As of 6/1/98
TURN 9: Tabernacle of Terror
Unadulterated fear ripped Badrevec'c Knapfoot from the depths of weary slumber as the resounding growl of some very large and probably very fierce creature echoed within his ears.
'Fire and fish oil, the beast has found me at last!' was the only thought that would form in his half-conscious mind. Terror paralyzed him. The small Havanathe lay unmoving, unable to even open his eyes. Another sound, then another. A quiver seized his muscles suddenly, sending his body into uncontrollable spasms.
'The beast is here, with me, at long last, with me; there is nothing old Badger can do to stave off imminent death, not this time.' As the clarity of his mind increased, questions began to assault the Havanathe's thoughts. 'Where am I? How long have I slept? What manner of creature is the beast? Why do I fear it? Why did the Other leave me here? Where is my master?' The latter question sucked the air from his chest. Laying there - prone, sweating, about to be devoured as a small, insignificant morsel - the urge to find his master and see if he was needed became overwhelming.
Badrevec'c felt a feeling of rage flash within him, but it quickly dwindled away to acceptance and gratitude to his master. He had been trained far too well - had it ingrained into his very soul and spirit for so long - for any resistance to stand a chance. The Other, of course, was stronger. He knew that. The Other could speak of resistance and hatred. 'The Other has left me, bereft and alone and confused once again,' Badrevec'c chided himself.
As he lay there - his ears straining to discern the beast's location by even the slightest of sounds - Badrevec'c began to pray silently, making his peace with the Celestial Host for past sins. Another sound issued forth, an indistinct one, as though it hailed from some distance. 'Something heavy being dragged along the ground,' drifted forth the thought. Badrevec'c willed his eyes to open the barest of slits. The dull gray of muted illumination seemed omnipresent, save for the strange, regular pattern of light and shadow that seemed to dominate his vision. His eyes opened still further, surprise and curiosity effectively overriding his will.
'A gibbet? I'm locked inside a gibbet?' Badrevec'c lifted his head. It was true. Somehow he had been secured within a round iron cage suspended from the ceiling by a thick chain. His brow furrowed. "Now if I only knew where 'here' was," the Havanathe said aloud, his voice the softest of whispers.
Badrevec'c gathered his legs beneath him and straightened into a seated position. He wore striped trousers of alternating orange and yellow, although he could not remember ever owning the overly bright pair of pants. His long-sleeved tunic was a clashing eye-sore of large white dots on bright red cloth, at least what he could see of it. Strangely, a boiled leather cuirass adorned his torso, shoulder and pelvic guards adding to the ambient protection of the armor.
"Armor? I'm wearing armor, fitted for my size?"
The Havanathe's confusion gave way to sudden joy as his eyes widened, falling on what looked to be a backpack that had been thrown against the far wall, next to the door of the chamber in which he had found himself.
His hazel eyes scanned the room. Three more gibbets, all empty, hung in the same manner as his own. The floor seemed to be covered with a thin layer of straw, gaps in which showed the floor to be packed earth. The entire chamber appeared to be some twenty feet by ten, the ceiling some fifteen feet above the floor. Badrevec'c began to strum his fingers lightly on his right knee. "Fire and fish oil, Badger, how are you going to get out of this predicament?"
A half grin stretching up one side of his face, Badrevec'c continued his running monologue - a habit that had, on far too many occasions, gotten him in some rather large predicaments. "Tut, tut, tut... Now whyfore to be thinking of me as a bird, when I most CLEARLY do not have wings? I am sure it is simply a 'shortsighted' mistake on the part of my host. I shall simply have to find better accommodations than this."
The incessant strumming of his fingers ceased. "Hmmmm, it just wouldn't do to ask my gracious host, and embarrass him like." The grin spread further as the Havanathe searched his lofty apartment for the door or some other method of exiting. "Perhaps between the bars."
Several moments of effort proved fruitless; there simply was not enough room between the bars for even his diminutive form to slip through. Worst of all, the gibbet door was actually locked, with a very large, very noticeable padlock. Of course, the Havanathe realized that just might work to his advantage.
"My, my, my... it quite simply is a sign of the times that the workmanship is so poor as to provide no portals from which one might exit an otherwise charming guest room. And quite another sign, when one so finely attired as I, may be mistaken for a bird! Tut, tut, tut."
