The tavern of Infinity...

Remove all ads!

The dwarf vaulted out of his window and scrambled onto a nearby roof overlooking the entrance to the tavern. He saw the patrons stumbling out, coughing and gasping. Thankfully most had the presence of mind to conceal themselves and assume an ambush formation. Herf staggers out, waving his sword and shouting curses. He doesn't appear to notice Ironbeard. Unfortunately he shows no ill effects from the dart, obviously the Death Mail in effect.Ironbeard turns a dial on his helmet and a telescopic sight rotates into position before his right eye. He winds his crossbow back, the bolt of biting glistens evilly in the moonlight, magical poison dripping from its cruelly barbed point. He squeezes the trigger and the bolt zips through the air. Herf looks up and Ironbeard's lips twist into a sadistic smile as the bolt embeds itself in herf's eyeball and the man screams and falls to his knees. The smile contorts into a rictus of horror as herf then stands up, pulls the bolt out and snaps it in two. The bolt hadn't penetrated the brain, the death mail was counteracting the poison and herf knew where he was now. He'd never get a shot like that again, time to rethink his tactics ....

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited April 19, 2001).]

 

herf pulls out his venomous dagger again and throws it at the window and smiles stupidly as the knife hits the minture dwarf in the shoulder.

 

The dwarf staggers backwards. Behind him, a swirl of multi-coloured lights materialises and a planar portal opens. A black cloaked swordsman steps out and stares at his surroundings in dumbfounded surprise. He sees the dwarf pluck out his dagger and inspect his wound, which turns out to be non-existent as the blade had caught in the shoulder of his tunic. The dwarf turns around and jumps in shock at the sight of Shura behind him.
"The stupidity! A planar portal that took me not more than a mile away from where I left!" Shura curses vehemently, before the dwarf jumps on him and starts shaking him violently.
"What..." Shura never finished his sentence as he followed the dwarf's pointing finger to Herf, who was chanting steadily in an eerie voice. He smelt the ozone in the vicinity and knew what was coming. Picking up the dwarf, he set off in a frantic run across the rooftops but no one, not even one with Shura's deadly skills could hope to dodge one of Herf's lighting bolts.
The bolt caught him in mid-leap but Shura still had the presence of mind to toss the dwarf into a couple of grain sacks loaded on a cart before he was hit.
The magical impact stole the breath from his lungs and sent him cartwheeling into the air. Shura crashes into a distant building. Through the blinding pain, he knows that both of his legs are broken along with the majority of his ribs. Gritting his teeth, he could feel his magical ring doing it's insidious work again, prolonging his life unnaturally....

 

Blood running from his nose and mouth, Shura hears footsteps and the faint rattle of metal approach him. Gathering his iron will, he grasps his katana and prepares to deal with one more assailant before entering the bliss of unconsciousness.

The approaching figure is clad in white and silver, but the charred blood in his eyes prevents Shura from getting a good look at this new antagonist. He can see, however, that this figure's sword is still sheathed.

Letting this new enemy draw as close as possible to insure a critical strike, he allows the figure to kneel by his side. A callused, but clean hand reaches toward his forehead. Just as Shura prepares to thrust his sword into the enemy's rib's, a sure of white light floods his body.

Immediately charred flesh begins to soften and heal, cracked ribs knit together, and pain-filled thoughts are clarified.

Dumbfounded, Shura allows the figure to stand and walk away into the darkness. It wasn't until much later that he realized that he had just been healed by (gasp!)Mathetais, the paladin!

(No hard feelings Shura!)

 

Clouds of yellowish gas engulph Moeken as he makes his way down the stairs. Ignoring the burning in his tear filled eyes the young monk picks his way through the writhing bodies of gasping bar patrons. Years of intense training had elevated Moeken's resistance to many forms of poison, yet still the peculiar gas was taking it's toll. Willing his feet to move, every action becomes difficult and the screams of the semi-conscious slowly subside.

The young thief is nowhere to be found, but Moeken's only concern is for the girl. She had to live, the prophecy was unfolding and she held the key to it's fruition. Stumbling along the bar the dazed monk falls next to a motionless figure, a soft whisper of silk brushes across his cheek.

The girl!

Willing unresponsive muscles into action Moeken grabs a fistful of the silken cloak and crawls in the direction of moonlight. Every move becomes deliberate and with a final surge of strength Moeken and the girl fall through the tavern doors into the darkened street. Cool night air bathes over Moeken like a rushing mountain stream and twinges of relief seep into his spasming muscles.

