Hero Gathering XXXIII - 'Rogue Spirit'

By Iphicles, ghost written by Mike Lay.

M'Dara in a happier moment...

M'Dara stared aghast at the pile of bodies. She had known there was a risk, but this was worse than she had ever imagined. Curling into a ball, she cried "He said it was too soon, and now I’ve lost two of them." Sobs wracked her body, and then she gently faded from existence, unaware that one of the bodies was stirring.

Shunt shook his head, groggy from the third, or was it fourth, bottle of wine. The bed was unusually hard, and he rolled over, opened his eyes and drooled. In front of him was the most gorgeous blond he had ever seen... in possibly the skimpiest outfit he had ever seen. Sadly, before he could say anything, the blond vanished into thin air, muttering something about "the lost." Looking round, Shunt could see a selection of bodies, most starting to stir. They were laid upon a hard rocky surface, made of brown rocks and boulders, surrounded by waving green fern like fronds. Nearby stood the trunk of a monstrous tree, fully one hundred feet in diameter.

"I can smell something as well," murmured Shunt shaking the cobwebs out of his head. "Grob! I’d recognise that smell anywhere. But where is he?" Grob, the half dark kin thief was nowhere to be seen.

Shunt recognised some of the bodies, either by sight or reputation. Taking to the air were Menahem, A’stall priest, Linstram the elf mage and Violet, priestess of nature. As they flew off, Shunt could hear Menahem explaining to Violet that he had been invited to a beach party, and his garb, whilst not the regular clothing for his order, seemed appropriate for the locale. The noise from his Hawaiian shirt diminished as the man rose into the air. Boltan, V’garnian warlord, lurched to his feet, whilst next to him was Dark One, necromancer of ill repute. Maiyart, resplendent in his samurai armour back flipped to his feet and helped the somewhat less supple dwarven priest Ultra Mort upright. Behind him, Jadow the technomage unlimbered some strange toy from his armour and fired a grappling hook high up a nearby tree trunk. Watching him was Iphicles, blinking at the unaccustomed light.

"I know him from somewhere..." thought Shunt as he turned his attention to the airborne magic users, who had been joined by Dark One.

Violet frowned slightly and pronounced that there was a large life form almost directly above. Up they flew and soon spotted a large wooden construction balanced on a large branch. The priestess settled on the branch and looked around. "Oh..."

"... Bugger!" finished Jadow who had realised the same thing. Once above the frond-like greenery, he had been able to see across the waving fronds and had realised that he was not in a giant forest - he was a midget in a standard forest. The large fern like fronds were grass, and Violet was sitting next to a bird’s nest. By comparison, she was about a fingernail tall. Which meant that the bird in the bird’s nest must be a good thirty feet long...

"Food" thought the thrush as it spotted the brightly coloured Menahem peering into the nest. Then it remembered the wasp it had tried, and turned its attention to the gnat like shape of Dark One who had just finished casting a spell. "Mate" thought the thrush, and fluffed up its tail feathers. It seemed that having a brain the size of a boulder had not improved the thrush’s sense of self preservation, but Dark One seemed momentarily lost for words. Violet concentrated briefly and then chirruped something at the thrush, who answered in the same language. The thrush was very concerned that its new mate was not taking it up on its very generous offer. Violet explained that Dark One was feeling a little below par, and managed to turn the conversation, such as it was, on to the local geography. After some discussion, they set off across the orchard towards where the thrush said that big things like Dark One threw stones at it. Linstram lagged slightly behind, annoyed that, just for once, he had not been the first hero to pull a bird...

On the ground, things were not going quite so well. Through the grass pushed a horse sized ant, mandibles flexing. It was followed by a number of its comrades. As they advanced on Dar and Boltan, the two great heroes took offence and Dar promptly lashed out at one, sparks crackling along the metal mace he carried. Boltan, sensing the chance to cause death and destruction, drew his pain sword, and then his beserker sword. As he charged, the ants could see that he was starting to froth at the mouth, and his attack was devastating. From off to one side, Iphicles, impressed by this martial display, drew back his bowstring and opened fire on the hapless ants.

