Sun Shepherd plows through another towering wave as the storm howls its fury over them like some enormous beast. Dark clouds above fill with spider-webs of lightning. Water and spray, ripped into jagged fingers by the vessel’s powerful forward speed, lash out at them — pounding the bridge windows. The sturdy ship shrugs off the assault, cleaving implacably through the angry waters, the clean hum of its electric drives — a constant counter to the roaring wind and waves. Mori’s got his grip glued to his “oh shit!” handle. Without it, he’d be careening around the bridge compartment of the swaying vessel like a pin ball in one of those retro arcade games. The metal brief case containing his magical rifle — held firm against his chest. His stomach does a rollercoaster-style tumble as Sun Shepherd drops into another trough. Damn fortunate whoever designed this vessel didn’t cut any corners. He’d have ripped the fucking handle off by now.
Mori glances up toward Beatrice standing beside Finn at the helm. She’s perfectly balanced without holding onto anything. The swaying and jolts do nothing to throw her. A graceful surfer riding through this crazy climate-change-enhanced storm. Her sleek, angelic form seeming to know where the ship will move ahead of time. Mori grins, imagining his wife as some female version of the Silver Surfer. Yeah, his girl’s just about that badass. She’s even got her eyes closed — shifting her gaze out through omnis scientia — ready to warn Finn of the next big wave. The sensor’s a few hundred feet ahead. Mori’s magic-sensitive eyes pick it up as a floating ball of light amidst the spray, the waves, the rain.
Karl and Franz are both buckled in. Earlier, they’d distributed fancy life-vests from beneath the seats. Now everyone’s wearing one of the puffy orange things over their clothes — complete with whistle, strobe, and geo-locator. Mori doesn’t want to think about using the damn things. Being ejected into that sea state would be, well, Hellish. His gaze flickers over Karl and Franz. Though they’re ship’s hands and have probably made this passage scores of times, they’re holding on about as tight as Mori. Franz has his eyes glued to the bow. Karl’s staring at the bridge ceiling, refusing to look at the waves, as his jaw works — chewing on some gum he plopped into his mouth a few minutes before. The sight of the two, obviously suffering the same anxiety as the rest of them, isn’t reassuring.
Beside him, Ivan and Glenda are also strapped in tight, holding on against the storm’s assault. Glenda’s alert, her eyes bouncing between Beatrice, Sadie, and Ivan. Her mouth — a concerned frown. Her face displaying hurt, anger, outrage. Yet fearless. Mori finds himself comforted by her courage. That girl’s something else.Putting everything on the line to save her asshole father.I feel for her. But I’ve really got doubts. Mori grits his teeth as his gaze locks on Ivan. The Russian oligarch’s face is a slack glower. That same emotionless mask Mori’d grown to hate. Bastard’s at last in control of his sea-sickness. That or he’s puked himself out. The boat throws Mori’s stomach through a loop as it slams into another twenty-foot wave face. Maybe he’ll be next to lose his lunch.
Mori’s not sure how Glenda’s earlier outburst is affecting ol’ Ivan. But he’s pretty certain the jackass is going to do them a bad turn. Confronting him with both good-will and reason produces nada. Sadie’d only managed to rope him in on their wild expedition to Heaven by making him feel special. Like this trip to Heaven is some kind of goddamn birthday present. Sure, she’s using him to distract Asmodeus as Myra runs roughshod into Hell. But Sadie, like Glenda, genuinely wants to help the bastard. She’s right. His transformation atop Furze Bank, his wounding by Pride Eaters’ claws should’ve been a wake-up call. Ivan, at times, shows fear. Regret. But these moments of potential awakening inevitably fail. Ivan’s just too corrupt, too cynical to take a good turn. Mori gets the feeling the Russian’s circling back to his usual power-games. Shapechanger — Glenda’d called him.
That rat-bastard’s a ticking bomb.Glenda’s right. This is his intervention. But Ivan’s gotta want it to work and he’s addicted to something worse than any drug.Power.
Mori can sense that power-lust wafting off Ivan. Like the smell of alcohol off a drunk. Ivan’s expression gives Mori’s stomach a worse jolt than even the massive North Sea waves threatening to devour Sun Shepherd. His cop instincts — going off like gang-busters. The way he treats his own daughter… Like she’s supposed to grow up into corruption and become like him. It’s just sick. That shred of love for Glenda Mori sensed in him earlier — now seems little more than a counterfeit.
Asmodeus chose this fucker for a reason.Sadie’s assurances or no, if Ivan does anything to hurt Glenda, if he shows any sign of turning again, I swear I’m gonna knock his ass out.
Mori’s eyes cut back toward Sadie. Her onyx skin glistens with an angelic sheen, seeming to glow in each lightning flash. Her face — somehow continuing to radiate calm goodwill as she braces through the storm. She reaches out a hand, grasps Glenda’s arm. Glenda’s face lifts, shedding some of its hurt and anger. Sadie’s the best. Always trying to do a good turn.
Beep! Beep! Beep! The alarm on Mori’s watch goes off. It’s 7:00 Berlin time. Shit! Mirror Specter’s on its way! Mori glances about the cabin. Beatrice spins on him, her eyes wide. Well, I guess everyone’s gonna see it.
“No help for it now!” Mori growls to Beatrice, then thrusts himself upright. He turns to everyone. They’re all looking at him, temporarily distracted by his sudden agitation. “You’re all about to see something strange! A kind of magical ghost! We’re going to talk with it for about a minute! Pay us no mind!”
Glenda frowns speculatively, like she’s working out a puzzle. Franz’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Ivan’s head tilts forward. A small grin appears on his face. That’s a problem.
“You just said you’re going to talk to a ghost and to pay you no mind?! The one doesn’t go with the other!” Karl shouts.
Beatrice ignores him, turns to Finn. “You’re on your own for a few minutes!” She shouts against the roaring wind and waves.
“I really need you!”
“I know! No helping it!” She waves a hand over her form in explanation. Finn looks at her sidelong, doesn’t get it. Then, the magic of Mirror Specter begins to grow up from her. The sliver tattoos traced on Beatrice’s skin gleam with moon glow. Her hair swirls — lifted by magical force. Light fills the cabin. Everyone but Sadie stares at Beatrice in shock as sparks begin to spill out of her name curse. They hit the deck, smoke for a moment, and then from the smoke rises the ghostly form of his daughter — Myra Helkey. She’s wearing a D20 shirt, has a clean look like someone who just had a shower — shiny. Her name curse is also sparking. Sending out streamers to connect with Beatrice. Her hair, pulled back in a pony tail, seems to drift about weightlessly, as if she’s floating in water. It’s the only visible hint about where this Mirror Specter is coming from. Good.
“Hey Mom, Dad! Other people!” Myra as Mirror Specter says, glancing about the cabin. “I’m about to go…”
Beatrice lifts a hand. “We have an audience!”
Myra’s Mirror pauses, “Yep! Noticed!” She scans the group, takes in the raging storm outside for the first time. The Mirror Specter floats above the deck — untouched by the swaying Sea Shepherd. “Oh… That’s a really bad storm!” A strand of her hair drifts lazily in front of her face. Ivan’s beady eyes glint as he stares. Mori can practically see the clockwork turning over in his skull. Tic, ticking through details.
“Yeah, better make it quick for now!” He says. No use in keeping his voice down. It’s like they’re on stage.
Myra’s Mirror snaps back into action. “Right! Then I’ll just tell you the basics! My better half made it past the beach! She’s now with a group of… kindred spirits! Two blues! A Vila! She just defeated some Poachers!”
“Excellent!” Beatrice says. She’s lifting a hand out, stroking the light form of Mirror Specter. The gesture is heart-rending. Mori knows how much Beatrice misses Myra. How concerned she feels for her as she faces down Hell pretty much all alone. “A Vila! That’s a perfect complement!” Beatrice turns to Mori nods.
“Fanfriggingtastic!” Mori replies. “She’s near the Wisp Fields?!”
“Just at the southeast end. About fifteen miles from Overseer.”
“Fuckin-A!” Mori whoops. “Yeah! Tell her to start her rebellion against those slavers!”
“You think she’s ready?!” Beatrice casts her concern back toward him.
“Babe, you know each day brings new risks! Sooner is better! Plus, a Vila!”
Beatrice nods, glances back at their dumbfounded onlookers. Mori’s pretty sure they’re not cluing in at all. All except Sadie who’s watching on with a bemused expression. Excellent! “Then urge her to push on! I hope she remembers enough… of what we discussed before!”
