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Defending Turmish, Three Against Ironfang Keep, Part 2 of 3.
Posted by: Madporthos on Monday, February 02, 2009 - 10:11 AM
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Continuation of the Tale, told by Ganelon the Scarred, of Three Against Ironfang Keep...
I have found a place, known to a select few adventurers over the years, where time is gentle on one. A place where the weight of the world and the burden of ones past seems distant. Not quite of this world, not quite of the next. It is known as the Inn Between the Worlds. When I am there it is as if I feel that peace I did when I was dead, before I was brought back into the world. At ease, rather than in a place where fate has no path for me to take, because my story is long past it’s ending. Long hours I have spent there, or perhaps it is days, or weeks it isn’t always possible to tell.
So often have I parted this mortal coil, my spirit leaving the confines of my body, that at times in the Inn, when I am most relaxed, I can See into other places and worlds knowing where people and places are, if I have been to them before or have some meaningful tie to the people I am thinking about. Some have told me this is called Scrying.
I was drifting in thought, or perhaps Scrying, when Daisy came to mind. She had worked with me before to reforge some of my equipment which had been lost to a mystic trap in Gulthmere. Now for some reason, I had a hunch she was in need. Not a communication, just a sense she was in Ironfang, with Fey Olaven and might be in need. Any trek into the Fang is dangerous and it is best done with a large group of allies. A team attempting to brave the Fang must be supremely confident and skilled. Daisy met that criteria, but I had little knowledge or confidence in Fey.
Knowing the ways of the Inn Between Worlds and the location of certain portals, I can quickly reach the Mercenary Camp, near Ironfang Keep. From there I located the portal keeper, a drow mage who operates a mystical transport device that has been erected there. In times of dire need the camp can receive reinforcements and supplies through it, but more often adventurers and patrols can send reinforcements to a group already high in the mountains battling gnoll tribesmen or in this case the residents of Ironfang itself. While Daisy lay dead, only a few minutes had passed since I had sensed things amiss, but I requested utmost haste from the portal keeper as he activated the portal. He managed to locate Fey in the Keep, still alive and from that we could surmise she was probably near Daisy, or knew her whereabouts. Ready to revive Daisy with a scroll of resurrection, I commanded the portal keeper to send me through, hoping I had enough time to cast the divine magics before the Shadow Adepts focused their attacks on me.
As the lights of the portals magic faded, the world around me bent into existence, like a blurry scene coming into sharp focus as one’s eyes adjust to bright daylight. Daisy lay unbreathing, no sign of any grievous injury, but dead nonetheless. Must have been some sort of death magic that killed her. As I read the scribed prayer for resurrection, a repetitive quatrain to Tyr, asking that the one who is to be brought back to life be given more time before their final Judging, the divine magic flared out of the scroll it was stored in. The scroll vaporized in a white flame, as the Resurrection magic infused Daisy’s form with what seemed an apparition of her deceased soul. As the visible apparition faded, Daisy leapt to her feet, swinging furiously at the Shadow Adepts around her. Already they were casting magics at me. Warping space around me, forces I could not even see came slashing through the spot I had just been. Dodging, spinning and tumbling, I heard paving stones and wall bricks shatter as I evaded the focal points of their spells and started scything through their midst with my battle blade. Fey, armed with two flaming swords, leapt back into the fight, pivoting past the shadow adepts and always placing herself where she could flank and backstab the casters, keeping them constantly on their guard. To enhance my combat prowess, I quaffed a potion of Divine Power, followed by a potion of Tenser’s Transformation. My size increased immensely, as the first elixirs potent transformation magic was released on me. Immediately, after the second was imbibed, my speed doubled beyond my already impressive gait, enabling me to cut, parry and slash with mind numbing effectiveness, as well as use a shield in my offhand, now that my sword was a more manageable size for me.