As if from a hellish nightmare, the roar of a lightning bolt streaks across the street exploding into some hapless victim. The stench of seared flesh and the sharp citrus smell of ozone follow the screams of the rag doll figure as it crashes into a building across the street.

A feeling of helplessness washes over Moeken as he struggles to get to his feet. Falling face down, he catches a glimpse of the huge darkened warrior lumbering towards him. He could not defend himself in this condition, let alone the girl. Fumbling for a vial in his robes, Moeken's fingers close around a tiny ampule he had purchase at a Temple of Ilmater. Drawing the life giving fluid to his mouth, pain suddenly explodes in his mind as his hand is crushed below the heavily armoured boot of the dark warrior. The sounds of evil laughter fills the night air as the broken monks gaze rests upon the soon to be dead girl. Through madness and pain the clear image of an ivory coloured bow protrudes from dark robes of the unconscious thief, spidery runes inscribed into the supple maple wood.
"Our only hope - Wasted", Moeken curses, he can almost feel the dark blade of herf extinguishing his life, "It can't end like this, It can't..."

[This message has been edited by Lord Moeken (edited April 17, 2001).]

 

**** Heh, 'Death Mail' how corny is that? Sorry folks, I'll try to throw you some better bones next time *****

 

Scrambling backward madly, Sapiryl catches his foot on a crate and crashes down the stairs. The yellowish gas fills the room quickly, and Sapiryl rushes for the gambling rooms in the basement. Choking violently, he rushes down the stairs and collides with the bouncer who is still carrying the unconsious Shadow Thief.

"Leave him!" Sapiryl roared, and charges toward the backrooms screaming, "Fire! Everyone out!"

Immediately, wealthy men and ladies rush to the exists at the far end of the room. Meanwhile, Sapiryl motions for the bouncer to knock out the window at the top of the basement wall. They both scramble out, and Sapiryl whispers hurriedly to his companion before racing up a ladder propped against the wall of another building. Leaping to the roof, he sees a bolt of lightning strike the roof of the Silver Monkey. The heat and shock throw him off his feet, but he clings to the buildings chimney and refuses to fall.

After the shock fades, Sapiryl races towards the end of the roof and peers down into the alleyway. On the ground lie the monk and that mysterious girl. Standing over them, and laughing cruelly, is the knight in black.

"What the hell?" Sapiryl asks himself, and then leaps off his perch in a fantastic dive.

Just before the thief and knight connect, Sapiryl manages to ready his body for a quick getaway...

 

Duskai opens her eyes, the pleasant dream she was having drifts away and she blinks a few times. Slowly the black blur starts to solidify only to become a hideous grin glinting in the light. Her lungs burning as the cold night air fills them, pushing out the fetid smoke and her head spinning she realises that something had gone terribly wrong. The prone body of a knight lay next to her, a vial lay cracked upon the cobbles and the face of the man looked deathly white, could this be the reason for her current predicament or perhaps her rescuer, she would have to find out, if she lived...
Suddenly the dice-master appeared and charged at the grin, his attention wavering, Duskai starts to shuffle backwards towards an alley but her body felt weak and hurt intensely. Pressing to the floor she rolls towards the comfort of shadow, each stone digging cruelly into her side, a tug at her foot stops her abruptly and she looks down only to see the knights hand gripping her ankle. His face looking up at her glows purest white in the light and a flush of colour creeps across each cheek. His booted foot lashes out and catches the shin of the dark one, just as the thief reaches impact point...

(who said this topic was dead? well ok, but I need the practice )

 

'Why am I still alive?', Moeken can only guess. The pain in his hand is a sickening reminder of his crippling injury. The cruel laughter of the dark warrior peals into the night. Sudden motion to his left signals that the girl has regained consciousness. In desperation Moeken reaches out with his good hand to stop her retreat into an alley. In a moment of sudden clarity the young monk realizes that the girl knows little of her situation, or of her danger.
Glancing to the rooftops Moeken notices a small hunched figure wrestling with an empty crossbow and another larger shadow appears near the chimney of the Silver Monkey.
Glancing back at herf, Moeken notices the dark blood streaming down the warrior's cheek and takes note of the broken bolt in his hand. The warrior had been injured, perhaps that bolt was the only reason he was still alive.