Mirror-Myra lifts a hand, gives a mock-salute. “Got it! I’m off to H…” She glances again at her audience. “Then I’m off! See you tomorrow at the same time! Love you both!!”
Beatrice’s glow flickers, then goes out. Mirror-Myra disappears — swirling off down her connection with their daughter. Down, down into Hell where Myra’s probably reacting to her own magical set of alarm bells. Beatrice shares a final glance with Mori, lets out a long breath, brushes off a tear. With a stiff nod, she turns back and closes her eyes. All-in-all it went pretty darn well. Except that last bit at the end where Myra’s Mirror almost said “Hell.” He’s pretty sure no-one picked up on it. Based on Ivan’s puzzled expression, Finn’s curious side-long glances, and the befuddled expressions on the faces of Glenda, Karl and Franz, they pulled this little Mirror Specter briefing off with flying colors and no-one’s the wiser.
“I’m watching again!” Beatrice shouts to Finn.
He grunts acknowledgement, then glances at Beatrice. “I’m not going at ask!” He shouts against the storm.
Beatrice laughs. “Better not!”
“Oh what the ever-living-Hell was that??!” Franz shouts.
“You heard her! No questions!” Finn replies. “Now let’s get through this beast!”
Glenda clamps her mouth down on a question she was about to ask, looks enquiringly to Sadie, but doesn’t say anything. Karl keeps chomping on his gum, shrugs. Ivan raises his free hand to his chin and scans the cabin with his reptilian gaze.
Sun Shepherd clambers up another monstrous wave. It feels like climbing a rocky, moving hill. Outside, the sky darkens, the pace of lightning flashes intensifies. Mori shifts his sight to omnis scientia. Through it, Sun Shepherd looks small and vulnerable amidst the churning waves. The fast resupply vessel for Wind-Sun Isle straining at its design limits in the brutal storm. Overhead, a ghostly light appears. The storm hollows out ahead of it, forming a circular corridor through the clouds. A black shape like a dragon with a Nightmare-as-helicopter for its head flies through the tunnel above them. As it approaches, the wind briefly slackens, pulled into its great, demon-formed wings. The roar above them grows, the darkness outside deepens as the Nightmare casts its shadow.
“What the ever-loving-fuck!!?” Karl shouts as he sees it.
“That’s the Curse Rider!” Beatrice cries out. “His Nightmare uses the storm!”
“Fuck! I’m watching it now. What if it sees us?!” Mori instinctively clenches, anticipating the storm-enhanced-Nightmare’s descent. Body and wings of storm spread above them. He feels like a mouse tossed about on a bit of driftwood beneath a raptor. The shadow begins to pass. Mori feels a moment of sweet relief. It missed us! The wind picks up. The Nightmare’s lashing tail, a frigging waterspout, sweeps by about two hundred meters starboard. Winds, flung back out of the Nightmare roar across the waves. Seas build behind the Nightmare as waves stack together into a massive swell.
“Finn! It’s coming!” Beatrice shouts, then points.
Finn, who’d stared wide-eyed as the Nightmare passed overhead, snaps out of his fear-daze and tilts Sun Shepherd’s nose in the direction of Beatrice’s outstretched hand. Toward the enormous wave he can’t yet see. Through omnis scientia, Mori watches the wave build to forty, fifty, sixty feet. The collision alert goes off, sending its klaxon blare through the bridge. A roiling wall of white and blue engulfs the magical sensor running ahead of Sun Shepherd. Mori snaps his eyes open in time to see its daunting form emerge off the ship’s bow. It looms like a cliff, its face is shadowed, hollow.
“Brace! Brace! Brace!” Finn shouts. Everyone clenches tighter to their hand-holds. They’re all already strapped in. Except Beatrice. She reaches a hand out, grabs a handle on the console. The bow pitches down into the trough. Above them, the wave begins to break as its top explodes into a mass of foam. Shepherd’s bow lifts, rises to thirty, forty, fifty degrees. Mori’s pressed back into his seat. Finn looks like an astronaut strapped into his captain’s chair. Beatrice dangles by one hand from her handhold which is now above her head. All across the console, read warning lights are blinking. Powerful engines roar shooting twin rooster tails behind. Its hull groans. The bow pierces the breaking wave and again they are submerged. The churning motion of the wave causes Sun Shepherd to pitch. “Grrrrrrrhhhhh!!” Finn growls as he wrestles with the helm to turn Shepherd upright. Blue water is visible through both front and rear windows. Little rivulets leak down the rear doors leading to the well. Shepherd groans from the pressure, steadily tilts back toward vertical, then explodes through the giant wave’s back. Shepherd’s bow slamming onto the storm-tossed sea surface.
Everyone lets out a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.
“Fuck! Fuck! We’re fucked!!” Glenda curses as she breathes out, then opens her clenched eyes. Ivan, meanwhile, looks like he’s about to get sick again. Even Sadie’s tensed up.
“She’s a strong ship!” Finn shouts from his captain’s chair. Sweat beading on his brow betrays his intense focus. “Made to weather the North Sea and make the fast cargo or personnel runs to and from Wind-Sun! Never you worry! She’ll hold together!” His voice is cracking a bit from the strain. Mori’s not sure if it’s reassuring. He can tell Finn’s just about as scared shitless as Glenda. Whether from the storm, from the supernatural shit he just witnessed, or both, Mori can’t tell.
Beatrice drops back onto her feet as the ship settles. Out of everyone, she seems the most steady. She turns to Mori, lifts her free hand, then points toward the Nightmare boring on through the raging storm. “Where’s it going?!” She shouts to Mori above the waves and engine noise.
“I don’t know, babe! We’re following it!” Mori replies, then turns to Finn. “What’s out that way?!”
“Trekke Pa, Wind-Sun! That’s about it!”
“Trekke Pa?!” Sadie asks. Mori’s gut does another roller-coaster dip — and not from the pitching deck.
“It’s a huge oil platform!” Finn shouts.
“How far off?!” Mori asks. “Can we avoid it?!”
“We won’t crash into it! If that’s what you mean!”
“No! Can we go around!? Stay out of it’s way!?” Mori can feel the fear starting to rise again.
“Not by too much! Not in this mess! We’re already pretty close! Don’t want to get thrown off course!”
Mori’s eyes lock with Beatrice’s. “I think Glenda’s right!” Beatrice says, her face falling as she watches the Nightmare’s waterspout tail whipping back and forth like some oceanic version of the twister from The Wizard of Oz in front of them.
“What?!” Finn asks.
“Yeah,” Mori replies. “That Nightmare’s heading straight for the oil platform! We are fucked!”
“It’s an ambush!” Beatrice shouts back. “Get ready!”
********
Gibbons Crane whoops and laughs maniacally as his Nightmare leaps from the helicopter and into the oil platform. He cracks his electric whip. His worb grinds down on the captured wisps, feeding the demon still more energy. The demon flickers with dark lightning as it courses through the metal struts. Its energy whirls out and down. The oil platform crew looks on in horror. Floats, masses of machinery atop the platform, tentacle-like lines running down to the ocean floor — slurping up Hellish fuels from a wound driven into the sea bed, all shudder and begin to transform. The Nightmare drinks deep of crude and gas. It cries in triumph as it taps great tanks of the corruption juice stored in Trekke Pa’s structure. It yammers with glee as it slurps down the polluting substances travelling up through lines reaching the sea bottom.
The structure groans. Oil leeches out of joints and seams to cover its body. Turning from light-bedecked and red-painted steel to black. Hellish flesh bulges throughout. Terrified crew are engulfed, swallowed up, crushed into its new form in sprays of blood and entrails. Gibbons feasts upon it all. “Yes!!” He shouts in ecstasy, then kicks the helicopter off the fleshy deck and into the storm-riled North Sea. Sinking down beneath the waves. Forgotten. The platform grows scales. Spines rise out. Floats merge into a monstrous squid-like head. Lines rip from the sea floor bottom to become tentacles. A great, bulbus eye sprouts, casts out a baleful gaze. Metal and machinery form mad and mottled patterns along its two-hundred-foot long body. Lights shatter. Oil spills through its skin, belches from its mouth. The Nightmare, the ocean, everything is soon covered by the viscous fossil fuels.
