Grum's Magnificent Trainwreck - RP-No Reload Attempts
Grum
Member, Mobile Tester Posts: 2,100
Part 1: Leaving Candlekeep
--------------------
"Again!"
The young dwarf grunted as he was pushed back a step. An older, grayer dwarf snarled as he swung again with his axe.
"Ye call yerself a dwarf? Eh?! Ye weak livered son o' an elf!"
Another blow came crashing down on the shield. The younger dwarf grunted as he planted his feet, using his low center of gravity to keep himself from being pushed back again.
"Oh? So ye're a gnome now, is it?"
The axe fell again. His arm was getting tired. It was getting harder to hold it against the constant blows.
"Ye make me sick! Ye rat bastard. Ye know what I do to-"
Suddenly, the dwarf surged forward, using his shield to hammer a blow into the older dwarf's face. The gray haired dwarf roared in pain as he was pushed back a step himself. The younger dwarf swung out with a hammer, but it was easily batted away.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0772.png
The young dwarf, Durak panted as he held the hammer in front of him, ready to swing again. No more than twenty winters old, he was a beardling by any dwarf's standard. An oddity, all things told. While many a shield dwarf grew up within the confines of a human settlement, very few were ever actually raised by a human. For Durak, his foster father was the mage Gorion. A wise, gentle man, Gorion had taken the young dwarf in long ago and over the objections of Ulraunt. While he did all he could to be a father figure, Gorion was still a mage and a man of books. Knowing that young Durak would never follow in his footsteps, he instead shared his training with two others.
Where Gorion did his best to impart a love of knowledge on the young dwarf, Reevor took on the role of a combat master. The old dwarf took to it with relish, treating the beardling like a soldier from his far away clan. Durak was raised in the traditional art of the dwarven defender, to use hammer and shield as if though it were part of his body. In this, he excelled beyond Reevor's wildest expectations. There was a strength in the dwarf that far surpassed his years. He grew up as strong as an ox and as tough as any dwarf had a right to be. Even at the young age of twenty, he was a hearty as a dwarf with a full beard. The more promise that Durak showed, the tougher Reevor became. If it were not for the influence of Gorion, the older dwarf might have truly done his best to break the youngster, just to see if he could. As is, he merely pushed him as far as he reasonably could while still being welcome in Candlekeep.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0794.png
Looking at the panting Durak, Reevor had to admit to himself that he was just as tired. Moreso, if he was honest with himself...something he certainly didn't have a mind to be.
"I thought I told you to clean the rats out of this building yesterday, already. Hop to it! Get in there!"
With a nod, Durak did just that. Hefting his hammer, he went to the dire task of using his hammer to clear out a rat infestation, without breaking anything of value. Reevor stood aside as he watched the beardling charge in, a look of pride and jealousy in equal measure written on his face. He knew that Durak would be leaving soon, something he had complained long and loud for ever since he was 'saddled' with the burden of training the beardling. He could hear the sound of the hammer falling and 'squeaks' from within. "I'll miss the wee bastard", he thought to himself.
When Durak came out, a smile not quite hidden from his face, Reevor grunted and tossed him five gold crowns.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0795.png
"Ah yes, kill them like the rats they are! A glorious battle unlike this world has ever seen. Here's five gold pieces. Don't spend them all in one place."
With that, a smile truly did break across Durak's face. "Aye! Thank ye!" Reevor knew that the gold would turn to ale soon enough. He successfully fought back the smile.
"Well, what'yre ye waiting for? Ye going to keep Arkanis waiting, ye faerie fondling nitwit?"
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0790.png
This led Durak to Arkanis' forge. Arkanis was another of his tutors. Where Reevor had taught him the art of dwarven combat, Arkanis had taught him of the forge. It was something that Durak didn't quite take naturally to. It seemed to Arkanis as if though the art of killing ran in the beardlings' blood. His great flaw was that he always swung his hammer as if though he were to kill something. But he did his best, Moradin knew that. So Arkanis toiled away, doing all he could to temper the beardling the dwarven way - with a hammer in hand and an anvil before him.
When Durak came in, he found Arkanis talking animatedly to Deder. One of Arkanis' good friends, Deder was another one of Durak's closest companions. A source of levity in a life full of books, hammers and anvils. It was rare to see the halfling look serious. Durak came to a halt and looked at the pair uncertainly.
"What's the matter? Am I late? I dunnae think I'm late..."
Arkanis looked at Deder and then shook his head.
"Nay, ye're nay late. But...ah, fook it! Lad, ye're leaving. An' shut it when I'm talking, ye hear? Master Gorion says that it's nay safe here for ye. Moradin knows why, but he's told ye to pack up ye belongings an' get to him now."
"But...what? Why? How could it not be safe here? This place is a fortress-"
"Oi! Did I nay say shut it? Look, keep ye shield there. Nay ye worry about Reevor, I'll explain it to him. Now, one last thing. Ye're to get ye arse o'er to the priests' quarters. I've got me war-hammer there. I want ye tae have it. Nay that smithin' hammer ye've been swinging around." He reached over and pulled the light hammer out of Durak's confused hands.
Arkanis then reached out and put a calloused hand on the beardling's shoulder. "Ye take me hammer, an' ye do me proud. Ye remember, that e'ery time ye swing it, ye remember that there best be a reason on why ye're swinging it. Ye dunnae dare disgrace me hammer, ye understand."
"I under-"
"Oi! I said shut it." Deder looked away, suddenly finding something interesting on the wall to look at. "Not get out o' here. An' the next time I see ye...fook it. Jus' go."
Hesitantly Durak nodded, and then ran off. He spared one look back, and was gone.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0778.png
When Durak got to the priest quarters, he opened the door and found a hooded man waiting for him. He was sitting in a chair, fingering a dagger.
"Oh goodie goodie! I've gone and found ye first! You are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?"
"I am. What can I do for ye?"
...
Durak was shaking. He looked down at the man's body. He had grabbed the nearest thing at hand - a priest's quarter staff. It was covered in blood. The man had come at him with the dagger. ready to take his life. He wasn't ready for how quick the dwarf was...or how strong. Neither was Durak, truth be told. He reached down and tapped at the man. He didn't move. Slowly he started to accept it. He had just killed someone. Durak thought back to what Arkanis had said. That it wasn't safe here.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0781.png
He went and retrieved Arkanis' hammer. He held it in his hands. It felt right. This wasn't a tool for smithing. It wasn't for creating. It was for destroying. It was a tool of death. He stared at the body of the would-be assassin. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but for someone reason it just felt right in his hands.
With that, Durak ran from the quarters, leaving the body lying there. He hoped that Parda wouldn't find it. He didn't know what the kind hearted priest would think if he saw something so gruesome lying there. But at that moment he didn't want to think about that. He just hoped that someone like Hull or Fuller would find it first. They would dispose of it quietly. He hoped, as he ran. He had to find Gorion. Durak didn't understand why this was happening, why someone would want him dead. But he knew that he had to leave.
--------------------
"Again!"
The young dwarf grunted as he was pushed back a step. An older, grayer dwarf snarled as he swung again with his axe.
"Ye call yerself a dwarf? Eh?! Ye weak livered son o' an elf!"
Another blow came crashing down on the shield. The younger dwarf grunted as he planted his feet, using his low center of gravity to keep himself from being pushed back again.
"Oh? So ye're a gnome now, is it?"
The axe fell again. His arm was getting tired. It was getting harder to hold it against the constant blows.
"Ye make me sick! Ye rat bastard. Ye know what I do to-"
Suddenly, the dwarf surged forward, using his shield to hammer a blow into the older dwarf's face. The gray haired dwarf roared in pain as he was pushed back a step himself. The younger dwarf swung out with a hammer, but it was easily batted away.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0772.png
The young dwarf, Durak panted as he held the hammer in front of him, ready to swing again. No more than twenty winters old, he was a beardling by any dwarf's standard. An oddity, all things told. While many a shield dwarf grew up within the confines of a human settlement, very few were ever actually raised by a human. For Durak, his foster father was the mage Gorion. A wise, gentle man, Gorion had taken the young dwarf in long ago and over the objections of Ulraunt. While he did all he could to be a father figure, Gorion was still a mage and a man of books. Knowing that young Durak would never follow in his footsteps, he instead shared his training with two others.
Where Gorion did his best to impart a love of knowledge on the young dwarf, Reevor took on the role of a combat master. The old dwarf took to it with relish, treating the beardling like a soldier from his far away clan. Durak was raised in the traditional art of the dwarven defender, to use hammer and shield as if though it were part of his body. In this, he excelled beyond Reevor's wildest expectations. There was a strength in the dwarf that far surpassed his years. He grew up as strong as an ox and as tough as any dwarf had a right to be. Even at the young age of twenty, he was a hearty as a dwarf with a full beard. The more promise that Durak showed, the tougher Reevor became. If it were not for the influence of Gorion, the older dwarf might have truly done his best to break the youngster, just to see if he could. As is, he merely pushed him as far as he reasonably could while still being welcome in Candlekeep.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0794.png
Looking at the panting Durak, Reevor had to admit to himself that he was just as tired. Moreso, if he was honest with himself...something he certainly didn't have a mind to be.
"I thought I told you to clean the rats out of this building yesterday, already. Hop to it! Get in there!"
With a nod, Durak did just that. Hefting his hammer, he went to the dire task of using his hammer to clear out a rat infestation, without breaking anything of value. Reevor stood aside as he watched the beardling charge in, a look of pride and jealousy in equal measure written on his face. He knew that Durak would be leaving soon, something he had complained long and loud for ever since he was 'saddled' with the burden of training the beardling. He could hear the sound of the hammer falling and 'squeaks' from within. "I'll miss the wee bastard", he thought to himself.