From behind came a sudden commotion as Ultra Mort raced into view, followed by Maiyart. "Ants!" cried Ultra Mort as he swung to face his pursuers. Jadow, from his vantage point, could see that the two dwarves were being followed by another trail of ants. Sighting carefully, the technomage levelled his fireball staff, ready to annihilate the enemy. As he fired, a gust of wind ruffled the tree and the mage lost his balance, the fireball rocketing up and off across the orchard...

... To impact neatly in the tail of the thrush. With an annoyed chirp, the thrush spiralled towards the ground, smoke trailing from its rear. Close to the ground its flight path levelled off and the bird headed uncertainly towards the bright thing it could see hanging off a nearby tree. Jadow, seeing what was coming, quickly rappelled off the tree, and fell the final twenty feet as a neat peck took out his grapple. The thrush, not impressed by this morsel, started to search through the grass looking for the shiny thing.

On the ground, Boltan and Dar had destroyed their column of ants, and had turned to help out Maiyart and Ultra Mort who were having a poor time of it. Linstram pulled out another, rather neglected looking, spell, whilst Dark One flew off in the direction the first and column had come from. Linstram finished his chant and the thrush paused, confused, and then started pecking at the ants.

"What did you do?" asked Iphicles, not wanting to fire into the melee.

"Blame shift" explained the elf mage. "Never used it before."

From the horizon came a dull "crump" as Dark One unloaded a mighty spell into the mouth of the ants nest, collapsing it, but not before over a dozen warrior ants had escaped, and started to head towards the melee. Meanwhile, the remainder of the worker ants had been dispatched, providing the thrush with a small snack in the process. A rustling in the undergrowth announced the arrival of the warrior ants, and the heroes readied their weapons - only to see Dark One riding the lead ant, with the others trailing behind.

"Can you smell something?" asked Shunt.

"Pheromones" explained Dark One, waving his arms up and down. The ants came to a standstill.

The thrush flew down the valley; still not quite sure of the logic that had led it to agree to carry its boyfriend and his pals down to the two legs' place. The annoying chatter continued as Iphicles asked Dar about "this T’sardan chappie". The longhaired warrior explained that normally it was the golden servant of L’denon who summoned the heroes to these gatherings, rather than some blond girl. The thrush settled on a tree branch overlooking the village and contemplated the wisdom of blind dates. Dark One pulled out a scroll and cast a swift spell. A green globe darted off towards the village and impacted on one of the house.

"It didn’t go bang!" complained Iphicles.

"Wasn’t supposed to," replied the dark mage. "It’s a locate person spell. I cast it on Grob, and it looks like he’s in that building somewhere."

Jeremiah the tabby cat was idling in the afternoon sun. "Perhaps I should go and do something energetic" he thought. "I could roll over. I could even roll over and stretch luxuriously." Movement caught his eye. A thrush, with some particularly large tics had fluttered into a landing on an overhead branch. "To chase or not to chase," mused Jeremiah. "That is the question. Whether tis nobler to stay put or to stalk a worthy prey..." The cat glanced up at the thrush and decided that the stupid bird failed to qualify as "worthy prey" and was just closing his eyes when more movement caught his eye. Some of the tics had managed to get onto the windowsill and were making their way towards a crack in the wattle and daub wall. This looked more like fun and Jeremiah rolled onto all fours, tail twitching from side to side. As the strange tics buzzed around the crack, the cat sprang, and just missed.

"Bloody hell!" wailed Iphicles as he ducked into the crack. "Cat. Huge!" A paw whacked against the wall as Jeremiah tried to get at his prey, and the party scuttled off through the crack into a vault like kitchen.

"Can you hear what they’re saying?" hissed Maiyart from his hiding place behind the mug. "Not really," buzzed the fly, sounding rather like Menahem. "I’ll have to get a little closszer." The party had barely survived an encounter with two rats in the kitchen, and the voluminous cook had almost swatted the brightly coloured Menahem out of existence. He had barely escaped by transforming himself into a rather dowdier housefly, and didn’t seem quite sure whether to turn himself back. The rest of the party had found themselves in the bar of the enormous tavern and were watching a number of giants drinking and chatting merrily. A second locate person spell had headed into a pouch carried by one of the giants. Dar and Iphicles were contemplating what would happen if a two hundred foot high beer cask were to rupture, but, meanwhile, Dark One had cast some protective spells on himself and flown nearer the giants where he could overhear the conversation.

