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Turn 170.0: Riverbank Arrival

Posted: 1/19/02

(169.5)

"Ugly is what we seem to be best at today," Emma replies, "If there's no other way around, then we ride past them at full speed. It'll take a long while for them to organize any pursuit and hopefully we can take steps to hide our path once we're down the road."

Crayne was beginning to grow tired of being blind. His frustration was becoming all the more evident. Shaking his head he listens to Canter's description of the scene outside and sighs loudly. It is then that an idea springs to mind. Moving his horse forward Crayne lowers his head down to where he thinks Canter is, "Canter I have an idea! I will need to know the exact location of the ten men and the officer. Provide me with as much detail as possible."

Crayne then turns to the rest of the party, "I will provide the distraction. On my signal make a move. I will need someone to stay with me though and guide me away from this place. Should we get split up, then let us meet up on the Southern road about half a mile out of town."

Crayne pauses awaiting the group's response. He awaits Canter's description of the scene outside the stable and readies himself to cast a shroud of darkness over the enemy enabling Rinder's Six to make a quick escape.

"Some of us wouldn't make a run likt that," Hannibal reminds Canter calmly, gesturing towards El's unconscious form. "One stray arrow and we may be burying our friend here in the next town. We need a distraction."

Hannibal turns to Crayne and smiles, unsure if the mage can appreciate it yet or not. "Mage Crayne, didn't you say you still had a Lightning Bolt at your disposal?"

Crayne nods.

Hannibal continues, "How about we point him in the right direction and he lite up the roof of that building over there. In the confusion we hit the road and ride like hell!"

Skandor listens to Hannibal's ideas intently as he assists the others in mounting their horses. Quickly, as if second-nature, the paladin checks everyone's saddle and bridle straps for secureness as Hannibal and Crayne exchange ideas about a diversion. He is the last to mount his horse, other than Canter. The Sword Bearer felt much more at ease now: they were outside, out of the confines of the tunnel, and it doubled his confidence now that he was in the saddle. If Skandor had a second-home, it was in the saddle of a good mount.

As Crayne answers Hannibal's suggestion, Skandor reaches out one hand and lays it on Hannibal's shoulder. "May the greatest of Generals guide you and protect you, Hannibal, as we ride for freedom," he whispers to no one in particular, and in the dimness of the stable, his hand glows a faint blue as he intones the Litany of Healing upon his comrade (Lay on Hands on Hannibal, 12 hp restored).

"Whatever we do," Skandor says, speaking up just loud enough for his companions to hear, "it must be done quickly, before they have even more time to organize. Ten men will soon become twenty that we will have to ride through, and I do not think even mighty Storm would favor such odds. I suggest we dash for the cover of the nearby wilderness, and rethink our options from there."

Slowly, he ushers his horse up near the stable doors. When they make their dash, he would see to it that he would be first, making himself the initial and largest target for the enemies' crossbows. His left hand held tightly to the reins of his horse, while his right hand held tightly to his gladius. He could feel the weight of his Claymore over his shoulder, and how he wished to be on foot swinging the mighty blade in great circles through the gathering of Caerloon soldiers. But if he and his companions were to escape, they would have to ride hard and fast away, avoiding battle as much as possible.

Storm only half listens to the rest of the group as he instead stands there frantically checking every inch of his body for any lingering effects of whatever mystical spell that mage had cast on him. While in his mind he knows that the spell was nothing more than a hold spell he'd seen Emma use many times before, he still couldn't help the creeping suspicion that there was something else still affecting him. He looks over to Canter and Hannibal. At least they had the benefit of one of Emma's dispel magic spells...that would definitely make sure there was nothing still affecting him.

"Emma, when we be out o' here, ye's better be castin' that dispellin' thing on me too. I's don't know what strange hex that mage be puttin' on meeee..." he trails off as his chin dips a little, and his eyes flicker toward Crayne with a suspicious look. "Magic..." he curses under his breath.

At the mention of Crayne shooting a lightning bolt, Storm gets jittery again. "If ye be shootin' bolts o' lightnin' all over the town, especially when ye ain't be seein' crap, ye just let me know first an' I'll go hide out back! Asides, ain't they be seein' where a bit o' lightnin' came from? If ye's wanting a distraction, let me's sneak over somewhere an' do it. Don't be shootin' no lightnin' bolts toward me wizard." As he finishes, he's breathing hard and sweating a little. Magic was certainly starting to get under his skin...

Emma listens to Crayne's ideas regarding a distraction, as well as Storm's urgings to exercise his magical lightning in a direction that doesn't threaten the burly dwarf. She has smile a bit at his discomfort, but agrees that launching such a powerful strike would surely attract attention to its source.

