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The Spear that Roars for Blood Part 3 |
Posted by: JasonZavoda
on Saturday, March 04, 2006 - 09:51 PM
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Needs Intro
Posted - Sep 20 2004 : 5:33:07 PM
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Part XX
Arawn groaned and dragged himself across the porch. The lodge's door hung loosely on a single hinge, its frame cracked and showing deep gouges from axe and sword. The long main hall smelled bad, it was very dark inside, only swatches of moonlight angled in through windows along the lodge's side. The hall felt colder than the porch outside, the shutters were open wide or gone, Arawn could not tell. The little light showed splintered wood, the tables, chairs, benches and all else had been hacked to bits and what was not burned as fuel was left scattered about the floor. As he crawled he came across broken table legs, the fragments of a chair, broken plates and cups. Too weeak to move them or move aside himself Arawn crawled on and did not note the cuts and scrapes they caused him.
Near the center of the floor he felt a rough rag cloth beneath his arms, a huge lozenge of a rug. Heedless of the sharp scatterings of debris, he grabbed its edge and rolled himself inside. Bundled up and feeling a slow return of warmth Arawn let his conscious mind relax and fell asleep, regardless of what might find him trapped, cocooned within the rug till morning came at least.
**
Dawn had come and the morning had worn away toward noon. Arawn woke, but in a cold sweat. His stomach churned and his vision was a hazy blur. He was sick, filthy and hurting bad. He shivered though wrapped warm in the rolled-up carpet, then he flushed and felt a terrible heat. The carpet he threw aside, he had to roll along the floor to get it off, then he tried to stand but he could not. His feet would not bear his weight, they were cut and swollen from his bootless trek across the woods the night before. The sword he wore felt like an anvil on his back, he pulled it loose, thick fingered, it took him several tries to snap the buckle free. On hands and knees he crawled across the floor, a cupboard near the fireplace had held pots and pans but medicines were hidden there as well.
The cabin was a horror in the light of day. Every foot of wall showed hacks and gashes, not one stick of furniture remained intact, all was smashed, broken or chopped to kindling. Blood, bone and nameless viscera lay near the hearth. Inside the fireplace a great iron spit still retained the bony remnants of the gnolls' last meal. Whoever he had been they had cooked him with his boots still on, thick-soled with rough forged iron nails. Some orc or hobgoblin, Arawn was relieved to see that they were not the light- soled boots that rangers wore.
Crawling made him cold again and sapped his strength. Arawn lay near to the hearth and looked toward the wall. The small cupboard door was shut but split, its center panel smashed by a club or a vicious kick. He saw a pot that had been kept within, it was dented and showed bright metal scars where blades had hacked into its base. It was hard to tell if the cupboard had been emptied, the floor was layered with debris, and only that single pot had caught his eye.
Arawn summoned up his strength and crawled forward once again. He dripped with sweat, the cold had passed, the heat made the room look red.
He awoke only an arm's length from the cupboard door. In an eyeblink he had passed out and lay there he knew not how long, hot then cold, now shivering again. Teeth chattering, he pulled himself along, his sweat-soaked shirt a clammy second skin. Arawn pulled the broken door aside, a small two foot by two foot square set in the wall. Inside he found only a broken empty shelf, not a scrap was left, the gnolls had taken all.
Arawn laughed, a painful heaving sound, and swooned. Suddenly the fever, hot and cold had gone away. He was looking down, a body lay still, its head and arms half hidden within the empty cupboard.
"That's me!" he said aloud, but no sound came out. He floated higher and drifted through the wooden roof. "Another dream," Arawn said and thought. The river rushed along, the water fell and crashed. The woods were quiet, though he could see the movements of a deer. Then along the stream came a running pair, the nymph and a winged man, "Some demon in the nymph's employ no doubt."
Arawn felt a sudden fear. "This demon will see me." And with that thought he fell. In a flash the cabin came rushing up and he was lying on the floor again. "My fever's broken." he said aloud. This time he could hear his voice, but still he could not rise. Weak as a kitten he pushed the broken shelf aside and crawled into the small cupboard then pulled shut the shattered door.
**
Two voices sounded outside the hunters' lodge. Arawn heard the nymph's seductive tones and the grating voice of her demon escort. He hid, choose your fights if you can, Daghdha always said. The cupboard was so tight he could not draw his sword, but he drew a dagger from his belt, little good either would do against some hellish fiend, but he swore to face his death with a weapon in his hand.
Footsteps thrummed against the porch, the door creaked across the floor, adding another scratch to the wooden boards already streaked with such from a hundred pairs of clawed and careless feet. A padding came near to where Arawn hid, the loose debris layering the floor he could hear being scrapped aside.
Arawn's heart thudded in his chest, his fever broken but not gone, he had no chills but within the close confines of the wooden box he streamed with sweat again. His mouth was dry, he ran a rough cardboard tongue against his teeth, his lips felt stiff and gluey. A drop of sweat ran down and touched them, they burned. The skin dry and cracked, he had to open his mouth with care, skin separating upper lip from bottom, the dry stuffy air stung them where raw flesh showed through in cracks.
The nymph had not said a word since she had entered into the lodge. Arawn could not wait, they would find him in any case. Fight while you still have the strength, he said to himself.
Arawn placed his foot against the broken cupboard door. It throbbed, cut and swollen, he gritted his teeth and kicked out. The cracked wood broke in two, half on the hinge, half flying free into the room.
"Yaarrghh!" Arawn screamed and rolled out to face the demon the nymph had brought along. Instead he looked into a pair of dull brown eyes, a large old hound stared at him and wagged its tail. The dog gave a bark, then padded over and licked his face.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Feb 17 2005 : 5:03:52 PM
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Part XXI
"Hey there old fella." Arawn said and ran his hand across the dog’s head. "You gave me quite a scare."
The hound barked and skittered away.
"Down boy, keep it down." Arawn hushed the dog. "You'll bring them here if you make such noise."
It did not understand but barked again. The hound ran over to the wall near the fireplace, opposite of where Arawn had just been hidden. It sat and whined, then put its head down between its paws.
"What's there boy." Arawn asked, "What do you see?"
