What has gone before #19 One day too many

The second and third watch Legum yawned, stretched, blinked. "Yes?" he asked sleepily. "Your watch, Legum" replied Rocky. Legum shook his head groggily, while memory returned to him. They were still camped out in the ruins of the Academy of Military Magic Applications, waiting for Ziwa... or really, Facinalethvree... to dig up more information before they reported the results of their activities to Hotherial. "Ghod, already? I feel like I just got to sleep." "If you're not feeling up to it, I can keep the watch for you." Legum blinked at Rocky in surprise. "No, no need for that. I was just jawboning. Thanks anyway, but you must be dead on your feet." "Actually, I feel well, thank you Legum." Legum looked a little closer at Rocky, sensing something amiss. "You o.k.?" Dark, dilated eyes stared back at him. "Fine, thank you Legum." "Rocky, its been a tough couple of weeks. Why don't you hit the sack and relax?" "As you wish, Legum." Rocky walked over to a corner of the room they were using as sleeping quarters while exploring the old building and laid down on his thin bedroll. Legum settled into the watch routine, checking the windows and door on a frequent but irregular basis. He kept glancing Rocky's way, occasionally catching a glimpse of eyes staring into space. It was a little worrisome. Rocky had been under a lot of stress with this undead-raising thing. Maybe it was finally getting to him. Near the end of his watch, Rocky finally seemed to settle into a restless sleep. Legum felt better. Anyway, it was time to wake Hammerhand and get a little shut eye of his own.

Lightning off to the left. Damn. The storm was wonderful, dark, heavy rain and clouds shutting out the faintest glimmers of moonlight. He liked that. The lightning kept ruining it, however. Brekfran's patrollers where on tonight, and those bastards never gave it a break, no matter how heavy the weather. In fact, they were the main reason he was flying the mission personally. Moratyr were tough, but catch them by surprise, and they would fold. But the lightning... bad timing, and he would be the one caught flat footed. Another blaze to the right, and a few seconds later, a smaller but brighter arc flashed. He felt a Vampire Forward Observer dissolve, screaming helpless black rage, as it was caught in a Moratyr blast. Those damn VFOs... they were fast, faster than the regular vamps, but they just didn't carry the firepower or armor to last long. No matter. It had done its job. Brekfran's group was off to his right, about a quarter mile away. He veered off his current course, pushed higher, cast blackness, mag pro 6, transparency, other spells. He considered a shapechange to something smaller, decided against it. His current human form was one he was comfortable with; it was large, but you could hide anything in this kind of weather. He closed quietly. The faint outlines of a large, reptilian shape began to become clear; a wyvern facing the northwest. Perfect. He was coming in almost behind it. He altered his path slightly, dropped low to the ground, skimming a few inches off the grassy knolls. Hunger was building. Life force, Moratyr life force... you couldn't beat it. He slowed. The wyvern was about a hundred yards ahead, still oblivious to him. The rider... he felt sudden alarm. Where was the rider? A trap! The Moratyr had recognized that the VFO had given away his position, was expecting a response... he pushed as hard as he could, his slow glide turning into a furious climb skyward. Then he saw the Moratyr, prepping something powerful enough to leak past his anti-detect-magic shield. It was too late... The bolt hit, blue jagged lightning blasting into him, frying him. Little blue jags fled to the atmosphere from his entire body, his Lightning pro trying to disperse the energy as much as possible. It wasn't enough. Muscle charred, nerve endings sizzled. He was dying. He managed to keep moving, but he was loosing altitude. The Moratyr would not be far behind... The rain stopped for a moment, and he saw something on the ground. Something running, deathly afraid. A man, a man running. In the distance, he heard the baying. Nighthound prey. He drew on what strength he had left, flew in jerky, uncoordinated thrusts to a point just ahead of the man, landed. As the man approached, panting, he called out. "Help me!" The man stopped. He was holding a dagger. A pitiful weapon; a fast scan with a still working D-mag revealed it to be simple steel. In the