Sparks fly from shattered lamps, fire takes hold, blazes across the oil. A great raging inferno leaps over it and onto the water. Gibbons stands astride the enormous monster, gripping a spine with one hand, lashing his electric whip into the air with the other. Oil platform no more. Now Hell’s Platform. A Nightmare fully transformed into a horror straight from the inner-most-bowels of a ruined world. The oil spewing from the creature, fountaining up through the waves out of ruptured fuel lines, spreads darkness and fire across the ocean surface. The disaster. The storm. The Nightmare monster. The environmental ruin. All combine to draw the eyes of demons. Five Pride Eaters lift their hands. Tear at the space between Hell and Earth with their enormous claws. Their spirits come to float alongside Gibbons and his Nightmare. The pollution and fires lick their forms into being. They latch on to the great Nightmare body, becoming riders of an Eldritch Horror.
Gibbons points out over the raging sea. He knows the location of his prey. He can sense them just miles off through the raging storm. “There!” He shouts to the beast. “There is our quarry! Go now! We will take them!” The Nightmare tips forward, plunges through water and fire. tentacles ripple behind. Gibbons, the demons, the Nightmare tear through the storm. A form of fire, gushing oil, writhing tentacles like towers. Behind them — a black and burning wake.
********
Maxwell Plann, famous climate scientist by day, moonlighting mage by night, and friend to Sadie and Glenda, stands in the Bill McKibben control room overlooking a churning North Sea. A stocky, unassuming figure, Maxwell lifts a hand to adjust his polarized aviator glasses against another bright flash of lightning as rain batters the window in front of him.
The control room, named after a prominent climate activist who envisioned a full transition to clean energy decades before it became a popular rallying cry of environmentalists, is part of a larger structure jutting out from a man-made island. The island — Wind-Sun Isle — is a platform for twenty massive wind turbines. It forms a hub in a constellation of a thousand more across the North Sea. Every inch of the one square mile island’s surface is covered with solar panels. Running through the island are tunnels filled with water turbines that tap the North Sea’s waves and currents. Together these turbines and panels collect enough electricity to power half of Germany each day. Pushing it out as clean current to mainland Europe. Transforming it into renewable hydrogen in the various electrolysis plants dotting the Island. Considered an impossibility just a decade ago, Wind-Sun Isle is an amazing feat of engineering science and act of faith combined. It represents the answer to a Hellish climate in the form of energy from Heaven. A place that will fall to the waves as glaciers continue to melt — unless the world answered in kind with enough energy from Heaven to replace the nightmarish fuels from Hell.
Hope facing off against tragedy.
Maxwell marvels at the place. Revels in its triumph of science and engineering combined. He’d seen pictures of Wind-Sun Isle on the web many times. His presence here came at the request of his associate Sadie. He’d arrived just one day ago. Now he worries about his friends — Sadie and Glenda. The storm has transformed the North Sea into a horror of gigantic waves, falling bolts of lighting, and torrential rain. He’s pushed his magical senses out along the path of Sun Shepherd to finally find it wallowing in the raging seas. Its progress — hampered by the constant pounding. Though just five miles off Wind-Sun, and nearing Trekke Pa, the waves and terrible current are holding them at bay.
“They’re running late,” he says, turning toward his companion — Freja Pedersen.
“Expected, they’ll be lucky to make it here by full dark through this mess.” Freja replies. She towers over the stocky Maxwell. Her long, blonde locks pulled back into a braid. Freja’s an administrator and chief engineer for Wind-Sun. She’s also one of Maxwell’s network of global contacts.
“Maybe it’s time to send out an escort?” Maxwell motions to his left. Outside is a bay housing two solar-electric ships. Bright Spark and Ray Wind. Sisters to Sun-Shepherd. They bob in the wind, waves, and rain even in the enclosure. Freja has them charged up and ready in the event that they’re needed to aid Sun Shepherd.
“Maybe…” Freja says, considering.
Then, out over Trekke Pa, the sky turns bright red. Lit up by a terrible explosion. The flames briefly silhouette a towering form in the darkness. Black as pitch. Flaming. Spewing smoke and shadow. Black tentacles leap up from the fire surrounding it. Then, the great monster, no longer just an oil platform, tips sideways into the North Sea. Burly waves splash and roil around it. Tentacles and burning expulsions of oil swarm behind. That monstrous flaming form — knifing directly toward Sun Sherpherd.
Maxwell doesn’t hesitate. He knows a Nightmare when he sees one. Knew Sadie, Mori, and Beatrice had probably attracted just such a terror. “I’m heading to Bright Spark! Tell Jans I’ll be aboard in less than five!”
********
Mori feels like he’s going to barf.
Sun Shepherd slams over another huge wave. Spray and rain fly. Out ahead, in the darkness, a red light gleams like a demon’s eye. Underbellies of cloud flicker with intermittent firelight. The flickering grows brighter, larger. Oily smoke rises up into the sky ahead. Darkness deepens as smoke joins cloud and gathering dusk. Something massive. A shadow in the belly of flame and smoke begins to take shape ahead. A shape like a knife of fire and darkness — pointing directly toward Sun Shepherd — emerges.
“What is that!?” Karl shouts, his eyes wide with naked fear.
“The Nightmare. Death… pouncing,” Beatrice replies. Mori can see her eyes shifting to a more determined cast. He knows she’s checking her energetic vessel. They’ve had hours to refresh since the train. I’m back to about a third full. She’s probably about the same. Sadie might have half. Not enough. No-where near enough.
“Nightmare?!! Death!? Pouncing!!??” Karl shouts again. Hysterical. He’s got his eyes glued to the rapidly growing form. Its firelight flickers across his face. His own face — a rictus of fear — appears demonic in the hellish glow. “We’re dead, dead… DEAD!!!“
“Everyone! Steady!” Finn shouts. “Someone give me an option!”
“Can you turn the vessel away from it?! Speed up?! Try to outrun it?!” Mori shouts.
“If I turn sidewise to a twenty foot plus swell, we’ll start rolling! I don’t know how many rolls she can take!”
Mori spins toward Sadie. “Can you protect Sun Shepherd from the waves, make it stronger against rolls?”
Sadie’s eyes glisten. She nods. “It’s a solar vessel. My magic will work more strongly with it. I can try.”
“Good!” Beatrice shouts as she plants her feet, then lowers a hand to grab the console. “Best do it now! We’ve got to find a way out of this Ambush! And that Nightmare — it’s coming fast!!”
Out ahead, the Nightmare leaps over a wave as it rushes toward them. Its two hundred foot long, squid-like body covered with metal protrusions, leaking flaming oils, becoming fully visible for the first time. Behind it, a mass of tentacles whip out, flinging smoke, fire, shadow. The shape rises about fifty feet into the air, seems to hang on the wind for a moment, then slams down. Spray, fire, oil splash out from it in a multi-colored explosion.
Karl sees it. Bends over. Covers his eyes. “Dead… dead… dead…,” he whimpers.
In the rising firelight, Ivan’s beady eyes flicker. Mori gets the impression of a predator, at bay for now, just waiting for the right time to pounce.
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
My eyes lock on the flailing red serpent in Rarhquick’s mouth as he approaches. My Vortex, taken from a defeated horde of devils, vibrates underneath me as I angle it toward the big Plumacat. The weird unicycle sprouting a half-dozen pipes roars like the loudest Harley I’ve ever encountered. This engine noise combines with a pained, banshee-wail of a damnable worb at its angry heart. Its exhaust is a constant coal roll. The worb — being one of those nasty soul-torture devices that devils use to power both their machines and their magic.
The red serpent, the Uktena, is lashing about trying to bite Rarhquick. Fangs extend, drip some kind of venom. To no avail. The big Plumacat has him by a horn. So the devil snake can’t turn his head enough to deliver a bite. I look down at Zaya. She’s standing on my lap, staring. Rage lights in her eyes. She’s got her mouth clamped, keeping back angry words. Yeah. I understand why she’s pissed. That horned flying snake devil is one of many who’ve hunted her kind to near extinction. An Uktena scout for the army of devils who’re still trying to kill or enslave us all. I don’t like the little genocidal jerk either. I drive up to the devil-snake.
“What’s your name, Mr jackass Devil Snake?” I ask him, not even trying to keep the anger and sarcasm out of my voice. I’m using omnis scientia and interpretor to translate into Minosian. I can talk devil. But I don’t want to right now. I’ve got about a thousand things on my mind. Besides, it’d feel like a defilement to my mouth and the last time I had an opportunity to brush teeth was nearly two days ago. My magic horologium watch says it’s 7:01 AM Hell time. So my two day anniversary in this hot, stinking, out to kill me and take my soul joint’s about eight hours from now. Joyous cause for celebration — not! “Got anything to say before I have Rarhquick put you in the sack?” I extend one of the bags I looted off the devils in Poacher’s Cave. It’s this weird sack made out of some kind of skin from some poor creature. Typical devil regalia. Barf!