Distracted by motion on the roof, the dark warrior hesitates with the delivery of his death blow. A form materializes out of the air, streaking down onto the hesitant warrior. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Moeken uses the last of his strength to lash out at herf's foot. The combined force of his kick, and the impact of the figure send herf down in a cloud of dust. Falling next to Moeken, the mysterious figure grunts in pain as it hits the ground.
"Sapiryl! Your dagger is useless! You must find the girl!", motioning towards the alley, Moeken wills himself to his feet.
"She has your bow, and it may be our only hope! She's in the alley"
Cradling his crushed hand Moeken waves the young theif away,"I'll be fine, just find your bow."
Turning towards herf, Moeken is surprised to find the hulking warrior standing and battle ready. Obviously the wounds to the dark warrior were less serious than he had thought. Still trying to shake the effects of the debilitating gas, Moeken assumes his own defensive posture. His left hand was crippled and the muscles in his legs screamed with pain, but he had to buy the young theif some time. The dwarf on the roof tops had vanished and so too had Moeken's chance of disabling herf...

 

A blacked cloaked form materialises behind Moeken. The monk turns his head to see a white-haired man standing behind him, singed and battered. His hands move in a blur and before Moeken can react, Shura is holding one of his hands in a tight grip.
Slipping his regeneration ring onto one of Moeken's fingers, he releases him and pushes him aside.
"I've become over-reliant on that anyway. You can have it." Shura rasps harshly. A coughing fit ensues and blood flows freely from his mouth. No goodly god would heal the man. The mysterious paladin's healing only took effect for a while. His wounds returned the moment the paladin walked out of sight.
Herf draws his black sword, grinning evilly.
"So you want to play too, eh Paladin-bane? But you seem to be on a different side than what you usually take." Herf ends his speech with a barrage of magical missles that slam into Shura, each one punctuated with the breaking of bone.
Charging forward, Herf attempts to skewer the staggering man with his blade only to have Shura deftly sidestep and weave to one side. A horizontal swipe with his sword catches a glancing blow on Shura's shoulder. The dark enchantment on the sword widens the wound, sending a geyser of blood spurting into the air. Herf's mailed fist hits him squarely in the face, staggering him backwards.
"Ha ha ha...You are no match for me! Looks like the legend of the paladin-bane is much greater than the real person." Herf's cruel laughter echoes in the streets.
Herf's cruel grin is wiped off suddenly when he realises that Shura's blood is a sickly green colour instead of the usual red and that it smoulders and hisses unpleasantly when it touches the ground.
Red gleaming eyes have replaced dull black ones in Shura's face and they stare at Herf with a malevolence one can almost taste. Herf charges again, his sword this time in a 2 handed grip and how he howled when Shura parried it forcefully with his wakizashi, causing the dark weapon to ring violently and painfully in his hands. Falling back, Herf raises a finger-sized crystal rod,the component of a lighting bolt. Shura clamps his free hand down on it just as Herf releases his spell. Herf shrieks and tries to pull back the magical energy and succeeds to an extent. The two dark warriors are engulfed in a flash of light. Moeken staggers to his feet to see the two of them standing face to face. Both of them have been terribly burnt by the spell. Herf's face is set in a terrible grin of anticipation while Shura's face is of one who has accepted his death. A metal shod boot connects with Shura's gut at the same moment a wakizashi hilt smashes into Herf's chest, separating the combatants.....

 

Sapiryl charges down the alleyway, heedless of crates and debris in his way. Wondering why he was doing what he was doing, he casts wary eyes to his right and left.

Skidding to a halt, Sapiryl's ears twitch, and he turns slowly with his hands in plain view. Wondering who could have escaped his notice, he keeps his eyes downward until his body is half-turned.

Seeing a propped open sewer grate, Sapiryl readies his body in case he needs to make a quick exit.

"What would you have of me?" he asks quietly, well aware that the more time he spends here, the less time that the monk has to live. And where was the girl? Perhaps his hidden captor was no stranger after all...

[This message has been edited by Sapiryl (edited April 19, 2001).]

 

fategg materializes behing shura causing shura to turn around quickly and stab hard in his direction, but fategg quickly jumps back and pulls out his living two-handed sword "bleading bladefategg says he means no harm, but at this point shura is unsure whether or not to trust him and simply charges fategg, with a flick of a finger and a few ancient words his blade leaves his grasp and goes straight for the heart of shura, baffled and unsure of what to do, shura slashes hard at the sword but it doesn't break for it is enchanted to last forever, at last shura can fight no more, andas the blade slashes for his head, fategg calls it back, it turns around bewildered but reluctantly glides back to its masterfategg helps shura up, and they are off to do what was told of them when they were sucked into that vortex not too long ago.