When Durak came out, a smile not quite hidden from his face, Reevor grunted and tossed him five gold crowns.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0795.png
"Ah yes, kill them like the rats they are! A glorious battle unlike this world has ever seen. Here's five gold pieces. Don't spend them all in one place."
With that, a smile truly did break across Durak's face. "Aye! Thank ye!" Reevor knew that the gold would turn to ale soon enough. He successfully fought back the smile.
"Well, what'yre ye waiting for? Ye going to keep Arkanis waiting, ye faerie fondling nitwit?"
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0790.png
This led Durak to Arkanis' forge. Arkanis was another of his tutors. Where Reevor had taught him the art of dwarven combat, Arkanis had taught him of the forge. It was something that Durak didn't quite take naturally to. It seemed to Arkanis as if though the art of killing ran in the beardlings' blood. His great flaw was that he always swung his hammer as if though he were to kill something. But he did his best, Moradin knew that. So Arkanis toiled away, doing all he could to temper the beardling the dwarven way - with a hammer in hand and an anvil before him.
When Durak came in, he found Arkanis talking animatedly to Deder. One of Arkanis' good friends, Deder was another one of Durak's closest companions. A source of levity in a life full of books, hammers and anvils. It was rare to see the halfling look serious. Durak came to a halt and looked at the pair uncertainly.
"What's the matter? Am I late? I dunnae think I'm late..."
Arkanis looked at Deder and then shook his head.
"Nay, ye're nay late. But...ah, fook it! Lad, ye're leaving. An' shut it when I'm talking, ye hear? Master Gorion says that it's nay safe here for ye. Moradin knows why, but he's told ye to pack up ye belongings an' get to him now."
"But...what? Why? How could it not be safe here? This place is a fortress-"
"Oi! Did I nay say shut it? Look, keep ye shield there. Nay ye worry about Reevor, I'll explain it to him. Now, one last thing. Ye're to get ye arse o'er to the priests' quarters. I've got me war-hammer there. I want ye tae have it. Nay that smithin' hammer ye've been swinging around." He reached over and pulled the light hammer out of Durak's confused hands.
Arkanis then reached out and put a calloused hand on the beardling's shoulder. "Ye take me hammer, an' ye do me proud. Ye remember, that e'ery time ye swing it, ye remember that there best be a reason on why ye're swinging it. Ye dunnae dare disgrace me hammer, ye understand."
"I under-"
"Oi! I said shut it." Deder looked away, suddenly finding something interesting on the wall to look at. "Not get out o' here. An' the next time I see ye...fook it. Jus' go."
Hesitantly Durak nodded, and then ran off. He spared one look back, and was gone.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0778.png
When Durak got to the priest quarters, he opened the door and found a hooded man waiting for him. He was sitting in a chair, fingering a dagger.
"Oh goodie goodie! I've gone and found ye first! You are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?"
"I am. What can I do for ye?"
...
Durak was shaking. He looked down at the man's body. He had grabbed the nearest thing at hand - a priest's quarter staff. It was covered in blood. The man had come at him with the dagger. ready to take his life. He wasn't ready for how quick the dwarf was...or how strong. Neither was Durak, truth be told. He reached down and tapped at the man. He didn't move. Slowly he started to accept it. He had just killed someone. Durak thought back to what Arkanis had said. That it wasn't safe here.
http://i1199.photobucket.com/albums/aa464/grumbaki/Baldurs Gate/IMG_0781.png
He went and retrieved Arkanis' hammer. He held it in his hands. It felt right. This wasn't a tool for smithing. It wasn't for creating. It was for destroying. It was a tool of death. He stared at the body of the would-be assassin. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but for someone reason it just felt right in his hands.
With that, Durak ran from the quarters, leaving the body lying there. He hoped that Parda wouldn't find it. He didn't know what the kind hearted priest would think if he saw something so gruesome lying there. But at that moment he didn't want to think about that. He just hoped that someone like Hull or Fuller would find it first. They would dispose of it quietly. He hoped, as he ran. He had to find Gorion. Durak didn't understand why this was happening, why someone would want him dead. But he knew that he had to leave.
Post edited by Grum on
17
Comments
Bookmarked your thread
If i could have a little suggestion: you should put your pictures into the post and under a spoiler tag like this:
If it not too much hassle for you. (you can see the code by quoting this post.)
--------------------------------
Part 2: Guilt and Shame
Durak and Gorion did not make it far. Under the cover of night they departed Candlekeep, an event which was not quite kept secret. By then, the would-be assassin's body was found, and word of it spread through the cloistered walls. The entire event left the old mage quite agitated. Durak tried to talk to him, but Gorion's answers remained cryptic, and his advice vague. All Durak could gather was that they were likely going to flee north, to hide for awhile within the teeming masses of Baldur's Gate. That, and most ominously, Gorion told him that should any trouble befall him on the way, that he should make his way to the Friendly Armed Inn. There he would find two friends whom he could trust. Durak didn't want to think about what could be so worrisome to a mage of Gorion's skill and power. It rained steadily, causing Durak's boots to stick in the mud and for his beard to get wet. If it were not for the present danger, he would have insisted on leaving at a more pleasant time.
They had barely gotten out of Candlekeep when their fears came to pass. Durak could only think that there must have been someone left in Candlekeep who was feeding information to the outside. Standing in their way was an armored figure, who loomed over all of the men present. He looked to be as solid as a statue. His eyes glowed in the dark. Flanking him were a pair of ogres, brutes that Durak had only heard about from the old battle tales of his tutors. And behind him were a pair of leather clad archers, and a woman clad in chain armor.
"Hand over your ward and no-one will be hurt. If you resist it shall be a waste of your life."
His voice was deeper than a dwarf's. It rumbled like thunder, and it dripped with malice. Durak's grip on his warhammer tightened. It felt smaller now that it did before. It looked like he was staring at death.
"You're a fool if you believe I would trust your benevolence. Step aside and you and your lackeys will be unhurt."
Durak looked to his foster father in awe. How could talk with such confidence? Did he not see how out numbered they were? That there were two ogres standing before him?
"I'm sorry that you feel that way old man."
And with that, the night exploded into violence. The ogres surged forward towards Gorion, and both archers turned their attention to Durak. Without thinking he raised his shield and felt a *thunk* as an arrow hit home. A wave of fire washed over the shield as the arrow head burst into flame. A wave of panic hit the dwarf. Enchanted arrows! What would he do if one of those actually hit him. He dug his feet in, using the tower shield to completely cover his body.
"Run child! Get out of here!"
The night momentarily lit up. A bolt of lightning shot out of Gorion's hands. One of the ogres was thrown back several feet, a roar of pain leaving its' blackened lips. It didn't get up. Durak looked to the side of his shield, and could see that the second archer was moving to get a better angle of shot. Another arrow hit his shield. The metal of the shield heated up as another wave of fire washed over it. The second ogre started to bring its' club down at Gorion. It never connected. It's roar of anger froze as it turned to stone from the feet up. Within seconds it was a solid statute...a statute which burst form the inside out with mystical flame.
Durak ran. He turned and he fled. Another arrow flew past, barely missing him. What could he do in this situation? A wave of heat washed over him, and when he looked back he saw both archers smoldering...just like the entire clearing. Gorion had set them, and everything around them ablaze. If not for the rain, the fire might have raged out of control.
Durak knew there was only one thing for him to do. He had to get back to Candlekeep, to get help. He had to bring the watchers. To get Ulraunt, or Tethtoril to come. He had to...
Everything fell silent. Durak spared one look back and he saw a sight which would never leave him. Something which would haunt his dreams for the rest of his days. It was that armored figure, raising his sword up to the sky. A sword from which Gorion hung. And in that one moment of crystal clarity, Durak knew that he had failed. He had failed on so many levels. He had fled from combat, leaving his father behind to fight alone. He had run too slowly, being unable to summon help. He was too weak to turn and avenge his father. And he was too scared to stop running.
--------
That morning was especially cruel. Without Gorion, the gates would remained closed to him. So Durak hid in the wilderness. He didn't sleep that night, for how could he? The rain beat down on him as if though the heavens themselves cried for his loss. And the fear...the fear that he might be found. When morning finally came, he looked at the rising son with blurry eyes and heard something which he did not expect.
"Heya, it's me! Imoen."
A wave of anger started to spread through Durak. The fool! She had followed him out. She had read Gorion's letters and had snuck out after them. Imoen....she had come to Candlekeep soon after Durak did. They had grown up together, as the only children within its' halls. She was as close to a sister as he would ever get. Where he had been raised by Gorion, Reevor and Arkanis, Imoen had been brought up by Winthrop and Deder. Imoen shared the halfling's love of a thrill and from both of them was a true believer in a good joke. Durak loved her as one could only love family. He yelled at her to leave, to return to Winthrop, but she would have none of it. Immature. Naive. As stuck outside as he was. He groaned in despair. Gorion was dead. He was dead! Even his fearsome magics could not protect him. And now here she was. The only other person in his life that he cared about so deeply, stuck with him while such assassins pursued him.
He walked in silence to recover Gorion's corpse. The scene was that of pure destruction. Where once there was grass, now there were barren circles where his flames had burnt the vegetation away. The bodies of two ogres and two men lay with him, testament to his great skill. Durak knelt down and touched his forehead to Gorion's. He didn't cry. He wouldn't allow it.
"Durak. What happened? What happened to Gorion? Tell me!"
