Episode #13: Teeth, Vines, and Claws

From the Journal of Edrathior, Eladrin of Alfheim

My strange companions sleep again and, as I often do, I give thought to what it must be like for them to surrender so completely to darkness and the chaos of dreams. If I was able to follow their example, I can only image the destruction that would result. My time of rest is a conscious exercise to bring order to myself and I need that order more than ever.  The itch to remove my gauntlet that started on my cursed arrival to this isle has grown stronger since the night the change overtook me again and my powers increased. I believe the chaos glamour hiding it has either failed or been temporarily unable to contain my new power. I have noticed before that the spell grew thin for days after such an increase and I noticed both Gregor and Bartholomew staring at my left hand. Whether they saw the gauntlet, my hand, or my true hand, I do not know. Even so, my new power proved useful in the battles that followed, but it took all of the strength of will I possessed to keep from inflicting harm on those who fight with me.

As I have been taught, to visualize order, even in the past, leads to greater control of chaos. I let my meditative focus shift to memories of the battle with Razamere, for that is when, as my mentor often said, “things got interesting.” The great beast seemed somehow “right” and my instincts prevented me from attacking it immediately, despite the many, many teeth it possessed. With the cultists and their drake mounts dispatched, the giant crocodile turned its attention to us. Its attack was vicious and was followed by a disquieting roar that seemed to take form as unnaturally large biting beetles flew from its maw creating chaos.  I no longer suffered from doubts as to its intention.  I could see Lady Penitence had collected herself and was racing to engage our cold-blooded foe.  Gruff let fly with arrows and Gregor smashed two of the insects. I could see a flash of light from Elody and then the beast clamped its jaws onto the armor of her right arm. Bartholomew once again showed a bravery unexpected from such a childlike form—and a tremendous lack of wisdom—as he jumped upon the beast’s back and stabbed wildly. It let go of Elody and wheeled away from the shore, carrying Bartholomew, who now rid the beast holding desperately onto his blade that had sunk deeply into flesh and vines. Truly, that is a memory I will hold to my end.

I splashed through water up to my waist as I hurried to get closer to my companions. Razamere roared again. Vile insects once more made his roar manifest and flew from his maw.  One particularly nasty specimen landed on my chest. I was able to knock it into the water, but not before it had left me with a bleeding gash. The fight continued in a blur. I dispatched my insect opponent and joined my comrades on shore battling the giant Crocodile and its minions. Gruff’s arrows continued to fall. I could see several in the croc’s hide. Ecaris crushed one of the biting beetles with a single blow, but its jaws locked onto him. I could see Bartholomew suffer the same fate after killing one that had climbed up and bit him. Lady Penitence, who had reached us, had continually been harassing opponents from afar. But, as she passed me, skipping past my bug’s attacks, she faded from sight with the words, “It’s your problem now.”

Gregor smashed out several of Razamere’s teeth with a blur of blows, more of Gruff’s arrows landed, and yet another flash of holy light emanated from Elody, illuminating it from within. It was Bartholomew, though, who had the final blow as he stabbed down once more and, with a shudder, Razamere slumped and was still.

A well placed arrow dispatched the last of its bugs and Gruff yelled “Get it out of the water!”

As my friends struggled mightily to pull the beast out of the water, Gruff’s warning had instilled in me a sense of urgency and I unleashed a thunderous force that lifted the creature onto the beach. I, however, had forgotten to call a warning to my companions. Instead, I found myself uttering apologies, as water poured off of them and Elody was knocked off her feet.

What comes next I find hard to review in my mind—would prefer to forget, but that is a luxury I do not have.  

Gruff began to eat the rapidly decomposing crocodile. Even as his teeth sunk into what had been meat, it began to unmake into a foul-smelling algae-like substance not unlike the scum of the pond itself. Soon, all that was left of the beast was its bones and a green mass of vegetation. Gruff and Penitence searched the remains, but if it had ever swallowed anything of use, it was now probably deep in the pond.

After a brief rest, Gruff moved on to the sandy cave entrance that we passed to do battle. I followed in the hopes of finding anything that we could use on our journey. Quival whispered to those nearby: “Long ago, a human wizard bottled the language of the Olman when he visited the Isle of Dread to gift it to them. He entered this cave and never exited.” This seemed to intrigue some of us. In the Feywild, if a name can be stolen, surely a language can be bottled.

Elody and Ecaris stayed on the beach with the remains of Razamere while the rest of us entered the cave. Bones were scattered in the sand leading to the entrance of the cave and, as we entered, it took long moments to adjust to the darkness. Quival brightened in his glass globe until he provided light as brightly as torch's. I held him out, Penitence used her own torch, which I lit, and we advanced.

The cave turned and we could see ominous openings and cracks in the walls that continued past a portcullis that was open perhaps a foot.  We looked beyond the bars and could see a skull seated upon a tripod of bones. Jewels glinted in the skull’s eyes and greed glinted in Bartholomew’s.