Badrevec'c Knapfoot began to hum a light tune - something about a vain prince and a sea captain's daughter - as he searched his attire for anything of potential use. He possessed no belt pouch, nor pockets, nor...ah ha! Two rather cleverly hidden pieces of oddly shaped metal were discovered behind a small flap near the thickened, bottom ridge of his leather cuirass.
"Badger, old chummer, attitude really is everything," he offered aloud, recognizing the wisdom of his comment, since nobody else was around to express any philosophical difference.
A few moments later and his arms were positioned through the gaps of the bars, dexterous fingers working diligently on the padlock. Another song drifted into his head - something called 'Freedom's Flight' - so he began to hum that tune in favor of the other, earlier composition. A loud double 'CLICK' and the padlock dropped open, gravity doing part of the work for him. Badrevec'c smiled, then carefully replaced the two pieces of metal back into their hiding place.
"Hmmm, quite the roost in which this bird finds himself," Badrevec'c remarked absently. The Havanathe glanced down at the floor, estimating the distance between the cage and the surface. "Hmmm, what say you, Badger? Two furls were I to hang from the door gate? Yes, yes, I agree. More perilous plummets were present in the floorshow given the lord and master of Caer Rolth."
The Havanathe slipped out of the cage and, using the bars of the gate door as handholds, swung down into a hanging position - arms outstretched, from the bottom of his erstwhile prison. "See, Badger, no problem whatsoever. Still, the straw looks to be spread out far too thinly to be of any great assistance in cushioning my fall. Hmmmmm."
Badrevec'c smiled suddenly. "Must have been a poor harvest year. Oh, well." He released his grasp and dropped, his legs bending as he hit the floor, his body rolling into a living ball as the Havanathe's impromptu tumble turned into a graceful acrobatic movement, robbing the impact of harmful impetus brought about by body meeting floor.
"Now, let's see what we shall see, eh?" Badrevec'c strolled leisurely over to the backpack and sat down, leaning against the wall, to the right of the iron-bound, oaken door which appeared to be the chamber's only obvious point of entry or exit. A leather sheath had been sewn onto each side of the backpack, both held a dagger. The daggers were obviously a mismatched set; the pommel of the first exhibited a dragon's head design, the second was a more mundane globe of solid metal.
A sigh of contentment slipped forth from the Havanathe's lips as Badrevec'c hugged the backpack to him. His hands quickly settled over the hilts of the daggers, caressing them as if each was an old, dear friend. He smiled, then sighed again.
"In every situation there exists opportunity," Badrevec'c said softly, even as his hands shifted from the daggers to the flap of the backpack. He unwound the pull cord and peered inside.
The backpack contained two small pouches; a soft, supple leather sling; a leather belt; a waterskin, half-full; some dried fruit wrapped in cloth; a leather packet in which had been placed several different pieces of oddly shaped metal similar to those he had found secreted on his person; flint and steel, by which he might spark forth a fire given the presence of flammable materials; a metal made from polished tin; and a brown hooded cloak, fitted for one of his height and build. He pulled forth the two pouches.
"Of course," Badrevec'c said aloud as he opened the first pouch. A number of smooth, rounded stones seemed to be the only contents. He reached back inside the pack and pulled forth the sling.
Inside the second pouch was an allotment of coins, apparently from many different kingdoms given the mismatched embossed sigils on their faces. "Now I wonder how all these got in here?" The Havanathe's brow furrowed and held the position for several seconds. Badrevec'c shrugged, his visage lightening as if the thought had little merit. "Ah well, I'm sure that whomever slipped me these goodies had no further use for them, eh? Yes, I'm having great assurance on that."
A soft chuckle issued forth from somewhere deep in the Havanathe's throat as he positioned the pouches on the belt, then wrapped the whole around his waist. He reached back inside the backpack and drew forth the sling, which he stuck in the stone-filled pouch. He reached inside the right pouch and drew forth about half the coins present, tossing them without regard into the backpack, before drawing forth his leather-encased "Thieves' tools." The leather binding went into the pouch, which he then fastened shut.
"Now, I be thinkin' 'tis time fer old Badger to be off fer..." His brow furrowed once again. Badrevec'c stood, absently closing the backpack and pulling its straps over his hands and arms, then settling them into their accustomed position over his shoulders. "Auggghhh! What matter. Methinks I be to makin' the master o' the 'ouse feel as though I be not ta' likin' the accomodashuns."