Durak looked up at her. He saw in his mind's eye, Gorion being killed by that armored figure. He could feel the impact of the arrows, the wave of heat that had washed over him. He looked at Imoen, and all he saw was another corpse. He tried to speak, but the words would not come out.
----
As the two left the scene behind them, they followed the road east. East towards the friendly arm in. They walked in silence, though Imoen did her best to break it. But Durak would have none of it. His pace slowed, and then came to a stop. Standing on the road, looking at them, was a halfling and a mage. More assassins? He reached for his hammer...but then Imoen walked forward.
"Heya!"
The fool! The fool. The young fool. She accepted a potion from the mage, saying that all good people had to stick together or some such rot. And then they started talking about the Nashkell mines. He remembered hearing about the trouble in the mines from when he last drank with Winthrop.
At this, Durak could stand no more. He strode up, pulled Imoen back out of arms' reach of the halfling. The halfling, who went by the name of Montaron, glared at him.
"Oi there. Ye, the finger-waggler and the halfling. Ye say ye want us to come to Nashkell? Why?"
"Oh, so ye don't trust us, is that it? Well, all good thinking people must work together."
"An' who are ye? Where are ye from? What stake do ye have in the mines?"
"Ye live longer if ye don't annoy me. Mayhaps even a week or more."
"An' if ye answer me questions ye might live past this day."
Imoen screamed. They were so intent on the conversation with the halfling that neither noticed the mage muttering an incantation.
"I'll teach your grandmother to suck eggs!"
The mage was mad. Everyone could see that. Mad, and dangerous. The halfling's blade shot out. If it were not for his years of training he wouldn't have gotten his shield up in time. The mage's next spell was interrupted as Imoen put an arrow in his arm. Growing up in Candlekeep, living among mages, sometimes had its benefits.
The halfling stabbed with his sword, getting under Durak's shield. It didn't get all the way through Durak's leather jerkin. Durak's hammer did in fact go all the way through the halfling's head. The mage, such as he was, reached for a scroll to cast another spell, but a second arrow put a stop to that.
Xzar fell to the ground, coughing blood. He started to giggle.
"I have...seen things you people wouldn't believe....attack ships on fire off the shoulder of the Dragonmere. I watched beams of magic glitter in the dark near Baldur's Gate. All those...moments...will be lost in time, like [cough] tears...in...rain. Time...to die..."
The mage's eyes went wide. With one final choke of effort he yelled "I know dragons with feet like rabbits, 'tis true I swear!"
Imoen was shaking. Durak looked down with a stone face at the dead mage and hallfing.
"Durak? Why? Why did we have to do that?"
The dwarf looked back at Imoen. All he saw was Gorion dying. She wasn't safe with him. He had to find a place for her to go.
-----------------------------
Part 3: Paranoia
Hours later, Durak and Imoen came across another traveler on the road. It was an old man, wearing a red robe with a pointed red hat. He sported a flowing white beard, from which a pipe jutted out. He was leaning on a staff as he approached.
The man 'seemed' good natured enough. He started to strike up a conversation with Imoen, asking her what kind of traveler she was. The desperate or the deranged. Still shaking from her first brush with death, she responded with 'desperate.' Durak hadn't truly been paying attention up until that point, content to let someone else speak to Imoen for awhile. But his answer made his hair stand on end. For he responded with advice to go to the Friendly Arm Inn, where he was sure that friends awaited.
He then turned the question to Durak. Glowering, and with his hand firmly on his hammer, Durak responded with a brusque refusal, saying, more or less, that he wasn't one to question others on their mental state. The mage took it in good humor and sauntered off. Imoen looked askew at Durak.
"I'll stick by you no matter what, but we should still try to be decent to people."
"Blast it all to hell, lass." He growled back at her. "Did ye fookin' hear what he said?! He told us to go to the Friendly Arm Inn. It's a trap! A bloody fookin' trap. The only ones who should know about the inn be me an' Gorion. An' ye because ye read his letter."
"Or, maybe he is one of Gorion's friends too? He seemed nice enough."
"Nice enough?" Durak shook his head vigorously, as if to shake the stupid out. "So did the last two assassins we saw! See how they turned out?"
"Well if he wanted to kill us, he could have done it just now! And besides, the last two, they gave me a healing potion. Then you picked a fight with the halfling. And now he's dead."
"He was a bloody assassin, lass! What, would ye rather have me run away? Ye think I'd bloody run from a fight?!"
Imoen put her hands up, a smile on her face. "Alright, alright. I didn't say that. Look, let's just go to the inn. If you're right, we'll deal with it. If I'm right, then Gorion's friends will know what to do. What do you say?" Then, without waiting she turned and started to jog off to the north.
"Oi! Lass, I didnae...lass!" With a muffled curse he followed.
-------------
The Friendly Arm Inn loomed ahead of them. A great fortress, once owned by a cleric of ill repute. Now it was a way station in the wild of the sword coast. A neutral place, where all grievances were supposed to be set aside. Imoen ran in, smiling at the idea of finally being out of the wilderness. Durak followed with much more hesitation. There was someone out to kill him. And that mage was setting them up for a trap. He just knew it.
As they turned towards the stairs that led to the main keep, also known as the inn proper, Imoen all but walked into another mage. She started to apologize, but he waved it away with a smile. A young man, in his late twenties, he had black hair, twinkling eyes, and a warm smile. He waved her apologies away.
"Hi friend. I've not seen you here before today. What brings you to the friendly arm inn?"
Imoen started to reply, when Durak pushed her out of the way.
"We're not your friends and our business is our own. Let us pass, mageling."
He looked at Durak, and a spark of recognition shot across his face. Gone was the genial look on his features. It was replaced with a look that meant nothing but business.
"How rude. No really, that is utterly rude of you. I'd teach you a lesson about manners, but that implies that you were going to live. If I weren't going to kill you anyways, I'd kill you just for being so uppity."
"Oh, really now? Ye're going to kill me, mageling? I give ye fair warning to lower ye staff an' listen to reason."
The mage responded by chanting words of power. A halo of power started to form around the tip of his staff. Durak didn't even bother raising his hammer.
"I warned ye."
What the mage didn't realize was that as he was talking, a guard had come out from the inn and had witnessed everything. Before the mage could finish his incantation, a sword blade shot from his chest. He looked down in shock before sliding off the blade and to the ground.
Durak nodded his thanks to the guard and then turned to Imoen. "I bloody well told ye that there were more assassins here. I bloody well did! Now let's go before-"
"Durak?"
He looked up at the door way and saw two figures standing there. Both looked somewhat elven to me. A man and a woman.
He growled at them, his hand falling to his hammer. "Who'se asking?"
The woman looked unperturbed. She frowned, and with disappointment evident in her voice replied "We are old friends of your adopted father. He is not with you? I must assume the worst; he would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment.”
The half-elven man continued: “If...if he has passed, we share your loss.”
“Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own. He also wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians, if he should ever meet an untimely end. However, you are much older now, and the choice of your companions should be your own.”
“We could t-travel with you until you get settled, help you find your l-lot in life.”
He looked over at Imoen, who was practically sighing with relief. And he thought back to the assassin at the door. To the two villains on the road. To the events of last night. To the man who tried to kill him back in Candlekeep. And he looked at Imoen again.
"Nay."
"N-no?" Khalid looked to Jaheria and then back at Durak. "But-"
"I said nay. I'll nay go with ye. Howe'er, she will."
Imoen's eyes widened at this. "She's Gorion's ward as much as me. Gorion's dead, an' he's dead because they're after her. They came demanding that he hand us o'er. He refused, an' now he's dead. So iffin' ye really be Gorion's friends, ye'll take her away from here. Somewhere far away. Athlaka for all I care! But ye'll get this lass away.
"This is not what-"
"An' it's settled!" Durak grabbed Imoen by the arm and all but shoved her at the two half elves. "Ye take the lass away from here where they can't get her. Ye be her guardians or what not."
"Durak! Wait-" Imoen called out, but he wasn't listening. He didn't want to listen. Gorion was already dead. Dead because of him. The assassins were never after Gorion. And yet he ran away, he had left the battle and his father had died in his stead. As he left, he swore to himself that he would never run again.
As he got to the door he felt a hand grab him by the shoulder. He spun around, and saw the woman, Jaheria, staring at him. Her eyes were piercing, and they commanded respect. Unlike Imoen or Khalid, he wasn't going to just shove her away.
"I openly question your judgment, but it is your decision to make. You do show some measure of leadership, and I should be glad to assist you in the future. Come Khalid, Imoen, we must depart for now."
Durak but nodded, and turned to leave once more. As he left, he allowed himself one sliver of combat. At least now he could be sure that Imoen would be alright. At least now he wouldn't have her death on his conscience as well.
-----
The following few weeks were one of frustration fueled bloodshed. Durak walked alone through the wilderness, performing mercenary work where he could find it, and honing his skills as best he could. And always he slept with one eye proverbially open for the next assassin.
He fought and slaughtered a band of hobgoblin raiders, who had stolen a woman's ring.
The last hobgoblin of the band he left alive, sparing it's life in exchange for information on where they hid their haul. In reality, it was but a single ring hidden within the nook of a tree. He had thought that he had been tricked, until he had it identified and learned of its' true value. That small job netted him enough cold, hard gold to replace his simple shield with an enchanted buckler. The buckler, while not much to look at, caused his wounds to slowly heal on their own. This was enough to take him from being a dwarf on the run into an adventurer of some ability.
He worked without pause, looking for some sort of meaning in his life. Be it gold, glory, marital accomplishment, or even a sense of moral decency, he did it. He did whatever he could to just make himself forget about Gorion and his personal failures.