The dog just whined and thumped its tail as Arawn spoke. What did it see, he wondered, but first he moved back. Leaning against the wall, the large brick hearth separating him from the dog, Arawn drew his sword. He would not be trapped again with it undrawn.
Arawn sheathed his knife and looked at his swollen feet. They'd begun to bleed again, a toe was bluish black, sometime last night he'd broken it but he couldn't remember when. The left foot had just two long cuts across the soles, he must have hurt it first then leaned on the right to carry him through the woods.
"What a mess." he said to the dog. "And I still have my boots." he shook his head. "Daghdha what a foolish student you have, can't remember to put on boots to walk through a wood at night."
**
The knife made short work of the rug that had kept Arawn warm during the night. He cut a pair of ragged bandages for his feet, wrapping them tight and careful. The swollen foot would take his weight but only if he walked with care.
Arawn hobbled across the floor, his drawn sword was a burden, he yearned to use it as a crutch, but would not treat it so. There were no sturdy lengths of wood among the debris to use, Arawn stumbled and twisted awkwardly and nearly stabbed the hound as he reached its side.
The dog barked at him and scratched at the wall. Arawn looked where the hounds claws had dug. He leaned his shoulder against the wood and gave it a rap with the pommel of his sword. It gave out a hollow sound, some open space must be here, he thought.
"What is in there?" Arawn said aloud. The dog barked but could tell him nothing else. There was no sign of latch or hinge, he could not even see a line or groove where the wall ended and the door began.
"An axe would be better suited for this work." he told the dog. He brought his sword down along the grain, it took several strikes to make it split, but then a long wedge fell free.
A strong stench assailed him, meat left out to rot. The hound barked and jumped, it struck the wall and sought to put its head into the room beyond.
"Down old fella, down." Arawn pushed it back. He struck the door again and an entire corner dropped away. He must have sprung the lock, it opened at the blow. Inside there was a dark space taller than the cupboard in which he'd hidden but only deeper by a foot or so. A body lay crumpled on the ground, dead, there could be no doubt, and begun to stink.
The hound pushed past him and poked its muzzle against the lifeless form. It whined and lay with head atop the dead man’s legs.
"Come on there." Arawn pulled the dog away. "Let him be."
The body was that of an elderly man. He had a bald head and a long grey-white beard. An arrow stump was still in his chest, Arawn could find no other wound when he dragged him from the hidden space. The man had worn rough hunters’ garb, he had a large dagger at his belt and several pouches too. Arawn hated to rob the dead, but needed to survive and such niceties were soon abandoned.
Fishhooks were in one pouch, and line with round lead weights in another. The dagger was thin and curved, no huntsman this man, but some fisher come to try the river. Arawn saw no sheath for sword, if the man had born some other weapon he had not taken it into hiding with him. A quick check of the hidden space showed only a small wooden box that the body had leaned against and kept from view. Arawn almost laughed when he opened it, proper bandages and herbs, a tinder box, and medicines made from root and bark and wild plants.
Arawn sat upon the floor, the old hound by his side. He'd moved away from the dead man’s body and taken the small wooden chest with him to the hearth. He'd need water to boil some of these dry herbs but he chewed upon a tough and bitter strip of willow bark to soothe his aching head, and with luck to stop the swelling in his foot. He gingerly took the rags from off his feet, they were soaked with blood. There was no water to wash them clean but inside the chest was a large pouch of salt. He bit down upon the bark and rubbed the thick granules along the cuts, they stung and burned like hot coals from a forge. He wrapped his feet, this time in clean white lengths of cloth, then cut the rug again for rags. He would have to fetch some water from the spring and build a fire. Arawn eyed the grisly skeleton impaled on the turning spit. He would take what he had gathered and set his fire outdoors, regardless of the nymph and her pet demon. Let them come, he'd fight them or anything. He would not hide from
them again.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Feb 18 2005 : 3:28:51 PM
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Part XXII
Smoke drifted up lazily from the small fire. Arawn sat upon a tree stump and watched the water boil in the pot, he sprinkled in a pouch of herbs taken from the medicine chest he'd found.
"At least they smell good." he said to the hound. The dog had adopted him, it followed close wherever he would go. "Funny thing, old dog, it's not for drinking."
Arawn put his head above the steaming pot. He inhaled the fragrant broth and sneezed. His head was clear at last and his aching feet bound within his boots. He felt refreshed, but weary, his night’s rest had not been half enough.
"Dog, we're going." The hound gave a bark. "I will have to change that noisy habit of yours." Arawn turned and looked toward the lodge. " I wish I could put your master to a proper rest but fire is the best that I can do."
He took a burning limb from the small fire that he'd lit and hobbled over to the river side of the lodge. The rug he'd slashed apart lay half through an open window. Around it, inside the hall, were piled the shattered fragments of chairs and tables, bits of cloth and firewood from a stack lying unused outside.
The glowing ember was cherry red as Arawn blew away the ash, he held it to the rug and watched it begin to flame. Once afire he used the stick to push the rug back over the windowsill and onto the gathered tinder. Dark smoke began to stream from the window, then an orange glo., Arawn tossed the stick into the lodge as flames shot through the smoke.
"This fire will bring any searchers for miles around." Arawn told the hound. "Let's get going. Come on, we have a hill to climb. Maybe I can find my pack."
Arawn cut a stout staff from the bole of a young tree. He used t to propel himself along, but frowned at the trail he left behind. "Dog between your paws and my feet we will be as easy to follow as an orc. The bracken will mask us to an untrained eye, but any woodsman worth their keep will spot our trail like footprints in a field of snow."
The woods were wild and overgrown around the lodge. Arawn led the hound up across the ledge that overlooked the water to their left. It was a steady climb, but not very steep or hard, yet soon the river was far below and the ledge became a cliff. A jutting curve that overhung the path along the riverbank was just ahead.
"Here it is." Arawn said relieved. He found his pack, a quiver and the gnollish bow, undisturbed. "Dog I wish that you could carry some of this. The Barrier Peaks," Arawn mused aloud. "I will need more supplies than these."
He sat on the ledge and looked back downstream. A huge pillar of dark smoke leaned to one side where the wind pushed at it, but he could see no movement in the trees, nothing stirred below.