"Did you hear what happened in the market place?"

"No. What?"

"They caught the skinner, had a fair trial and then a decent hangin’. The prince was there an’ all. But they cut him down and the bugger just got up and run away!"

"Who, the prince?"

"No, you moron. The skinner. Handsome guy with fair hair. They ‘ung him and he ran off."

"Ahh. It b’aint natural. They says he skinned a dozen people."

"I ‘eard it were nearer twelve. But it’s a good thing the prince has all the young uns up at the castle for protection and the like."

"’e’s a good man, the prince..."

"But what about these new taxes. My wife says her sister says that the guards are goin’ to get a cut. And that new priest of his, he gives me the creeps."

"Now, what have you got that was so damned important?"

"I’m not goin’ to tell ya - you called me a moron!"

"If you don’t stop pratting about I’ll tell your missus about what you and Sally got up to last midsummer."

"Oh. Well, I was working in the orchard when I found these... pixies you might call ‘em. I caught ‘em while they wus sleeping. I call one Charlie and the other Charlotte." The giant fumbled at the drawstring of his purse and pulled out a box, which he started to open. Dark One sensed his moment was at hand and darted through the open crack, dived into the cavernous box, grabbed the two figures he saw in there and "blinked" back to where the others were waiting.

"Ta da!" said the giant proudly. "What?"

"It’s empty..." said one of the other giants with just a hint of menace...

Dark One’s new friends turned out to be Grob and Angua, both Dwarves. They had no idea how they had come to be in the box, nor did they have any idea what was going on. "NO CHANGE THERE" muttered Boltan to himself. Meanwhile Ultra Mort had been conversing with A’stall, the god of knowledge. Unfortunately, the deity was not in a communicative mood, and his answers were limited to "YES" or "NO". Nevertheless, the priest had managed to discover that something that could make the heroes the right size existed within a day’s travel to the south-east. Having little better to do, the heroes mounted the thrush and flew off. After a long flight, they came over a gentle rise and out of the forest. Before them stood a giant castle, situated on two small hillocks. The gatehouse on one was connected via a bridge to the other, rather more important looking, part of the castle. Flags flew from the ramparts and the heroes could see armed guards patrolling. Not that they would find the heroes very intimidating, given their current size. At Violet’s request, the thrush flew higher, and over the ramparts towards the upper levels of the keep. "Because that’s where the important people live!"

"What’s she doing?" hissed Maiyart.

"Well, her maid’s just helped her out of her corset and now she’s heading for the bath," replied Linstram from his position on the window ledge. The mage was looking just a little flushed, and didn’t immediately notice what Menahem was doing. The priest was setting up his "lap dog oracle" and had connected a strange tube with some sort of glass orb at the front. Menahem lodged the tube pointing through the window and balanced the oracle on the windowsill where the others could see it.

"I’ve never tried this, but the on line demon says that this" pointing to the tube "can send pictures to this" pointing at the lap dog oracle "which can paint really fast and show the pictures later. Watch..." Menahem prodded at the runes on the top of the lap dog and on its glassy surface formed a picture of a rather pretty young lady stepping into the bath. After about thirty seconds Violet finally gave up trying to distract the other (male) heroes minds back onto the "real problem" and directed the thrush to fly to the next window. The cries of outrage diminished when Menahem announced that the lap dog would continue to record the pictures without his presence. "It's very obedient."

"It’s not what you usually find in a castle’s grain store" commented Ultra Mort as he looked up at the corpse, partially uncovered by Dark One’s small but perfectly formed whirlwind. The heroes were standing in the grain store, part of the "other hill" bit of the castle. Behind him Linstram and Jadow were watching the video playback for the fourth time, while Menahem was summarising what he and Linstram had found in the keep.

"There were a number of bed chambers, and a weapons room. One looked like a priest’s room, with a statue. Looked like some K’norian saint, probably sixth Aesian Dynasty. There were so many you know. My particular favourite was a chap called OOOF!"

"OOOF?" inquired Violet absent mindedly from where she was studying the body, not realising that Boltan had just jabbed Menahem in the ribs to get his attention back to the here and now.

