Mazenta's Tale - Part 3, Illustrated

“Curious, we didn’t see it before,” Imaris straightened the cuffs of his shirt under the blue leather of his jerkin.

He seemed calm for someone faced with the sudden appearance of a massive castle of crystal and light on the far side of the inner court. His little pet, Jess the cutter, for once looked her age, mouth open in wonder, head cocked sideways; but the expression never quite made it to her eyes. The eyes were calculating. She was probably already trying to plan how to scale the impossible towers and kill the inhabitants in their sleep. The base of the castle was a mound of crystal, clouded milky white, smooth on all sides but with an upper surface of jagged spikes. Growing from the top were three towers, alike in size but unevenly placed, each tower square and tapering to blunt pyramidal points. Two were connected to the third midway up their height by an adjoining slab of crystal. Something about the spacing and placement of the towers suggested they were organic. As if the castle had been grown, not built to design.
“That was not there when we circled the keep the first time,” Xandra said. “But see there, that platform on the far side of the courtyard. The light shimmers, as if suspended between those two small obelisks. And not unguarded: that’s a dragon, if I’m correct.”

“Dragon,” Jess confirmed, her sharp elven eyes darting to study the far platform. “Doesn’t move. Mebbe kilt already.”

Demona stood behind her two companions. These softskins don’t make much sense to me sometimes but even I could see they were not what anyone would describe as three friends. She gathered her hair back from the curling basalt horns of her brow in an unconscious move and her mouth curled into a sneer. “So it’s a dragon, let’s kill it.”

Jess’ ears perked up and that thing she called a smile crept onto her lips.

“Should we be worried that it suddenly just appeared?” Xandra was genuinely puzzled. Face her with a charging wild boar while she held a pair of sticks and she would throw herself into the fight; here, she was out of her element.

Demona threw back her cloak and gestured at the castle with her fingers folded into horns, “The castle comes from the beyond! Yet I fear not its otherwordly origins!”

Jess, wise beyond her years, looked to the wizard for clarification.

"Think of the mysterious realm we three just visited while the others healed. It shared many of the same characteristics, made of crystal. The creature we met there claimed it was the feywild. This may be the same place.”

“So do we go in?” Xandra brought up the practical question.

My Icarus was simply watching the others in turn as they spoke, cradling the huge axe in his arms and dragging a whetstone across a nick from the last fight when it had hit bone. “We do what we must. Because we can,” he rumbled.

***

Staring into the face of the stone dragon a great sadness welled up inside me. It was too detailed, too exact to be a statue. No, this had been a living creature once. It had felt the air when it flew. It had smelled the sweet smell of flesh turned to charcoal under its fiery breath. It had plotted and battled and possibly even served the late Emperor, who was known for his fondness of dragonfolk. In its day it might have been a hero, before some magic had turned the noble brother to marble. Now he stood frozen as he reared up, perhaps his last moment of defending this same portal. Goblin filth had carved their rude slogans and names into his flanks. And starlings were nesting behind one horn. Starlings!
The Lost Hope were all staring at the magic portal instead of the doomed majesty of this king among all creatures. With a hop and a flutter I pounced on the starlings nest and smacked the foul chirper’s twigs to the ground, snapping one of the hysterical creatures from mid-flight with a burst of feathers. Even here, under the nest were words scrawled in a goblin hand:

WEEPOX WUZ HEAR

Goblins: death’s too good for them.

The Lost Hope were finally stepping through the portal. Suspended between two standing stones, like smaller versions of the crystal towers, was a big blue thingy. And visible faintly through it was the inside of some room. Xandra was the first to step through and the others, seeing she wasn’t immediately zapped into paste, followed her. With a last caress to my stone brother I bounded to the stone platform and jumped through the portal.