"Draupnir's mine, maybe they have survived. Hells, what do I know, maybe the lowlands have beaten the monsters back, and Pelor's Keep survived, but no, they at least must have fallen if the orcs and gnolls made it through."
The hound lay beside him and put its head across his knee. Arawn brushed its back and it beat its tail with a rapid thrump upon the ground. "Dog, what should I do, listen to some dream, but I have no better course in mind." Arawn used the staff to stand and gathered up the packs and bow, they weighed him down. "Come then Dog, it's to Draupnir's first, then... who knows where, maybe Draupnir can tell us more of where to go and what to do."
**
"Svelta, he is nowhere to be found, your hero has run away." said Caliban.
"No, curse him, no. He can't be gone." Svelta cried. "He should have slept till I awakened him." The nymph ran about her bower and searched the tussocks of living grass that had held his clothes and weapons. She found all of what he'd possessed to be gone. Svelta dropped to her knees and began to weep.
"Sister," Caliban put his hands on her shoulders, "do not despair. He may be near. You say that you were not gone for long, we may find him yet."
She held her brother’s hands in her own and ceased her tears. "Yes, you are right. But Caliban, what if he is gone, I have no way to repay our mother except with my life."
"We will worry about that when it is time to worry, not before." Caliban told her.
"He spoke of warning the lowlanders, though their fate is already at hand." she said. "He would have followed the river downstream."
"Then let us start." said Caliban.
The Cambion, child of the nymph queen and a demon-lord, set out with his half-sister Svelta by his side.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Feb 20 2005 : 10:50:56 AM
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Part XXIII
Brambles pulled at Arawn's shirt. It was already torn along its side and stiff with old blood, but it was the best that he had to wear. Their pace was slow, the old hound ambled beside him uninterested in the early spring forest life, but instead wanting to stay close at hand. The dog was always at his left, he could feel its tail hit him across the leg as they walked.
Draupnir's would be a long walk through these woods, Arawn thought. He did not like to approach it from the road, but with his injured feet he wasn't sure if there would be another way. The hills turned into mountains, Draupnir's mine sat at the base of one, deep in a valley with the tallest and last of the hills to its south and the rising mountains all around. One long and curving trail followed a path cut by a stream, an old run-off from the Olvewater river.
"Dog, that canny dwarf would not be taken completely unawares."
Draupnir was old, but smart and strong. He'd fought orcs and giants before, but in recent years it had been bandits which had plagued his workings and his men. The trail to the mines was well guarded, posted with watchers and easily defended.
"If the orcs had not come upon them from behind as Sharptooth had said, curse that orc and all his kind," he said to the dog, "and curse all the days I've lost." though he would not curse the nymph but held the memory of her locked away, afraid to let himself think of her at all.
**
Half a day had passed as Svelta and Caliban searched down the river. The nymph would run ahead or swim across, unaffected by the strong flow, and search the other bank. Her brother tried to bring her cheer, but his words faltered and she became more frantic and despaired.
"He is nowhere to be found." she said to Caliban.
"We will try upstream." he turned and began to retrace their steps.
"It is useless." said the nymph.
"Come now, Svelta, we have to try." Caliban gave her arm a tug to start her on the way back.
They stood near a human dwelling, a rough wooden box that showed the wear of years and the harsh treatment of the monsters which had so recently passed this way. Svelta looked out across the wide pool that boiled beneath a waterfall.
"I am lost." she said to Caliban. "I cannot face her, I have made my promise that my debt would be paid and now I have nothing to pay her with."
"Svelta." Caliban said to her fiercely."You must either face her or flee, no good comes from bemoaning fate."
"I cannot face her." Svelta said. "I will flee, but where, this river is my home."
"Mother does not rule this river, her dominion ends with the mountains." Caliban pointed down toward the lowlands. "There the river flows into other streams and other lakes. Sister you must find a new home, you must exile yourself or face our mother’s wrath."
"I will go." she said. " I have no other choice. But down there, I do not know what dangers I will face. Caliban," she looked into her brother’s eyes. "Come with me, please, why do you stay with her."
"Sister you pay a debt to our mother, I pay a tithe as well." Caliban explained. "But I will go, she would have me slain for letting you escape."
"Then let us leave this place, but I tell you I will return one day." Svelta swore her oath upon the river bank.
**
The night was cold. Arawn was glad to have the dog traveling with him, it slept across his chest, its head under his chin, heavy but warm.
Morning came as a surprise, Arawn had barely closed his eyes before the light of the rising sun woke him from a deep and dreamless sleep. His dreams had been too real of late and he was glad to be without them while he slept.
The pain from his feet had passed, the swelling had gone down, but they were still red and tender, the cuts healing and crusted over, but the walking had kept them from closing right. The bandages were damp with blood and serum leaking from the wounds. He took them off and buried them in a shallow hole. He had more, a long length of the cloth from the medicine kit he'd emptied and left behind.
With clean bandages on his feet and a quick meal of dried meat and wild onions dug fresh from a patch he'd found along his trail, Arawn set off. The dog had eaten a small share of the dried meat, but preferred more active food. It took off after an unlucky hare, then later caught a squirrel as well.
"Dog," Arawn said. "I should have you do the hunting for both of us. I won't forget to set some traps tonight before we sleep. I'll breakfast on some rabbit too."
The day was a long and agonizing trek through the woodlands. Sometime after the noon sun had begun to wane Arawn heard loud singing coming from the roadway. The voices were rough and the words unintelligible, but he did not think that human throats were behind the sound. He had to hush the dog, it heard the off-tune wails and almost began to howl, but Arawn held its head and closed its jaws with his hands. What he wanted most was to see for himself what creatures were marching past, but he dared not take the dog and did not trust his wounded skills. Cut feet and days with little food had made him slow and weak.
Arawn waited till the voices were long gone, the sound drifting through the air as the marchers headed south and east, down toward the duchy and the lands beyond. Angry with himself and daring fate, Arawn left the woods and set out upon the road.
The old dirt track was beaten down, countless feet had passed this way. The grassy verge was almost gone, trees were hacked and stripped of bark, crude symbols carved into their boles. It was risking much to make his way along the road, but it saved Arawn hours of time while the daylight lasted.