He even hunted down and killed the infamous cleric Bassius, shattering the man's dreams as thoroughly as he did the man's kneecap and head. With the bounty and his loot, he soon found himself with both an enchanted hammer and a suit of full plate armor to his name. Slowly but surely, his reputation in the town of Beregost was growing.
Unfortunately, this meant one thing. That with his growing name, the assassins came. And it came from the most unlikely of places for Durak. Those days, he had but one hobby, and that was drinking. So after a day well spent breaking half-ogres along the road and freeing a mage apprentice from a spell gone awry which turned him into a chicken, he found himself drinking next to another dwarf at the bar. A dwarf by the name of Karlat. In his naievty, Durlak did not believe he had anything to fear from a fellow dwarf. All he knew of his people was what he learned from Reevor and Arkanis. He thought his own kind to be honorable as a rule, and that all dwarfs were kin...
"So lad, what did ye say ye name was?"
"Durak."
"Durak....Durak. I think I've heard about ye. Ye're the one who killed Bassius, aye?"
Durak nodded, not wanting to brag. But it felt good to have another dwarven warrior speak of him so. He reached for his mug and took another drink. The drink was good. It helped him to forget. The only things that helped him forget these days was killing and mead. And the funny thing was that one had to kill to afford mead. It was a cycle that he was falling into.
"You're at the end of your rope, I'll wager." Durak looked at his drinking companion and saw that the dwarf was taking out an axe. He slid off of his stood and reached for his hammer, confusion written on his face. Seeing the look, Karlat shrugged without any sense of emotion.
"Not that it's anything personal, you understand, but I'm afraid that your time on this here ball of mud is just about done."
It was inconceivable. Why would another dwarf be doing this? A fellow warrior of the soul forger?
"Why are you doing this? I've done nothing to you."
He was answered with the dwarf swinging his axe at him. Durlak blocked it with his buckler, parrying with ease. The dwarf wasn't as skilled as Reevor. He blocked the first blow, and then the second. The third got past his buckler and impacted with his armor. Durak swung back, anger starting to build in him. The shock was wearing off, and now he just felt betrayed. Karlat had just taken one more thing from him. Just as another pillar of his life came crashing down, so too did the bounty hunter. The enchanted hammer carried with it the power to channel electricity with every blow. Each parry shocked Karlat, and every blow caused pure electrical power to course through his armor. It wasn't even a contest. Before long, Karlat lay on the floor, twitching. He had a broken collarbone and a cracked rib.
"Ye gods damned kinslayer! Ye elf-fondlin' son' o' a halfling! Give me one reason why I shouldnae kill ye right now?"
Karlat looked up at the angry beardling and coughed up a mouthful of blood. He managed a small chuckle. "Nah. Ye should kill me laddy. It's what I would do. Ye'll nay want me after ye for the bounty."
"The bounty? What bounty?"
Karlat started to laugh. "What bounty? Ah, ye...ack...ye poor stupid runt. Ye've got a good price on ye head. Enough to keep me set for months."
"And why do I have this bounty?"
"Why? Eh...how should I know? Why should I care? A bounty's....a bounty is a bounty. And where there's a bounty, there's Karlat, makin' a living."
Durlak's eyes narrowed. "Ye make a living by killing ye kinsmen?"
Karlat was starting to pull himself up onto the bar. Everyone was staring at them now. A trail of blood was leaking out from his lips and ran down into his mail armor.
"Nay different from the lass ye killed in the street two days ago. Or that Bassius. Or those hobgobbos who stole them boots, or them ogre-sons who killed that messenger. Ye an' me, we're no different."
Durlak felt the anger rising in him. To compare him, a dwarf, to any of those beasts. A growl came from his lips. Without even realizing it his hammer swung out, catching Karlat on the side of the head. The dwarf was dead before he reached the ground. He then turned to the patrons of the bar and he roared out "Anyone else want a go at me? Huh? Any o' ye fookin' sons o' bastiches want a go? DO YE?!"
The outburst was met by abject silence. Nobody was willing to look him in the eyes. But as he scanned the room, all he saw were informants. Men and women who would sell him out for the love of gold. With bloody hammer in hand, he stalked out of the bar, and then away from Beregost as well.
Leaving Beregost behind, Durak went into the wilds of the sword coast. It seemed at that moment as if though there was no place for him to go. He was being hunted by an unknown enemy, and no matter where he looked assassins waited. At Candlekeep, the Friendly Arm Inn, in Beregost...no place was safe. To go north to Baldur's Gate would provide little succor, and south to Nashkel seemed equally perilous.
So he went west, towards the coast. He remembered as a child how he would climb the spires of Candlekeep and look out into the vast ocean. He remembered how the sight often scared him, as he imagined what was down in the bottomless depths. It had always made him feel powerless to contemplate the endless track of water. He found that his fear made him brave. The more he feared something, the stronger he would act. He had found that after staring at the sea, he would always throw himself into Reevor's training all the harder, as if though the fears in his mind made his arm all the stronger. The world was a scary place at that moment, so he wanted to go and see the water again. He wanted to soak in the fear, to see that which drove him to despair. And to harness the anger it always brought in him.
Upon reaching the coast, he went to a bluff and took a seat. He sat there, watching the waves come in. He thought of the water, and of how powerless he would be in it. Of how his strength would mean nothing, of how its denizens could so easily drag him to a watery death. It made him shiver, and it made his hammer arm itch. He wanted to swing it, to erase the horrid feeling of helplessness.
He was disturbed from his reverie by the sound of a feminine voice from behind him.
Her name was Safana, and she came speaking of a lost treasure. That of the legendary pirate Black Alaric. She had found the location of where he buried his treasure before he was killed by the Amnian navy. All she needed was someone who could get her to it. It was a pretty fair deal, all things considered. Between her and the treasure was a tribe of Sirens, whose song could charm mortals and whose arrows bit harder than that of the most skilled hobgoblin. And the treasure itself was said to have been guarded by fearsome golems, which no mundane weapon could harm. Durak looked out to the sea again, and then smiled grimly. If it moved, he could kill it. Anything on land could fall beneath his hammer.
"Aye. But before we go, we get this straight. All gold is split fifty-fifty. Any armor, books or scrolls, I get. Any gems, n' clothing or whatnot, ye get. Should we find a weapon, then axes n' hammers go to me, the rest go to ye. We got a deal?"
It was disgusting how she tried to negotiate. She seemed rather full of herself, as if though she thought that with her looks she could get him to do whatever she wanted. What she didn't realize was that she a lanky, stick-thin human whose proportions were all wrong. Sure, maybe some human, or Moradin help him, an elf, might have been attracted to such a woman. To him, it was almost comical how she tried to use her charms to sweeten the deal. For him though, the lure of gold and a real fight was more than enough. Especially given the name Black Alaric! The pirate captain had been infamous for surviving situations that should have killed any man. He was said to have a monstrous constitution. He had survived explosions, poisonings, bludgeonings and all kinds of assorted calamities in his long and violent career.
Durak took the map from Safana and started marching towards the cove where the treasure was hidden. Their deal was a simple one. He would clear a path to the treasure and deal with any guardians within, and she would keep watch outside. She said it was for safety, but he knew that it was to make sure that he didn't abscond with her share.
Luckily, Durak had prepared himself for cutting his way through the coast. He was well aware that the sword coast was plagued by sirens. Fey creatures, not unlike elves really. Charming, capricious, and often violent. At times they seemed like they could be reasoned with, only for their victim to find himself willing following them into the ocean, never to be seen again. It was for just such a reason that Durak had bought a scroll from High Hedge to protect himself from any such fey magics.
And sirens he did indeed come across. They looked like elves, sans any clothing. Upon seeing him they beckoned for him to come closer. They sang their songs, haunting melodies that would normally have slithered into the mind of the hearer, slowly and subtly overriding their will. For Durak though, the power of the scroll turned their singing into just that. And he didn't care for its tune.
When his stride didn't slow, and his expression became more grim, the sirens started to cease their singing. They started talking to each other in their foreign tongue. When they turned to him again, their tactics changed. There were three of them, and their legs started to shrivel into fins and fish-like tails that jutted out from behind them. Their hands extended, turning into jagged webbed claws. And their pearly white teeth transformed into sharp needles that secreted a hallucinogenic poison. With their eyes glinting with violence, they were now in their true form.
Durak left behind nothing but blood and carnage in his wake. Their arrows had fallen like rain drops off his shield, their claws had broken on his armor, and he was immune to their bites. For two hours at least, the length of time that his magical protection held true, he was an armored whirlwind of destruction. His hammer dripped blood. He followed his path along the beach, and every time he came across a siren the story was the same. By the time he reached the cover, he could see that they were starting to flee from his presence. His last victim was the leader of their tribe, who stubbornly refused to flee. It was the last mistake she ever made.
The cover thought, that was another matter. He boldly marched in. Mystical runes flared up along the cave walls, but he strode through the old magics, trusting in the protection he had bought. And then, in the first cavern, he saw it. A monstrosity like none other. It was a flesh golem. Anger spread through Durak as he saw it, for it was covered in tattoos. The tattoos of sailors. It was obvious that the pirate captain had used the bodies of his men to make the creature. He sincerely hoped that they were the bodies of the fallen, and not those harvested from the living. Either way, the creature was an afront to his sensibilities. His muscles were loose from slaughtering sirens, and his heart beat with the thrill of battle. With a roar he charged at the creature, his hammer held high!