other hand was a thing of beauty, an amulet, gems glinting even in the darkness. Nighthound bait. But it might do... "Please, help me... the Dreadlords, they are after me..." The man approach cautiously, then with more courage as he saw the extent of the lightning's damage. "Ghod, how did you survive such wounds?" "It doesn't matter." He could have ripped this fool in two if he wanted, but the Moratyr would be here soon. "I am beyond help, but let me help you, since you were so kind to stop for me." The man looked to the north in fear. "I need not help, but speed. There are... things after me." "I can help... help stop them. With my last breath, I will cast a spell on your amulet that will protect you. He reached out with a blackened claw of a hand. "Let me touch it..." The human was repulsed and undecided. He cast a command spell, a low level spell but sufficient for his needs. "Let me touch it!" The human held the amulet out, then looked at his hand in surprise as if it had betrayed him. The blackened claw closed around it, and Blackfelt let his power flow. The amulet began to glow as he pumped more and more of his dwindling reserves into it. Finally, there wasn't enough energy left in the empty shell of his body and it collapsed. He had left a command for it, however, and the body gasped and spoke a last time. "You have nothing to fear from the Nighthounds now..." and the body that was nothing more than a breathing corpse stopped even that pretense of life. It was going to be a long time, a very long time. Anything other than a slow leak of his persona would be instantly detected by the Moratyr. Instead, he would see a fool, a fool that was the one in a hundred the Nighthounds let escape to tempt other fools to try their luck in pursuit of treasure. But someday, someday that Moratyr would be his... the man would dance to his music... he would strip the life out the man an inch at a time... the Moratyr WOULD BE HIS... Legum was startled as Rocky cried out in his sleep. He shook his head. Rocky definitely needed a little rest and relaxation.

One day too many "Over here" called Legum excitedly. He stood in front of a large, red marble tombstone not far from that of Morgart, with the caption:

Sabrina Morgart 10026 - 10053 She will be missed by many

Discussion of the nighfs dreams had correlated many pieces of the information into a partially complete picture of what was happening, and what had happened in this place five centuries before. It had taken several hours to get the information to everyone; now that they knew the elves were tracking them, they had to split off in small groups of two or three, and hope that the elve's evowa were concentrating on the main group. One thing Legum had spotted was Hotherial's mention of Sabrina, possibly the same Sabrina Morgart had called his wife. Her role in the entire affair was not dear, and they had decided to use Rocky's 'talent' to extract some information from her. The rest of the group joined him with picks and shovels, and they spent an hour digging out the coffin. The cover was already in pieces, and Rocky concentrated on the amulet. Mud and ancient bones moved, joined, and a parody of human life rose from the pit. "Who disturbs the rest of Sabrina? Let me return to the dark arms of peace" the apparition cried. "First, I need answers" replied Rocky. "Did you know an elf named Hotherial?" "Hotherial? Ahhh, Hotherial. Yes, he was a most challenging assignment." Rocky glanced at Jake in surprise. This wasn't exactly the response he expected. 'Tell me about him." "He was... difficult. Most challenging. It required much effort on my part, more than I have ever expended before." Rocky was still confused. "Explain. Difficult how?" "He was... limp. Difficult to excite, to entice. It required much ingenuity to get him interested at all, and to keep him interested." Rocky turned a bit red. "That wasn't the kind of information I was looking for. What was he doing here, and how good was he at it?" "How good was he? He was a terrible lover. Absolutely terr..." "No, no, no. I mean, what did he do for Gorwell? Do you know Gorwell?" "Jansen? Yes, of course, my first husband." "You were married to Gorwell before you were married to Morgan?" asked Rocky incredulously. "Yes." Rocky shook his head. "What was Hotherial doing for Gorwell?" "Work." "I know that, damn it, what kind of work?" "Something to do with travelling, or gating... I don't know, that was all so boring. All these silly men, much more interested in their stupid little projects than me. If I hadn't been a Ferengi..." "YOU WERE A MEMBER OF THE FERENGI CULT?" "Yes. And I have to say, those stories about us being sexual deviates are..." Rocky broke in, sounding a little dazed, but trying to stay on track. 