"Perhaps you should save the spell, Highbrow?" the Shield Maiden suggests, "We may need it to discourage pursuit instead." She reins in her mount as it paces restlessly, already sensing that its master wishes to run. "Do we have any defensive enchantments?" she asks, "Crayne? Elloharin? How about you? About the best I can do is draw upon Anhur's military presence to get them to flee."

Crayne looks towards the direction of Emma's voice, "I will stick with my original plan. Remember! We have surprise as our ally as well. When I cast a shroud of darkness over those men it should provide us with ample opportunity to get away from this place without too much of a problem. I fear if we hang around it could be the undoing of us. We are on horseback and they are on foot. I believe the darkness will send just enough confusion amidst their ranks for us to make a hasty escape!" Crayne then turns to Canter waiting for his feedback.

Canter moves toward Crayne, who sits mounted. The leatherman's son leans toward the mage and begins to describe the scene outside the stable doors...

Unconscious, the dimmed one dreams. The watcher sits mounted, looking over a grey plain. Beyond the plain, in the distance a castle on a cliff, surrounded by a bland fog that reaches out upon the plain like a sooty stain. The mist bears an awful likeness to the cold, wiry touch of a wraith, death, plague and decay streaming into the watcher's every pore. The watcher can see one light in the castle, that gleams red in the half darkness.

From the mist the voice of a girl calls him. But the watcher does not know his name. He looks around expecting others, but none are there. She calls again. Then, from over his shoulder, the shrill cry of a horse. The clink of armorer's nail driven into steel. A gathering emerges from behind him, and the sound of steel hooves beating the ground fills the watcher's ears. A dread-fear begins to cry, like the girl, in the watcher's head. A red cape flashes in the fog before him and the watcher is off, galloping ahead into the mist.

The host follows him. By his side, other horses begin to emerge. A gallant war horse and his steed, clad in armor, a veritable giant, bearing his credo across his shield and across his cape. A beautiful, brilliant zealot, a human bearing the same standard, golden hair streaming from behind her. Ahead, a man, flowing cloak billowing into the wind, staff ahead shedding light into the darkness. On his side, a dwarf, swords bared growling like a beast into the nothingness. On the other side, a thin, slight man, with hollow eyes burning ahead. Behind him, a man as tough, as stained, and as sturdy as leather, riding just behind in case any should fall.

The mist does not feel so terrible anymore, these riders at his side. But the host continues behind them. The din is unbearable now, loud snickers and cries of war, taunts and blood curdling shouts threaten to engulf them. Will they reach the castle in time? The watcher turns his head to see the first of the angry host behind them, emerging from the grayness like an impenetrable stone wall. The man of leather, there for all is the first to fall among them. Then the gallant, than the zealot, the watcher too feels the weight of inevitability enshroud his shoulders, then nothing.

Elloharin the Dimmed opens his eyes in the dimly lit confines of a laboratory. Elaborate contraptions of glass pipes and steel gauges sit precariously on tabletops. Bones, animal leavings, and books cover every available space. A huge chart covers the eastern wall. Elloharin is familiar with this chart. It is his favorite. It is a map of the world. El dreams of a day when he will be free to travel it all. Particularly to the eastern continent, few had ever been there. He shakes his head, clearing it, for a moment, he had thought, flickering from his eyes, he had seen faces, familiar faces...

"What are you doing jherai-ligorn? Pay attention! We are doing serious magic here, not silly geography!" The Sorcerer Verakli'thon never referred to the elf by name. The title given to all the supplicants of Sheva bel Cai was derogatory. It was said that once the sorcerer of the golden tower had been kind. This was no longer so.

"Yes sir," replied he, dutifully.

"Now bring me the canvas of orc's blood."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you remember why we use orc's blood?"

"No sir."

"Tsk. You will never be a wizard foolish child! You do not pay attention, your mind is always elsewhere!" The Sorcerer snaps and El feels a rake dragging across his back. He does not cry out, for he knows the Sorcerer will only worsen the pain with encouragement. He bears it dutifully.

"The Orc's blood, mixed with the blood of our ancestors...it forms a powerful seal against the forms of chaos. Chaos, boy! It is the worse thing for a wizard! Good, even evil, we can control, are

you listening? Chaos, allow even the smallest amount into your laboratory, and disaster can follow!"

"Sir, doesn't the council forbid the use of orc's blood? Is there no other way to forge a seal?"

"The Council?"

Again the rake, and burning coals.