The Uktena bobs toward me. I can tell it’s having trouble seeing. Welts and burns cover its body. Yeah, my Urdrake buddies blasted the shit out of it. Good fucking job! It hisses as it recognizes me. “The mage!” it exclaims. “You will be a slave! You know you cannot escape Regina! Surrender to me now and…”
“Got it!” I interrupt. “Completely understood! Your name’s Hassle! Good to know!” and with that I shoot my arm out toward Rarhquick, plop the bag over the Uktena’s head as the big cat releases, then close it over his writhing body. I hear it shout in protest as I tighten the bag down. “Now I’ll check back with you after I’m done destroying more of this Regina’s army. Thanks for the name! I’ll expect you to give me a full report on her when I do!” I thump the bag for emphasis. After a few more muffled shouts and hisses, the bag grows quiet. I can practically feel the sullen seeping up through it. Serves the little fucker right.
Rarhquick and I rejoin the Vortexes as we race toward the ailing scorpions. A small group of devils on Vortexes runs away from us, kicking up rooster tails of dirt and crud. About ten in all. They’re halfway to the jagged bridge crossing Sunken Crag’s black and swarming pit. In the distance, a larger group of devils spills over that bridge. A hundred-or-so riding more of these damn Vortex Hell cycles. They’re running ahead of a huge main group coming from Overseer that’s about three times as big. I can’t see much of Regina’s main army. Dust and haze covers most of it. But I guess that main force hosts about three hundred fracking devils and will reach Sunken Crag in a little less than ten minutes. By then, that lead group of a hundred devils will be closing in. Off to my left, Zorfang and his Urdrake are moving steadily northward near the hills. Grimjaw’s scouts are running up behind me. A glance back tells me they’ll link up with me in about five minutes.
Regina. So she’s the chief asshole in these parts. It’s an oddly normal name. Hell’s history has been tangled with Earth’s for ages and ages now. So I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just weird. Like I have an evil aunt named Regina hurling armies of devils at me from a tower built on the backs of thousands of enslaved souls. Yeah. Totally fracking normal.
Position of Rebel and Devil Forces During Battle of Sunken Crag, Darkest Pit, Brightest Light
Shapes of Vortex-mounted devils emerging from the bridge over Sunken Crag and hurtling toward us are starting to resolve in the early daylight. I can just make out little glints of light reflecting off the metal bikes in this most recent swarm. I glance at our thirty three bikes. Sure, many of us doubled up. But even Regina’s forerunner force has us outnumbered. And a total of more than four hundred fucking devils are bearing down. So fucking outnumbered. Always outnumbered. That damn Hell sun is rising. Hurling its heat as it lifts. Sweltering night becomes boiling day. The air itself feels like a second sun as it seems to capture and redouble the Hell sun’s rays. Sweat dribbles down my neck. Mottle shudders on my back as he works to cool me. His concern seeps through his touch. He’s worried about me. Always. The Plumacat spit compress over the hole in my torso itches. I’m tired. So goddamn tired after the never-ending fighting, the constant live-wire of magic burning through me, my wound, and Hell’s fucking goddamn hot and stink always, always beating me down.
We shoot over a rise, run through a low spot, rise again and then we are there — in amongst the scorpions. Close up, I can see little streamers of smoke rising off the three that are still functional. A fourth is collapsed and burning. I’m pretty sure it crashed after Zorfang blinded its crew. Its tail ruptured and sparks from its vats are igniting more flames. “That one!” I shout to Featherstar. “Get those big vats away from the flames! They’ve got wisps in there!”
A group of Plumacats and Urdrake approach. The ‘cats hang back as the Urdrake lumber in. Their tough bodies seem resilient to the fires. Hell, they look like walking tanks… turtles… Godzilla things. Their big claws do swift work. With a shriek, the first vat is ripped free. Then another. Soon all six are piled up. I’m watching this from a hill as I’m considering the other three scorpions. Featherstar returns. I point to them. “I don’t have time for captives. So get the devils that are still alive, tie them up with whatever cord or rope you can find and leave them on that hill.” I point to the small rise behind me. I’ll worry about them if we effing live. “Then I want you to stop those scorps from moving. I’m going to want all the vats.”
With a growl of affirmation, Featherstar bounds off. I look down at Zaya. “How are ya feeling?” I ask.
“How’re aya feelin’?” She replies, doing her best to mimic me. Man, my girl has some spunk.
“Like I’ve been chewed up by a T-Rex, gone through the bowels, then shat out the other end.” It’s the goddamn truth.
Zaya’s looking at me like I’m crazy.
“You know what a shark is but you don’t know a T-Rex?”
Zaya’s look doesn’t change. She still think’s I’m full of crazy. I guess they have sharks in Hell but never knew a T-Rex. That settles it. Sharks are fucking everywhere.
“Right, you probably don’t know about a T-Rex. So what I meant to ask is — are you good to do another big wisp transformation so soon?”
Zaya cracks a grin. “Sure. I did it all with your magic the last time.” Her expression grows serious. “You’re brimming with it now. I could probably shape a Bowflit or four along with many others.” She pauses again, strokes my chin, looks down at my wound. “You’re the worry. Can you handle another shaping?”
Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up. But I gotta do this. Otherwise, we’re all goners. I shove aside her worry. “A Bowflit? You spoke of them before. What the Hell are they?”
“Enormous flying beauties. Special horns from their heads. Their tails make rainbow spines twice as long as you — which they fling.” She spreads her arms wide like wings. “Bowflits!” she shouts. As if a gesture were an explanation. She’s getting really excited about it. I gotta admit I’m intrigue by the notion of ‘giant flying beauties.’
I gun the Vortex over to the pile of scorpion vats, summon my moonshadow blade. Magic courses through me. My energetic vessel — again more than half full and rising fast. Fat sparks fall in a stream from my name curse. I’m a goddamn giant walking sparkler. It feels like my flesh is just a tattered vessel for my magic now. Like my body’s fraying and the energy of me, of all the souls I keep safe, is my real being. Not my failing, wheezing, bleeding, Hell-battered flesh. I jump off, kick the nasty, wailing, stinking Hell-bike aside and stand over the vat. “Sounds fucking glorious! Let’s form up some Bowflits!”
Zaya flies over to me as I slice the vats. That nasty liquid devils use to stun souls gushes out. Belabored wisps spill to the ground. I turn to my Vortex, carve its awful worb to bits. Souls emerge from the terrible, toothy thing. The light around me grows. Grimjaw flies up onto a rise. He blinks down at me. His Mottle flares behind him as his companion scouts fly up. Wisp light reflects in their proud eyes.
“Now, everyone! Abandon the Hell-bikes! We use them no more! Strike the worbs! Liberate the souls! Free the captives!”
In a chorus of growls, the Plumacats, Urdrake, and Mottles dismount. They turn their fangs, bodies, and claws on the devil bikes. They rip through stinking engine compartments. Hell’s fuels spill to the ground in black gushes. The burrowing claws reach the worbs binding souls to terrible engines. Torture devices made to squeeze more power out of those black drops of devils’ juice. They rip, gnash, tear. Around us all, souls spill out. Their light grows. The swarm around me composes scores. But I am not done. “Featherstar! The vats! Slash them open!”
Featherstar’s group flocks atop the captured scorpions. The Hell machines are now idle, scattered across an area roughly the size of two football fields. Devil captives trail away, led by Urdrake and Plumacats toward a hill. Featherstar hears my command. She lets out a loud yowl in reply. Urdrake and Pumacats atop the scorpions bite and claw the vats open. Loud shrieks fill Hell’s morning air. The light of souls grows yet again. Hundreds swirl about me like a field full of giant fireflies — each light the size of a basketball.
“Zaya! Call them!”
She rises up on gossamer wings. Her voice rings out through the scorched air. She sings! The souls rise. Sluggish, they respond to her. The pull of her voice is like a tide, drawing them closer, closer. Zaya’s song fills my ears. The wisp energy within me responds, spills out. Sparks shoot from my name curse to streak through the wisps. “Fuck! It’s gorgeous!” I croak hoarsely.
Zaya floats back to me. Offers her hand. “Our glory.”
