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Spiderkin |
Joined: Mon Jul 26, 2004 5:20 am Posts: 480 Location: Blighty
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One drinking session later...
“Can I just say,” Ward beamed, re-taking his place at Myssil's table, “That I never expected a place like Zigur to have such a top-line selection of drinks like that!”
“Well, we do trade with Last Hope. Not to mention, many of our herbalists practice brewing in their spare time.”
“Honestly, between the beer and the psiblades... Why not just run an advertising campaign for the Ziguranth? ZIGURANTH: WE HAVE BOOZE AND LIGHTSABERS. Your numbers would triple overnight, I guarantee it! In particular, that one brand you had... 'Stumbling Treant', wasn't it? What on earth was in that?”
“Oh, that's one of ours. See, we use a special type of yeast that only ferments once consumed, so in a sense it releases alcohol as it passes through—Okay, enough. Surely you want to return to your tale on how you came to us, and not just talk about beer?”
“I'm fine talking about beer for the moment. Did you know I had my own still, back in Derth? With the amount of smoke and broken windows my house had, people often mistook it for the alchemist's abode. I hope I didn't leave it on—”
“Enough, Ward. Now, if I remember correctly, you had just dealt with Norgos and found out that the corruptor behind his condition had used one of Kor'Pul's tools in the act. Kor'Pul's lair is quite close to Derth, I recall – I assume your next action was to return home and investigate?”
“You assume correctly. I said my goodbyes to the forest wardens, and made my way back to Derth. Nothing happened on the way back there.”
“... Okay.”
“It was an extremely uneventful trip.”
“I... wasn't claiming otherwise?”
“...”
“...”
“... Nothing happened.”

“Hey Boris. Who's the tin can?”
“Haha. Found this clanker passed out in a heap right beneath the secret entrance to our hideout. Stupid git must've fell right through without seeing it! I tell you, the tunnel vision those helms give you...”
“Haha, ouch! So, what's the plan for him, then?”
“Guy's got above-average gear I reckon, plus his sword looks like it was made by those, ah, whatchucallems, Zigurwotsits... Yeah. We'll scratch out some ransom demands, send 'em to his family, send 'em to his gang, see what we can get for him.”
“And if they don't play ball?”
Snickering sadistically, Boris said, “Strip 'im for parts, then give 'im to Ce'Nulralle, I guess. Gal's been wanting a new toy for some time...”
Unnoticed by the pair of rogues, their backs to his cell, Ward gave a low groan as he regained consciousness. He remained motionless; the rogues had kept him in his armour, and its weight stopped him from moving much, given his current state.
“Geez, Ce'Nulralle... I almost feel sorry for the sod. Ya know the boss said that her curse is getting worse? She's having berserk episodes now. Just yesterday me and some of the boys had to get some stronger chains to tie her down with...”
“You're on Nulralle duty? Hah! I guess the boss found out about that little gem stash you were keeping from him, eh?”
“Yeah, yeah... Seriously Boris, why don't we just off her? It's a pain keeping her locked up, and it's not like she's that happy. It'd be, uh, one of them 'merciful kill' things, or whatever.”
Boris shook his head, “Not happenin'. See, Ce'Nulralle used to be the boss' wife. Real Toknor and Mirvenia romance, I hear. Heck, the reason she got the curse in the first place is because she knocked the boss out of the way of a necromancer's spell... Took it herself.”
“Huh, I'll be damned. Still,” The rogue thumbed over his shoulder, “Better go get those ransom notes written up, right?” Seeing Boris nod, the two then departed from Ward's cell, continuing their conversation as they left.
“Hey, you wonder if the boss and Ce'Nulralle still...? Y'know. I hear he likes 'em freaky.”
“Geez! Keep it down! Between this and the gem stash, you are just begging to get your throat slit, aren't you?!”
The rogues' voices drifted out of earshot. Now left alone, Ward achingly got to his feet and considered his situation.
The rogues had taken his weapons but left him his armour, most likely because of the possibility he could've regained consciousness while they were removing it. It was a cold comfort though; for all the problems a good suit of plate could solve, escaping a jail cell wasn't one of them.
Now pacing to and fro, Ward silently considered his options for escape. Loose bricks? Weak bars? As if. Ward could tell from looking that the rogue hideout was a repurposed dungeon, used as far back as the Pyre Wars. The cells were made to hold trolls, for goodness sake.
Pretend to be sick? Fake a heart attack? That'd be a good way to get a dagger between the eyes. Rogues have a very low “not worth the trouble” threshold. That's why they're rogues, after all. Ward was frustrated – was this the best he could come up with?
And then it struck him. Perhaps the way to escape was by making them think something far worse had escaped...
“Help! HELP! She's coming! You can't just leave me here...!”