Badrevec'c moved to the door, feeling giddy at the prospect of discovering who or what had placed him inside the gibbet. A lengthy spasm of giggles assaulted him suddenly, his eyes sparkling as he studied the obviously sturdy barrier before him. "Solid oak, bound in iron; a master craftsman, our maker of this door."
He lay flat against the door, his head turned so that he might press his ear to the surface. The Havanathe stood in silence for some fifteen seconds. No tell-tale sound seemed to betray the presence of anything waiting beyond. He tried the latch. "Locked," Badrevec'c remarked. "Very sensible, very sensible."
Fingers opened the right pouch flap and drew forth his collection of Thieves' tools. Five minutes later, Badrevec'c had managed to unlock the door. Satisfied, he replaced the tools in his belt pouch and preened himself, making certain that everything was in its proper place. Finally, telling himself that he was at least presentable to anyone he might encounter, Badrevec'c opened the door and slipped out of his erstwhile prison.
"Not much of a choice, eh, Badger, old chummer?" The portal allowed access to a hallway that led directly away from the gibbet chamber. "All roads lead to here, or away from here, as the case may be."
The Havanathe closed the door behind him, just to be tidy, and moved forward with an almost feline gait. "Time to locate more pleasing accommodations, methinks. Like as not, the rest of the guest quarters will be of the same low quality. Still, I simply couldn't make my host feel that he and his are offering me less than I so richly deserve." He giggled, his face a mask of unbridled mirth. "I guess there's nothing for it but to seek shelter in another house."
One minute stretched into another, then another as the halfling made his way furtively down the corridor.
"Forty furls distance, and only sixteen torches set into wall sconces to light the way? My host's coffers must be near destitute, to spend so little in accordance with a guest's needs," Badrevec'c whispered as he slipped quietly to the first door he had seen since his self-imposed liberation from the gibbet chamber. Unfortunately, the door signaled the end of the corridor through which he traveled. The design feature was obvious: a barrier, a straight length of hallway, then the prison. Even if a "guest" was to extricate himself or herself from the gibbets, escape still would remain a difficult proposition.
Badrevec'c snuggled up beside the door and listened intently. Vague, indistinct noises could be heard. The Havanathe cursed silently, first because of the presence of indecipherable sound, then the fact that the door was solid, with no window by which he might peer through. Badrevec'c cursed again, then considered the waste of such an attitude. A new wave of giggles emanated from deep within him. The Havanathe shook his head as he slumped his shoulders and let his backpack slip off. Badrevec'c opened it and took out the cloak.
"Now, now, now," he mumbled, "it simply won't do to dirty these incredibly bright and obvious trousers. I shall have to dress myself in this much more drab cloak, even though it may cause one or more of my erstwhile hosts to fail to notice my august presence as I wander through the halls. I shall simply have to accept the insult, in the name of cleanliness."
The Havanathe's right hand shot to his mouth suddenly, holding it fast as laughter threatened to erupt forth once again. He stayed in that position for more than a minute, mentally giving himself a long-winded rejoinder about how rude it would be to disturb whomever or whatever was beyond the door with some largely inconsiderate noise on his part.
Drawing forth the tools that lay in his pack, Badrevec'c quietly went to work on the door lock. An odd, dark whisper seemed to slip past his lips, providing him with a running commentary on the steps needed to work the lock. Upon hearing the soft *click* that seemed to indicate success, Badrevec'c replaced his tools and made himself presentable, then depressed the latch handle.
Badrevec'c opened the door slowly, his entire manner one of furtive intent. His eyes widened as the peered through the crack. Disappointment assailed him as he was unable to determine much about what lay beyond. He opened the door wider, then wider still. Badrevec'c cautiously peered outward.
Torches adorned the walls in sconces, only half of which appeared to be lit. To judge by one wall, the chamber appeared to extend some twenty feet beyond the doorway, although it was impossible to determine the room dimensions at the right angles from the viewable walls. Badrevec'c poked his head out of the gap, seeing no other recourse that might provide the needed information.
"Yeow!" The yelp escaped the Havanathe's lips before he could squelch the noise, not surprising given the large hand that grasp him by the neck and hoisted him aloft as if he was nothing more than a burlap sack filled with potatoes.
"Puckti arafogril homechtdin?" drifted a guttural voice from across the chamber. The Havanathe's eyes widened. It was a hobgoblin - large and burly and very fearsome in appearance, the type who could make a meal of halflings in one, maybe two, gulps.