I push my hand toward her. Our palms spark as they touch. “Hell yes! We make glory here!” I shout as my magic rises, as my energetic vessel tips once more to spill its vast flow through my bond with Zaya. The flood is now frigging enormous — fueled by the bright wisps sheltering in my name curse, by the dark wisps lurking in my shadow. Hundreds now. Each pumping its own flow of magic. Zaya pulls deep from my vessel. I have so much to give her. Light rises in my flesh, it shoots through our bond. It fills her. The energy lifts us. No curse magic. We’re held up by pure magical force. Sparks fly from me. I am a goddamn Fourth of July all by myself. Zaya bursts in her own light show. The sparks around me streak through her, then leap back out. Vila’s lightning roars up from her. Each bolt, swelling wide as a river. The bolts bend up and outward, then rebound into her. They form a shape like a lotus — with Zaya and me for its center. Its lightning arcs rise hundreds of feet above and around. They enclose all the gathered wisps. We flicker together in a strobe. Then, from this lightning-flower’s center, a tower of bolts shoot up. White running up through Hell’s nasty, puke-green sky. The bolts leap thousands upon thousands of feet, blast through strands of shadowy webbing beyond the puke, then spread wide in a roof of light.
******
Devils for hundreds of miles around, dwellers of Eastern Infernia, see it. They stare in shock. Oblivious. The light travels as far as Fortress Invicti atop its smoking pits filled with lava and burning coal, retching in its oily gasses. There the white light briefly brightens the dark pollution. For a moment, the attention of its lord, Asmodeus, is pulled from his Curse Rider’s hunt. For just an instant, the dark lord ponders this odd little light. Then the light fades and his gaze returns to the Hunt for Beatrice, for Mori. To the awakening of his prophet Ivan.
******
Lightning fills the wisps. Through my bond with Zaya, I sense them all. I know their number. Each one touched by my magic, each wisp sheltering within me. Their count flares in front of my eyes in ghostly letters, formed by a pattern set into my name curse. Counting souls. Another thing I knew I could do before the memory draught blotted it from my brain. A thing I’ve been doing all along ever since I defeated Bob the Stelo Mal. I just didn’t realize it. Now, the force of my magic makes the wisp count so brilliant it is impossible for me to miss. Within the lightning Zaya made from my magic are seven hundred and seventy seven. Four hundred and two dark wisps cast their shades, three hundred and seventy five light wisps burn bright. Zaya flings the four hundred and two into my shadow. She hurls a hundred and fifty three light wisps toward the dome of my name curse. My shadow bulges to three times its normal size. Sparks burst out from my name curse, rise to my brow, then shoot off in all directions as the bright wisps arrive. I am a home, a safe haven, now to eight hundred and sixty four souls. Two hundred and thirty three bright wisps, Six hundred and thirty one dark. Their numbers dance above my brow. A sigil of safety.
Zaya pulls more of my surging magic into her. Two hundred and twenty two light wisps bulge as they develop bodies. The wet, elongating forms are now familiar. Plumacats, Udrake, Mottles take shape in nearly equal numbers. Four separate to enlarge into something new. They grow and grow, becoming immense. They stretch — sprouting wings, tails. They grow blue, yellow, and green feathers. Each feather — as long as I am tall. Their heads arise, wedge-shaped. Mouths fill with rows of dagger teeth. Forward-facing horns like those of unicorns but about eight feet long sprout outward. From between plumes on their tails emerge hedge-rows of crystalline spines. They are Bowflits! They remind me of dragons, of unicorns, of big mama versions of the frigging amazing ikran from Avatar. Each is nearly a hundred feet long. Their wings span nearly two hundred feet, forming a sheltering tent from Hell’s hot sunrise. One stoops over a scorpion. Its crystalline talons rend the Minosian metal as easily as knives cleave butter. Another tilts its head down to me, blasts me with a spray of moist air from its nostrils, then rubs a feathered wingtip over me. I’m knocked on my ass.
Zaya’s drifted back down to the ground beside me. She’s hugging me. Tears are running down her face. Two hundred and eighty five pairs of eyes stare at us. The feeling I get from them is one of pure adoration. It’s effing weird standing in the middle of a battlefield in Hell watching them all moon over us like that. I get it. We saved them. Gave them a means to fight. For now. It is so much more than they had. Stuck in vats and worbs. Ground down to serve devils in the worst sort of slavery. I can’t even fucking begin to imagine what that must’ve been like.
“Mother!” Featherstar yowls. “Father!” Grimjaw growls. A loud cheer rises up from the new-formed and the rest. They are hours, minutes, seconds old in their new bodies. Who knows how old their wisps are.
In the distance, from just behind the black and gaping pit that is Sunken Crag, twelve of those goddamn Hell balls begin a ponderous rise toward us. Oh yeah. The devils definitely saw that lightning we just made. I’m pretty sure by now they’ve figured out that it means trouble. I’m also pretty sure they don’t know how fucking much trouble they’re in right about now. But Hassle is sure kicking up one Hell of a fuss in that bag I stuck him in.
“Mottle, Zephyr! You know the drill by now! Go tell the new Mottles what’s up! Then have them tell the rest! We’ve got like two minutes to start hauling ass!” I point up to the incoming Hell balls. Mottle flies off my back. I feel the heat again. Grit my teeth against the swoon. I’m ready for it this time. I still have to lean on the Bowflit’s giant wing to stay standing. I look up to the great beast. It dips its head toward me. I dig up a name from a fantasy series I read back in Middle School. Luthiel’s Song. Beatrice gave the books to me on my twelfth birthday along with a secret smile. Told me it was “a true fantasy straight from heaven.” She’s always like that. Saying cryptic stuff. The books were written by someone who apparently knew the real history of my mother’s people from thousands of years back. Us regular earthlings called them angels and made up our own myths about them. The name I recall from the tale comes to my lips with a smirk.
“Faehorn,” I say to the Bowflit.
It gives a questioning vibration in return. The low hum travels through its horn and toward me. What a cool thing.
“That’s your new name. Faehorn.” I stretch my hands up toward the wonderful creature. “Can you lift me?” I ask.
It drops a wing down, scoops me up with a set of giant feathers that enfold me like fingers, then deposits me upon its back. My view from up here is pretty amazing. I can see all of my company… three companies now… clearly. The small group of Vortexes fleeing us are now hauling ass. The group of one hundred-ish devils that just crossed the bridge is reeling back. I bet their commander is having a gigantic ‘what the fuck?’ kind of moment. The older Mottles have done their knowledge transfer thing with the newer Mottles. Now all the Mottles flit off to share their knowledge with the new-formed.
Zaya flies up to sit on Faehorn beside me. She lays a hand on mine. “You going to make it?” she asks.
“I’m about to pass out where I sit. But yeah. I think I’ll make it. Why’s it so goddamn hot? Oh yeah. I’m in fucking Hell.”
She squeezes my hand. I pull out some Perry-fuckin-A and take a long swig. When the fuck is Mottle coming back? I’m getting fucking hot. I look up. The Hell balls are just reaching their apogee. A constellation of destruction burning above us. We gotta get fucking moving. I pat the Bowflit’s neck. Faehorn. I’m calling him Faehorn. “Can you start picking up some of the Urdrake?” I say to him. I’m not certain the enormous, glorious Bowflit understands me. But his plate-sized eyes seem to hold a deep intelligence. He lets out a roar, then his horn hums again with resonance. He begins lifting Urdrake with those amazing feathers. His motions are somehow both powerful and gentle. Glancing behind me at his wide back, I figure he might be able to carry about ten Udrake. They’re going to have to hold on tight. But Bowflit carrying Urdrake makes the most sense. Those frigging Plumacats and Mottles are fast. The lumbering Urdrake won’t get out from under such a massive Hell ball barrage. And the notion of Urdrake shooting their laser-like beams from the backs of these giant Bowflit causes a grim grin to split my face. Soon, nine Urdrake are blinking their reptilian eyes at me from atop Faehorn. “Wow! That was fast! Can you tell your buddies to go get more Urdrake? Pick ’em all up if you can. Also get Theri and Zel. They can’t run with the Plumacats.” I motion down to the pair who’re staring around. They’re looking pretty awestruck about now.
Faehorn vibrates his namesake again. The other Bowflit vibrate their horns in response. Soon they’re all picking up Urdrake. Theri and Zel are lifted together. Zel gives me a giant shit-eating grin and tilts his horns at me. It’s some kind of devil gesture. I don’t have a clue what it means. But I guess he’s thanking me or somesuch. The number on Faehorn’s back swells to fourteen. He looks pretty loaded up. I hope he can still fly. He’s frigging huge. But those Urdrake are pretty beefy as well.