The hammer came down, hitting the golem in the leg. Electricity shot through it, charring skin, while the impact broke bones. It felt no pain. Instead it raised both hands and brought them down together like a club. Durak raised his shield just in time to block it, and the shock spread through his body, knocking him down to one knee. The creature swung again, and it was all he could do to dodge the blow. It didn't roar, it didn't scream, it didn't even have the decency to look angry. It was just an automation, created to kill whatever it saw. With a growl Durak ducked beneath its next blow and brought his hammer up, hitting the creature in the jaw. His blow knocked it's head to the side and pulverised it's lower face. The creature had stagged from the blow, not from pain. It turned to look at Durak again, but by that time his hammer was already in motion. His second blow broke it's skull, which in turn broke the magic that had animated it. It fell to the ground, once more just a pile of stiched together corpses.
With the fight over, Durak shook his left arm, which held his shield, and felt pain shoot through it. With the adrenaline wearing off, he could tell that something wasn't right there. It felt like he had broken something when he blocked it's blow. He pulled out a pair of healing potions and pulled the corks out. They were larger than normal, for these were potions made with ale. A dangerous thing to drink too much of, but certainly easier on the gut than the usual fare. After downing both of them he shook his arm again, and was pleased to find that the pain was gone. Then, bolstered by his victory and liquid courage, Durak proceeded further into the cover.
What he found made his eyes widen with delight. On a small island within a pool of water was a treasure chest. He ran to it and threw it open. Hundreds upon hundreds of gold crowns! Over three hundred would be his share, if his estimate was correct. there were also a handful of potions, three of which were unbroken, a wand, a cloak, a handful of darts...and a thick tome. The tome is what drew his eyes. He had seen its like before, in Candlekeep. They were rare, precious things, filled with magical power. So full was he with desire that he didn't hear the footsteps behind him. He turned, his eyes wide, when he saw the shadow fall over him. In his confidence he had not expected there to be two guardians! This one swung its heavy fist and Durak didn't have time to block it. It hit him straight in the chest, and sent him flying off of his feet and onto the hard stone ground. His shield fell out of his grasp and his eyes widened. The enchanted shield was what let Durak heal from his many wounds, and it was integral to his fighting style. He turned to reach for it, but he felt strong hands grab him by the waste. He looked down and recoiled in horror. They were much larger than they had any right to be, and the fingers...the fingers were made from sewing several fingers together. They bent at unnatural angles. And then they squeezed. Durak roared in pain as he felt a rib break. He opened his eyes and stared at the face of the golem. It too was made out of several faces sewn together. It had eye holes in unnatural places, and eye balls which were far too small for its large form. It opened its mouth and moaned as its squeezing intensified. Stars danced around Durak's eyes as the pain reached a level so intense that he nearly passed out. Roaring his hatred and disgust, Durak took his hammer and brought it down square between the golem's eyes. Bone cracked and electricity dances across its' skin. It squeezed again, and Durak struck again. And again, and again and again. With his final blow, the Golem's skull caved in, and it sunk to its knees before falling to the ground. Its hands were still firmly wrapped around the dwarf, and he had to pry them off one by one.
By the time Durak got all of the loot out, his shield had fixed the worst of the damage done to him. But it still hurt like the nine hells. He found Safana vainly going through the corpses of the sirens he had slain, looking for the valuable pearls they often wore. The search was in vain, of course, because Durak had already claimed them as his own.
"Well lass, there we go. The treasure there, jus' as ye said it would be. The guardians be dead, the traps be sprung, an' the gold be ours!"
She met his smile with one of her own. "Well, we have worked well together, wouldn't you agree?"
Durak threw open the lid of the treasure chest. "See for yeself. A cloak for ye, a tome for meself, an' gold enough for us both. A fine venture."
She nodded. "Perhaps we should continue this working relationship beyond just one treasure hunt - that is, if you'll have me. If you haven't guessed yet, my skills are of a thieving nature."
She did her best to sound the seductress with the 'thieving' line, but Durak wasn't going to have any of that. "Aye, so ye say. But ye're only useful to me if ye can point me at any other treasure which needs takin'. Ye got any leads?"
And a lead she had. Apparently, further to the north, a great treasure had been lost. A paladin of some renown had gone missing, and with him 'the Gift of Peace' was lost. A magical helm of some power. And with him, went a ring that Safana was after. He was said to have worn of a ring with a gem on it of such beauty that it could bring both man and woman to tears should they examine it for any length of time. His squire, or so she said, had come back babbling about how he had fallen in love with a blue skinned woman, and had died smiling just from her kiss.
And so it was that they ventured north, following the coast line. It was a dangerous venture, he knew, for his magical protection faded after but a few short hours, and by the time they reached the spot that the squire reported the loss of his master, the sun was soon to set. The fact that he had stopped to rescue a small child stuck in a light house from a pack of wargs did not help at all for when it came to reaching their destination in a timely manner either.
And standing there was what Durak did not want to see. A lone siren. Safana though, not knowing the nature of Durak's protection, strode up full of confidence. She demanded that the siren relinquish their prize, lest it meet the same fate as the rest of its kin.
"Lass, shut ye mouth and get back here. Lass? Lass!"
His cries fell on death ears. Safana's voice trailed off and her arms fell to her side. She didn't struggle as the siren reached up, grabbed her face, and started to kiss her. The color drained from Safana's skin as her very life began to be sucked out. She would have almost certainly died if Durak was at her side. He brought his hammer down directly onto the siren's back. The siren fell to the ground, crying in pain. It started transforming into it's true form, but with a broken back there was little it could do.
"Ye bloody monster!" He heard Safana cough, and the rogue unsteadily got to her feet. "Ye're lucky she's not dead, or I'd kill ye slowly. Tell me, where be our prize."
The siren pointed behind them. He heard Safana scream, and with dexterity unheard of start to flee for the trees. Walking towards them was an ogre mage, wearing the Gift of Peace upon its head. It held a katana in it's hands and had murder in its eyes. Spitting a curse at Safana's cowardice, Durak casually swung his hammer down, crushing the siren's head. He wouldn't have it's voice charming him!
The ogre mage stopped in its tracks. It roared "You killed my favorite toy! Now die!" And with that, it vanished. Durak looked around wildly, to see where it went. And as he did, he felt water in his boots. He looked down, and to his horror saw the water from the sea rising higher and higher. It was already to his knees! He sloshed around, looking desperately for high ground to climb to.
"No...no...this isnae happenin'..."
He saw something slither in the water. It was long and serpentine, and it moved with a fluidity he had never seen. It had such teeth, and it's long spindly arms hung behind it as it swam. It was waiting, waiting for the water to be over his head. Waiting for him to be helpless....
The water was up to his chest. He was going to die...he was going to die...
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He repeated that to himself. He thought back to Candlekeep. To Gorion. To the lessons imparted to him. He thought of how he learned of the power of illusions. That was what this was. He was falling prey to an illusion. They only had power if you let them. If he let the illusion win, then he would indeed drown. He would fall victim to his own fears. He breathed deeply, fighting to control himself. This wasn't real. He wasn't afraid. He concentrated on what he remembered the land to look like. What was real. He gripped his hammer tightly, and opened his eyes.
The ogre mage was standing there, grinning. It was waiting for him to die screaming. It's grin turned to pain as Durak's hammer impacted with it's knee. It fell to the ground and started to spit out another spell, to once again become invisible. Durak's boot hit it right on the chin. It fell backwards, spitting out teeth as it did so.
"How-?" It never finished its sentence. Durak's hammer hit it's outstretched arm, breaking bones and causing it's last defense to fail. His third blow came down on its' shoulder blades, easily shattering them. His forth hit the ogre mage on the back of the kneck. His fifth, sixth and seventh were just to be safe.
---
Durak found Safana hiding in the tree lines. She had seen it all happen.
"You did it! I knew you would. A strong man like you wouldn't find a challenge there."
With disgust written on his face, Durak tossed the ring to her. A deal was a deal. Her face lit up when she caught it. It was worth a king's ransom.
"Ye didnae help, lass. Ye were supposed to be me comrade, an' ye hid."
She never stopped looking at the ring, even as she talked to him. "You didn't need it. I could tell. I could tell..."
Shaking his head, Durak started marching back to Beregost. Assassins be damned! He had just killed an ogre mage. He had beaten his own fears. He wouldn't let them dictate his life to him. If they wanted to come, they would die like all the rest!
Upon reaching the first inn they came to, Durak gruffly said his goodbyes to Safana. She was sad to see their partnership end. And why not? He did all the bloody work while she just pointed him in the right direction. He was tired of being her stooge, was sick of her cowardice and disgusted by her attempts to manipulate him.
And so it was, that he started heading south. Away from Safana. Away from Beregost. He was going to Nashkell. He had heard word that the mining town was experiencing troubles, troubles which they would pay greatly for a mercenary like him to solve. And maybe, just maybe, there would be more assassins there for him to try his hammer on. Perhaps if he was lucky they could even be persuaded to talk...
ooc: I have had plenty of runs end due to sirens. I have learned that with a potion of speed you can run into their midst and hit one before they go invisible. Then they will try to charm you, and if you are lucky you can survive that. Then in CC you need someone else with you, because they'll feeblemind you with their CC attacks. If any of that happens, it is game over. So for this no-reload run, I bought a scroll of protection from magic. With that, one just has to engage all 3 in close combat so they can't shoot, and beat them into submission. The worst that can happen is one wanders, because their arrows really hurt!
But not as much as flesh golems. I thought that Durak could just beat them down, but they hit hard. Luckily, his ability as a dwarven defender can be used to mitigate that. Without that, it would have been game over....