"Metchod braugkilpurmet," came the reply of the Havanathe's captor. Another hobgoblin, obviously.
Any further conversation was lost between the two as the sounds of muted screams issued forth from the open portal that seemed to lead from the room. 'Strange,' Badrevec'c thought, 'sounds like a battle. One of these fine fellows' fellows must have lost its temper, probably in disagreement over the menu items of choice at having roasted Havanathe as only an appetizer rather than the main course, as such a feast would merit.'
Dangling in the grasp of the burly hobgoblin, Badrevec'c glanced down and tried his best not to giggle - failing miserably as usual. "It doth appear as though the place for my feet lays several feet BELOW my feet."
The Havanathe turned his head to peer at his captor, his eyes growing in false fear at the sight, even as his body suddenly stiffened, as if his poor, pitiful soul was the victim of utter shock and terror. Captor and captive locked gazes for several moments, then the halfling began to shudder. He screamed, loudly, but with a strange vocal vibration that almost seemed akin to half-a-giggle.
Badrevec'c thrashed and waved and wiggled in every direction, each movement an exaggerated performance of legendary stature. The Havanathe continued to shake for a few seconds more, then suddenly, his eyes gazed upwards, just before the small woodland denizen succumbed to apparent unconsciousness, not counting the barest hint of a grin that threatened to curl his lips.
The grin disappeared a moment later as Badrevec'c found himself airborne, slung willy-nilly against the unyielding stone wall. He slumped to the ground, with all the grace of a bag of potatoes, momentarily stunned. Harsh, guttural words seemed to drift into his thoughts, but he couldn't make them out. 'Oh, that plan worked well,' came the mental rejoinder. 'Note to self: self, never feign illness, unconsciousness, or apparent death with a hobgoblin.'
"Really," Badrevec'c managed to stammer aloud, "I'm sure that I'm your most important guest, but shouldn't you be attending to the fracas outside? You simply must get your priorities straight. My master would never stand for having his house run like this. Shoddy, shoddy, shoddy."
His vision cleared, although the ringing in his ears remained as Badrevec'c focused on the large form striding toward him. "Oh, no need to assist me, I can rise of my own accord." The Havanathe jumped to his feet, surprising himself that he actually managed the feat, and leaped forward, narrowly evading the clutching grasp of his huge foe. Badrevec'c curled himself into a ball and rolled clear, only to spring upright once again, a sequence of grace and skill worthy of the most talented of carnival performers.
The patter of Havanathe feet pounded against the stone floor as the nimble Badrevec'c sprinted for the stairwell that he could, for the first time, clearly view. Behind him the air was filled with spiteful curses, the intention of which was crystal clear even if the exact words were unintelligible. Up and up he went, the sounds of his pursuers evident behind him.
Suddenly, Badrevec'c came upon a half-open door. He was through in the briefest of moments, barreling onward, ignoring caution given the reality of the danger that pursued him. A hallway loomed. 'Which way?' he thought. 'That way.' Again he sprinted forth, well aware that the legs of the hobgoblins were much longer than his. 'I can't outrun them for long,' drifted forth the suddenly insightful consideration. He smiled. "Follow the sounds of steel and thunder, Badger, old son. The foe of my foe might be my friend, or at least less intent on slaying a wayward Havanathe than big, burly, bad hobgoblins."
A curtained portal beckoned, the sounds of battle growing louder. Badrevec'c sprinted through the garment, nearly yanking it down in the process. He was nearly brought up short as Badrevec'c found himself in a large, long chamber that resembled a temple by the trappings. In the center of the room, an armored human was engaged in battle with a creature part-orc, part-ogre. Beyond those two, a comely female smashed the nose of a massive hobgoblin with a quarterstaff that snaked out with surprising speed and accuracy, to great effect. The only other figure present was a blonde-haired traveler whose clothes had obviously seen better days. The latter appeared flabbergasted, momentarily uncertain of what to do as he stood in the open doorway which appeared to lead outside.
From his vantage point near the open doorway, Ysoltre Illmak'r forced his agape mouth to close. His green Fpathen eyes watched in horror at the carnage being wrought inside Dirion's temple. Rogmund engaged a type of creature that the minstrel had never before seen, a grotesque, misshapen thing that seemed part orc, part ogre. Whatever it was, the huge humanoid seemed well versed in the concept of brute force as Rogmund seemed to be mostly on the defensive. "First the strange beast outside, now this creature," the bard managed to mumble.