It was disorienting at first. Like waking up from a bad dream about all your treasure being stolen, and being unable to move. Then the blue mist cleared and I found myself standing invisibly beside the Lost Hope staring at the room around us. It was entirely made from crystal: floors, walls and ceiling, mostly smooth but ribbed in places like unevenly frozen ice. And a light seemed to seep from every surface, as if the crystal itself was alive with the white glow. Two doors stood closed and a third was open, leading onward down a short hallway, again made of the glowing crystal. But if one hadn’t been open I would not have known they were doors, but thought maybe some strange plant. The closed doors were grey-green with thick veiny blue tendrils, and looked like the flattened bud of a flower before it opened.

“Much like the place in the feywild we already visited,” Imaris ran his hands over the walls and studied the room.

“I could’ve told you that,” Demona muttered.

“Yes, but you didn’t did you?” Imaris said dryly. “The open door beckons. Icarus, lead on.”

My quiet Icarus knew the value of silence and simply hefted his greataxe over one shoulder and advanced through the door and down the tunnel. I flew above their heads and down the corridor. It ended in a larger, longer room, busy with the work of many creatures. A half-dozen small goblins toiled at workbenches. A pair of six-foot tall hulks in tattered robes with decaying flesh held a large Taurus of crystal and as I hovered in the doorway I saw a pair of strange hump-backed goblins, far taller than the others, bend to work on the crystal. Their lumpy bodies seemed to unfold and I saw at once that each of the hunchbacks had six arms, each hand holding some sort of hammer or chisel. Without a sound I flew back and landed on Icarus’ wide shoulder pauldron and whispered in his ear: “Beware, many strange goblins and the living dead.”

Icarus merely grunted and went into the room swinging. His first axe-blow took a small goblin unawares and sent the two halves slamming into the nearby wall, painting the white crystal with blue-black carnage. Xandra didn’t pause and carved her way into the room with both blades flashing but it was Imaris’ arcane mumblings that sent a frigid blast among the packed workers. Two gobsicles perished instantly, shattering as they hit the floor and many more slid and fell as true ice coated the smooth crystal floor.

Three of the small goblins ran immediately, discarding their tools and snatching hammers as they went screaming in high-pitched voices out an unseen doorway at the far end of the room. I fluttered to an abandoned worktable as the battle raged. Nothing stood before the Lost Hope. For a moment there was a shocked cry from Jess, bringing up the rear of the group; hammer-wielding goblins had circled behind them but Jess and Imaris each quickly dispatched one, leaving the last to flee.

By then the last goblin survivor was one of the strange six-armed craftsmen and the Lost Hope were trying to circle it, Xandra made a rush and stepped back, wounded, as the six arms all attacked her at once. There was a quiet rustle as the tiny elfling Jess ran into the room, dove past the creature on crossed forearms and sprang up behind it, driving her punch-blade into its back and bringing it down with that one blow.As it folded and coughed out its last breath Jess was revealed with a face set in pure joy. Had it not been so pitiful it would have been horrific.

“I gottim,” she said proudly to Imaris as the eladrin moved forward.

The wizard forced a smile. “You did well, Jess. Always clean your blade.” He put one hand on her shoulder and as she looked away to wipe the blood on a rag there was a moment’s pity on the wizard’s cool features. Gone again in a moment.

“Finally, some bits of pretty worth having,” Icarus said, missing the entire play. He scooped up one of the gems from the worktables and held it up to the light between two claws. “Everybody, grab the rest.”

“Gems, yes!” Demona began searching.

Jess looked hopefully to Imaris, anticipating some good looting, but the eladrin was disdainful. “We don’t scrounge for riches. We’re here to rid these lands of the foul goblin overlords. The creatures that force our people to subsist in caves while they ruin all the wonders of the old empire, like this castle.”

“Didn’t look like they were despoiling this,” Xandra said. “They were working like a master’s whip was on their backs.”

But Imaris wasn’t listening. With a gesture to Jess he explored the far end of the room and the other exit. “Come with me, Jess. We’ll explore and make sure no more goblins are waiting to rush in while fools count pretty pebbles.”