"Oh. Yes. Well, we flew around for a while and got down into the main banqueting hall. There were a bunch of real rich guys chatting about the skinner, and how generous the prince was to have taken all the young and vulnerable under his care. We saw a few guards and came back."

"He was a soldier," remarked Dar. "Callused hands, some scars. Probably a guard. But he’s got a broken neck, which indicates that his assailant caught him by surprise or was very strong. But where are his clothes?"

"Bad guy’s got ‘em" offered Grob. "But why?"

"Because he needs them to get somewhere?" offered Angua.

"Like the keep?"

The Heroes exchanged glances and headed back for the keep. All bar one.

Iphicles hovered over the dying man. The gaudy priest had been kind enough to cast a fly spell on him, and Iphicles had spotted the bed ridden old guy as he followed Linstram and Menahem around the castle. He looked like some sort of retainer, obviously on his last legs and Iphicles thought he might be worth talking to. But who talks to a fingernail size warrior?

Hovering inches over the old guys nose, Iphicles started juggling the small bits of mortar he had acquired, occasionally bouncing a bit off the old guy’s nose. Eventually he stirred and his eyelids flickered and then widened with shock as he spotted the diminutive juggler.

"Don’t worry. I’m just a figment of your imagination. Just a dream."

"You're not my usual dream. Where are the dancing girls?"

"Oh, they’re on a break. The tall blonde one said she had to slip into something more comfortable."

"Oh..."

"So, who are you? I always like to know whose dream I’m in."

"I am Lurgan. I used to be the King’s retainer, then I came here with Prince Egrane."

"Did something strange happen to the prince recently?"

"Well, he did start acting a little strange after he met that new priest when he was hunting. That’d be about three weeks ago, just before the old priest died and I started getting these really nasty sores. Never seen anything like them. They won’t tell me, but I don’t reckon I’ve got much longer to go. Did the blonde say when she’d be back?"

"She’s just over there, changing into a really delicious black number" lied Iphicles, "Did I hear right that the Prince, magnificent man that he is, has taken the young ladies of the area under his protection?"

"Oh, yes. Always thinking of his people. He said that skinner was after them so he’s got them squirreled away in the dungeons. Or maybe in the caverns below the dungeons. There’s really old stuff down there you know. The castle is connected to the dungeons. The dungeons are connected to the caverns. The caverns are connected to the umm errr..." and with that the old man started humming tunelessly and his eyes rolled up in his head. Iphicles suspected that the blonde and her friends had come back on stage, but as he was wondering what to do, there was a golden flash and a monster hand reached down and grabbed him. Darkness enveloped him...

"... and that's when we found T'sardan," explained Dar to the slightly bemused Iphicles. "He couldn't use his powers, so he sneaked into the castle, killed the guard and stole his clothes so he could get into the keep. That's where Grob caught up with him and persuaded him that he was making a real mess of things and that perhaps he should have called in the real heroes. He picked us up, grabbed you and brought us back here."

"Here" turned out to be a grimy, probably unused, underground cavern, apparently part of the L'denon monastery. It seemed that T'sardan needed to think about what to do next, giving the heroes a chance to compare notes.

"And so," explained Menahem, "it seems that this skinner knows something really embarrassing about T’sardan and can turn him back to the old ways, whatever they were..."

"I KNOW WHAT THEY WERE," rumbled Boltan. "T’SARDAN WAS ONCE A SERVANT OF F’NOR. SOME SAY THAT HE WAS F’NOR’S FAVOURITE SON. BUT FOR SOME REASON, HE TURNED FROM THE PATH OF VIOLENCE AND PAIN AND STARTED FOLLOWING THE WAY OF THE BALANCE. WHAT A WUSS.

"THIS SKINNER IS REALLY SOME CHAP CALLED NEBADEMUS, WHO HAS MORE THAN ENOUGH REASON TO HATE T’SARDAN. GOLDEN BOY LED A SERIES OF ADVENTURES THAT ULTIMATELY LED TO HIM GETTING EXPELLED OFF THE DEATH LANDS AND V’GARN PUTTING A REALLY WEIGHTY PRICE ON HIS HEAD - AFTER ALL, NO ONE LIKES A USURPER."