As for the ogre mage, I kept Safana in my party for two reasons. First, I needed a second party member to get killed by the Siren for me. And secondly, I knew that the ogre mage casts charm. If Charname is alone when that hits, it is game over. I didn't have a second protection from magic scroll, so she was my insurance. And it paid off! Because Durak was certainly charmed. When that wore off, he just beat the ogre into submission.
Anyway, another fine installment Grum. You coped well woth the serious threats that your Dwarf had to face. I liked the descriptions of the Sirines and Shoal changing shape. Is that something you came up with or is that what these creatures do in D&D?
As for the description of them changing, that is to the best of my knowledge canon.
http://www.dandwiki.com/wiki/Siren_(3.5e_Template)
Pretty creep picture if you ask me. Well deserving of a hammer to the head.
The borders between Baldur's Gate and Amn were mutable at the best of times, and unknowable at the worst. When exactly one crossed borders was usually guess work. The first sign that Durak had that he had entered the lands of the great state of Amn was when he came across a madman in the woods. The human was standing over a destroyed caravan, surrounded by bodies, and spoke in riddles. Thinking the man to be mad, but still being the first person he had seen in days, Durak answered his query and expected to at least be given the common courtesy of being allowed to ask one of his own. Instead, the man fell to his knees and explained that he was the captain of a battalion of soldiers, and that he deserved naught but death for his crimes. After hearing the man out, it became somewhat obvious that the captain's crimes were not due to his insanity, but due to a cursed blade that he held. For whatever reason, merely answering the question was enough to make him drop it and for the tears to flow. As fortunate would have it for the man, not all within the caravan was dead. One of the apparent survivors was the man's cousin, who begged Durak to take him back to Nashkel's temple so that he might be healed rather than executed. He responded with a shrug of his shoulders and said "Ye know what? Screw ye, and screw ye too. I'm not in the mood for this. I'll walk with ye to Nashekl an' ye can do what ye want with yon madman." She smiled at this, and began leading the captain away. For Durak though, he kept a wary eye on the sword that the captain still dragged behind him, and kept a hand on his hammer. He didn't feel comfortable killing a man who merely had the misfortune to be cursed, but at the same time he wouldn't stand by and allow him to be a danger to others.
When they reached Nashkel Durak dismissed them from his company. Either they'd sneak into the temple or be caught by the soldiers. Either way, it wasn't his problem, and he'd be as much help to them from that point on as a fire elemental putting out a forest fire. As for Nashkel, tt was a border town, and it was crawling with soldiers. Dozens of soldiers marched up and down the street, in full armor and all carrying both bow and sword. They marched in platoons, with a sergeant leading each one. As they marched, each word shouted by the sergeant went in time with the soldiers' feet hitting the ground.
"Left...left...right left! Right left!"
Curious, he walked after them as he went deeper into the town. Each platoon was competing with each other to be the loudest as they marched to their destinations, something which Durak suspected was not to the liking of the townsfolk. By his rough estimate, he saw three platoons, which according to the way the watchers were organized at least, meant that there might be enough one somewhere else, though probably not if there was but a single battalion there. Still, that many men meant that Amn truly was preparing for an invasion, though Durak didn't know of whether it was to be into Baldur's Gate, or to protect against one. As he walked into town, he heard some of the cadences.
"Oh woah, oh no,
I got to leave, I got to go,
The Army life it 'aint for me,
It got me missin' my baby!
Got a letter in the mail,
Go up north or go to jail,
The army life, it 'aint for me,
It got me missin' my baby.
Sat me down in the barber's chair,
Spun me 'round I had no hair.
The army life, it 'aint my style,
It got me lookin' like a steamin' pile."
Another platoon marched by, and Durak stepped out of their way.
"They say that in the Army, the chow is might fine.
A chicken jumped off the table, and started marching time.
Oh lord, I want to go.
But they won't let me go.
Ho-oh-oh-oh-hey!
They say that in the Army, the pay is might fine.
They give you hundred sovereigns,
and take back ninety-nine.
Oh lord, I want to go.
But they won't let me go.
Ho-oh-oh-oh-hey!"
Loudest of all was the third platoon, whom Durak could hear from across the river.
"Down by the river,
we took a little wa-alk.
Came by second platoon!
We had a little ta-alk.
We didn't like their attitude,
we didn't like the way they marched.
We pushed 'em (hey!)
We kicked 'em (hey!)
We threw 'em in the river.
We laughed as they drowned.
We don't need no second platoon.
No discipline second platoon!
Can't march second platoon!
Just hangin'-a
Just hangin'-a
Just hangin' around!"
Eventually Durak came to Berrun Ghastkill, the mayor of Nashekl. He was standing outside of a temple to helm, leaning on a spear and rubbing his temple as if though he had a massive headache. Upon seeing the heavily armored dwarf march up, he waved Durak over and, with a hint of desperation in his voice, told the dwarf of the problems in the mines. It wasn't the first time he had heard of it, but it was the first time that he heard of the reward. A quick chat with Oublek, a fool who unsuccessfully tried to give Durak 200 gold crowns that wasn't his (a cost to Durak's reputation that he refused to pay) that there were other bounties to be had as well. Something about stolen gems, and another about the lost captain he had found. Hearing that was still a bounty almost made him smile, for it meant that the captain had been successfully smuggled in.
Surprisingly enough to him, the job that caught his eye the most was the hunt for a mage. Apparently, a ranger who talked to rodents required help in rescuing a witch, while a wizard with an abundance of intelligence and a dearth of manners was willing to pay to see her killed. Not trusting either to make sound judgments, and curious to see where it would take him, Durak insisted that they both accompany him to find her. And that should either refuse, he would help the other.
To this, the ranger minsc but nodded. "There is safety in numbers. And I'm two or three at least." The mage, Edwin, sneered at this. "Could my opinion of this group drop any lower? Evidently so." Before Misnc could reply, Durak cut them off. "Shut it, the both of ye. There's a mage that needs findin' and a fortress that needs breakin'. Come now or be left behind."
The band, such that it could be called, barely lasted a day. The mage grew angrier as each hour passed. It came to a head when the Ranger approached Durak and pointed at the mage. Durak and Minsc had just saved a forest nymph's tree from being felled while the mage sat back and watched
"I trust those who do not aid their comrades no farther than they can be thrown, even if I manage to throw them pretty far!" He said the last part with meaning. The mage's wrath started to boil over.
"Yes, indeed. Speak once more against those with enough intelligence to grind you into salt and I'll instill a bit more respect in you, fool. Our deal is void! We are at odds forever more."
At this last remark Minsc hefted his great sword and Durak started moving to flank the mage, hammer in hand. Seeing the two warriors meant business, Edwin took a step back and then started walking back towards Nashkel.
At this, Minsc pointed his sword west, towards the gnoll fortress. "Magic is impressive but now Minsc leads. Swords for everyone!" Durak sighed. "Reign it in, ranger. Ye'll follow me lead when I say we go find ye finger waggler. By all the gods, ye've got the brain o' a hamster and ye smell of elderberries!" To this the ranger just smiled. "I have lost myself in your words but Boo thinks you're just ducky." Durak sighed again, only much louder. "Just...just march lad. Just march."
The fortress itself mattered little to Durak and the berserk ranger. To the dwarf's incredulity, he found himself for the first time in his life struggling to keep up with someone. It did not matter how many gnolls stood before the ranger, they fell like wheat before the scythe. The ranger fought with a berserk ferocity that unnerved the dwarf, and several times he had to save the man from being cut down from an unseen foe, such was the man's relentless urge to attack. When the gnoll chieftain fell, the survivors turned and ran. Minsc did not charge after them, instead he ran straight towards the witch that he had sworn to protect.
For a moment the dwarf looked at the two of them as they reunited. From what he had seen, it was the red cloaked mage who was in the wrong. The ranger seemed like a good enough sort, in a 'what the hell is wrong with you?' kind of way. And the mage was fair spoken, and seemed genuinely pleased to be reunited with her comrade. Smiling, knowing that he had done something worthwhile, Durak turned and walked away before they could realize that he was gone. As entertaining as the man was, the entire incident reminded him how close to death they all were. It would be better to not get too attached to them, lest one of them die on him. Better to work alone than risk having the death of another on his conscience. Walking over a floor littered with corpses, he departed.
That said I won't abandon this tale.
Being charitable was well and good. Truly, it felt good to aid insane rangers and their hamsters. But it didn't pay the tab. He had helped storm a damned stronghold, and what did he have to show for it? Barely enough coin to last him a good night at the bar. It was for this reason that he decided to take up the mayor's offer of investigating the mines. By this time in his adventuring career though, there was not much that he truly had to worry about in such a place. Surely, the soldiers were antsy and the miners were panicked. So much so that one of them even had the gall to ask him to go searching the lower mines for a specific miner to return the man's dagger!
Durak brushed the fool off. He was there to figure out what was wrong with the mines, not to search them in a vain pursuit for a solitary man. Besides, let the humans be scared. He was a dwarf. A dwarf in a mine. Now, truth be told it was the first mine he had ever seen, and he was downright excited to be there. Everyone knew that dwarfs and mines went together like a hammer and a kneecap. They were meant for each other! Reevor and Arkanis had told him as much. So too did all of the books that he had read. He had read of great evils that could be had under the earth. Of ancient dwarven clans which had dug too greedily and too deep, so that vile demons from the beyond would rise up in flame and destruction. Great heroes would inevitably rise to meet the challenge. Dwarfs like Thorek Bloodfist, who single handedly slew the horde of rat-men beneath Kazad Dawr, or Bolthur the Clanless! It was a let down when he ran into his first kolbold. Poorly made arrows pelted him like droplets of rain, and rusted shortswords were about as fearsome to him as the teeth of a dog. He slaughtered the first group, wading through them like a storm through an elven village. Then the second, and the third. The third group carried with them strange vials, which he guessed was proof enough that the kolbolds were involved with the mine's woes.