Never has my Heaven and Earth failed me. Heaven and Earth is what I call my battle blade, a bastard sword that Doctor Teeth forged for me a long ways back. Several times it has been reforged after being unable to overcome devastating foes, showing a need for improvement. Each time it has been made better, stronger, by the the Pimp Mastersmith, Doc Teeth himself. This time the blade had met it’s match. The Shadow Adepts employ defenses worthy of the most seasoned adventurer. They know the value of obsessive protection. Layers of Abjurations surround each one like a cocoon. Spell absorbtion barriers, Stoneskins, Shadow Shields all are part of their myriad defenses. If you manage to pierce those, more often than not, your blade slides right through them as they shift ever so quickly into the Ethereal Plane, then back again to continue their spell casting against you They summon clones of themselves as well, known as Shadow Doubles, who if not there equals, are so powerful as to make no difference, casting similarly devastating attack and defense spells. Flashy and devastating illusions such as Weird and necromantic assaults like Wail of the Banshee fill your every moment , overwhelming your senses of sight and hearing, making it difficult to focus and land blows on your opponents. Even so, every so often, if you are quick enough, lucky enough, they slip up, for they are only mortal. When Heaven and Earth managed these rare telling blows, the Shadow Adepts knew what pain was. It was straining their defenses as it was to keep Heaven and Earth from touching them, when it did hit, divine energy arced through their forms, followed by a strangely balanced negative energy arc, draining there vitality into the ground. What strange deals Doc made to be able to forge both the power of gods and that which animates the undead, into the same weapon… I hesitate to even conside. But it sure kicks some serious butt.
Our running battle with the Adepts continued down twists and turns of the Fang, mazelike and often leading to dead ends and distraction. Because of the extra dimensional nature of the Shadow Adepts living quarters in Ironfang, a great number of them live there and at any one time, only a few of them will tear themselves away from what ever they do there, to come repel invaders. Because of this, you may clear a corridor and several rooms, then retrace your steps to check for something, only to be set upon by a fresh wave of Shadow Adepts. It was here that Fey Olaven’s hit and run tactics did us poorly. Every time a fight would become prolonged, as Daisy and I focused on Shadow Adepts or their Shadow Doubles, wearing through their defenses, if Fey was injured or wanted a chance to rest, rather than quaffing a few potions, she would actually fall back fully out of sight of the battle. Perhaps she was hoping to be safe enough to sit down, shake out the dizziness of being in the madness of the spell battle, the trauma of dying, then being resurrected a moment later by Daisy and I. It takes a long time to be able to take that in stride, as an adventurer.
When she fell back like this, more often than not, fresh groups of Shadow Adepts would detect her and arrive. When she ran back to our group to help us again, they would tail her and begin the assault anew. Still, we had depleted their ranks greatly enough that they began to hesitate before attempting to take us again. In one such lull to the fight, we noticed a massive steel door, faintly covered with scratches, or perhaps mystic runes. Muted behind it, were strange thuds and occasional howls. What ever was behind it seemed to be projecting some sort of aura, a sense of a presence directly behind the door. Not a pleasant presence either. Something that wanted out.
Now as I mentioned earlier, there is a legend of a beast that lurks in the Fang. It is called simply the Black Beast. It is rumored it was fought decades in the past, during the heyday of the adventuring companies around Turmish. But even then, it was a legend. The Black Beast was to be avoided, a boogeyman that existed according to rumor, but couldn’t possibly exist in fact. I first heard of it from my mentor, Lusiphur Mithrandir, a dealer in rare hides and cloths who showed me some of my tailor craft. He had been an adventurer who had dared to visit Ironfang back in that age, with a small army of allies. Who can say if he fought it, or merely heard he should avoid it, from companions unwilling to face it’s might. Now normally, I think no one in their right mind would let such a thing out. But adventurers who have been undergoing continual deaths and resurrections for at least an hour, interspersed by mind rending death spells, illusions and what not… well we were a bit wrong in the head. We thought, since we were defeating the Shadow Adepts, that perhaps we could defeat their pet, destroy that which they valued and kept locked away in a vault.
Both Fey and I are masters of the mechanical, especially when it comes to locks and traps. I am perhaps a little older than she, but she has some tools I lack, from her travels far and wide. Still, it would have taken all the tools at our disposal just to get that door open and after discussing the nature of the lock, what tools were needed and the like, Fey is the one who finally opened the door. I know not why it did not burst out immediately, as the door was opened, perhaps the beast was stunned that someone was actually foolish enough to free it. Regardless, with all our planning time, readying potions and enchantments to make our assaults more potent, we were still unready when we opened the door and it rushed out.
Boy, were we unready...
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