Elody had joined us, mentioning something about a creature—I later I realized she meant the "phanaton," as the lamia had named it—that had appeared, about how cute it was the way it held its little spear in its little furry paws and that it was concerned with what we were doing. We continued on, not quite knowing what she was talking about. I had to move quickly before Bartholomew endangered himself again. Trusting in my ability to fey step back, should the portcullis close, I began to snake under it.

The others approached to hold the heavy metal up, but didn’t have the chance. Vines shot from the holes in the walls.  The vines flowed with obvious intent and formed two humanoid-shaped plant creatures. Penitence called to the bipedal masses of writhing vines, “Who do you serve? I am a servant of the Raven Queen! Do you know her?”  It seemed odd, but she must have recognized—and hoped to exploit—a kinship with them.

Despite her words, Gruff fired an arrow into one of them with impressive speed. Gregor lunged through the bars and tore into one with his bare hands. Gruff, Bartholomew, and I were grabbed and held fast by a spray of vines, which shot from what were now writhing masses of ill intent. My escape readied, I immediately appeared ten feet back behind the gate and my comrades.

Elody called for Ecaris.  Gruff yelled, “Burn me,” and desiring to be helpful, I released a burning spray that left his hair smoking, but weakened the vines' grasp. Calling on my inner reserves, I also released a thunderous burst of force, which unfortunately merely echoed down the tunnel. I would not later share with them the joy I felt using my powers without restraint. Elody was able to glare at me disapprovingly and simultaneously burn one of the horrific vine creatures with a holy light that left it visibly reduced.

All working together in what had rapidly become second nature, the vine creatures were cut, pounded, burned, dissolved, scorched and blasted. But victory wouldn't come too easily as I heard the distant sound of steps and the portcullis rose. Perhaps “steps” was the wrong word.  It was the approaching sound of meaty boulders hitting stone. Out from the depths of the tunnel emerged a troll. Nine feet of green rage and sinew and, before I could react, he was upon me. 

He swung with a mighty claw, but as it connected, I was as mist—fey stepping safely back. Again the gifts of my heritage had moved me from harm's way. This time, I was able to use the troll's own strength against him and send his physical energies back, in the form of a psychic lash that burned across his simple mind.  But I was weakened for it and it would be some time before I could attempt that again.

“Ecaris!” I yelled as I advanced again spraying flames, burning the last vined creature and the troll.

The troll bellowed.  The flame seemed to enrage it. Trolls loathe fire and acid, for they suppress their regenerative powers.

I could see light again burst from Elody, dazing the troll and knocking it to the ground. Once again, Bartholomew leapt upon our opponent. He buried his knife in the troll’s head, wrenching it out again in a gout of blood. A lesser being would have been felled, but the troll just grew angrier. At the same time, Penitence focused her power on the vine creature, while Gregor, in a flurry of blows, staggered both the troll and the last vine creature.

With what seemed to be a response to Penitence, the vine creature sounded an awful mix of rustling, scraping and wind sounds, “Joinnnn ussss daughterrrrr of deathhhh…”

With a bolt of pure chaos, I obliterated the last vine creature that faced me and staggered back letting out one last call of “ECARIS!”

Bartholomew, still entangled by vines, continued to struggle and stab, but the troll grabbed him, whipping him about as a shield. A fiery blast from Penitence struck both of them, and the troll fell to the ground a final time, dropping the smoldering halfling.  I continued to bathe the troll in flames, ensuring that it stayed dead.

To my relief, Gruff did not attempt to consume any of the roasted troll.  Its noxious odor was too much, even for him.

From behind us, Ecaris approached saying, “What’s going on?”

Watching these great warriors sleep, I can’t help but be thankful for their unique powers: Elody supporting us in our obvious folly with healing and disapproving gazes; Penitence’s dark power (in her, I recognize a familiar conflict); Gregor’s mastery of weaponless combat and his sharp wit; Bartholomew’s bravery, greed and sharp knives; Gruff’s connection to the natural world and his many arrows; and then Ecaris—Ecaris, a powerful knight if I’ve ever met one. Something seemed different in him during that battle. Somehow he seemed “not there” and “there” at the same time. I will have to watch him.

My companions are formidable, but if I see any hint that the grey-robed ones have somehow followed me to this Isle, I will leave my new friends for their own safety. I will not let any more die protecting me.

 

Episode #12: The Back Door

Diary of Gregorius Half-Orc the Cenobite

Third Day on the Isle

We awoke to find the lamia dormant in her block of stone. I noticed that Edrathior now wore a gauntlet of fine silvery mail on his left hand. Where he found such a thing I do not know. While snacking on the fruit we’d found, we discussed our next move: whether to head to Thanaclan and the Deluvian Hourglass straightaway or to seek the Silken Grove and thereby win the lamia’s promised aid. She’d told us the will-o’-the-wisp ("Quival") knew the way. When Edrathior asked, it said that the Silken Grove lay “beyond the wall.” If “the wall” be the wall north of Tanaroa separating the peninsula from the rest of the Isle, than it lies in the same direction as Thanaclan. So, we decided to head northward, and hopefully find the lamia’s name on our way.

Before we left, Elody woke the lamia. She offered some of our fruit, but the lamia was not interested. She told us in some final warning: “Do not aggravate the water, and Razamere will not aggravate you.” We knew then that Razamere was some guard for the back door to this place, but not what kind.