Leave it to those bloody, blind humans to run scared from kolbolds. So Durak marched on, going deeper and deeper into the mines. He waded through traps. Darts flew from the walls and tripe wires caused knives to spring up from the ground. To a man in leather and chain this would have been quite irksome. To a mage in simple robes, deadly. To a dwarf, clad from head to foot in full plate? The worst he got was a painful fleshwound when a dagger got caught in the seams of his greaves, but a quick tug and a healing potion was enough to keep him moving. Even when the kolbolds organized something of a defense...a narrow passage with their fighters in front and archers in back, it meant nothing. He had been trained for exactly such conditions by Reevor. He smiled as he marched on, shield held up to block the incoming missiles and hammer gripped tightly. The first line of kolbolds charged. They broke like waves upon the a cliff. The kolbolds behind fired arrow after arrow. Their leader, obviously some kind of chieftain, had arrows tied with oil soaked rags. Only his arrows had any bite to them, especially as one nearly caught his beard aflame! With a roar of anger Durak pushed forward. He bashed one kobold in he face with a shield, crushed a skull with his hammer, and then shattered a leg with his steel encased foot. The last kolbold turned to flee, but suddenly stopped as it came to a door behind it. It turned in fear just in time to fall to his hammer.
Durak took a moment to regard the door with caution. Common sense told him that if the kobold was afraid to flee threw it, then it must be trapped. It was quite a predicament. Turn around, and likely find a small army of angry kolbolds massing because of the trail of corpses he left behind him, or go forward into was was certainly a trapped door...
...Durak walked through the door and grunted as he took a swig from yet another healing potion. He had to give it to the kolbolds. They couldn't fight for shyt, but they knew how to make a mean trap. Up ahead he saw a small underground lake, with an island within it. The island itself held its own cave, the entrance of which was guarded. He marched up to it, scattering the few kolbolds who stood by an entrance. Forcing his way in, a half dozen of the dog-men yipped as they charged. The walls were painted red with distressing ease. By this point the dwarf was in less than a good mood. His first time in a mine, and his glory was being ruined by the weakness of his foes.
He smiled when he saw what waited for him. It was a crudely made throne, upon which a half-orc sat. The half-orc was clad in mail armor and wielded a wickedly sharp mace. The orc surged to his feet as he saw the blood covered dwarf approach.
"What?! How you get in here?"
"Shut up an' die."
The half-orc started chanting in its language, asking Grummush or some such deity for aid. Durak didn't quite care which. He could hear from outside a great yipping as kolbolds started to pour in. Even the corpses of the fallen started to twitch as they rose from the ground, their skeletal forms tearing out of their fleshy remains. Obviously something was listening to the cleric. Durak's smile grew. Maybe there would be a reason for coming here after all! He slammed his hammer into the chest of the half-orc, knocking it back down onto its throne.
"I yield, I yield to thee! Accept my surrender?"
Durak's smile died. The damnable half-orc was supposed to be stronger than this! The gold had better be worth it, he thought grimly to himself. When even a half-orc surrenders before the fun even starts...
...even as the cleric tried to surrender, it's followers poured into the room. Durak didn't even bother responding. He just brained the cleric with his hammer. No point leaving a finger-waggler alive when he'd have to turn his back. By his count, there were....what? A dozen or so kolbolds and skeletons? In this, the battle was harder than before. The kolbolds grabbed at his arms and legs, trying to slow him down with their weight. The skeletons were remorseless in their attacks, uncaring about any damage he did to them. They felt no pain and knew no fear. He killed one, bashed another to the ground, kicked a kolbold off of him...by sheer weight of numbers they were pushing him back. "Blasted bloody fool!" He yelled at himself. He wanted a fight? Well here was one. Jumping back, he slammed his back into the cave wall, and felt the breaking of bones as the kolbold who was hanging off of him took the brunt of the impact. He then swung his hammer down, causing a second kobold hanging onto his leg to have its head veer off in a most unnatural angle. He took a skeleton's sword onto his pauldron and then headbutted it. A helmeted head against an unprotected skull. The results were what one would expect.
And so it went, until Durak stood on a pile of kolbold bodies and skeletal fragments. He walked over to the throne and knocked the cleric's body off of it, before sitting wearily down. He sighed in pain, and contentment, as he took a moment to check on his wounds. A good workout, something of a challenge, and a grateful town to return to. All he had to do was take the cleric's holy symbol back, as well as any documents he could scrounge up to prove its role in the mine's issues, and he'd have enough gold to drink his memories away for a fortnight! A good day indeed.
@ Blackraven: But aren't some the best stories ones that end sadly? Not that this one necessarily does....anyways, the next installment!
------------
Part 7: It Gets Personal
Durak's victory was short lived. From outside of the cave he could hear it. The shuffling of feet, the low yipping of kolbolds. There were many of them, of that he was sure. Wearily he walked to the entrance and peaked through it. Dozens of kolbolds were out there, arguing among themselves. He groaned. And then from behind him, he heard a voice.
"I thank you for my freedom, friend, for I have languished in these dismal vaults too long."
He spun around, and saw an elf standing before him. The elf wore a purple robe, had long brown hair, and wore a ridiculous tiara.
"And who the fook be ye?"
It was a mistake to ask that question. The elf wistfully spoke of his home of Evereska, and how he had been sent to discover what was causing the iron crisis in the region. As he spoke, he rummaged through a chest and started reading through various documents within.
"Elfling, I'd suggest ye move ye arse lest ye wish to stay here."
The elf shrugged, even as he pulled out a blade that burst into flames upon his touch. The elf didn't register Durak's surprise, nor did did his face show anything besides a gloomy frown. "We're all doomed. But I was sent here to learn what is happening so I shall do so."
"Ye damned finger waggler. Jus' take the bloody fookin' scrolls an' get on ye poncy feet. There be a right score o' dog heads waitin' for us outside."
The elf just sighed as he walked over to the half orc's body. With one simple motion Xan parted the half-orc's head from his shoulders, the moonblade sealing the wound and leaving remarkably little blood for such an action.
"Onward, to futility." With that Xan tossed the Mulahey's head out of the cave. The yipping of surprised and scared kolbolds could be easily heard. "Fook it. Jus' fook it all."
Score upon score of kolbold hid in the shadows outside of the cave. Their fearful chatter turned to terror as the two figures walked out. One was a dwarf, covered in blood and gore. Already the tribe had heard of the bearded terror which had cut so many of them down. And with them was an elven mage, a sword of flame held in a disinterested hand. And at their feet was the head of their god. All it took was one of them to turn and flee, which turned into a second, a third, and then a dozen. In under a minute the tribe was in full flight.
"Come then, friend. I would see the sun again before I die. You can walk first. There are a pair of slimes that I would rather you deal with, given that they do not have mind enough for my magic to work. From there, I will see to it that the actual guardians are dealt with."
"Mageling, what the blood-"
"If we are doomed to fail, could we at least do it faster!?" With that the elf started walking on, along the underground river. With a curse Durak ran after him. He didn't know how long it would take for the kolbolds to regather their courage. And it at least looked like the elf knew where he was going.
And indeed Xan did. Before long the two of them were once again in the light of day, emerging from a long abandoned service tunnel for the mines.
"The sun shines, and I am amazed we live to see another day."
"Ye know, elfling. I'd appreciate it if ye'd shut ye word hole. Ye're ruinin' me mood."
"If you want. Now come. There are four women who guard this exit. Bounty hunters, it would appear that Mulahey's employer had hired them to wait there for a dwarf to come. I recall Mulahey arguing with a human mage about them. I would hazard a guess that this dwarf would be you."
"That so? An' who is this half-orc's employer then? I'd like to give him a piece o' me mind."
Durak had gone into the job for the gold. But this was something different. Someone wanted him dead, and if they were connected...
"If you had let me go through this correspondence, then I might have been able to answer that for you. As is, battle approaches. Go kill the one in armor, if you would."
Durak looked up in surprise only to see four women standing before them. One a suit of chain armor without a helm, another wore a full suit of plate, a third was an archer and a fourth was fingering a dagger.
"You there, is your name Durak? Hurry up and answer. Your answer better be the truth. Your life depends on it."
The elf was mumbling something which Durak recognized to be a spell. Still covered in kolbold gore, he started to stalk forward towards the women.
"Aye, an' what of it?"
The woman was about to respond when her fellow, the woman with the bow, suddenly raised he weapon and shot her companion in the back. The heavily armored woman screaming in pain and surprise as the arrow, fired at such a close ranger, went right into her back. She collapsed onto the ground, coughing up blood. The woman with the daggers responded by sending one of her daggers into her former comrade, while the chain clad woman started to chant.
"That'd be me cue! Khagun menu penu rukhs!"
The woman's chanting died with her, as Durak put a well placed hammer blow into her kneecap. She fell to the ground, her words of power trailing off into a scream. It ended when her skull caved in.
All that was left now was the woman with the dagger, who was crouching over the lifeless form of her comrade. There were tears in her eyes.
"I'll kill you for this. I'll tear our your eyes with my teeth!"
"So the bounty hunter feels sad 'cause her victim defended 'imself? I'd cry for ye, but I dunnae bloody well care ye soddin' bint!"
She reached her arm back to throw another dagger, only to suddenly stop. Xan walked over to her nonchalantly. "Drop it." The dagger fell to the ground. "Get on your knees." With a blank expression she complied. "My friend, if you would do the honors?"