'Tell me more about Hotherial. Did you see him in any meetings?" "Yes. He was a quiet type, listened more than he spoke. Mostly, he asked questions." "What kind of questions?" Sabrina's decayed remains suddenly shook, and the skeletal arms rose to her throat. "Beware the undead" she cried suddenly, and with a little pop, the animated figure collapsed back into the box, once again a pile of aging bones. "As if we needed to be told" said Tallow. Ziwa clenched her fist, looking around. Everyone nodded. It was a prearranged signal to indicate that she was going to contact Hotherial, telling him about her dream, and hopefully to elicit some further information from him about his intentions. "Hotherial" came the familiar voice. "Hotherial, this is Ziwa. We've got some information for you, thanks to Facinalethvree." "More on Ragnerok?" "Yes." "I'm all ears." "First, can I ask you a question?" "Certainly." "Who were my parents? What is my lineage?" There was a pause. "Since you ask, I will tell you. Your father was Quensilin, your mother Verilithansee. Verilithansee was the daughter of Morgaine, the elf who carried Changeling away from the Evael three hundred years ago. Quensilin... was one of my sons." "I'm your Granddaughter?" asked Ziwa in shock. "Yes" he replied quietly. "This... this is too much" she said weakly. "Let me tell you about the dream while I'm still standing." She quickly went over the salient points of the dream concerning Ragnerok and Sandish, keeping quiet on her eavesdropping on Hotherial's and Bescanthien's conversation. "Could your repeat the part about the undead troops?" asked Hotherial, sounding a little odd. "Well, there was something about these Vampire Forward Observers arriving that night, with the rest of the group arriving the next evening..." "So, what you're saying is that you heard them say that Vampires were arriving in Nostrilia that night; the same night you were having your dream." "Ummmm... that's the gist of it" said Ziwa, suddenly sounding a bit concerned. "In other words, there are VAMPIRES IN NOSTRILIA WITH YOU, and you and your friends are DIGGING UP BODIES IN THE LOCAL CEMETARY!?!" "Well, that is, ahhhh... yes." "Are you all COMPLETE MORONS?" Hotherial screamed mentally. "No, don't answer that. Get back to the teleportal, get on it, and get the hell out of there." "Yes, Hotherial." Ziwa repeated the conversation to everyone else. It was generally agreed that they were all morons, and they made their way hastily back to the Academy for Military Magic Applications. As they entered the building, Jake paused. "Did you hear something?" he asked Hammerhand. Hammerhand shook his head negatively. "I thought I heard something fluttering..." "I hear nothing, friend Jake" replied the troll. The continued on, winding their way down the spiral staircase. As the reached the bottom and crossed the floor toward the secret door to the Totami room, a man suddenly stepped out of the shadows directly in front of them. "Well met, friends" he cried in the barbarian tongue spoken throughout Tawhiem. A tall man, dressed in black leather armor, a sword with a black leather grip neatly belted to his waist. He stood casually, almost arrogantly. Finally chiseled features set in a welcoming smile that did not reach the eyes; a smile against skin that seemed pale, even with the contrast from the dark armor, with eyes that almost seemed to shine as if pale red beacons were lit behind them; there was nothing vastly unusual about him, and yet nothing seemed quite right about him either. The party immediately moved to spread out, weapons were brought up and spells prepped. Was this a Vampire? If not, it... or he... was probably something worse. A loud thud sounded from behind them, somewhere up the spiral staircase. "I seek not to harm you, but to warn you of what follows behind" cried the man, but he was drawing his sword as well. A crossbow bolt flew, and suddenly dark menace seemed to flow into the man, if that was what he was, and in turn to flow from him, a danger so palatable that several of the party's nerve broke, and they fled from the room, heading up the staircase. Those that remained charged the creature, even as something told them it was a futile gesture, and they were all to die that