"Anyway," continued Menaham, "it seems that they have the means to turn T’sardan back into a rather nastier demon. So, because he’s embarrassed, he decided to try and handle it alone... He goes to the place where he can feel the power growing and tried to stop it. But he got caught; someone tried to hang him and he used his power to escape. His gopher over there" and Menahem nodded at the wan figure of M'Dara, watching from a corner, "spotted that and tried to do the ‘hero gathering’ bit. Needs more practice in my opinion!"

"But he killed someone!" interjected Iphicles.

"Its all part of the balance to him. Life. Death. Parties. He’ll doubtless have a note in his diary for tomorrow. ‘Save a life’. You know. Maintain the balance and all that."

"It's more serious than that." Everyone turned to regard the sombre face of T’sardan as he entered the room. "I have considered what you said, and, much as I hate to admit it, Grob is right - I should have never got involved. I think I can cover up my mistake, and send you back to fight the good fight. Its more serious because of the consequences my turning from balance to dark would have at this point. The darklands are in uproar at the moment as they scour the lands for some artefact or other, and the return of ‘favoured son of F’nor’ could seriously screw the balance. So seriously that it might never recover. So I am sending you back. Find the conspirators. And watch the priest. He is from an off shoot of Menahem’s order, and could be really rather dangerous. He's the key, but if you get the chance, give my regards to Nebademus. And be sharp about it!"

T’sardan circled the group once, twice, and then there was a golden flash and the heroes were back in the castle, in an storeroom, heads thumping. But, this time, the furniture looked a much more reasonable size...

"Now what?" asked Jadow.

"Now we head down," replied Iphicles and told them what he had discovered about the underground caverns.

"That must be it!" whispered Grob, peering round the corner of the corridor to where he could see a rather bored looking guard sitting at a table next to a trapdoor. Behind the thief, Dark One was distributing the results of some pilfering in the castle armoury. To everyone’s relief, Menahem decided to don some armour and a rather fetching cloak, dulling the roar from his Hawaiian shorts to a gentle murmur.

"What I suggest is..." remarked Jadow as Dark One and Linstram vanished to reappear by the guard. A second blink spell went off and the three vanished. The two mages shortly reappeared.

"Is he...?" asked Angua anxiously.

"In the grain shed? Yes," replied Dark One, smiling to himself. No one felt like pressing the point.

Menahem lifted the trapdoor and descended the steps. He found himself in a man made corridor, and decided to head for the flickering torches he could see at the other end. Behind him he could hear the rustle of the others coming down the stairs, from the light tread of Angua to the dull thud of Boltan’s hermetically sealed armoured suit. Up ahead, Menahem could now make out a table, some guards and a large metal grill protecting a huge number of bottles. The corridor continued through the guardroom. One of the guards looked up.

"Halt! Who are you?"

"Oh, the prince sent us down for some more wine. You know, he’s got all these guests, and they’ve drunk more than he thought."

"Where’s Achat then? He usually gets the wine. He’s got the key to the wine racks."

"Don’t worry about that!" Remarked Iphicles cheerfully, pushing past Menahem to the grille. The others couldn’t see quite what he did, but seconds later the grille was open and wine bottles were being passed back to the others. The guard corporal was still confused though.

"I don’t recognise you" he said suspiciously to Menahem.

"I’m new. You know, the prince has got all these new laws on taxes and we have to collect them."

"I ‘eard. Do we really get a cut of the taxes we collect?"

"Oh, yes. Nice chap the prince. I hear that he even took some of the local maidens under his protection."

"Oh, yes, and kids. They’re down there somewhere" the guard waved vaguely at the far passage where Menahem could now make out some sturdy looking iron doors. "They’ve even got their own guards. The prince hired some mercenaries, special like. Haven’t seen them for a while. They went down several days ago. Now that’s what I call dedication!"

Bored with raiding the wine cellar, Iphicles pushed past the conversation as the guard and Menahem started discussing life, the universe and ducks. Four of the iron bound doors had grilles in and some fairly disreputable occupants. The other two doors were more solid. All were locked.

"Bye then!" a voice called out. Iphicles turned to see Menahem waving at the back of the guards. "I managed to convince them that we were their relief watch. They’ve knocked off early."