“Probably has all the gems he needs, turning coal into diamonds up that tight ass of his,” Xandra muttered turning to my table, so quiet only I was able to hear her.

Character Sketches 2 - Illustrated

As an added bonus I fought my way through scanning pictures with the backup computer (laptop is in the shop) and have added some of Emily's awesome character sketches. The level of dedication this entails may not be readily obvious but trust me, this was a good hour per picture when averaged out.

Alex's Eladrin wizard, Imaris, again as detailed by Emily. This is mostly based off Alex's highly detailed mini. Alex claims he's not as artistic as some of us but he's head and shoulders the best mini-painter. Stay tuned for a photo-gallery of minis, as most of them are works of art all by themselves.
Emily's youthful murderess, Jess Solith. Born an elf and raised in a snake-cult. 4th Ed. Zehir cult reminds me of Conan the Barbarian, John Milius' ode to blood and violence: "Two-three years ago it was just another snake cult. Now, their accursed towers are everywhere. Hey, you interested in some black lotus? Stygian, the best!" Go here for a fantastic article on John Milius, Conan, Red Dawn and Apocalypse Now as the embodiment of conservative nutterdom.
Based on Kathy's original character art here's Emily's sketch of Xandra, the halfling ranger out to avenge the death of her sister.
Here's Demona, under her own personal black cloud. Note the tiefling horns. Not shown are the hot pants that her mini sports so provocatively. Although if pictures followed her mini faithfully she'd be one armed after one too many die-rolling mishaps by Emma. Everybody has taken down the occasional tabletop full of minis in mid-encounter but Emma seems to have perfected the art of D20 bowling with carefully crafted minis as pins.

Mazenta's Tale - Part 2

I once again took up my observation point atop the massive gatehouse that separated the inner bailey from the ruins of the outer bailey. I had learned wariness by now, having been far too close to the real fighting when the Lost Hope stormed the gatehouse from below. It had been exciting, seeing the five climb level by level; it should have been six but the dragon priest Brahma had elected to stay behind and practice his weird rites to the dragon god. I admit I was too preoccupied watching the Lost duelling with the fire spitting, walking skeletons and was almost caught in the crossfire when Demona appeared by my perch and started sending beams of eldritch energy their way. Invisible as I was Demona’s wild shots were likely to hit only by accident.

So watching over a two-story drop at the little huddle around the battlefield below I was ready to take wing at any moment. The Lost Hope had destroyed the undead guardians and exited the gatehouse to find a force of hobgoblins spilling from a rundown barracks. Hobgoblins unlike anything seen before, and probably twisted by the Great Curse that changed the arcane forces of the world. Like the horrible, semi-mindless cultists that dared to worship the Insane God and were broken mockeries of Man. The four who has closed with iron flails and shields were naked, covered in an adhesive slime that held fast any weapon that struck them. The two archers who’d fired from the barracks roof were chitin-armored, like a hobgoblin married to a beetle. Standing over the bodies of the naked, slime-dripping hobgoblins the Lost Hope wrinkled their noses as the disgusting creatures. Xandra had to take the time the wrench both of her curved scimitars free. The little murderess Jess looted the bodies, finding little beyond their arms. I swooped low as they entered the barracks, landing without a sound on the roof and spied in from the open trapdoor beneath the framework platform on the roof. Three more towers like it rose from the other roof corners. Inside there was muttering.
“Nothing here but goblin crap-“
“Who’s wounded? Tend to your cuts, especially from those filthy goblin arrows-“
Xandra’s voice, distant and distracted by her wounds, “I need rest.”
“Imaris doesn’t look good either.”
“Then we rest,” Jess the little murderess. “See to barricading the door.”

I scampered up the lashed-together wooden struts of the watch platform as a tattooed arm rose to slam the trapdoor shut. The open-fanged snake mouth tattoo on the thin elven limb left no doubt who. I shuddered and counted myself lucky. That cutter made my wings crawl.