day. "Wait!" cried Rocky, concentrating on the amulet. This thing was an undead, a vampire. He knew it, somehow. With the now familiar sense of gathering power, he cast it, threw it at the thing. It staggered, falling to one knee, head bowed. There was a pause, then the head came up. "I am not yours to command, Blackfelt!" it screamed, and from a pointed finger, a flamebolt shot out, hitting several people. Galrog, Tallow and Hammerhand engaged the creature, but it avoided their blows with contemptuous ease, then landed its own blow on Tallow. Tallow felt a chill run through him, and a strange weakness. Somehow he knew part of his lifeforce had been torn from him, and that the vampire was that much stronger. It smiled, and this time Tallow noticed the fangs. Galrog could see that Tallow was in some kind of trouble. He breathed deeply, pointed his finger, and released his own spell. The lightning bolt slammed into the vampire at point blank range, and it screamed horribly and disappeared in a puff of black, oily smoke. "That was too easy" said Galrog uncomfortably. Although his bolt was a powerful one, it seemed like this creature was powerful as well, and a single blast should not have killed it. Then Galrog noticed the smoke was not dissipating, but instead was coalescing near the ceiling and gently sliding toward the door to the spiral staircase. It was most unusual behavior for smoke. He walked underneath it, prepped again, and let go with another lightning blast. Hot cinders fell as some of the ceiling's stonework cracked under the assault, but the bolt seemed to pass through the cloud without noticeable effect. He was considering other options when several of the party members, including Legum, who had run in fear on the Vampire's entrance, now ran in fear back into the room. "Zombies!" cried Legum, "Heading down the staircase! Get that damn door open!" Tallow set to work, but there were too many people and not enough time, and the zombies hit the back end of the group before they made it through to the secret Totami meeting room. The fight was short but furious, and at the end the four zombies were down... and so was Rocky. "Man, that guy just has some serious bad luck with the undead" observed Tallow. They dragged Rocky's paralyzed body into the room with them. The teleportal worked in a simple, straightforward fashion. Guide's operate teleportal spell caused it to shimmer while each gem lit up in turn for about a six second period. Obviously, you jumped onto the dais when the gem you were interested in glowed. That left a choice of the five gems set into the teleportal. "Anything but the ruby" shuddered Ziwa, "I hate those damn rubies more than anything." "Even swamps?" teased Jake. "Even swamps." They finally settled on the sapphire. It took two passes to get everyone through. Guido jumped on last; there was a blaze of white light, a sense of rightness; this is what he was supposed to be doing... and sudden darkness on the other end. Someone lit a torch, and they found themselves in a thirty by thirty room with no exits, a raised white marble dais in the center. This had five gems as well, and a shallow indentation in the center. Otherwise it looked the same as the one they had left behind in Nostrilia. Guido cast another operate teleportal; nothing happened. "I think this depression is meant to hold a gem of some kind. Probably some kind of keying object. You only need the key getting 'in' to the meeting place. If you could get in, you were assumed to be part of the crowd." "So we're stuck here? asked Ziwa. "I'm afraid so... unless we can find a keying gem." A careful search of the walls revealed a secret door which was quickly opened. A large octagonal room with a blazing fire in the center was revealed. It was bare of furniture or other adornment, and seemed to open up into a larger space above. "Heating system" said Templar by way of explanation. "We're in a giant, open fire pit. There must be a way in and out for the people who tend the fire." They checked the walls; each had a built in ladder. At the top of each a wooden arm extended over the pit with a bucket attached to it by a rope. 