A squat and wiry-haired halfling rogue approached Ward's cell, grumbling, “What are you screaming about, ya nickel-plated ninnyhammer? I'm trying to get some sleep, so how about you—”
“Ce'Nulralle! She broke out! She's coming!”
In an instant, the halfling went from cantankerous and slouchy to wide-eyed and rigid, “You're joking.”
“Why the hell would I joke?! Why would I even know her name?! I just heard a lot of you guys screaming it down the corridor, and then there were crashing noises, and then...!”
The rogue backed away from Ward's cell, biting his nails, shaking his head rapidly, “Oh no. No-no-no-no-no. I'm not getting caught in this. I'm outta here, I'm—”
“No!” Ward thought fast, “The noises, they came from the direction the exit's in. You go by yourself and you'll get massacred!” Ward didn't know how believable this was, but the hideout seemed so winding and circuitous that most of the rogues themselves didn't know the entire layout. Judging by the rogue's panicked reaction, he had taken Ward's bait.
“No! I can't die here! I... What am I going to do?!”
“Let me out of this cell. We'll have better luck getting out of here together.”
“What, let you out?! I... don't know...”
“C'mon, I'm a bulwark! I can protect you! I bet I've got three times the HP you have!”
“Well...”
“What's your armour stat?!”
“Don't pressure me—”
“It's not even double digits, is it?! She's going to rip you to shreds!”
Flustered, the rogue waved his arms, “Alright, okay! Hang on a second...” Taking a ring of keys from the wall opposite Ward's cell, the halfling fumbled for a moment with the cell's lock, eventually swinging its door wide.
Still keeping up the act, Ward stumbled out of the cell, now glancing around hurriedly, “Quick! Where are my weapons?!”
“Huh? Weapons?”
“Quickly! How do you expect me to fight Ce'Nulralle? Throw my shoes at her?!”
“Alright, alright, okay! I-I'm pretty sure we keep captives' weapons in this box over here. Let's see...”
Opening a large strongbox in a niche dug out adjacent to the cell door, the halfling took out Ward's sword and shield, struggling beneath their weight for a moment, before returning them to Ward's hands. “Yeesh, those things weigh a ton! You fight with those things?!”
“Yep. Here, let me give you a demo.”
“Wha—”
* * * CLANG! * * *
The halfling, his face now profoundly flattened from Ward's shield pummel, fell to his knees before crumpling to the floor in a heap. Ward's confidence had been bolstered now he was reunited with his armaments, but he knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. Warriors, as a rule, don't fight stealthily, and the reverberating clang he had just caused must've been heard by half the hideout.
Fortunately for Ward however, the panicked environment he had created worked in his favour, and he found he was able to keep up his Ce'Nulralle ruse for an incredibly long time. Most of Ward's encounters in the hideout's winding corridors consisted of: “Hey, you!” “Behind you! Ce'Nulralle!” “What?!” Clang. It was only when he encountered rogues in groups that he had to fight in earnest, but even these confrontations were simple – without the initiative, the rogues' opportunistic fighting style was hamstrung.
While searching for an exit to the hideout, Ward did not find stairs leading upwards towards the surface as he had hoped, but instead stairs that lead further down. He thought to himself – he must've fought his way through the majority of the rogues already, so as a group they were effectively crippled, and yet... They could recover, seek revenge maybe? The last thing Ward needed in his life was a vengeful rogue gang hounding him. No, this was one snake that needed its head cut off. So cut if off he would.
“Time to meet 'the boss'...”
“Hey, you!”
“Behind you! Ce'Nulralle!”
“Where?!”
* * * CLANG! * * *
With the guard incapacitated, Ward made his way to a large and very solid-looking oak door, the various embellishments, warning signs and etched skulls around it indicating it to be the door leading to the chamber of the rogues' boss.
As Ward prepared to 'pick the lock' of the door (read: send the door flying off its hinges) he stopped as he heard an urgent, hissed conversation between two men inside the room. Listening closer, Ward crouched to look through the door's keyhole...
The first of the two men, a middle-aged and portly dwarf riddled with bruises and dressed in rags, sobbed, “I'm sorry! I tried! Fortune knows, I tried! They said it wasn't their problem!”
The second of the two men, by contrast a tall and scar-riddled human, his face contorted with anger and his outfit seeming to consist entirely of belts, cloaks, straps and dagger-sheaths, struck the dwarf across the face and snarled, “What?! Not their problem?! Then make it their problem, you worm! Because if it's not their problem, it's your problem. Understand?!”
“Please...! I can get their help! Just give me another chance!”
“I thought dwarves were meant to be cunning! A race a merchants! Masters of barter! Yet all I've heard from you is 'Please! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry!' ... Tell me, is that the same method you used to ask for their help as well?! No wonder you failed!”
“P-Please... I'm sorry...”