Mottle returns to my back. His touch sends an empathic reassurance. His body again radiates Hell’s horrible heat away from me. My energetic vessel’s filling up fast with all the magic from my new wisps. I’m about as ready to fight as I’ll ever be given all the punishment I’ve taken. The Bowflits are bursting with Urdrake. We’ve got them all loaded onto Bowflits. Barely. The Plumacats and Mottles are linked up. No more goddamn Vortexes. Thank ever-loving Christ!
“Let’s move!” I shout to them as the roaring Hell balls grow larger on descent toward us. Fucking planet bombs every one. The twelve of them fill the fucking sky with fire and blackness. I can feel their heat. They’ll cover a huge area. It’s going to be fucking close. The Bowflits beat their wings. The Plumacats and Mottles leap-fly away. Damn! They’re so quick. Good!
We lift off and fly. I direct everyone to the left. Toward the hills. The Hell balls are coming in a staggered line. Some of them will fall ahead of us. I’m not going to lead our force into one of those effing things. The Bowflits are damn fast. Their wingbeats whip up a hurricane which blasts them skyward, then wump! wump! they shoot over the land. We streak out from beneath the Hell balls and cover about two miles in a goddamn minute. I have all the majestic beasts land on a rise. We watch the Plumacats and Mottles race away from destruction. They make it a little more than halfway to us when the Hell Balls land in a cluster. The explosion is fucking nuclear! Each fireball eats up an area that would easily cover two city blocks. Blast waves shoot out for almost a half mile from each explosion. Huge fountains of dirt and rock are hurled up and outward by the blasts. The Mottles and Plumacats just made it. Debris rains on the other side of the rise they sheltered behind. But they appear safe.
From my perch, I can see the lead force of Vortex riders coming in behind the Hell balls’ explosions. The main group of devils is just now nearing the bridge at Sunken Crag. Ponderous scorpions are gathering their Hell balls once more to fling at us. I look at the Bowflits. Maybe we have an answer for them.
“Zaya, tell me what these Hell dragons of yours can do,” I say to the little green faerie who’s again sheltering between my arms.
Zaya points back toward the tails. “Those spines. They can fling them for miles. When they hit, they explode in big balls of lightning and crystal shards.” She shifts her pointing finger to Faehorn’s head. “That horn can emit a cone of sound. For a couple hundred feet, it destroys pretty much anything. Further out, it messes up devil machines pretty bad.”
I nod. I like what I’m hearing. I really like what I’m hearing.
********
Dressler watches in disgust as Slevelth squirms on the ground. His clawed finger points to the enormous flood of white lightning filling the sky. The first bolts had stunned the Dark Psychic. He’d careened off his Vortex and landed with a loud plop onto the ground. His squibble vat shattered — its contents writhing and ruined. Now Dressler tries to lift him back onto his Vortex.
“Get hold of yourself!” He snaps.
Slevelth points a finger toward the lighting. “Blaspheemer!!” He shouts as spittle flies from his mouth. Some of it impacts on Dressler. The overseer pulls his clawed hand back and delivers a firm smack to Slevelth’s plump face. The impact sets off a series of jiggles but mercifully pulls the Dark Pyschic’s eyes away from the debacle ahead. “It is … HORROR!!” The Psychic wheezes.
“Yes. A catastrophe. It appears Regina was right after all,” Dressler says, the frog-like eyes of Slevelth with his to prevent him from looking away. Out of the corner of his eye, Dressler can already see the great tower of lightning beginning to flicker out. Vila’s lightning. A thrill of ancient terror crawls up his spine. He, who’d faced the forbidden forms so long ago, knew more than most devils what it meant. But he’d never seen a single source of Vila lightning grow to such immense size. And erupting from near the derelict scorpions and their hundreds of wisps! Could this Vila and mage have already doubled their force? Could they have done more?”
“No time!” He shouts to Slevelth as the Dark Psychic begins to descend into blithering once more. He bodily hauls the great, toadish bloat of a body back onto the Vortex, sets the Psychic’s feet in the stirrups, rights the machine. “I need you to drive! I need you to send to the scorpions to fire on that lightning! I need you to send to Regina! Tell her to make arrangements to flee if she hasn’t already!”
“Blaspheme… It is… It is gone…” The Dark Psychic is choking on his words. At least his pace of breathing is slowing down.
Dressler looks back over his shoulder and sees the lightning’s flickered out. “By Asmodeus, Slevelth! Send to the scorpions! Fire all devastation orbs!” It’s useless. Slevelth is still useless. Dressler leaps up onto his Vortex. He lifts his hand to the nearest scorpion crew. “Devastation orbs on that lightning! Now! Converging spread! All scorpions FIRE!!” His shout reaches the scorpion crew. A crew member loads a red flare into his gun and fires to signal the other crews. Then, in quick succession, each massive machine bends back its tail and hurls its enormous devastation orb into the sky.
Dressler doesn’t pause to watch. He spins back to Slevelth. The Dark Psychic, at last, is settled. Dressler grasps his arm, then turns to his Century. “To the bridge!” He shouts. His Century, along with the two flanking Centuries, resume their advance toward Sunken Crag. They’d halted in shock at the calamity in the sky. Now springing back into motion. Vortexes rev and fling bits of blasted ground as they advance at a scorpion’s pace.
“We… must… kill… her…,” Sleveth says in even tones. His fat lips form a snarl. His eyes glint with rage.
“You forget yourself, Slevelth,” Dressler replies. “The mage is Asmodeus’s prize now.” At least Slevelth is saying something half-sensible. Dressler was beginning to wonder if the Dark Psychic would ever recover from his shock.
“If we don’t kill her, we’re all dead,” Slevelth says.
“You always struck me as… more practical than your fellows,” Dressler says as their forward ranks roll toward the bridge. They run down the land-fall toward Sunken Crag. It gapes wide beneath them. Scrabber webs glitter in the morning light. Plumes of sulfur fume rise up from those dark recesses. Insectoid and reptilian eyes seem to stare up at them from the shadows. Probably an imagining. The Vila’s lightning had set him more on edge than he was willing to admit. “It is one reason I chose you for my Dark Psychic.” Dressler pauses, considering his next question. “Did you see something that led you to this conclusion?”
Slevelth’s eyes roll about as his head bobs back and forth. For a moment, Dressler thinks he’ll have to catch the Dark Psychic again. Then Slevelth rights himself. “I will send to Regina as you asked.” The toadish Psychic mutters.
“Excellent,” Dressler replies, biting back a retort. He is used to having his commands obeyed and his questions answered. But Slevelth is clearly struggling with his recent experience. Dressler, flicks his spear in frustration, looks up toward the devastation orbs. They’re beginning to fall toward their target. So many over such a wide spread! Slevelth may get his wish. Then, in the distance he sees large forms lift off the ground and fly toward the hills. Other smaller forms race away beneath. To his trained eyes, the flying forms are unmistakable.
“Bowflit!” The word expels from his mouth like a curse.
“Overseer Dressler,” Slevelth belches the word. He’s almost back to his usual disgusting self. “Regina has already prepared to flee and advises that we do the same.”
Regina. Fleeing. Advising him to flee. Dressler feels a sick shift in the pit of his stomach. “No. Regia does not flee. She merely withdraws. We do not flee. We conquer.” The words feel hollow in his mouth.
“Overseer. This is a catastrophe! It is… unlike anything a local Hell Lord has dealt with in hundreds of years! It requires the response of a regional council, perhaps of Asmodeus himself.” Slevelth drools.
Dressler’s shock turns to anger. No matter how many made forms that be-taken-by-Asmodeus mage has, it still can’t be enough to match the full might of his combined army. He had repelled Lanthver’s incursions for decades, had fought on the great battlefield of Avernum on countless occasions, had fought in the ancient struggles of Asmodeus’s ascent to Fortress Invicti. “No. We do not flee. Our Lady is merely concerned for… our well being. Tell her we shall capture this mage. At all costs.”
Dressler shudders. In the distance, the devastation orbs explode into blinding balls of fire then fling a great cloud of dirt, rock and smoke into the sky where minutes ago, white lightning defiled it. Though the explosion is large, Dressler doubts it has caught much of the mage’s force, if any. She’d survived barrages of devastation orbs before. She knew how to move fast when she needed to. Now, with the Bowflits, she had even more mobility.