Ysoltre watched as his half-elven counter part clouted her adversary and then turned his attention to the second dual. 'Karissa seems to be doing okay,' he thought and started to advance to Rogmund's side.
"Well, well," a third voice, speaking in plain common, halted the minstrel. "I'd been not thinkin' thet my host be so fancy-schmancy, ta be 'avin a dance in mah honor!" The voice's owner was hidden by the hulking hybrid, but Ysoltre recognized the accent immediately. 'Havanathe,' he thought. The blonde bard's brow furrowed as the situation's confusion heightened a level. Stunned, Ysoltre watched as the scene unfolded.
A grin large enough to fit one of the hobgoblins leaped to the Havanathe's face, even as he sprang into motion. Sliding stealthily toward the rear of the odd beast brawling in the middle of the floor, Badrevec'c allowed the mismatched daggers to reappear in his hands. Waiting for the vital moment when the creature stood completely engaged with the human, he made motions as if asking if he might have this dance. Then, short legs propelled the undersized figure forward to sink his daggers, one after the other, into the vital points on the leathery hide.
Each dagger blade bit deeply. The strange hybrid creature roared in sudden anguish. Badrevec'c grasped onto the hafts of his daggers firmly, striving to stay out of the reach of the two massive hands and arms that sought to reach back and tear him asunder. "Heee! Why sir! What fine footwork thou *giggle* dost display! Why most certainly thou hast claimed the heart of many the lady with thy dance!"
A string of curses exploded from Rogmund's mouth as he lunged forward, taking advantage of the smallish figure's surprise attack. The armored human's blade struck truly, opening a deep gash in the hybrid's side. Another roar of pain and maddened emotion erupted forth from Rogmund's foe.
Across the chamber, Karissa and her adversary continued their own dance of deadly intent. The woman's quarterstaff struck again to effect, though she seemed to be giving ground defensively, unwilling to press any advantage given her unarmored countenance.
Just then, guttural howls of a most menacing nature filled the air. Two burly hobgoblins pushed their way through the curtained alcove situated near the far wall, the faces of each contorted with obvious bloodlust. "Sindarea!" screamed one, pointing first at the dark-haired woman, then at the minstrel near the doorway.
Ysoltre immediately rushed to Karissa's defense, blades flashing, and beckoned toward the gruesome pair in a taunting motion. With his concentration locked on his adversaries, he snickered to the Theavian, "So this is what you do in your spare time?"
The Theavian's quarterstaff shot outward, catching her foe across the temple. A loud "Crack" could be heard above the din of battle as the hobgoblin dropped in a heap. "Aye," Karissa managed to stammer in a breathy voice, the rise and fall of her chest heavy, a thin coating of sweat evident on her skin.
Across the chamber, Rogmund's sword again slashed to effect against the archer's mammoth adversary, even as the Havanathe's legs could be seen flinging this way and that as the creature sought to dislodge the smallish figure who rode it like some misshapen mount, the halfling's two daggers biting deep into leathery flesh.
"Sir, ah do be a-thinkin' that you be doing one o' them thar courting dances," Badrevec'c said, the lowborn gutterspeak flowing easily from his lips. "And I be believin' thet only a sea mammoth be dancin' as lightly as you be! Oh, and look, yer friends came on account o' bein' so jealous! Weeeee!"
Despite the seeming pleasure of the act, Badrevec'c found himself airborne as the creature finally managed to snake one arm around enough to grasp the Havanathe. The small figure landed in a heap near the doorway, somehow managing to hold onto his daggers - each of which was stained red with blood.
"Iknowit'sstillaffectingyou,butweshouldenterandseehowbadoffourfriendsare.
StaytowardtherearanduseyourbowifyouareableandI'lldomybesttohelpthemandalsotoprotect
youuntilyou'refeelingbetter," Hroknar said as he helped Ethan through the temple doors. Each stared in wide-eyed wonder momentarily at the sight before them. Rogmund was engaged with some huge figure that appeared to be part orc, part ogre. Another hobgoblin lay near where Karissa and Ysoltre stood, both at ready and standing fast against the charge of two screaming hobgoblins. The hearts of Hroknar and Ethan each caught in their throats as they watched the minstrel and Theavian fend off the humanoids' attack. Dervatear and ranger sought to move forward, but stopped at nearly stepping on a rather brightly attired Havanathe, holding two bloodied daggers.