"At least no one will spot our trail." he told the dog.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Feb 23 2005 : 4:19:28 PM
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Part XXIV
The sun was setting and they had walked hard most of the day but a mile back they turned to the east where the path diverged. The rutted road showed the tracks of giants feet frozen hard in mud long dried. Smaller feet were sculpted in the ground as well, clawed toed gnolls and the iron nailed boots of hobgoblins or orcs, hundreds had left their mark.
"Draupnir." Arawn murmured. "Draupnir, still be there." he looked down and spoke to the old hound. " We won't be there before dark. Dog, let’s find a place to sleep for the night."
The two of them moved back within the woods. Arawn found a dry spot and set camp, cutting a layer of fir tree limbs for a bed. A spring was near, an outpouring of the stream which ran close to the road and had cut the valley from the surrounding mountains and the hills.
Arawn used the line he'd taken from the dead fisherman, he set half a dozen traps along the spring and near to clumps of grass and other greens. With any luck he'd catch a hare while they rested for the night.
**
It was a windy day, breezes howled through the narrow valley road and echoed from its walls. At times a stream trickled along between the cliffs and the dirt trail, but then the way would rise and the stream would disappear sinking once again beneath the ground. It was a bare path, wider than a wagon by a man’s length, but empty. Arawn had no place to hide as he followed it down toward the mountain’s base.
In times past Arawn had gone this way and found it stark but with a sense of strength and beauty. Today he was chilled by the wind and haunted by the ghostly voices calling in the breeze. Beside him the hound was all astir, its ears were raised and it darted looks up at the rising edges of the cliffs. There should have been sentries to greet them and wave them on, shouts to call back man to man to say that rangers approached. Draupnir would broach a keg of ale and have frothing mugs set out in the guardhouse by the gate, waiting for their arrival.
The road seemed longer than Arawn could remember, but he had never had to half-limp down before with stick in hand to help him walk. He had not planned it but the sun rose high as he sank lower between the rocky walls. The final turn was past and the way lead gently down, lit brightly by the noonday sun. Soon darkness would fall even while the sun settled in the east, the high straight valley walls cut the daylight short and made twilight last for hours before the dark of night.
A gate should block the way, he thought, but looking down the road he saw no sign but tumbled stones knocked loose and thrown about the yard. Most of Draupnir's mine was within the caverns at the mountain’s base, but he had a large open circle of land cleared before their mouth. The trail had run to a stone gate with a huge stout wooden door, big enough for wagons to pass in and out. Inside, a guardhouse was set and pathways went up through the cliff and followed trails to the sentry posts which lined both sides of the valley road.
Draupnir's miners were a tough mix, human, gnome and mountain dwarf. They took it in shifts to guard the mine and each was skilled with bow or spear or stone thrown from a sling. Bandits often tried the mine, or had until word went out that it was too tough a nut to crack. But they still tried, the wagons with the ore always went out with heavy guard and Draupnir kept no schedule that bandits could learn, he'd hold up a shipment till his nose felt it was the time to go. The old dwarf always said it itched when someone thought of taking what was his.
Arawn hoped that Draupnir's nose had proven true, maybe he smelled the giants coming.
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Country: | Posts: 612
jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Feb 26 2005 : 4:13:44 PM
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Part XXV
Beyond the guardhouse and the gate Draupnir had built a tavern and had it set against the western cliff. It was a long trek back to the town below and many lived here with their families year in and year out. The mine had become a village of its own. Next to the tavern were the stable yards and a smithy, though the mines held forges and workshops that could swallow the small building whole and have room for a dozen more. This smith worked on shoeing and wagon wheels and mending pots and frying pans, he had come from the workrooms of the mine but chose the open air instead.
The eastern wall held the general store surrounded by the gardens and a pond. No flowers grew here but herbs and greens to add some fresh food to the fare trucked in on back of horse or in a wagon’s bed, always days old when brought from town.
To the north was the great entranceway, the wagons would roll right inside and the ore be loaded from cart to bed. Off to either side were wide stairs that lead up to dwellings carved into the mountain face. The humans could not do without the sight of sun and sky and the feel of air blowing free and not pumped in. Rows of windows looked out from the mountain side and, above the entrance looking down on upon the yard, was a great chapel of several gods. Pelor, who the humans worshiped, and Cuthbert as well, Garl of the gnomes, and Moradin of the dwarves, each held one corner and a separate hall, but all shared the central room.
Deep within the mountain’s heart the dwarves had a sacred temple honoring Dumathoin know only to themselves, and the gnomes had a shrine as well, to Flandal who's skin is steel, but set it at the great hub where all the shafts met and opened it to any who would ask for skill or luck or strength of hand.
**
The gate was thrown down, the wood splintered, the stones broken and the battlements fallen into the yard. Jagged edged rock lined the entrance, all that remained of the wall. Inside the destruction was absolute, nothing had been untouched and very little remained standing. All the wooden buildings had been burnt, the miners built with stone but huts and sheds had been scattered about, now all that was left of them was ash.
The inn had its lower walls made of stone, but the two upper stories, it had been built higher over time, were made of wood, likewise the roof, though the beams had been covered with slate. Fire had eaten away the top floors and the heat had cracked the stones. The lower walls had caved in, and the stones that were left showed black with soot. The stable and smithy were just loose fire-stained rocks lying amid a burned area across the ground.
Inside the entrance way, the guardhouse door had been smashed to flinders, its interior was dark. Arawn did not go in to see what damage had been done, he could imagine well enough.
To his right the gardens had been all churned up, the pond was layered with a scum of ash and mud. The large storehouse was like the inn, broken walls around a pyre.
Arawn limped across the yard to the great central cavern. Huge wooden doors were beaten in, cracks rising from a shattered center where the crossbeam had been snapped in two, both were slammed against the cavern’s walls. No lights shown from within. The noonday sun did not illuminate much, just the first few feet, then a brief dimness and then the dark.
"Well Dog," Arawn said, "we will need some light in there, or at least I will." He took a splintered fragment from the cracked doors, long as his arm and sharp as a needle at one end its edge curved like a blade. From his belt he pulled out a rag, a fragment of old shirt he used to clean his sword, it was dark with oil. He took a length of bandage and wrapped it first around the wood then secured the rag. A few sparks of flint and steel lit the tinder from the box and then the rag began to blaze.