I listened as they slammed things about inside the barracks, barricading the front doors. I couldn’t blame them. Had it only been a day ago when they had taken refuge in one of the still-standing guard towers of the outer keep and had the wake-up call of a catapult stone smash through the wall. That had certainly kicked them out of bed like a burning stick inside an ant’s nest. That time it had only been kobolds: feral, reptilian, miniature dragon wannabees with a pair of contraband siege weapons and itchy trigger talons. But now, since they’d cut their way through the undead guardians at the gatehouse, the Lost Hope was facing the real forces behind the walls of Kallos Keep.

In a few minutes the sounds from within ceased. Here, in the heart of the keep, they’d decided to hide and regain their strength. I eyed the half-dozen corpses they’d left littered on the ground between the barracks and the gatehouse. Yes, this would go well.

I was so ready for them to be discovered that when the first flyer patrolled overhead I simply watched it for a moment. Another one of the bat-winged hobgoblins, flapping erratically in a circle around the inner courtyard, barbed whip-tail lashing lazily in circles. As soon as it spotted the bodies it dived closer, made a single pass and then strained for altitude, winging back towards the far corner of the inner keep. I climbed up the struts of the watchtower and perching at the highest point I could see it descend to the petrified dragon body and thump to the stone platform. It was only moments later when three of the bat-things launched into the air and the figures of misshapen hobgoblins began sprinting over the open ground towards the barracks.

A single flyer, perhaps the first one, dropped from the sky, shedding speed as it’s leathery wings cupped the air, and landing almost soundlessly on the barracks roof. It strutted carefully towards the nearest trapdoor to the interior of the barracks and gestured silently to its companions. In a moment the Lost Hope would be surrounded and surprised in their rest. These creatures would overwhelm everyone, including poor Icarus. What was a dragonet to do?

With a single leap I landed atop the nearest trapdoor, silent, invisible. Raising my tail overhead I thumped it hard on the wooden door.
”What was tha-“
“Shut up!”
A pause.
“Thought I heard something from over there.”

For a moment I was pleased with myself, then I could hear someone below climbing not under my trapdoor, but the one nearest the bat-thing. I thumped my door harder, again and again. No you idiot! The bat-thing crept closer to the trapdoor, stinger tail raised overhead.

The trapdoor nearest the bat-thing creaked up, pushed upward by the end of Imaris the wizard’s staff. With a cry of surprise, and a shout in arcane words that refused to stay in my memory, a gout of flame struck the creature. Hopping and in flames it was in no situation to defend itself as first Imaris, then Jess and then Xandra boiled out the door onto the roof. In a flurry of strikes the creature died, still smoking.
“’Ware bats!” Jess cried, pointing to the sky.
“Werebats?” Xandra spun with both scimitars ready. “How can that be worse than a regular giant bat?”

The two remaining bat-goblins swooped down, lashing their razor-tipped tails as they went before swerving to ready for a second pass. Now Icarus and Demona had climbed onto the flat roof of the barracks as well, taking in the scene. They were so busy watching the skies they failed to see the loping hobgoblins that’d sprinted near the barracks on foot.

They were scaled, like lizards, and their faces pulled into elongated snouts. Their legs were powerful and arms atrophied to mere sticks. With a strange rocking motion they opened their jaws and spat mouthfuls of some reeking saliva at the Lost Hope, clustered on the edge of the roof. One struck Imaris and his fine eladrin robes began to splutter and hiss. Jess turned just in time for a second wad of acidic goo to strike her neck and chest and she cried out as it burned into her skin.
“Watch out, it burns!” Demona cautioned, orange eyes wide with shock.
Xandra, whirring a sling stone above her head, rolled her eyes.

My poor Icarus was eying the newcomers and with a sigh he lumbered to the edge of the roof and jumped, muttering, “Gee, stay up here and get whipped and shot at or get within cutting range, not much of a choice.”
“Wow, go Icarus,” Xandra said, watching him tumble to the ground below.
“That’s the bravest thing he’s ever done,” Demona gawked.

