to make us face our demons sometimes, bard Carric Smith,” the sorcerous wild mage added, clapping the minstrel on his shoulder. “Whatever yours are, I am happy that we were able to help.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Bern popped in.
“So, uh, hey, mates. Did we just defeat destiny?”
They all considered this.
“No, friends, I don’t think so. These skeletons never could have been the end of the world,” Tracy intoned. They all went silent again.
***
The party had broken up into a bit of a social meeting, discussing the battle in a couple of small groups, reliving the moment and discussing what had happened.
Bern looked about himself, gazing at the fallen enemies.
We really need to start checking these bodies, the man thought, examining them from afar. Maybe I might need to check them all for traps quick and see what is there. There’s no need to disturb my mates from what they are doing.
The rogue moved over closer, slow and methodical, so as not to disturb the rest of the team. Among the heaps of dead something glinted with its own inner light.
Is that a giant gem? Oh ho ho. Yes it is!
A large gem, previously hidden behind the fiery green flames of its eye holes, glowed a dull red from its place of embedment in between the flame-dead sockets. Its light was faint, and it throbbed, but it also beckoned to the rogue. Come to me, it said. I can buy the unfortunate a world of happiness. Retrieve me. Take me from this useless form.
Well, don’t mind if I do! thought Bern, his fingers getting itchy from all this inner monologue about roguish thievery bereft of action thereof. He looked around to make sure that no one else in the party wanted it and that it was totally his for the taking. He gave them all a slight nod of his head, one to each of them, making a binding social contract to which they had agreed. One in which he was the new owner of a dull-red gem that glowed a bit of its own accord. Getting no objections, he sauntered over, whistling a quiet tune as he did so, waiting for an eruption of protests that would signal that, in fact, the contract was not so agreed upon. But there was nothing.
Power to the people, my friend, Bern thought down to the dead skeleton at his feet. We can make this world a better place.
Yes! Yes! A better world! Free me, Bern Sandros! Free the people of this world.
Bern paused. His inner monologue was getting a little loopy. But, hey, it had been a heck of a battle, and he had slammed into that wall pretty hard. Plus, the fumes from all of that oil had him feeling pretty lightheaded. Surely, there was nothing here to worry about.
Kn
eeling over the skeleton, Bern noticed something else. One, that sword it had called up out of nowhere into its hand? That was gone. Predictably. And, two, it wasn’t gold that covered these things at all, but rather bronze.
He swore.
Undead cheapskates. Might as well have covered them in copper. Still, the gem is here. Not a loss.
Yes! The gem! Not a loss. Not a loss indeed! Mwhahahaha!
Bern paused again.
“Alright, gem. You listen here,” the apprentice assassin whispered. “If you are talking to me, throb twice. If I’m crazy, throb three times.”
The gem throbbed three times.
“Ha ha. Well, the gods be upset, I’m not going to let your sentience ruin my day.”
And with those words uttered Bern flipped a dagger into his hand and leaned over the skull, using the edge to dig beneath the gem and pop it out while his other steadied the remains.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
“Destiny!” Tracy screamed, his whole body in shock, suddenly staring at the rogue. Bern gasped and gaped.
“What in the blazes was that?!” Yenrab asked, surprised.
BLONG!
PEW!
The gem lay there, looking benign for a moment, and then it cast some sort of display onto the walls about them. It was a story.
***
In the story a holy warrior, walking with a limp and missing a hand, met with an attractive demon. A succubus. And they battled hard. But, as they battled, they grew impressed with one another, for the warrior, despite his age and wounds, was quite formidable and fantastic and the succubus, well, she was equally legendary among her kind. They agreed to a truce and a parley. And in the parley, they agreed to a partnership, for they had similar and surprisingly non-evil ends to pursue.
The images flickered, and the scenes changed. The warrior was whole again and perhaps even younger. Side by side, he and the succubus battled through what must have been the caves and caverns of the Underdark, that whole new world deep under the surface that held its own nations, cities, monsters, and peoples.
How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 30