"This won't last long." Arawn spoke aloud looking at the burning torch. He stepped inside the cavern with the dog still at his side.
In times past he had only been down this way once before. The huge space had been abuzz with activity, miners loading ore from carts into waiting wagons, people coming and going through the halls, clerks standing by recording what came and went, packages being unloaded and brought to the storerooms in the caverns beyond, but there was nothing but silence now.
There must have been a dozen doors around the cavern walls, from stout ones with bands of iron to light partitions made of slight panels. All had been smashed down. There had been a long set of stairs and a balcony that circled the cavern walls twenty or so feet above the ground, but it lay pulled down to the floor and empty squares showed where the doorways had been set above and now just opened up onto empty air.
Carts lay overturned and ore piled up on the ground to Arawn's right. A wagon had been flung against the wall above them and lay atop the iron tracks which the carts followed down into the mines. Chains and ropes had stretched down the sloping shaft where the carts were lifted from the depths, but these were broken, severed lengths were coiled like serpents along the track. The giant wheels which drew the chains were pulled from their housing and rested askew within their wood and metal frames.
Directly ahead the storeroom doors, three large pairs that lead off to different rooms, were open, knocked down or hung loosely from their hinges. On his left there were two more doorways, one lead to the rooms for clerks and offices where the records were kept, where traders, merchants and visitors would wait to be called before Draupnir or his scribes or clerks. The other was a huge meeting room, a small tavern in itself, with tables, chairs, a bar and kitchen off to one side. Here the workmen from the stores, teamsters, clerks and most others working within the great cavern would sup and dine, talk and sing, gamble and carouse.
There was a greater hall below, within the mine, where Draupnir would gather all his folk. The throne room it was called, though Draupnir never played the king or lorded over those who worked for him.
The cavern had been lit by great enchanted crystals, hung far above, that always shone with light. Arawn's torch would not illuminate their fate but all was darkness up above, the crystals were destroyed or gone. The torch sputtered, fragments of the cloth fell off, Arawn turned to the clerks’ rooms, somewhere inside there must be a candle or a lantern left intact, he hoped.
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jasonzavoda
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Posted - Mar 04 2005 : 5:07:48 PM
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Part XXVI
Broken glass was scattered all across the floor. It crunched beneath Arawn's feet while the hound padded next to him with care. The hall of clerks was long, but a doorway opened immediately against the left hand wall.
Suddenly the hound began to growl, the sound began at the back of its throat and rose into a bark, then jumped into the room.
"Wait!" Arawn yelled and stumbled after.
The room had been a waiting hall where merchants cooled their heels before Draupnir or his clerks would see them. Tables, chairs and a long bench had been thrown about.
The dog growled and wrestled with some dark shape beneath a table, it rocked and teetered as the struggling shapes fought and slammed against the legs. The table fell over with a bang against the floor. There was a screech, the dog had a goblin by the throat, it beat at the hound with small fists. Then the jaws snapped shut with a grinding crunch, the fists fell lifelessly away, the hound gave the body a final shake then dragged the body over and laid it before Arawn's feet.
"Good dog." Arawn rubbed the hound’s head, its tail beat against the floor.
The torch was sputtering, the cloth had almost burned through. Arawn had laced it tight with wire, but still bits of cloth dropped away. Over against the wall a small old fireplace was set and dark ashes filled its grate. Arawn put the torch beside it then cut the wicker seat from a broken chair. He lit it with the torch then broke some more of the chair and added the splintered wood. In a moment he had a small blaze going strong. The table legs he snapped off and laid across the grate, the old dry wood caught fire right away.
A dim orange glow cast pale shadows against the walls but did little to light the room. Arawn used a burning table leg as a poor-man’s torch, he set his staff aside and drew his sword. One goblin meant a dozen more somewhere near, the fire might bring them though the growls had not. He had to hobble, stiff-legged on his injured feet and knelt before the goblin’s corpse.
The skinny body was all bone and stringy muscle, its throat was gone but old scars crisscrossed its arms and face. The goblin wore a ragged pair of shorts and sandals made from thick scraps of hide. It had a wide belt and a scabbard for a knife, but nothing else.
Next to the fire the dog had curled up and gone to sleep. The hound at least was unworried by the goblin’s presence, but Arawn could not say the same. He gave a look out the door and down the hall. There were two doorways near the far end, just dark spaces along the wall, and out in the cavern nothing could be seen. The dark swallowed everything beyond the reach of the noonday light shinning in from the broken doors.
Arawn searched the room, it was mostly bare, but behind the bench he found a small dirty sack, a roll of stained and smelly cloth and a steel bucket overturned and shoved into the corner of the room. He used his sword to tip the bucket over and had to throw his arm before his eyes. Underneath a bright blinding light shot out. A light-stone enchanted by some mage to blaze away and never stop. Draupnir had such throughout the dark caverns of his mine, trading gold and gems for a wizard’s skill.
He dropped the torch, its smoking glow unequal to the enchanted stone. Arawn reached out blindly, one arm still covering his eyes and groped for the blazing rock. It felt rough beneath his hand and was not hot, but cool as any normal stone would be.
The room looked worse revealed by the bright light that Arawn held in his hand. The walls had been paneled in wood, the goblins or those who had been here before them, had gone to great lengths to mar it all. They had smashed holes, scraped crude letters in the wood, or sheared away pieces with axe or claw or sword.
All the chairs had been broken to some degree, the one table that had been left whole, Arawn had used for fire wood. A shame since so much kindling lay about.
It did not appear that any fight had taken place within the room. The defenders must have abandoned it before the gates had been breached. No wonder with only a single way in or out. The goblins blood, a dark greenish stain, was splashed across the floor and walls, but no other signs of struggle or wounds that bled, could Arawn find.
Sitting down upon the edge of the broken table Arawn fashioned a holder for the magic stone. He dropped it in a leather purse to keep the bright light from blinding him while he worked, it took him a few seconds to become accustomed to the dim glow of the fireplace once again. Then he broke off another table leg and carved out its splintered end. He made a shallow cup within the wood and tied the bright stone with the wire from his torch, he had to dig it from the fireplace and let the metal cool.