His Vortex winds down the familiar path to Sunken Crag. Dressler turns to Slevelth. “We shall capture her,” he repeats the words like an incantation. “She shall be a prize for Asmodeus. Regina will not know disgrace. Now, send to my Centuries! Tell them we are to cross that bridge with haste! Once we enter the Wisp Fields, tell them to spread out!” Dressler points to the massive stone span sprouting fortifications and towers running five hundred feet across that great and gaping crag. He will not have his force mass only to be picked off by Bowflits.
********
I shout to Faehorn, point toward the huddled Plumacats just beyond the Hell balls’ explosive blast. My ears pop in acceleration. I grip tight to Faehorn’s feathers through the explosive burst of speed. In four great sweeps of his wings, we are above Featherstar. The other Bowflits whirl through the air to follow. Spirals of feather, crystal talons, great whirling horns. They are tornados of color and motion. Each wing flap — a goddamn sonic boom. They vibrate their horns in response to Faehorn as their leader. They respond quick. But for what I’m going to do next, I’ll need almost instant communication with them and with the Urdrake they carry.
“Mottle, touch Faehorn. Call three of your friends up from Featherstar.” Mottle quivers in response. He drops his tail onto the amazing flying behemoth beneath me. My bond with Mottle now extends to the Bowflit. Mottle vibrates, shouting out to his fellows. Three rise to the circling Bowflits. They attach, clinging to the broad backs with their hook-like claws. My thoughts whirl as my senses extend to them through my connection with Mottle. I signal to the other Bowflits through Mottle. Mottle transfers my thoughts to them. They’re close enough together for this near-telepathy to work out. We fly a racetrack circle around Featherstar. Massive wings kick up a roaring wind over everyone. Out on the Wisp Fields, the large group of Vortexes has merged with the fleeing group. They’re racing toward Featherstar. Though still two miles out, they’ll catch up to my Mottles and Plumacats in minutes. I drag my hand through omnis scientia.
“Zorfang! That lead group of Vortexes is closing in! Light em up!”
“Yes father!” Zorfang harooms. His response — oddly cheerful considering we’re still fighting for our lives. I suppose he has a lot to be happy about. He just survived an almost continuous barrage of those damn Hell balls.
“Mottle! Send to Zephyr. Have him tell Featherstar to run out and attack the Vortexes below. If they get close, the devils won’t be able to rain Hell balls without hitting their own!”
Mottle vibrates again, letting out a trill of what I guess is ultrasound Mottle talk. Featherstar and Grimjaw leap forward with a yowl. They eagerly fly down the rise and toward the hundred-odd devils racing in. Near the hills, Zorfang and his Urkdrake rain their white laser-lights down on the devils. Vortexes smoke and careen off from the main group as the first barrage lands — blinding devils, ruining Hell cycles.
“Last message for Zephyr!” I shout as we take a final turn. “Tell Featherstar we are going ahead to meet the enemy!”
Mottle vibrates as we swoop low. Zephyr transfer’s Mottle’s call directly to Featherstar.
“Now Faehorn, Bowflits!” I shout as I point forward. “To the bridge!”
Mottle vibrates to transfer my command again. As one, the four Bowflits turn. Together their wings BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! in the Hell-sky. We are a hurricane on wings. In moments we are racing above devils in the Wisp Fields.
“Mottle! The Urdrake! Have them fire as we pass!” Mottle vibrates, then slaps his tail on a nearby Urdrake. On each Bowflit, other Mottles do the same. They send my command to the Urdrake. These then haroom back to their companions. Shells pivot. Crystal-tipped heads point. More than fifty nine blasts of white light rain down on the Vortexes below. Zel and Theri add to the assault. Each launch a fireball round down onto the devils from their rifles. At least twenty Vortexes explode from the sudden barrage. Errant fireball rounds and bullets whiz past or bloom around us. Some shots land on the Bowflits. Those great feathers covering the beasts shed bullets as if they are no more than raindrops. The fireballs fall short. Too ponderous to reach the Bowflits in their raging flight. “Fucking A!” I shout in celebration. They’ve been seriously softened up for Featherstar now. Between her Mottles and Plumacats, she’s got those devils outnumbered by two to one. Zorfang is also beating the Hell out of them even as Featherstar rushes in.
I turn toward Sunken Crag. Our furious flight has brought us within five miles. The bridge is swarming with devils. About half the main devil force is on it now. The remainder gather behind the bridge or spill out onto the Wisp Fields. Twelve scorpions fling their Hell balls toward us. They fill huge sections of sky. But the ponderous things almost make me laugh. They are no match for the Bowflits’ insane speed. Their sinuous, feathered bodies flow through the air with surprising nimbleness. Like the very whirling winds their wings whip up. I’ve increased our elevation beyond the reach of the devils’ guns or fireball rounds. Upon the back of Faehorn, I stoop in the sky.
A point of red light blossoms up from the Bridge over Sunken Crag. It shoots directly at me. Devil magic! “Clypeus!” I shout. My energetic vessel explodes. Sparks fan into a shield large enough to cover Faehorn’s front. The red beam hits my shield, then splinters in all directions. I point down at the bridge, at the place where the red beam rose. Through omnis scientia, I see a tall, thin devil riding a frigging gilded Vortex. I’m reminded of Ivan’s stupid golden toilet. “There! I want all tail spines aimed at that point!”
Myra Strikes the Bridge at Sunken Crag
Mottle vibrates, Faehorn thrums. As one, the Bowflits lift into the sky. Their tails swing behind. From each sprouts a sheaf of four crystalline spines. They gleam like rainbows as they extend. The Bowflits fill with light. It starts at the tip of their horns and flows down into their heads. From the heads it runs through their spines. I can feel the force of it passing beneath me. By the time it reaches their tails, the light is intense, white. Brighter than that ugly Hell sun squatting behind us. Bolts of electricity leap from spine to spine as they ready. Then, the tails shoot forward and beneath the Bowflits’ bodies. The spines launch. Light spills from them as they separate. Bolts jump from one spine to the next as they fly. I’m reminded of a Tesla coil’s lightning watching the energy run from one spine to the next as all sixteen fall down in fury on that bridge above the black chasm. Upon that one devil lifting his glowing spear while riding his stupid golden Vortex.
The explosion covers the devil. It flings bodies and Vortexes high. It forms a wave of stone that ripples out from impact and across the bridge. Shattered stone flies in all directions. A tower near the explosion leans, groans, and then in a sound of ripping stone and rent metal falls into Sunken Crag. As the dust clears, I see a great crack opening in the bridge center. As it grows it devours devils by the score. More cracks radiate out. The bridge sways. It buckles. One side rises up, the other side lowers. This corkscrew is too much. A new series of cracks emerge. Rent into three pieces — the bridge falls. At least a hundred and fifty devils go with it. Falling down, down into that black pit. Some are caught in the webs beneath. Others simply fall and fall. Suddenly the pit swarms. Giant spider crab things the size of cars leap out to seize the falling devils. Great devil lizards, Stelo Mal like Bob from Mottle’s Grotto, lunge to return with more devils in their mouths. The monsters of the crag, awakened and finding their hunger, surge up from the pit. They take wounded and ready devil alike. The enmity between Stelo Mal and Scrabber — forgotten as they swarm together in a ravenous tide. They overwhelm the devils near Sunken Crag. The remaining devils flee — some back toward Overseer Tower, some out into the Wisp Fields where Featherstar is just now starting to pounce.
Elation swells within me. I hug Zaya. I raise my arm into the air. “Victory!!” I shout. “Victory!!” The Urdrake haroom. The Bowflits vibrate their horns. Our cries echo out over the battlefield. Then the Bowflits drop down upon the fleeing devils and join in the feasting on our foes among the Wisp Fields.
I can’t fucking believe it! We just kicked the shit out of Overseer Tower’s army!!
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
Welcome to Part 3 of the Deep Dark of Svartalfheim — an unofficial, unaffiliated OGL Dungeons and Dragons adventure designed to take characters from level 1 all the way to level 5-7! This is the third module provided for the larger BSO Ragnarök campaign. Here, the PCs continue their journey as unlikely heroes in the BSO Ragnarök setting. It is also part 1 of the adventure — Troubles Rise from Yggdrasil’s Roots.