For a moment the assassin lord simply glared at the merchant, before drawing one of his many, many daggers. “Worthless,” He spat at the dwarf, “A tool that cannot perform its function. Fortunately, my knives are far more trustworthy...”
And at that moment, the chamber's door was sent flying off its hinges.
Flabbergasted, the assassin lord snapped his head toward his chamber's now-empty doorframe to see Ward pacing towards him, sword twirling idly.
“Wh... Who are you...?! What is the meaning of this...?!”
“Oh, sure, I'll tell you. Absolutely,” Ward spoke, raising his shield, “Now hold still.”
* * * CLANG! * * *
Despite Ward's opening attack, his battle with the assassin lord was not nearly as simple as his battles with the lord's underlings. There was the fact that he wasn't immediately knocked unconscious by one shield pummel, for example. Additionally, Ward soon discovered the assassin lord's knives were coated in poison – nothing so potent as to be immediately fatal on contact, but enough to sting and numb the flesh that the lord's daggers marked. Fortunately for Ward, he found that the poison's effects were minor enough for him to continue fighting regardless, thanks in no small part to the natural vitality he had developed in previous battles.
Then there was the assassin lord's bodyguards. No ordinary rogues, the four men that flanked Ward as he fought the assassin lord were shadowblades, having kept themselves unnoticed in the darkness before Ward's entrance (one per corner of the room, maybe?). But once again luck was with Ward, for being touched by magic was a curse just as much as a gift when facing somebody with a manaburning weapon – one solid strike was enough to incapacitate each shadowblade in turn, leaving Ward free to focus fully on the assassin lord.
“Ugh... Aagh...” The assassin lord stumbled, red blotches seeping through his clothes, one arm hanging limp and useless – sheer adrenaline was the only thing keeping him on his feet. With one final overpowering strike from Ward he staggered backwards and, tripping over the merchant's hunched, gibbering form, collapsed against his chamber's wall, defeated.
“Ha... Haha...” The assassin lord laughed, his voice strained, “Performing a... purge, moss-eater? So what if my bodyguards use magic? I'm an... equal-opportunities employer...”
“First Stire, and now you,” Ward sighed, resting on his shield, “Is 'moss-eater' just some new insult I'm not familiar with?”
“You mean you're not... Ziguranth? Ha... Must be a desperate man to carry their sword, then... and their reputation.” Ward began to speak, but the assassin lord continued, shrugging slightly, “Then again, maybe I should've gone to them... first. My lady's curse... They could've performed some... purification thing, get the hex out of her...”
“I heard from your men about your wife and her curse,” Ward said. Turning to the merchant, who now stood frozen in corner, unsure of whether to be frightened or relieved, Ward asked, “That's what you two were talking about? You were trying to get somebody's help to cure Ce'Nulralle's curse?”
“Angolwen,” The merchant nodded, “I begged with them, pleaded, waved as much gold in front of them as I could afford, but all they said was that it wasn't their concern.”
“Not their concern,” The assassin lord gurgled, “The scumbags...! The necromancer! He wore... Angolwen robes...”
Ward shrugged, “Have you tried anything else? Taken her to Last Hope, seen a physician, used a wild infusion? Anything?”
The assassin lord did not reply, his head slumped, his eyes unfocused and glassy. He had died.
“Daggers and leather armour... Daggers and leather armour... Oh, look. Daggers and leather armour... What a surprise. Daggers and leather armour.”
Ward sat on the stone floor of the now-deserted hideout, apathetically throwing the huge pile of daggers and leather armour he had amassed from the fallen rogues into his transmogrification chest. He and the merchant had parted ways, the merchant giving him pittance as a reward for rescuing him, along with 'all the magnificent loot you can carry from the rogues' immense treasure hoard!'. Sadly, it seemed as though the rogues that laired here were not particularly successful – the greatest amount of gold Ward was going to gather was from the transmogrification of their mediocre equipment.
“Who knows how long that merchant was working with the rogues?” Ward sighed to himself, “He probably knew there was nothing of worth here... Not exactly breaking racial stereotypes there, dwarf. Still!” Tossing one final iron dagger into his chest, Ward got to his feet and stretched, “Should be enough gold for a night out when I get home. Now, how do I get out of... here?”
Ward's eye had fallen upon an immense chest, wrought of gold, studded with a technicolour assortment of precious gems.
“I think... I may have found their stash.”
Hurrying to the golden chest, Ward set about unfastening the array of locks and clasps that kept it closed, humming happily to himself. “Wow, if the chest looks this swanky, just imagine the value of whatever's kept inside! Just finding stuff like this... This must be why adventurers adventure!” Opening the final lock with a satisfying click, Ward swung the chest's lid wide, “Hello... beautiful?”