As Iphicles worked on one of the iron bound doors, Boltan applied his own specialities to the other. A loud crack and thump as the door landed on the floor signalled that his methods were quicker.

Smash. "BOXES. BARRELS." Smash. "MEAD." Smash. "FUNNY SMELLY POWDERS." Suddenly the room was alive with mages and dwarves. Maiyart managed to identify the first few boxes of herbs. "Dried saffron. Ginger. Wow! Garam Massalla!" The mages looked disappointed, but the warrior-cook was in seventh heaven.

The other door had yielded to Iphicles' more subtle touch and opened into a square room with a single figure in the centre, dressed in black metal armour. Shunt pushed past and challenged the warrior to identify himself. The armour-clad figure made no sound but hefted its impressive two-handed sword and advanced. With a cry sounding strangely like a strangled cat, Maiyart back flipped into the room to land beside his dwarven comrade, just as Boltan stamped into the room. The black figure attacked, but was quickly dismembered, finished off by a spinning back kick from Maiyart. It was obviously especially enchanted as it managed to lull Shunt into a false sense of security - until it stepped briskly out of the way and the surprised dwarf landed an impressive blow on an equally surprised Maiyart. Boltan too was hit by the curse and buried his berserker sword in the far wall. "IT SLIPPED," he remarked menacingly. The body was soon stripped, but nothing of interest was found, except for a series of intricate tattoos over the eyebrows of the figure. The mages were unanimous in their ignorance of what these runes might mean, but Violet described the man as "life without life." "You mean undead?" "No."

"Dark Kin..." hissed Dark One peering round the corner. "Lots of dark kin." The mage fumbled at his belt and produced an intricately carved horn. Placing it to his mouth he blew lightly. The resulting sonic boom caused several of the dark kin to explode and the others reeled back, holding their heads. "Off you go then," remarked the mage to the fighters standing next to him. They needed no further prompting and the walls were soon coated with dark kin ichor. Linstram was expressing annoyance that the deaf dark kin could not hear his commands to obey him, but everyone else seemed happy to explore further.

"Good with locks, isn’t he?" Whispered Dar to Grob.

"Too good," replied the dwarf, as Iphicles calmly explained to Menahem that the door had not been locked but just a little stiff. Behind them, Violet was still painting healing potion on the worst of her acid burns. She had suffered an unfortunate encounter with one of several "dark pods" that the party had encountered - vegetables from the dark lands, in the form of a large barrel with tentacles and a great deal of acid. Dakvar had also encountered one of these pods and was unnerved to see that part of her magical armour was slowly dissolving under the after effects.

As Iphicles listened at the door, Dark One murmured "Did you see those black crystals? And that pool of gunk?" The others nodded, having seen the pool of black viscous material in which sat three jet black crystals of huge proportions. Violet had said they were "really dark" and refused to go any nearer to them. Other signs had suggested that someone was trying to make this place much more F’norian. Menahem was stilling drooling over the long corridor of symbols that ended at a dead end. "Some sort of gate?" he mused.

"And what about those guards? Weird or what?" continued Dakvar. Iphicles had discovered a room full of the missing mercenaries. They stood, facing the wall, and all seemed to have the same runes carved on their faces as the first one. Violet had almost fainted when shown these men. "Life but not life!" She had wailed before fleeing the area.

Iphicles pushed the door open a crack and murmured "Caverns" back to the assembled masses.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" inquired Violet, acidly.

"YES," replied Boltan.

"It’s getting pretty creepy down here..." continued the priestess nervously, looking over her shoulder.

"YES."

"Is it true that V’garnian death knights only talk LIKE THIS?"

"YES."

"He’ll be happy for hours," murmured Menahem as the two turned to follow their comrades down the corridor. As they caught up with the others, they could hear a commotion, sounding like pop corn, and suddenly the corridor was swarming with dark kin, biting and scratching, causing even the hardened warriors to realise that they might die of old age before they carved their way through. Eager to impress, Dark One released a whirlwind down the corridor, which caught the demons by surprise, lifting them high and then smashing them against the sides of the corridor. Linstram took the opportunity to fly over them into the side room, barely missing the whirlwind as it suddenly turned and started back down the corridor towards the alarmed heroes.

"ITS COMING BACK!" bellowed Boltan, accusingly.