"Dog." Arawn said. "Coming with me?"
He stood on painful feet, but he was becoming used to how they hurt, he knew that to step in such a way with his right foot would cause a shooting pain, or if he put the weight too long on his left, then a dull ache would begin that shot up through his bones. Arawn walked with sword in hand and shuffled by with an awkward gait. The dog gave a wide yawn ending with a small yip, then followed after, his claws clicking on the floor.
The hall outside showed more of the same scrawling, though these walls were made of stone. There must have been a dozen knifepoints dulled to make the marks that went from floor, up the walls and even across the ceiling of the hall. At the corridors end two doorways were set almost side by side. The one was on Arawn's right, the other at the dead-end of the hall. He glanced into both doors first before stepping further into either of the rooms.
The right hand door showed a large room with more ruined chairs and tables. Huge racks for scrolls and books were tumbled down, a large desk had been left smashed nearby the door, a lidless trunk as well. Over this all were torn scrolls and parchment sheets, large books, ledgers for the clerks most likely, and broken glass. Arawn gave a tuneless whistle at the sight. These monsters had practiced surprising self-control he thought. Outside all was burned, and ash was what remained, but here, a single candle flame could have set the room ablaze and yet it was left unburnt.
He took a step inside and picked up a sheet or two, but they just contained lists of numbers and storeroom sheets showing what had gone and what had been replaced.
The last room had been an office, Draupnir's head clerk if Arawn remembered right. It to had been wrecked and looted, but only sparse bits of furniture and a few shelves had adorned it so now only a small layer of debris was scattered across the floor. But the back wall drew Arawn's eye at his first glance into the room. Wood panel had been set around the stone walls, a darker wood than the waiting room had held, but while marred throughout a large section of the panel had been pulled down as well. Against the far wall a hidden door had been set, discovered when the panel concealing it had been split by a sword or axe. Now this door, a stout iron-strapped oaken affair, was half-open, its lock and handle gone, a splintered fragment hanging from the surrounding frame.
"Is the entire mine like this?" he asked the dog. The hound wagged its tail but did not know the answer.
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Mar 06 2005 : 4:40:50 PM
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Part XXVII
The bright light showed up a dark stain across the threshold of the secret door. Something or someone had bled out their life upon the floor between the rooms. Arawn bent down and looked closely at the blood and fragments of the door. Whenever it had occurred the door had been knocked down first, he turned a long blood-stained splinter over, the top was painted with a black smear, underneath the floor was untouched.
Arawn licked his finger and ran it across the dried blood, it showed as a dark greenish red, orc or some type of goblinkind, he wiped it clean against the cuff of his pants. He stood and shinned the light into the hidden room.
It proved to be just a corridor, a tight fit as he stepped within, the ceiling brushed his head, but it was wide enough. Dwarf make, he thought. They never seemed to realize that men liked a little breathing space between their hair and the stone roof. The passage went at least twenty feet then turned abruptly to the right, at the bend the wall had been gouged out, a chunk of plaster made to look like stone lay smashed to pieces on the floor. The cavity revealed held the broken remains of a huge crossbow, perhaps triggered by the opening of the secret door.
"Draupnir's left some traps behind." Arawn said aloud, half talking to the dog but really to himself. "I will have to keep an eye out for more."
The right hand turn went on and on then at the edge of Arawn's advancing light he saw a body on the ground, the old dog saw it too and growled. The hound ran ahead and Arawn came limping after as fast as he could manage. The light bobbed up and down and with each step it seemed as though another body could be seen.
The hallway was filled with orcs, dead several days at least, their corpses beginning to rot in the open air. Arawn counted the dead as he went along, sixteen lay slain and a blood trail, old and dry, lead further on.
He found no other dead, no men or dwarves or gnomes. The orc's bodies had been searched and some showed wounds from crossbow bolts, though the bolts themselves were mostly gone. He found one short wooden shaft that had shattered when it struck a helm, its head made of steel, piercing the crude iron that the orc had worn.
Their weapons lay where they had fallen or still tightly clutched in a death frozen grasp, swords and axes, he counted only three that had dried blood along their cutting edge. These orcs had not died without a fight, but they had died, Arawn was glad to see. Their kind had not taken the bodies or looted the dead. It seemed unlikely that any others had passed this way.
Arawn stepped back down the hall, he put himself in place of the orc patrol. They had come walking down, then been attacked. The last orcs in the line lay face down. He checked their wounds, each had two bolts in the back, ambushed as Daghdha had taught. A flash of hope ran through Arawn's heart. Daghdha, perhaps his friends had made it to the mine.
"Where did those archers come from." Arawn wondered. The thought of hidden doors and passages leapt into the ranger’s mind. He searched each wall behind the dead then along the corridor where the corpses lay, but he could find no hidden latch or lines along the stone where a door might hide.
"Draupnir's stoneworkers have hidden their secrets well." Arawn murmured. He gave a kick at a lifeless corpse and was rewarded with a sharp pain through his wounded foot. The dog gave an excited woof at the ranger’s antics and ran around his legs. "Calm down there old fella." Arawn sat on the floor and rubbed at his feet through his boots, the dog licked at his ears till he pushed it away.
The corridor lead further on, it was either follow it to its end or turn back. Whatever secrets the walls held, they kept. "I wish one of you had carried a spear." Arawn told the bodies of the orcs. "I could use my walking staff."
Dog and man set off, Arawn kept his drawn sword in his hand and bent to check the trail of blood. The large drops became a pool, dry and smeared across the floor. A long wide dark line showed where a body had been dragged away.
Their footsteps clopped and clicked on the stones and echoed from the walls. The light crept down the hall, a globe of light, a dim grey at its edges. The corridor came to an abrupt end, the light showed walls, but only a dark space where the stone floor should have lain.
The room was a wide square, about twenty feet on each side, but it emptied into a black pit whose depths Arawn's light could not illuminate. The pit’s walls were rough unhewn rock, a natural crevice that sank deep down into the mountain’s core. Two hinged boards had formed the floor, now each hung from the walls, split open and flat against the crevice’s sides. Directly across a door was set, but closed, and below it, about a dozen feet, a dark opening in the rock face. Arawn's light showed a few feet within but revealed nothing else.