Hroknar took in the entire scene at a glance, looking over all the combatants, then down at the brightly clothed Havanathe, the dwarf's attention drawn to the little being. 'What bravery,' drifted forth the thought. 'He attacks that great beast almost as if he had no fear for his own life. Are all of his kind possessed of a like nature?'
The Dervatear shook his head to clear it of conjectures that had no answer at the current time. "Rogmund can take care of himself, and apparently he has the help of the Havanathe against the giant orc-ogre crossbreed. Karissa and Ysoltre, though, are unarmored." Hroknar moved toward the Theavian and bard, readying his battle axe as he began to chant audibly, his gravely voice rising in volume with each word.
Left bereft, Ethan shrugged his shoulder and let his bow drop down his arm into the waiting grasp of his hand. A quick prayer to Fiven, the Celestial Overseer of Luck, slipped from his lips as he nocked an arrow to his bow, hoping that it would not be necessary to let the barbed shaft fly. The ranger's eyes widened as he saw Rogmund maneuver his blood-stained sword in a defensive dance, thrusting outward every now and again whenever his foe seemed back on its heels, the armored archer's blade finding the mark twice - each strike being accompanied by a painful howl of anguish from the fearsome man-beast.
Ethan's gaze drifted to his other fellows. Karissa's quarterstaff leaped outward with alarming speed, smashing one hobgoblin upside its head, even as Ysoltre feinted with his dagger, then thrust with the sword he had acquired earlier at the inn. The bard's opponent stiffened, staring wide-eyed at the blade imbedded wholly in its chest. The creature fell to the floor heavily, nearly yanking Ysoltre - who still held onto his weapon - on top of its suddenly deceased carcass.
Spying the events as they unfolded, Hroknar shifted the angle of his charge, focusing on Karissa's foe. The woman dodge an errant blow from the hobgoblin's blade, managing to dance backward even as Hroknar somehow slipped ahead of her, bringing his battle axe up and around in a slashing arc. "The Hammer of Tseld will crush the likes of you!" Hroknar shouted, his face flushed with the passion of battle. Skin, sinew, and bone shattered as the humanoid fell victim to the new attack - one backed by the inherent strength and power of the Dervatear's mightily muscled arms and shoulders. The hobgoblin joined its fellow on the floor, just as lifeless as its kin.
Bardevec'c wondered at the sights and sounds resounding about him, then chided himself to ignore everything but the task at hand. Rolling around briefly, Badrevec'c fought to disentangle his legs from his cloak, which had managed to wrap neatly around him during his attempt at becoming a bird. A string of curses erupted from his mouth, so artfully rendered in expressive disdain that a barbarian's mother would have been proud of the tirade that flowed from the Havanathe's mouth.
Free of his erstwhile bonds, Bardevec'c studied the bowman who stood near him, as though selecting which body part he would be remove first. Sensing no threat from that quarter, a grin and a giggle transformed his face from the death mask that had previously fixed it. The Havanathe jumped to his feet, ready to return to his spat with the creature that had launched him. As he ran at the beast, Badrevec'c tilted his head back towards the human archer standing in the entrance. "Well, well... tut, tut, tut...be ye just wantin' to watch this dance like a fearful stripling, or care ye to be joinin' een?" Laughter burst forth from the smallish figure suddenly, as if he found what he said wildly amusing.
As he approached the creature, Badrevec'c tried to angle his approach to come across the back of it, but the creature - apparently far more cagey now that the element of surprise had been lost - would have none of it. Several times, the Havanathe was forced to back away to avoid the clutching hands of his foe, apparently saved from certain ruin only by the timely thrusts of the armored swordsman who also engaged the huge ogre-orc.
Rolling back away from his foe's last swipe at him, Badger came up with a giggle and a gleam in his eye. "Now good sir, dost thou care naught for feelings other than thine own?" he said to the gruesome beast. "Mine own thoughts do proclaim that thee carest not to be mine partner in dance! Else, why wouldst thou carry on in such a manner?"
Each sentence was punctuated by an especially poor attempt at not laughing out loud, his banter continual as his hands worked quickly at changing weapons. The daggers almost sheathed themselves before his hands turned to drawing forth a small pouch and what appeared to be a long, leather strap.