From inside the casket, a woman grinned at Ward broadly. Her skin was pale and marked with her veins, and her limbs were unnaturally disjointed and muscular. From within her eyes there was not a spark of madness, but a veritable inferno.
“... Ah.”
“Beautiful...” Ce'Nulralle tittered, lurching up from out of the chest. Ward backpeddled hastily as Ce'Nulralle slouched towards him, broken chains trailing from her wrists and ankles, “Such adoration you heap upon me, my love...”
Ward paused, confused. Would he be able to bluff his way out of this?
“Wait a moment,” Ce'Nulralle's brow began to furrow, “You aren't my husband...”
Ward raised his sword and shield with a grumble. Thought not.
With an inhuman scream Ce'Nulralle charged at Ward, sending him off his feet and crashing into a wall. It was clear – the assassin lord's wife was going to be more of a challenge than not just the lord himself, but his entire gang put together. Apart from a few painful sparring matches against berserkers back at his guild, Ward had not faced many human adversaries that were his superior when it came to strength. He was used to his charges and shield strikes staggering enemies and opening them up to greater assaults, but Ce'Nulralle was barely fazed at all. And it was only going to get worse.
Seeming to forget Ward for a moment, Ce'Nulralle threw herself against the chamber's walls, pummelling her own head mercilessly with her overlong arms. Initially confused, Ward realised with terror what she was doing: Driving herself into a rampage. There was no chance of battling Ce'Nulralle in such an enraged state, so Ward wisely chose to flee, hoping to put as many twisting corridors between himself and her before she continued her pursuit.
Ward's battle with Ce'Nulralle was protracted, painful and – from Ward's point of view – almost cruel. He hid himself from Ce'Nulralle as she rampaged, waiting for her fury to finally abate. Left alone, the hate that powered her curse would weaken and, once she had grown more docile, Ward would strike from behind, battering her as hard as he was able to, until her rampage began anew. Then he would flee, and the cycle would begin all over again. Given the tremendous strength that the curse bestowed her with, it took many assaults for her to finally fall.
Once Ce'Nulralle had finally been defeated, Ward took a moment to collect himself; this encounter had been the closest he had ever come to death. He pondered what to do with Ce'Nulralle's remains... Just leave them here? Now she had died, had the curse died with her? The curse did come from a necromancer, supposedly, plus there was what happened to Norgos – the blight continued to fester even after the bear had fallen. Even if he did take measures to make sure the curse wouldn't persist, what would he do? He wasn't a mage or a wilder.
In the end, Ward fell back on the one 'purification' tool all men had access to. On reaching the exit and re-emerging into daylight Ward found a loose branch, set it afire with some flint, hurled it into the tunnel he had emerged from, and left the hideout in flames.
“Ward, you have convinced me entirely that nothing happened during your journey back to Derth. Now, could we please continue?”
“Of course. I just felt I had to make sure you understood the absolute lack of anything happening.”
“I suppose I should just get straight to when I investigated Kor'Pul's old lair, but there is one other thing I should mention... Something I'm not particularly proud of.”
“Go on.”
“See, the time I had spent travelling to Shatur to deal with Norgos was time I wasn't working for the warriors' guild. Put simply, I didn't have much money. All I really had was what I had scraped together from the hideout—event that never happened. So... I entered an arena battle.”
Myssil was confused, “That's it? You participated in an arena battle? Were all the combatants volunteers?”
“Yes.”
“The arena wasn't held by corruptors? Slavers? Anything like that?”
“Of course it wasn't.”
“Then why aren't you proud of it?”
Ward scratched his head, grimacing, “See, the Derth arena, in the gladiator community it's seen as strictly a beginner venue. It's where you go when you're an absolute rank amateur. I'm afraid I might've hustled it a little.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah, when I went to see the guy who runs the arena – real shady guy, by the way – I purposely fitted my armour improperly, mispronounced 'battle', held my sword the wrong way around... 'Gee, mister! A baddol? I could sure fight in a baddol! I have to hit the other man to win a money, yes?'”
“I'm beginning to understand the lack of pride you feel...”
“Mm. I battled a gladiator, a slinger, and an arcane blade. Or rather, some homeless guy, some homeless guy who threw rocks at me, and some homeless guy who had learnt how to make his sword spark every now and then. It was kind of a walkover. Still, I got some coin out of it, and the arena manager gave me some pointers afterwards – he thought I was some sort of warrior idiot savant, and that he wanted to make me his protégé.”
Level 9! Arena Victory! +1 Strength, +2 Constitution, +1 Spell Shield, +1 Combat Accuracy, +2 Vitality “These fights. Were they to the death?”
“Depends. The gladiator got killed, I know that much. I think the arcane blade was okay, and I sent the slinger flying over the arena wall, so I don't know if he's dead or not. The landing sounded pretty brutal, I won't lie. Still, Kor'Pul...”
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