"It’ll turn. Don’t worry... It’ll turn just about now... Or maybe..." Dark One took an involuntary pace backwards, and suddenly realised that he was mysteriously at the front of the group. The wind started to flick the mage’s hair but suddenly died away as the magic collapsed.

In the room, Linstram had found a huge cauldron, brimming with an oily black liquid. Every couple of seconds another dark kin would emerge from the liquid, spat out into the harsh world. With a freezing spell, and a great deal of exertion, he managed to solidify the gunk and tip the cauldron over. But at some cost...

"Oh, my back..." groaned the mage as he dragged his crippled body out of the room. But the others were paying him no attention as the could hear incomprehensible chanting punctuated by words like "S’gar" and "T’sardan" coming from further down the corridor.

"I have a bad feeling about this..." murmured Iphicles as the party trotted down the corridor to where the chanting was coming from.

"A real bad feeling," agreed Violet, shivering.

Boltan and Dar rounded the corner and found themselves in a large cavern, the walls mostly concealed by dark drapes. Off to the right was a large stone altar, surrounded by a chalk pentagram. At the five points stood an armoured figure, each drenched in blood from the now lifeless young lady they held. By the large stone altar stood a robed figure, engrossed in enchanting a dagger, which he held over a wriggling baby. Next to that was a golden statue, looking rather like T’sardan and a large chalice, brimming with a thick red liquid. Off to one side stood an ornately dressed figure of a prince - Nebademus! As he looked on in horror, the heroes attacked.

Dark One raised his hands and a stream of green liquid sprayed forth, hissing and burning wherever it landed. As the V’garnian mage slewed the spray towards the altar, Violet raised her hands in supplication and called on the forces of nature to protect the child. As the acid marched its way across the altar, a small blue bubble appeared around the child, deflecting the acid. The robed priest appeared entirely unconcerned about the way his clothes were disintegrating and continued to chant.

Meanwhile, the fighters had engaged the mercenaries who had slaughtered the women. Fierce fighting ensued, though they were no real match for the might of Boltan and Dar. Dakvar had produced a pale, shimmering, wand which she pointed at the old priest. Muttering "this had better work" she willed the wand to activate, and a pale, almost ephemeral, cloud billowed out of the end. The priest ignored this minor intrusion, but one of the mercenaries screamed as the side of the cloud left a bloody wound on his back.

Violet and Iphicles charged straight for the stone altar, the priestess taking to the air and swooping down like an eagle to snatch the child off the altar. Iphicles leapt for the altar, and looked surprised as his neglected flight spell kicked in and he took to the air. Skidding across the altar, he managed to snag the statue of T’sardan just as a second acid spell hit the altar. Cloak smoking, Iphicles rocketed out from under the green rain and headed for the ceiling.

"No," cried the old man. "You don’t know what you are doing!" And he hurled the chalice, spraying blood, at the retreating statue. Iphicles rolled neatly to one side and the chalice sailed past.

With the mercenaries down, the warriors advanced on Nebademus, who had been throwing spells at the advancing horde. Rapidly realising that he was seriously outnumbered and that his spell had failed, Nebademus grinned at his foes and vanished. Only to promptly reappear. "You...!" he snarled at Dark One, who was concentrating hard on a crystal he was holding. "Kill him quick," snapped the undead mage. "I can’t hold him for long!" Linstram darted forwards and magic flowed from a ringed finger. Gryeness shot up Nebademus' arm and engulfed his body. The demon stopped moving with a surprised expression on his face.

Suddenly the cavern was quiet. All the enemy, bar one, were dead, and Menahem was sitting on the exception. Having realised that the old priest was invulnerable to just about everything, the A’stall priest had jumped on the old man, whose attempts to wriggle out from underneath were pitiful.

"I think he used all his power on the ritual," remarked the priest, looking nervously at Dakvar, who was still waving the pale wand about.

"He did," replied a golden voice from behind him...

Epilogue

"Where the hell are Linstram and Dark One?" asked Shunt as Dar and the others started to gather about T'sardan...

Linstram carefully placed the amulet onto the 'stoned' form of Nebademus, he and Dark One stood with their motionless adversary in the passage of the prison cells.

"Right on the count of three," declared Dark One, "and be very careful. One... Two... Three!"