'To remove ash, I would assume" added Templar. The climbed out. Whoever the architect was, they liked octagons. This room was one as well, easily a hundred and fifty feet across. Benches surrounded the pit, but were empty of occupants. Each wall contained a door. They listened, hearing sounds at only one door, the clatter of metal and wood, conversation too muffled to be heard as anything other than muttering. "A kitchen?" suggested Jake, who was on point. Legum nodded. They continued around the room. At the last door Guido listened carefully, then shrugged. "Nothing obvious." "Let's go through." They opened the door. It was an oddly shaped room, the wall with the door through which they entered and the opposite wall parallel, the other two radiating out from the center of the octagon. The opposite wall held a door, and the room itself held two guards standing stiffly at attention to each side, dressed in heavy chainmail. "Halt! Who goes there" cried one of the two. "Legum and friends" replied Legum. "Oh. Well, what business do you have with the Lord Agrik?" the guard asked. "Is Lord Agrik through that door?" asked Legum calmly, pointing across the room. "There? No, that is the street, of course." "Then I would say we have no business with Lord Agrik, since we are obviously departing the building, not entering." "Oh. Well, what business did you have with the Lord Agrik?" "Why should I tell you that?" "It is my responsibility to talk with the Lord Agrik's secretary to ensure the Lord Agrik wants to speak with you." "But, since we don't intend to speak with him, that isn't really necessary, is it?" "No, I guess not. Well then, do you have Lord Agrik's permission to leave?" "Yes." "Oh. Well then, you may pass." "Thank you" answered Legum, waving the rest of the party forward. As Hammerhand and Jake pulled Rooky's body between them, the guard asked curiously "whaf s the matter with him?" "Drunk" replied Legum nonchalantly. "Drunk? He looks white as a sheet. Are you sure?" "No, actually, he was touched by a living dead and paralyzed completely." "Well, you don't have to get sarcastic" replied the guard, slightly miffed. "Move along, move along." They exited quickly. "Cherafyr" said Templar as he looked up and down the street at the simple stone buildings, "this is Cherafyr... one of the Pranan city states. If I remember correctly, if s on the Lanotalis sea, far to the north... probably not far from the Evael forest, actually. I think there's at least one major river between us and them, though." "I'm not sure I care that much" said Legum. Hotherial had been getting on his nerves recently. "I think we really need to call Hoth, though" he added, frowning. He grabbed the telepathic communication ring. "Hotherial." "Hoth, Legum." Legum gave Hotherial a fast run down on what they had discovered. They discussed it for a while, when Legum suddenly said "By the way, what's happening with Montor?" "Montor? We have him under surveillance." "How much have you found out? How many others have you discovered that are part of his group?" "We've found a few. But we really aren't ready to act on any of the information yet." "When will you?" "I'm not sure." "What else do you need to know before you can act?" "When we get what we need, I'll know it. I really don't have much else I can tell you." "Because you don't have much more information, or because you won't tell us more?" "Legum, that was a somewhat... hostile question." "Hotherial, I think you're jerking us around. We've done a lot for you, Hoth, but I don't think you're being straight with us." "Why?" Hotherial asked, sounding puzzled. "You keep avoiding my questions." "I've answered everything you have asked, Legum." "Answered, yes, but without giving us any information." "I've given you all the information I have to give". "But not all the information you have." "I didn't say that." "So say it now" "Legum, I think you better sit back and reflect on this. Yes, you've helped me greatly. But you've benefited as well. Where else could you have learned fourth level spells? I've tried my best to help you and your friends, to the extent of facing certain political repercussions among the elvish council, and that is the truth. I don't know why you are suddenly so suspisious of me, but I assure you, I am acting in everyone's best interests. Use the comm ring again when you've had a chance to calm down, Legum." There was a click, and Legum relaxed his concentration on the ring. Had he pushed too hard? Possibly. Despite everything, Hotherial and the elves had been more helpful than any of their human allies. He shook his head. Well, there was time for reflection later. Right now, they needed to find lodging in a strange city. Hell, in a strange country. Pranan might share a common language with Kethem, but ghod knew there were likely to be differences in just about everything else...