 

"You sir, have some explaining to do" Duskai says as she steps out of the shadows with a grim look on her face. Her left arm wrapped around her abdomen was damp with crimson and her right held up a thinly tapered dagger which she pointed at the other thief's heart.
"what did the knight mean? speak quickly friend, I have had a rough night and my patience is wearing thin" her voice turned to a whisper and her eyes flickered pain for a moment. She suddenly seemed very young and vunerable and Sapiryl lowered his hands a little but as he did the dagger scored a thin line in red upon his chest and they shot up skyward again.
"do not under estimate me, hell and all it's regions hath no fury like a woman severely vexed" Duskai's dark eyes grew darker as she looked deeply into Sapiryl's own, trying to judge his next move.



[This message has been edited by Duskai (edited April 19, 2001).]

 

It has been some time since food or drink have passed through his lips... How long had it been since that thrice-bedamned tavern? R'syil the Xvart Killer waits longer and contemplates his prey... a village of them, south-west to Nashkell, near the spot where he'd spared the Mad Captain Brage and gave him a chance to achieve Helm's redemption. He has waited so long that his well honed muscles have stiffened up, he has been waiting for the perfect oppurtunity to strike... He waits still...

[This message has been edited by R'syil (edited April 19, 2001).]

 

Dazed, Ironbeard raised his head above the side of the cart Shura had thrown him into, then quickly lowered it, seeing his two allies embroiled in an apparantly losing fight with herf. His shoulder ached dully, although there was no visible wound, herf's poisoned dagger had not failed completely. The waitresses in the tavern had died in seconds, but this was only a glancing blow, and dwarves were made of sterner stuff. He took a small copper flask from his belt and drank deeply. The pain subsided. To Ironbeard it seemed the fight was lost, and even if his allies pulled through he could not imagine them being grateful for ruining their plans with his incompetence. No, the only option left was to leave town, and he was fortunate enough to have the means of his escape to hand.
The cart-driver turned round to see a loaded crossbow leveled at his face. "Get out of the cart" snarled Ironbeard. The flustered driver was in no condition to argue.
As Ironbeard took the reins, the pain in his shoulder suddenly intensified. Of course he couldn't expect a normal antidote to work against herf's magical poison. At best, it could buy him some time. The workshop wasn't far, and his brother Paul was a priest of Moradin, he'd know what to do.
As Ironbeard sped off into the night he muttered to himself "Ye've got a lot te learn, let's jist hope ye lives te learn it.."

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited April 20, 2001).]

 

"My lady," Sapiryl bows somewhat ackwardly with his hands held in plain view, "our mutual friend has asked me to find you. Apparently, you are in some danger, and his plan was to keep you safe. However, it appears that you had different ideas."

Glancing down at his slit jerkin, Sapiryl mutters to himself, and then looks intently back at the girl.

"He said, that you have something that belongs to me. I want it back. It is the one thing that I have earned in an honest fahion. Besides, the monk told me that it could be used against that devil of a warrior. Do you want him to die? Are you that sinister?"

Screams echo down the alleyway, and shadows dance over the stone and mortar walls.

"Here now! You seem to be injured! Come, don't allow your pride to end three lives tonight!"

There is a clatter of shod hooves and iron-rimmed wheels at the end of the alley. A familiar squat figure rides the bench.

"Two lives." Sapiryl corrects himself...

 

The horse's hooves clattered across the cobblestones. The dwarf at the reins was by now as white as a sheet and trembling violently. He did not drive the horse faster, the whip dangled limply in his hand as he had barely the strength to lift it. He pulled the cart to a stop just by the door to a dark squat building. The sign on the door read "Ironbeard Brothers,Finest dwarven Craftsmanship". He staggered off the cart and through the doorway. The workshop resounded with the roar of furnaces, the hiss of water on hot iron and the clang of metal on metal. Paul Ironbeard, half owner of the establishment came forward to meet the visitor, then gasped in shock as he recognised his brother Ratchett. "Poison", said Ratchett, in a voice barely over a whisper, "Dagger, shoulder, need ... help". Paul examined his brother's shoulder. "By Moradin's Hammer!" he exclaimed, "That's no ordinary poison, come with me to the shrine immediately, and you can tell me how you were injured. Paul lead Ratchett to the small shrine at the back of the workshop, and lay him down on the sacred anvil. As Paul busied himself with the incense and prayer scrolls, Ratchett painfully gave a brief history of his encounter with herf. His brother nodded compassionately, praying and chanting under his breath. Ratchett could feel the pain subsiding and his strength returning. "...and that's why I'm going to leave town" he finished. Paul froze with horror. "You would leave your friends to die, and your murderous enemy free? That is not the way of Moradin, brother. Cedric tried to run from his mistakes as you do now" Paul is pained by the memory " Your mistakes will always catch up and find you, like they found him. Cedric turned from the path of Moradin, and so, in his hour of need, Moradin turned from him." Ratchett began to curse the sanctimonious moralising that had been Paul's habit since he had joined the priesthood, but bit his tongue. This was not the first time he would have died were it not for the protection of the smith father, and besides, his brother was probably right.