The blade swept through the air and struck the neck cleanly, although the head remained in place. Another three blows saw it removed from the shoulders and with the body minus its head, Dark One cast Dispel Magic to return it back from stone.

The two having looted the body for adding to the general party treasure split, Dark One muttered about it being time and slowly he began to remove items from his backpack and begin his summoning ritual…

Violet was nursing the child and throwing hard stares at Boltan who had made the babe cry for a second time. Ultra Mort and Jadow had been helping Iphicles in the removal of items from the dead mercenaries, though it looked as if Iphicles did not particularly want a helping hand. Dakvar and Angua continued to hold the old man down whilst Menahem kept up with the questioning of him.

"I'm sure that's physically impossible!" declared the scatty sage after the old man had delivered another of his foul insults.

"You'd need to be triple jointed at least," came the comment from Angua as she knelt hard in the old man's back.

"When we discussed it I did not realise it would be so soon," explained Linstram, the doubt evident on his face. The figure before him hissed in its ethereal voice, "It is your choice and you have much to gain. I'm sure you won't regret it!" 'Well you would say that,' thought Linstram who then realised that the grin on the face of the figure revealed that it had just read his mind.

"Well Linstram?" asked the figure

"Than! Than!" Iphicles voice was increasing in volume and the others in the abbey feasting hall hushed their drunken conversations to listen. "No! I'm not bloody Than," he slurred at Dar and Boltan, "stop calling me that!" He then turned his attention to everyone else around the table and started to wave a swaying finger at them, "He's dead and you all look at me like I was him, expecting to see what? Than the hero. Than saviour of women and children. Than the valorous who never betrayed an ally. The man was a cold-hearted murderer! But he's dead, and now there's just me."

Iphicles stood, wobbled and staggered over to the keg table for another beer, leaving most of the others to return to their discussion about M'dara and what 'abilities' they would like her to use on them…

The morning light streamed through the long abbey windows and Maiyart unhooked his legs out of their lotus position on seeing T'sardan pass through the quiet hall. "My lord," he said on catching up with him, "old Ninjin traditions advocate an eye for an and a tooth for a tooth. Having aided you, I was hoping you would return the honourable favour. I was wondering if you could lend me one of your craftsmen or blacksmiths to customise my armour?"

T'sardan's mind seemed to be elsewhere and he simply said, "Tell Brother Abrahm the smith that I asked him to be at your disposal." T'sardan then continued onwards for what he knew would be a tricky meeting with the Abbott.

"So that's what I've been doing wrong all along!" hissed Shunt under his breath, his eyes wide as he stared across the page from the forbidden book that lay open before him. The senior monk remained stood in the corner of the secret chamber as Shunt continued to read, revelation after revelation becoming apparent to him.

Grob was engrossed also but off in a corner of the actual library, the darker side of religion becoming increasingly clear for him from his studies.

"What about this," asked M'dara holding up the last of the Dark Tomes, her voice that of someone who felt as if she were treading on eggshells with whatever she said. "Give that one to Jadow," said T'sardan curtly, pointing to the sack which had been assigned to the warrior monk. "And err... this," she said holding up the small black F'norian singing and talking statue.

"Look," declared T'sardan, recent pressures spilling over, "you will one day have to rely on your own resources! You brought them after me, you decide who should have it and you organise their departure!"

M'dara's bottom lip started to quiver and she tossed the statue in the nearest sack and went to get the monks who were to carry the gains through into the chamber where the heroes were gathering.

"OH GREAT," declared Boltan in his typically unsubtle fashion, "WHAT'S IT GOING TO BE THIS TIME. ARE WE GOING TO REAPPEAR AS ANTS AGAIN OR PERHAPS WITH OUR LEGS THE WRONG WAY ROUND!"

"Can't T'sardan do this?" asked Angua her thoughts recalling the giant bird.

M'dara's face said it all, tears welling as she ran from the chamber. Boltan found himself again on the receiving end of one of Violet's hard stares before she went off after the L'denon servant.

When Violet returned with M'dara, the golden figure appeared to have regained her composure. The female priestess gave everyone a look that said 'be gentle on her' and slowly and carefully M'dara carried out the chant that saw each person consumed by golden light and transported back from whence they came.