Durak took a step forward, made sure to get enough momentum, and brought his hammer down on the defenseless bounty hunter.
-----
It was a good day, Durak reflected, as he sat within the tavern in Nashkel. The mayor had paid him 900 gold crowns for his trouble. He had made even more than that selling the equipment of not only the four women that they had killed, but the two other assassins who had waited for him back in the town. Sitting across from him was the elf, who was staring intently at the letters in front of him.
"Have ye bloody well read them yet, mageling?"
"For the last time, they are in code. It will take me at least a week to decipher them."
"How about now?"
"Why-! You're stupidity makes you a doomed man."
Durak grinned. "Aye, I'd say so. But those letters will tell me whose tryin' to kill me. So I'd like to know."
"It seems that our resident suicide mongerer will have to come back here in a week then."
"A week? An' what'll I do for a bloody week then?"
"You're a dwarf. Go...to a mine. Or eat a rock. How should I know?"
"Pfft. Ye know what I have to say tae ye? Menu shirumund."
"And that means what?"
"It means ye have nay beard."
"I don't."
"That's what I said, did I nay?"
With a self satisfied grin, Durak got out of his seat. He was pleased with himself for beating a mage in a game of wits.
"I'll be back in a week then. I expect to find answers."
-----
ooc: More to come later. I only write when inspiration hits. The next installment will be Durak's foray into Durlag's Tower. A subject which is best approached when I feel up to it.
Your journal is so good, that I want to add some more roleplayed details to my new Dwarf Glorydd. Looking forward to Durlag's Tower: a fascinating place for your Dwarf but full of dangers...
Besides, all good heroes need an easily recognizable move. It helps sell merchandise. Already in Beregost they are selling t-shirts that say "I used to be an adventurer, but I took a hammer to the knee."
Durak found himself in an odd position. He had some time to kill. He could have had headed north towards Beregost. The town had treated him well enough. Or he could have stayed in Nashkel, and drank away his time, and his coin. There was also the option of seeing Gullykin, or exploring the Firewine Ruins. None of them really appealed to him. From what he heard, the Firewine was awash in kolbolds, and he had more than his fill of the furry bastards. Assassins had already made a few attempts on his life both in Beregost and Nashekel...even in the Friendly Arm! Eventually one of them would wise up and would slip something in his drink, and that'd be the end of it. So even drinking away his time wasn't exactly a good idea in his books. He had to keep moving, as it was the only thing that was safe until he could bury his hammer up to his elbow in the gut of whomever put a hit on his head.
It was as he was ruminating over the fact that he had finally went into a mine that inspiration hit him! He would go to Durlag's Tower! It was a dwarven clan home, rumor had it that there were rooms of gold and gems so deep that one could swim in them...what could go wrong?
Well, for one, everyone said that he would need a good thief if he was going to go there. And...
...apparently every one of them was a coward who either outright refused him or laughed him off. So he decided to go alone. What need would he have of some thief? A common cut purse? He was a dwarf. A son of Moradin! He would return to the land of his people and he would find himself.
----
Much to Durak's surprise, when he came to the tower he found two dwarfs standing before the gate house. They were ancient, baroque armor, and each carried with them a sword of flame.
"Oi! Who be ye? I was told that none of Trollkiller's kin were still here."
They didn't respond to his call. Instead, the two started to march towards him. Their helms covered their faces completely, with only wiry, black beards trailing out.
"Lads? What clan're ye from?"
They continued their march. Durak pulled his hammer from his best. "Lads?" With blades raised, they charged...
Durak threw yet another empty healing potion to the ground. The glass broke on impact, scattering on the wind swept ground. The bastards had packed some serious punch. They were naught but armor, bound to protect the tower for all eternity. As he looked up on the stone walls, built by his kinsmen in ages past, he wondered what it was which had bound them. Was it a punishment for some old crime? Was it duty, which held heir souls long past their death? Sadly, he would never know. Rather, he spoke a prayer for the dead. "Menu ziramu gamildul." And into the tower he went.
The tower itself was in remarkably good condition. And why wouldn't it be? Up the tower he went. Where he stepped there were no traps. Naught but empty chests and book shelves full of decayed tomes. Granted, he dispatched a troublesome ghost which moaned about some old debt it owed to Durlag. He also came across a thief, who immediately threatened him with bodily harm if he didn't move on. Durak merely gave him a choice finger to look at as he pressed on, preferring not to work with such a man if he would help it. Likewise, he had no wish of helping a wingless succubus, which screeched about its imprisonment when he refused its advances. Why did even demons think that beauty meant having such a gangly frame? Disgusting, it was, just as were its attempts to seduce him.
After finding a thoroughly looted room, Durlag barricaded himself in and slept for the night. Perhaps it was the dour environment he found himself in. Perhaps it was how he had trekked through both mine beneath the earth and tower built by his people, both filled with naught but the dead and the damned. But that night, he dreamt.
"Durak was startled out of sleep with a chill, though the night is warm and calm. It is as though someone has walked across his grave, and more for a moment he wondered if it was himself. With that thought, the ground beneath him opened, and he was swept into the dark.
When light returned, he do not find its presence comforting. Before him lay the empty mines of Nashkel, cleansed by his previous passage. He move through walls and floors alike, descending deeper and deeper, until a bloated figure came into view. Mulahey, in no better shape than he left him, stood motionless before him.
Held from whatever afterlife called it, the foul apparition had been waiting for him. A dagger of bone hovered before it, ready for a willing hand to drive it deep. Had this creature breath, Durak was sure it would be hurling curses. It waited for the kill, a death beyond death, and knew no hope.
He turned his back on the blade, and it clattered to the floor. Punishment enough would find the creature in the land of the dead; he needed not inflict any more upon him.
Surprised and thankful, the visage of Mulahey hobbled forward and through Durak, off to whatever fate it deserved. Perhaps for safekeeping, it left a part of itself behind. It was a spark of hope that filled a space within him: a dagger-shaped hole he did not know was empty.
There is a cry of rage from the depths, and the dagger of bone launched itself through the air, his heart its target. Durak awoke just as it would have struck, and the cold sweat that covered him stung his eyes . A disapproving voice lingers in his ears, though it should have disappeared with the dream. 'You... WILL... learn!'"
After breaking fast, Durak removed the barricades from his room and fully armored went forth once more. He sought out a dust covered shrine to Clanngedin, upon which he offered a heartfelt prayer. And with that, he descended. He went from the top of the tower, to the bottom, intent on finding something of value. And something he did indeed find, for it was a secret door, disguised to blend in with the stone work. He ventured through, and found himself in an old feasthall. He looked around with confusion, for the walls were blackened and the room was devoid of anything more than charred bones. He took one step in, and world exploded in flames. Some ancient trap had been tripped, and mysitcal flames filled the room. Roaring in pain, Durak acted on instinct and charged through the inferno, barreling through a door and into the relative safety beyond.
After a few moments of panic, he had the fire in his beard put out and several healing potions downed. He was quickly running low. For the first time he had an inkling of why everyone had called him a fool to come. But he was a dwarf! He would not be turned back without something to show for his efforts. With gritted teeth he pushed on.
It was the shuffling of feet which gave their position away. Durak charged down the hallway, hammer raised. His blood ran fast as he welcome combat, eager to fight something he could see. The element of surprise was his! And it was lost just as quickly, as he saw what he was fighting. Ghouls. Dwaven ghouls. Aged far beyond any mortal years. They were feasting on the corpses of adventurers. They saw him and hissed. Something like dwarven came out of their mutilated mouths, but he could not make it up. He almost certainly would have died there if it were not for his instinct to fight and to kill. An instinct that he thought merely meant that he was a warrior born. He was breathing heavily, though not from exertion, when the last of them lay dead. Stubborn pride pushed him further onward.
Durlag staggered out of the tower. Using the walls to support himself he spat blood on the ground. He had done what he had come for...more or less. He wore a suit of golden armor. It was enchanted to be practical in the extreme. Armor that was as light as leather, as hard as steel, and which needed little to no upkeep. It was an adventurer's dream. And it was made for a dwarven frame to boot! He had claimed it as his own, and had gotten the fook out of there. The tower...it was murder. Rooms that filled with poisonous gas....trip wires that causes ceilings to fall...crossbow bolts that sprung from the walls, filling the room with steel tipped death. And the creatures that defended it! Skeletal warriors that fought with the skill of a living warrior and the fearlessness of the dead. Golems, ghouls and ghosts alike.
He left the tower without conquering it. But he knew that he was now all the wiser for it. He had learned something, both about himself, and perhaps about his people as well. It was an experience that he would never forget, not for the rest of his days.
He would have cursed, but talking hurt too much. So he staggered away, back towards Nashkel. Back towards that damnable elven mage, and his promised information. No matter what was to come, he told himself that it couldn't be as deadly as Durlag's tower!
------------------------------
ooc: Durak got the plate armor and the tome of wisdom from the tower. He also nearly died! He staggered out of the tower with a mere 12hp left. The thing is, those healing potions just don't heal enough in one go. I decided that while he could heal himself up, I didn't want to risk losing him to the myriad of traps that were left in the tower. Nor did I truly fancy his chances against the four ghosts on the first floor. It'd be far too sad for him to die in that tower. So I cut his losses and got out with the important loot.
At this point in the game, Durak was already sporting the very best armor he could possibly get, as well as the best hammer available. A nice upgrade from his full plate, and the wisdom boost came in at the right time as he should get one RP wise. A valuable lesson was learned: he was indeed not invincible. Death could come for him at any time. I'm just glad it wasn't then!