Arawn sighed, no way forward, he thought. He turned to go, but then the dog began to bark. A crossbow bolt whizzed by his head and sparked off the wall. Arawn dropped flat. He looked over the edge of the pit and saw a dwarf standing in the opening in the crevice wall. The dwarf was busy reloading a crossbow made of metal when an arm pulled him back beyond Arawn's sight.
"Hey!" called Arawn. "Hey! Don't shoot!"
The old dog growled, footsteps were coming from behind and across the pit, the doorway opened, a man and dwarf both armed with bows, looked out.
"I'm a ranger of Geoff!" Arawn called again. "Don't shoot!"
"Quiet down then." a voice hissed. "Don't turn around, stay where you are."
Arawn held onto the dog with both hands, he didn't want the brave old hound to charge the dwarves and end up being shot.
"Leave that sword on the floor," the voice said, "and that lightstone torch as well. Now turn around, real slow."
Arawn did as his was told, the dog struggled in his arms and barked.
"You're no orc at least." said the voice. Arawn saw two burly dwarves in mail. Each bore crossbows that looked to be made of steel. The dwarf that spoke was greyhaired and bearded, craggy faced, with a large red-veined nose.
"I'm Arawn, a ranger of Geoff." Arawn said again.
"So you say, Fjalar go bind his hands." the old dwarf said. " Don't cross my sights you fool." he pushed the younger dwarf aside so that his crossbow always kept the ranger under guard.
"I'm on your side!" Arawn complained.
The dog gave a growl at the young dwarf but Arawn bade him to hush.
"So you say again." the old dwarf shrugged his shoulders. "I will let Draupnir decide."
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Mar 08 2005 : 6:13:26 PM
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Part XXVIII
"Blindfold him." the old dwarf said.
"Yes Duneyr." the young dwarf bent and tied a rag around Arawn's eyes. He had to help the ranger to his feet. The hound kept close to Arawn's legs as he was led hobbling away.
"Don't leave my sword behind." Arawn called out.
"It's not going anywhere, don't you worry." answered Duneyr.
"I'm worried about it being taken, not walking off." Arawn said. He stumbled and nearly fell.
"You should worry about just walking." Fjalar, the young dwarf, said.
"Fjalar, keep him from stumbling." barked Duneyr.
"I'm trying but he's tripping over his own feet." Fjalar complained. "I thought he said he was a ranger."
"My feet are injured." Arawn snapped.
"You will have more than your feet to worry about if you don't get moving." Fjalar gave Arawn a shove forward that knocked him to his knees.
"Fjalar, none of that." Duneyr growled.
"Sorry, I just get sick of..." Fjalar began, but his words were drowned out by the gonging of a bell.
"What's going on?" Arawn called out, he felt a blow strike him between his shoulder blades and he fell face forward, his hand tied behind his back. He rolled so that his shoulder struck first and ended up on his back. Down the hall he heard the thud of feet as his captors ran off and left him lying on the floor.
In the distance he could hear the ring of steel and cries of pain, shouts and a laughing cackle that brought gnolls to mind. Something cold and wet ran across his face and then a slobbering tongue.
"Bleh!" Arawn turned his head aside to avoid the hound’s affection. "I'm not lying here like a birthday gift for some gnoll. " he said, then pulled his legs up and brought his hands down, bent double, he drew his bound hands over his feet. Arawn tore the blindfold away, and looked around. They had not gone far from the edge of the pit. The dwarves had left his lightstone torch lying near the corridor’s end and next to it his sword.
They'd bound his hands with a thick twine, too tight for him to wriggle free, but left his keen edged sword for him to use. Arawn had to cut deep enough to break the twine and drew some blood with shallow gashes across his skin. He'd take repayment from that young dwarf’s hide, he thought to himself, then took off down the hall at an awkward gate.
The sound of fighting grew louder, another ambush was in progress as Arawn arrived upon the scene. The two dwarves who had captured him were busy firing into the bodies of some gnolls. Arawn saw the older dwarf strike a hairy chest with the bolt from his crossbow, the younger one missed and the shaft smashed apart against the stone ceiling of the hall.
The light from Arawn's torch turned both their heads, the dwarves looked at him with surprise, but the older one, Duneyr, threw down his bow and drew a broad bladed sword from a sheath at his side.
Arawn came rushing on, heedless of his injured feet and shouted out at the two dwarves. "Get Down!" he yelled.
The younger dwarf leaned back and pulled at the cord of his bow, he put a broad foot in a stirrup at its tip and whirred two small cranks on either side. The older dwarf turned back down the hall and saw the hobgoblin which charged, a spiked mace raised to strike. Arawn lunged, his blade punched its chest and skidded across links of mail. The old dwarf struck low and drove up below the rings and deep into its gut. With a gasp the hobgoblin fell back, blood poured down and the foul scent of spilt bowels was in the air
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jasonzavoda
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Posted - Mar 14 2005 : 4:42:20 PM
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Part XXIX
Fjalar heard the click as the bowstring of his crossbow locked into place. He quickly placed the bolt into the groove and turned it on Arawn. The old dwarf, Duneyr swung his sword and knocked the crossbow down, the bolt flashed out and struck the floor near the ranger’s feet.
Arawn raised his own sword, a sudden pulse of anger surged through him, he held back his arm but in his heart he wanted to strike the young dwarf down. Duneyr placed the tip of his blade against Arawn's waist and pushed him back. He said nothing but gave the ranger a warning look.
The fight ended before they could bring blade or bolt into the fray. No other orcs or gnolls had made it through, all lay dead, the freshly slain atop those who had died some days before.
Duneyr and Fjalar turned back to face the ranger. "Put the sword down." The old dwarf said.
"You'll have to pry it from my fingers." Arawn answered him.
Fjalar dropped his crossbow and scrabbled for his sword.
"Pick up your bow." said Duneyr.
"But.." Fjalar protested.
"You want to argue me." Duneyr asked, but in a tone that brooked no reply.
"No Duneyr." the young dwarf quietly said.
"Go join the others," said Duneyr, "and send your brother Galar back."
Fjalar ran off and joined the group of men and dwarves who searched the dead.