"The Council is a bunch of doddering fools. They know nothing, and care even less. They would lead the elves to submission, to slavery, before they saw the truth! Your father is on the council, is he not boy? Is he not?"

Elloharin is dragged by iron bonds of air to his knees, head thrust backward staring up at the wizened elven face, the silver hair streaming down over his cloak. "I have no father sir."

The sorcerer stares down at the young elf for a long moment. A dim smile appears in the foggy cataracts living in his eyes. "I like you boy. You'll do. No, you have no father. Your father left you didn't he? He sent you to me. To be a wizard. Well! A wizard you will never be! This much we know! But we have plans for you boy, yes, yes, plans. Revenge? Might you like revenge boy? For past wrongs? I know about your mother boy...yes...and your sister too."

Elloharin whimpers, every muscle in his body straining within the invisible bonds. His left hand caresses the silver haft of a belted dagger. Steel was far beneath the dignity of one such as Verakli'thon.

"Yes, yes, the others think I am wise do they not? The wizard given the gift of saving the elven peoples? Yes? Will I not save them? Of course I will save them. Of course! How dare you suggest otherwise you impudent little tramp!"

Tears stream from Elloharin as he feels the heated skin flake from his backside beneath the wizard's mad ire.

"Enough! We tarry! Enchantments do not make themselves! Long and hard I have worked upon this spell. My crowning achievement. The elven mind at last revealed, and the powers at last released. Pure

and undiluted in my hands at last! Then perhaps those pesky rings. But what need have I for rings, my fingers are unadorned! And so shall they remain, until the council are kissing them at my behest."

The Sorcerer sets a dried chimera skull on the table abovea board with mysterious characters written on it. He samples the orc's blood with his long pinky finger, savoring it. He starts to whisper words of power, drawing the upon the board in the thick blood. The air thickens and El's head begins to pound. The wizard cracks open a vial and pours the contents into a glass flask heated by a tiny blue flame. A bag and its contents, a gray powder go into the flask, followed by tiny bits of yellow paper. The flask ignites and burns blue for a moment, but the wizard murmurs a word and the liquid coalesces again. More ingredients flow into the flask, and the skull of the Chimera begins to emit an eery white light. The room begins to throb. The incantation grows to a shriek and the sorcerer dances about the room, the flask leaving a crazy colored light shifting in its wake.

The Chimera skull begins to murmur and growl, upsetting the seal on the table. And then the liquid vacates the flask swirling around the room. Suddenly El is released. His hand closes on the hilt.

The wizard sees the movement and points his finger at the boy, his finger arched. The Sorcerer

Verakli'thon, clearly mad, shouts inaudibly at the boy. But the liquid follows the elf's crooked finger,

whipping toward the boy, still kneeling.

"NOOOO!" The Sorcerer screams without thought.

Before El can think, the burning liquid courses down his throat, he clenches his mouth down hard, feeling the rest of the liquid fly past him, scathing his cheeks and burning the flesh.

"NOOO!" Screams Verakli'thon again. He grabs the boy's shoulders screaming insanely.

Panicked and recoiling from the bitter potion, the boy withdraws the silver dagger in fear and sinks it into the mage's back. The Sorcerer reels back in pain and horror. The spell was not yet complete. And before he has even thought another spell has crossed his lips, a spell of defense. Fire fills the room, spewing from the windows of the tower, emptying into the air. The fires surround them both and then...

El awakes.

(169.6)

The ten soldiers, the officer, the innkeeper, and the stableboy stand in the square, where the main road runs through town. As the road turns slightly, the tall menacing stone building of the soldiers looms. On another corner is the inn, and the baker's show stands across the street. They stand waiting, the officer infuriated that the prisoners had escaped. He is shouting at the soldiers, though none of them are to blame (for those who failed to contain the prisoners paid for their failure in death or crippling at the hands of the vicious priestess).

But then the officer's voice dies down, no longer echoing off the stone face of the building from whence he came. He looks around the sky. Surely it was dusk, but within the last minute the sky had darkened considerably. As he casts his eyes back towards his comrades, he is stunned to realize that he can no longer see them! They are but feet away and yet he is surrounded by blackness.

"Sorcery!" the officer screams, his frustration compounded once again.

Then, the unmistakable sound of horses screaming reaches the officer's ears. The stable! The doors had been kicked down, and horses were streaming out!

"The horses!" he screams again, trying in vain to direct his men toward the escaping prisoners. Their mage was behind this, he knew it.

"Stop--" he yells, but is interrupted by the crackle of lightning. He cannot see it, for it does not illuminate the darkness surrounding him and his men. But he can feel the sting as it strikes, sending hot, painful waves through his skin, his bones, and every nook and cranny of his body. He smells burning hair and clothing, he hears his men screaming in pain. Then he stops hearing. He stops feeling. Is he numbed by the pain? Was he deafened by magic as well? Was he?