"I'm no hero" moaned Ratchett weakly.
"On the contrary, my dear brother" replied Paul, " when Moradin crafted our ancestors he meant every dwarf to be a hero. herf is NOT invincible. Look around you, we have willing hands and a shedload of experimental weaponary, most of it blessed by Moradin. Besides, in case you need a reason to serve your god, you are not fully healed. Moradin has granted you strength for a time, no more, and that only because you are my brother. He may heal you yet, but your path has displeased Him. Only Moradin may save you now, I suggest you do not anger Him further - Now hurry!" Paul grabbed a heavy, rune encrusted hammer from a workbench, " There may yet be time to help your friends."

 

Still hunched in pain, Shura's ring feels cool against Moeken's body but the crushed bones in his hand are beyond repair. With diminishing strength, Moeken turns to the fiendish combatants. The seemingly unstoppable herf parries Shura's vicious attacks and soon the traveller of the planes is lying beaten upon the blood soaked ground.
"By the Gods, there must be some weakness", Moeken whispers, "I have never witnessed such power"
Favouring his side, the young monk stumbles toward the towering warrior, "You're reign of terror ends here." The words are feeble and without conviction. Herf roars his battle cry and surges towards the hunched figure. With more luck than skill the weakened monk steps to the side, only to catch the cruel hilt of herf's sword in his side. Rolling out of harm's way Moeken taunts the possessed warrior, urging him to continue the fight. Blood wells from a wound in his side and Shura's ring on his finger feels cold and unholy.
"Where are they?", Moeken's ragged breath whispers into the night air. Choking on emptiness and betrayal the battered monastic warrior clenches his fist, "I can't hold him much longer..."

 

Shura holds out a hand to stop Fategg. The other planar warrior pauses, respecting his wishes.
"Hmmm, just like old times." Shura mumbles to himself, thinking of his days in the Blood War where he fought against hordes of Baatezu and was left dying on the fields of the abyss until his demonic master came along and healed him.
His left shoulder where Herf has gashed him was numb. He could no longer hold his wakizashi. Drawing his longer sword with his right hand, he focused his will on it, a familiar process that he has done many times before. Red-blue flames burst from the blade, but this time they are tinged with a hint of black.
Staggering to his feet, Shura faces off against Herf again.
"You are mighty beyond belief, almost as mighty as my friend, the Anti-paladin Blackmire." Shura congratulates the unholy knight.
"But you have NEVER seen the hell-fires of the Abyss as I have." his battered left hand starts to spasm, then starts to ....change. Mangled fingers elongate into talons, muscles bulge and discolour, sharp spikes sprout from smashed knuckles. All this while, Shura's demonic red eyes lock with those of Herf's. The rest of his body remained human, but his left arm now looked like one of the pincer arms of a Glabrezu.
Herf backs away uncertainly but a demonic arm flashes out to snare his blade. Screaming in battle fury, Herf raises his other hand and attempts to cast a spell but the incantation is lost in a grunt as Shura body checks him, causing the two of them to fall to the ground. The knight throws the demonic being off him but Shura, with rejuvenated vitality, twists in mid-air and lands on his feet, rushing back into the fray with his deadly will-empowered sword and his demonic arm. Another lighting bolt from Herf lashes out but is dodged adroitly.
A flashing katana splits the Death Mail and Herf's ribs...

 

The clatter of hooves and iron rimmed wheels rings out across the cobblestones once more. Ratchett pulls tightly on the reins and the cart skids to a halt by the entrance to the alley. The Ironbeard brothers dismount, followed by about half a dozen apprentice smiths, wielding a variety of esoteric weapons, sturdy hammers hanging at their belts. A team of three struggles with a bizzarely complicated contraption, all pipes and valves and gauges. Ratchett clicks a magazine into position on his repeating crossbow. "Friends," he announces, "reinforcements have arrived."

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited April 21, 2001).]