"So you're not giving up your sword." said Duneyr.
"Not again." said Arawn. "I don't care for the company you keep."
"You mean the gnolls or the boy there." the old dwarf asked.
"I mean both." said Arawn. "Either lead me to Draupnir or let me go on my way."
"There is a third choice..." Duneyr let his sword point sway back and forth.
"Neither of us would like that choice." said Arawn.
"It's simpler than you think." said Duneyr. "There is a crossbow pointed at your back."
"I'll take you at your word." said Arawn not looking around to see. "Take me at mine. I am not giving up my sword."
Duneyr stood for a moment and considered what to do, he looked at the ragged man before him who would not put down his sword. "You're brave enough." he said. "And a fool, you are a ranger no doubt, but these are perilous times. Come then and bring your sword, you will have a crossbow at your back. If you've lied there will be no way out, except the pit."
"Hah!" Arawn gave a snort. "That pit would have been my fate with
or without my sword, if I lied, but I do not."
They did not go back through the crowded hall where gnolls and orcs were stripped of valuables and their better weapons. The rest of the loot they'd carried was left behind.
"You think that trap will work another time?" Arawn asked.
"It's worked more times already than you would believe." said Duneyr. "They'll set the scene, maybe leave the body of a gnoll or two behind, but the rest go down the pit."
They came to the end of the hall where the floorless chamber lay, but now a door opened beside it, a section of stone wall drawn back. A man stood there, he held a steel crossbow, the same kind that the dwarves had used. He reached for Arawn's arm as the ranger went past.
"What news have you? What is going on out there?" The man said in a panicked voice.
"Diderot," Duneyr gently said and moved the man away, "Diderot, he will tell his tale to Draupnir first. Come with us but leave off your questions till then."
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Apr 06 2005 : 5:49:55 PM
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Part XXX
The miners had honeycombed the mountain with passages and tunnels. Draupnir had them hide the entrances and place traps and spy holes all along their length. The old mountain dwarf had come from wilder lands than these, he knew well that his peoples fate and safety were in their own hands, any help that might come from the lands below would never arrive in time whether the attackers were bandits come in force or monsters such as the giants and their minions.
Arawn was tall but he did not have to duck his head, both dwarven and human hands had carved out the rock and built a safehaven within the fastness of the mountain’s heart. The passage went for only a short length then opened into a wide room, the arching roof was rough, a natural cavern that the miners had incorporated into their tunnel works.
"Follow my lead." said Duneyr. "Do not stray or it will not be by any living hand that you end your life."
The floor looked plain, one block of stone just like another, but Duneyr steered a swerving course, zig-zagging across. The huge chamber ended in a wall of stone, arrow slits were set at intervals throughout, but they showed no light, shuttered closed from within. The ceiling had netting filled with stones hanging above the wall and near the top funnels projected, ready to pour burning oil or red hot sand down upon those standing below.
There was no door, none at least that Arawn could see. He banged the pommel of his sword on the wall, three loud strikes then two more. The sound of a creaking wheel could be heard and section of netting lowered down. Atop the loose rock there was a platform held tight, tied to the net with knotted cord. Duneyr, Garast and Arawn climbed in, the old hound had followed silently, but it whined and did not want to step upon the net. Duneyr gave the wall another rap and then once more the wheel started its creaking and they rose into the air. The hound gave a bark then leapt aboard.
There must have been at least thirty feet that separated the platform from the ground, the ceiling was still out of reach above their heads but Arawn could see shafts where ropes and chains ran in and out, cut into the rock. The platform stopped and a section of wall slid away, a wooden board dropped down and formed a bridge. Duneyr untied a section of the net and stepped onto the board, Arawn followed, and Garast kept the crossbow pointed at the ranger’s back. The dog walked on shaking feet and once safely upon solid stone turned and barked at the platform still ascending to the roof.
"Don't trip." Arawn said over his shoulder. "I wouldn't want that going off by mistake."
"I've a steady hand, don't you worry." the gruff voice replied.
Beyond the wall lay a smaller chamber, the same rough natural ceiling up above but split into three shorter levels instead of one vast hall. A spiral stair was at the center of the room, Arawn noted the sheet of metal that could be slid across the opening to cut off the lower floor from this, and up above the spiral rose into the roof, another plate was set up there as well.
"You've quite a fortress here." said Arawn. "When did you have the time to dig for silver?"
"What good is silver if you do not have the strength to keep it." Duneyr replied.
The room had only a handful of guards, two dwarves, a human and a gnome. One kept watch, through a disguised arrow slit, on the cavern outside, another stood by the stairs, ready to seal the passage if need be. On either side stout wooden doors were set and further back the chamber was filled with wooden crates, and racks of arms. The two dwarves stood by a winch that must have raised the platform, they held crossbows but pointed at the ceiling, much to Arawn's relief.
"Duneyr, who's this?" one of the two dwarves asked.
"Our prisoner." said Duneyr. "Creidhne, I am surprised to see you here."
"There is bad fighting down below. We have had to collapse shaft three, but our firetraps killed those trolls which gave us so much trouble the day before." the dwarf Creidhne explained.
"But what brings you up here?" Duneyr asked again.
"Ohhh! Well Draupnir wanted me to check the master key in case we need to set it loose." Creidhne had kept an eye on the ranger as he spoke. "Duneyr, this one looks familiar, was he aiding the giants?"
"We found him wandering in the passage back of Govanon's office with this dog." said Duneyr.
"That's Setanta's dog!" Creidhne exclaimed. Duneyr looked surprised. "The old fisherman, you know him."
"Why yes," said Duneyr, "He never brought his dog into the mine but left him out to play near the pond."
"Where did you find this dog?" both Duneyr and Creidhne asked as
one.
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jasonzavoda
Moderator
Posted - Apr 11 2005 : 5:58:16 PM
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Part XXXI
"I found him in an old hunting lodge along the Olvewater." Arawn told the dwarves. He bent down and rubbed the dog’s head, it wagged its tail and woofed at the dwarves who surrounded them with weapons drawn.
"I know the place." said Creidhne.
"Did you see any sign of Setanta?" Duneyr asked.
Arawn hesitated before he spoke, "I believe so." he sa
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