In truth, he was none of these things. He simply was no more.

(170.0)

"Go! Ride!" Canter shouts just as the lighting bolt leaves the sphere of darkness Crayne had created. He slaps Hannibal's horse, giving his friend a look in the eye, and then a brief glance toward the body of Elloharin, who was now drifting in and out of consciousness. Responding the slap, the horse screams and starts off, following the others who had already left.

Jumping upon the last horse, Canter yanks the reins, taking up the rear. Skandor had led them just after knocking down the doors. The plan was working so far: Crayne's two spells had confused then struck the soldiers in their confusion. Meanwhile, Skandor was leading the party around the sphere of darkness and out of town.

Canter can feel beads of sweat drip from his temple as he leans forward, flexing his calves and kicking at his mount. They must put distance between them and the soldiers, and quickly, before whoever survived Crayne's attack could begin to pursue. Canter rounds the sphere of darkness, reaching at his belt for his crossbow and letting off a bolt into the darkened sphere, just for good measure. Then, he continues riding with his friends, galloping southwest along the road.

They continue to ride fast and hard. Canter looks back over his shoulder every few moments, but as dusk turns to true night, he does not see any pursuers. "We are lucky this time," he mutters to himself out loud. After about forty minutes, Skandor slows the pace, falling back to regroup with the others.

"From here we should turn south, I think, into the wilderness. Make good time through the night, then make camp and recover," he says through loud, hard breaths.

"Agreed," Emma says, recalling the map of Caerloon. The road would continue southwest for miles before turning due south.

"No tracks!" Hannibal says, instructing the others. "Better to go slowly and leave no trace than a clear path for them to follow!"

Skandor nods to Hannibal, his eyes wandering to the delirious Elloharin and then back to the warrior-thief. "Wise words, Hannibal."

And so they ride off again, turning south from the road and cutting through the brush. The landscape is hard to make out in the night's darkness--it is a cool night, cloudy above. There are some scattered trees, but not a thick forest. The land slopes slightly, moving downward as the party continues moving south. The ride is not altogether difficult, and there continues to be no sign of any enemy in pursuit, thankfully.

Three hours of travel through the lightly-wooded countryside follow, and then the party emerges from the trees on the banks of a river. In the night, the river's black waters move with a low rumble, tumbling over rocks at a brisk pace. The river is about twenty yards wide, and after Canter has his horse wade in, he can tell it is not too deep to cross on horseback, but the water level would almost cover the horses completely, to say nothing of the chill of water in the winter season.

"Then we'll make camp here," Hannibal says, replying to a warning by Canter that the horses should not be subjected to such a chill, lest they be weakened or sickened by the experience. "We've come far enough and I fear if we continue, Elloharin won't make it."

Skandor dismounts, finding a nearby tree to which to tie his horse. As he pats the animal and strokes its neck, he responds. "I'll stand first watch. Storm, Hannibal, Canter, if you could gather some wood for a fire...I think we'll need the warmth."

"I regret I can't be of much use," Crayne says after being helped down from his horse. "Damned blindness!!"

Emma places a hand on Crayne's shoulder, "Crayne, your darkness enchantment was just enough to get us clear and out of town. I'd say you've done your part for tonight."

The Shield Maiden's eyes wander over her friends. They are all tired and bruised, but alive...mostly. Her eyes pass over to Elloharin, where they linger. He had awaked just before the escape from the stable, spent some time deliriously looking about, the passed out again. Now he stirred. His eyes flutter open briefly, his pupils focusing for an instant on hers. For an instant she perceived an elf who was more than just severely wounded; an elf who had been to an edge of this world, an elf who faced a troubled past more storied than she or the others yet knew.

As El's eyelids slowly fall once more, Emma blinks, looking to the others. Storm yawns as he returns to the campsite, by the riverbank, with an armful of sticks and logs for the fire. "We need our rest," she announces to nobody in particular.

---

1. HP Status: Canter: 41/44, Crayne: 24/16 (still blinded), Elloharin: 5/30, Emma: 37/47, Hannibal: 18/29, Skandor: 37/48, Storm: 36/50.

2. According to my records, these characters have the following spells remaining in their repertoire:

Crayne: 1-Charm Person, Magic Missile

El: 1-Feather Fall, Wall of Fog

Emma: 1-Battlefate, Call Upon Faith, Cure Light Wounds (x2), Light; 2-Augury; 3-Dictate; 4-Recitation.

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