A moment later and I was throwing myself over the edge of the roof as well. As the batgoblins flew back and forth, slashing as they went, Imaris and Demona sent bolts of arcane energy and fire all around them; and just to make the chances of being taken out by a stray shot even better, Jess was flinging those deadly-sharp little metal stars everywhere. Just as I made good my escape I saw Demona level one blast, curse it as she missed and hurl a second bolt with her left hand that also narrowly missed the grinning batgoblin as it swerved through the air.

Icarus was at blows among the spitting hobgoblins and as the three bunched up to attack him he grinned and unhinged his jaw to unleash a cloud of lightning bolts that left one of the spitters crisped and twitching on the ground. But even as Jess jumped from the roof, tucked into a ball, and landed on both feet, the spitters converged on Icarus and rained burning acid over him. With a last axe-blow Icarus began to retreat, weaving his weapon in a defensive wall and visibly shaking off the effects of the terrible wounds.
“Great move Icarus, dare them all to fight you at once. What was I thinking?” he snarled.

The rooftop battle against the bat-things was not going smoothly. I could hear blasts of fire and diabolic energy were punctuated by the veep sound of sling stones.
“Got it! Wait, no. Missed.”
“Hey watch where you’re pointing that wand!”
“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

As Icarus retreated to put the barracks between himself and more caustic spittle Jess advanced with deadly intent and, her fine elphin features drawn into a snarl of hate, hurled a throwing star that lodged behind the ear of one spitter dropping it dead to the ground.

There was an explosion, muffled by the walls of the building and a victory ululation from Demona.
“Sod this for a game of mumblestones!” the last spitter whimpered and made to run as all it’s comrades were so much hamburger helper. It didn’t get far before Xandra and Imaris brought the thing down with well-placed shots.

Jess was already slitting throats to make sure none of the bodies would be getting back up again and Icarus lumbered around the barracks, his armor still smoking slightly as acid dripped to the overgrown cobbles of the courtyard.
“D’you see me jump right in the middle of those things?” he said proudly.
“Yeah, you the dragon,” Jess didn’t look up from her job.

Mazenta's Tale - Part 1

Gather round the firepit, children and witness the long walk of the dark time when murderers, beasts and witches were the last, dark hope of Nevermore. When a pitiful band of marauders agreed to carve their names in blood and magic through what was once the wasteland that surrounded this last flickering hope of civilization. I alone am qualified to tell their tale as I alone am the only one alive to witness it. When the inhabitants of nevermore watched them go, huddled in the openings of the filthy caves they’d taken refuge in, the elders called them the Last Hope, but I never heard the common fulk call them anything but the Lost Hope.

There were six who began, and their names have a wholly deserved infamy.

Icarus, a massive example of the untempered fury that resides in dragonfulk, Icarus the hackmaster lived only to make small chunks with his large axe. As a hatchling a rival tribe of Imps had hung me over the maw of a ravenous pitcher plant and Icarus was the one who rescued me. Since that day he's been like my big brother.
Brahma, the disciple of the dragon god was as thoughtful as he was huge. Uncommonly introspective for a dragonfulk, with a Question for everything, Brahma never avoided the opportunity to philosophise, even during the heat of battle.
Zandra, the smallest member was by far not the least dangerous. Zandra the twin cutter, one curved blade for herself, one for her lost sister, this tiny Halfling was a whirl of blades.
Jess, the snake’s own fangs. This young murderess was as cold and deadly as the vipers drawn on her flesh. As ignorant of her fey heritage as she was stuffed full of the bile of Zehir cultists who raised her.
Imaris, the spellslinger, an old man trapped in the young flesh of his eladrin heritage. A wizard haunted by the world that was lost and unable to look upon a single blade of grass without raging against the ruins it grew out of.
Demona, the witch with a glint of hell glowing from her eyes and a thirst for souls. One of those endlessly cursed from the ruin of an even earlier age when the demonic Cascan empire was thrown down.