The blade of his battle axe dripping blood, Hroknar stood over the prone, lifeless body of one hobgoblin as he looked around the room. Seeing that Rogmund and the Havanathe were still having difficulties with their huge, misshapen opponent, he started in that direction, mentally reminding himself to stand clear of any weapons that Rogmund and the little Havanathe were wielding.
Ysoltre smiled, inwardly celebrating his skill in battle, and then realized he had never really showcased any truly inspiring level of skill before. A bad feeling crept into his stomach as he looked at his sword through narrowing eyes. 'It must be enchanted,' he thought. 'This blade must be examined more closely when time allows.' The bard shook off the distraction. 'One foe left,' he thought, 'and a particularly ugly one at that.'
Ysoltre turned to his female counterpart. "Are you wounded, Karissa?"
The Theavian shook her head, the rise and fall of her chest indicating the sustained level of recent exertion. Not surprising, given the relative size differences between the woman and the brawny foes with which she had contested. "Nay, merely winded. 'Twill pass if afforded a moment's respite."
"Why don't you take a break, let the rest of us end this? Ethan suffers from a strange ailment that requires your attention." Ysoltre gestured to their ranger partner as he spoke and offered Karissa a reassuring smile. With that, the minstrel tapped his blades together and readjusted his attitude again. He glanced at the unfolding battle, his apparent new Havanathe comrade-in-arms, and the obvious peril his friends faced. A scowl grew unbidden on his face and he rushed to engage what looked to be the group's final foe.
"Have you forgotten this dance already, little one?" Ysoltre called out to the cloaked halfling. "Well then, let me help you regain your rhythm." The bard slipped up beside Hroknar and squared with the beast. "The Queen of Light, she took her bow and then she turned to go." Ysoltre announced suddenly, his voice loud and clear and unwavering as he started in the middle of the epic ballad, The March of Liberation, often sung the continent over by human armies before battle. The melodic tones flowed from his lips and tongue as he thrust and feinted with sword and dagger in perfect rhythm. "The Prince of Peace embraced the gloom and walked the night alone. So throw down your plow and hoe and take up arms with your fellows!"
Neither sword nor dagger found the mark, in part because the huge ogre-orc managed to grasp Hroknar's axe haft and arm as the Dervatear sought to end the conflict with one mighty swipe of his weapon. Hroknar found himself tossed this way and that, counting himself lucky that the shield strapped to his other arm luckily managed to interpose itself between the bard's swordthrust and his own relatively exposed body.
From his position near the side of the room, Badrevec'c pulled a small stone from the pouch and laid it in a small cup in the center of the leather strap. Twirling it over his head briefly, he released the stone to fly and hopefully find its mark on the head of the creature. "Augghh!" the Havanathe screamed, a look of horror contorting his face.
A string of Dervatearan curses filled the air as sudden pain assailed Hroknar, his head throbbing from the impact of stone smashing against his metal helmet.
"A thousand and one heartfelt and regretful apologies, warrior!" Badrevec'c called out, even as Rogmund and Ysoltre sought an unimpeded path by which they might strike a mortal blow against their common opponent. The halfling grinned. "Never fear, the next shall strike more truly!"
If Hroknar had a reply it was lost as he suddenly dropped to the floor in a heap. He sensed rather than saw the massive ogre-orc crossbreed collapse next to him. The Dervatear quickly scrambled up, axe and shield at ready.
"Rest easy, Hroknar," Rogmund said to the warrior, "our foe clearly has fallen for the final time."
Hroknar's gaze studied the huge, still body. The feathered end of an arrow shaft protruded from the deceased creature's eye socket.
Rogmund turned to regard Ethan. "A bit hesitant on the attack, but full honors for marksmanship given the impediments to making such a shot."
"Ssslllooowww tttooo yyyooouuu, pppeeerrrhhhaaapppsss," the ranger managed to say, his voice still akin to molasses in wintertime as Karissa moved next to him in response to Ysoltre's earlier entreaty.
The Theavian smiled suddenly, radiantly. "From thine appearance and speech, 'twould appear that there exists a tale to tell, one of apparent misfortune, or at least inconvenience."
"Look!" Ysoltre called out suddenly, drawing all attention first to his wide-eyed countenance, then to the misshapen ogre-orc at which he pointed.
Before their eyes, the creature seemed to shimmer and lose substance, dissolving into a pool of what appeared to be water; only a pair of spiked, leather gauntlets and a bone scroll case scattered amidst the huge puddle gave evidence as to the strange being having ever existed.
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