We descended the chasm, Penitence first, then I, Edrathior, Bartholomew, Elody, Ecaris, and finally Gruff. The trellis was slick, having been hidden beneath the falling water so long, but climbable. Descending, I felt a familiar wave wash over me, and tightened my grip. A new memory that was not my own.

I found my self before a roaring fire. I surmised this was either Hell itself or Penitence’s living room from long ago, for a man with horns and a tail tended the fire, turning a shank of venison upon a spit. Three tiefling boys waited for the meat—my brothers. Rather, her brothers. One whom I knew as Hamza elbowed his way to the front. He kicked me—the young Penitence—out of the way. Penitence seized him and bit his ear off. Brothers Arshem and Goshenk, not to be denied, jumped her. She snatched up a stone and struck Arshem in the face with it. Goshenk made to grab her, and she clawed at his face with her nails. Penitence stood before her father to claim her prize.

I came back to myself, and continued climbing. I suspected Edrathior would relive part of my life. I thought of the first time I met Fat Willy’s gang, and hoped he’d enjoy the ride. I was unaware at the time that Penitence, who began the descent first, seemed more deeply immersed in her received memory than the rest of us...

At the bottom lay a pond, covered by a layer of scum, spanned by a string of broad stones, each several strides apart from the last. Across the pond to the east was a pebbly beach. To the north was ten feet or so of beach and beyond that, jungle. To the northeast was the mouth of a small cave, its end beyond our sight. Just as I reached the bottom, Penitence collapsed and fell toward the water. Must have been a bad memory indeed. Bartholomew, having somehow outpaced the both of us, was already down there, and managed to break her fall with his own body.

Just then we heard riders approached from the east at the opposite side of the pond. Two of the cultists we had encountered earlier, mounted on scarlet drakes, bearing axes and javelins. At that moment I noticed something curious: inside the phanaton-net-bundle I carried, silken fibers had formed about our captive a moth’s cocoon. But I hadn’t time to worry about him sprouting wings and flying back to  Lucan. Plus, the quasit still seemed entangled.

I scooped up Penitence and leapt across the water to the north. Edrathior had already teleported there and I set her down on the sand beside him. One of Gruff’s arrows sank into a tree-trunk, trailing a length of rope. I didn’t know what he planned and didn’t much care. Bartholomew skipped across the stones toward the two cultists. One cultist picked up a great stone and tossed it into the water—aggravating the water. The other threw his javelin straight at Bartholomew, stopping him in his tracks. I sprinted across the water and fell upon the javelineer with a jab, cross, and hook. He seemed surprised. The other cultist drew his axe and whistled for the drakes.

The drakes shouldered their masters out of the way. One charged for me, but caught a horn on the cliff-face, spun about like an eager puppy on polished stone, and landed on its scaly backside. The cultist tipped his head back to scream with some primal and scathing force, as his fellows had before. I clapped my palms over my ears before he could. That was when things got strange again. It was as if something flew in front of me, showing itself not to the sense of sight, but only to the sense of thought, like the ornament the novice keeps in his shield. This was somehow Edrathior's work.

(Translator’s note — here the diarist’s idiosyncratic predilection for the obscure and rustic again rears its head, as does his frankly disastrous use of abbreviation and ligature. I have read the diarist’s scrawl as z-l-m, abbreviating the Old Thyatic for a cover, a shield. Doubtless in next month’s letters my colleague Professor Zartosht will explain how I have got it all wrong; for now I disregard his “skin” translation, if only for the nonsensical result it creates. I digress.)

The cultists and the drakes clearly saw it; panic filled their eyes as it wended its way among them. Then the drake before me vanished in a flash of light. I heard a scraping and snarling in the middle of the pond, the crash of a mace against scaly hide, and a resounding splash. Only later would I attribute this strange occurrence with Elody and her "feystrike" mace. But the more time I spend with these castaway companions, the less I am surprised by what I see. Both the cleric and Ecaris now battled the vanished drake at the center of the pond, amidst the stepping stones and splashing water.

I slid closer to Bartholomew to cover our flanks. I assumed a spiral stance, drawing the air around me deep into my center, focusing my mind upon one point, and then releasing it to burst outward and lash our enemies. One of the cultists lay still upon the beach, neck broken, and the other was still fighting, as was his drake. From the corner of my eye, I could see the other drake fighting to tread water. I drew out the "new" dagger the lamia had given us. Its scaled finish glinted, as if in anticipation. Reaching over Bartholomew, I buried the dagger in the drake’s side, and blood gushed forth.

That was when we met Razamere. A tremendous crocodile but not an earthly one, he burst from the pond and fell upon the cultist and his drake. His jaws alone were almost the length of the drake’s body, and he clamped down on the human. Remarkably, the cultist survived the first bite, but the second tore him apart. 

As the crocodile advanced upon the shore, the ground about him softened and turned to mud. Bartholomew did not look any more intent on fighting Razamere than I. Penitence still lay on the north beach where I’d left her, alone. I made haste and leapt across the water to the north, hoping I could reach my companions before Razamere did.