Toubles Rise — provides players with a choice of two paths. They can decide to enter Goblin Town — a new gathering of monsters led by Shadow Maw in the hills near Yggdrasil. Or they can decide to investigate the Ramshackle House — which is occupied by PKers in service to Svartalfheim’s lord King Doomshallow. Each opens to a dungeon that characters can explore — providing monsters and/or PKers to defeat, mysteries to uncover, and treasure to be won. These adventures are designed for a party of 4-6 level 2 adventurers and will take the players to level 3-4 when completed. Which path the characters choose will determine the events of the next chapter in the Deep Dark of Svartalfheim series — Safe Zones Lost, Midgard Invaded.
Updated Midgard Campaign Map Including Recent Key Locations. Original map made by Ted Burgess.
To make Troubles Rise… less cumbersome as a blog post, it has been broken into two parts. Part 1 — describing Goblin Town, The Hollow of Horrors, and Shadow Maw is provided below. Part 2 will publish about a week or two after Part 1.
I am running Battlestorm Ragnarök as a live campaign. Play is live-streamed on Twitch Saturday Nights about once every three weeks at Ted Burgess’s Twitch page. Afterward, videos of these live games along with character profiles are provided here in the Battlestorm Ragnarök Campaign Archive. In addition, I’m providing walk-throughs of these published modules about once every two weeks every Sunday or Monday Night on my Twitch page.
Below is the Goblin Town, Hollow of Horrors and Shadow Maw section of the Dungeons and Dragons adventure module Troubles Rise From Yddgrasil’s Roots. Enjoy it here for free.
(Warning: if you are a player in the Battlestorm Online Ragnarok campaign setting STOP READING NOW.)
Walkthrough of Trouble’s Rise — Goblin Town, The Hollow of Horrors and Shadow Maw
INVESTIGATION OF OMINOUS SIGNS REVEAL TWO CHOICESFOR OUR PLAYERS —TAKE ONGOBLIN TOWN OR INVESTIGATE THE RAMSHACKLE HUT
The players have now begun to learn quite a lot about the new troubles besetting Midgard. Following the rescue of Raven and the bittersweet reunion with her daughter Thalia, our heroes went on to uncover up to two new threats facing Midgard. The first is a town of monsters forming in the hills to the East of Yggdrasil. The second is a PKer guild that preys on adventurers in the weakening safe zones of Mio Elysse while hiding out in a Ramshackle House that has been cast into darkness by Yggdrasil’s roots. Depending on the course of your campaign, the players may have completed one or both of these quests before reaching level 2. If they have completed both, give them the Quest Alert below and the Quest Alert from Troubles Rise Part 2.
If the players decide to Slay Shadow Maw, read the following recap and introduction below. If the players decide to Investigate the Ramshackle House and Apprehend the Leaders of Kills4LULZ, skip this section and go on to Troubles Rise Part 2 (Publishing on this blog site in about 1-2 weeks).
Venturing into Midgard beneath the new star’s blue light — a star Astrid’s prophecy reveled to you is the very Eye of Odin come to gaze upon the void — you discovered dark shadows and odd happenings among Yggdrasil’s Roots. At Hobgoblin Hill, you found monsters spawning among an old tower’s ruins wandering away from their lair. These hobgoblins had been freed by Yggdrasil’s roots — which unbound them from their typical range near the Hill’s ruins and allowed them to wander through Midgard. You also learned that these roots brought with them the cold, deep shadows of Ginnungagap. Appearing to devour lands in darkness, these pools of void spawned living shades who emerged to strike you with ghostly hands. Each ethereal touch brought with it a weakening chill — pulling you down into the void to fill ranks of shadows. Luckily, you survived your encounter with these undead.
You learned that the hobgoblins weren’t simply wandering about aimlessly. The hobgoblins instead traveled directly to a hidden destination. About a half mile away from Hobgoblin Hill was a hollow mouth in a valley wall spewing out the swirling waters of a subterranean stream. This cave mouth was guarded by two watch towers and a wooden gate. Within the cave, lights from oily fires gleamed and wicked laughter could be heard.
As you approached the cave, a new feature appeared on your player map — labeling the opening as an entrance to Goblin Town. You were unable to venture too close to Goblin Town, though, as you were spotted by goblin scouts hiding within a wooded area leading up to the cave mouth’s opening. These scouts attacked you even as they raised the alarm at Goblin Town’s gates. As Goblins and Hobgoblins swarmed out, you were forced to flee.
You returned to your home town with crucial new information. Yggdrasil’s roots dredged up shadows of void. These shadows somehow freed monsters to roam about in Midgard. Even worse, the monsters freed in this way were gathering together — filling up a macabre new town in Midgard’s hills. The goblins and hobgoblins in this town now pose a major threat to every adventurer in Midgard. For from its gates issue war bands. One day it may belch forth an army of monsters!
Disturbed by this knowledge, your rest is troubled. You realize your Inn is just an ephemeral haven within a safe zone beset by myriad troubles. Yggdrasil’s Roots are dredging up the void’s very substance. Their darkness brings undead, creates bridges between Midgard and entire dungeon realms like Svartalfheim, and perhaps worst of all, allows monsters to wander freely in Midgard, to gather, and to even form armies. Following your unsettled rest, you receive a notification from RubyNight — NEW QUEST AVAILABLE!! SLAY SHADOW MAW OF GOBLIN TOWN!! URGENT NEED TO COMPLETE!! MEET WITH QUEST-GIVER RUBYNIGHT TO RECIEVE!! After all you’ve been through over the past couple of days, you understand Ruby’s fears all-too-well.
Ruby, as usual, is available to meet at the Guild Hall during the day or at Thunderale Tavern during night-time (see Ominous Signs Part 1). At their meeting, Ruby expresses her relief that the players returned safely after nearly having to face a horde of monsters issuing from the gates of Goblin Town. Ruby seems sheepish about asking them return to danger so soon. But she believes she may be able to provide them with helpful hints on how to approach Goblin Town. While the players were away, another adventuring group scouted the lands surrounding Goblin Town on a Quest for RubyNight. They discovered some of the goblins within the Town were trying to escape into the surrounding lands. When approached, the goblins at first cowered in fear — begging for their lives. They gladly gave information in return. The reason why they fled was to escape to devouring jaws of Shadow Maw — a fiendish hound-like creature that can turn into a goblin but is also said to eat them. The adventurers found that Shadow Maw is the organizing force behind Goblin Town. RubyNight believes that letting such a powerful and dangerous leader of monsters — able to organize forces on such a massive scale — could result in terror reigning across Midgard. So, even though she knows the risks are high, she asks the players to sneak into Goblin Town and take down Shadow Maw.
New Quest From RubyNight — Slay Shadow Maw the Boss of Goblin Town
A new darkness has emerged in Midgard. It is a fiendish hound of King Doomshallow who is now swelling the might of this dark lord by building him armies both in Midgard and in Svartalfheim. If the players undertake this quest, they will directly confront the horrific creature that is Shadow Maw — Queen of Goblin Town and huntress in the Hollows of Horror that open behind it. What follows is the story of how Shadow Maw came to rule Goblin Town. It is essential reading for the Dungeon Master as the players will either confront Shadow Maw now or later. If the players instead decide to investigate the Ramshackle House, they’ll be faced with Shadow Maw in the next chapter of this adventure series — Safe Zones Lost, Midgard Invaded.
Quest Background: Shadow Maw, the Terrible Barghest Queen of Goblin Town
Shadow Maw is indeed the organizing terror behind Goblin Town. A Barghest with some modifications, Shadow Maw is a fiendish ‘hound’ of King Doomshallow of Svartalfheim. Given free reign to hunt, one day Shadow Maw discovered a root of Yggdrasil emerging from a tunnel floor within Svartalfheim. Shadow Maw found that the shadows around the root created a pathway to a cave within Midgard. Confined to the shadows and unable to venture further into this tantalizing new realm, Shadow Maw was about to stalk back to her home when she saw the flickering of torchlight. A lone adventurer had found the cave and was searching it for monsters. Shadow Maw slunk back into the darkness, transformed into her goblin form, and made a stumbling noise to attract the adventurer. Upon seeing the goblin, the adventurer charged only to find himself facing against a horrific fiendish predator. Shadow Maw made short work of the adventurer who died — leaving a fragment of Deep Shard as remains. Shadow Maw then devoured the Deep Shard. Finding its darkly rich taste to her liking, Shadow Maw decided to lair in the cave.
After killing two more adventurers and devouring their remnant Deep Shards as well, Shadow Maw discovered she could now roam freely about Midgard. Venturing out, she found a wandering group of goblins. After killing their leader, she brought the goblins back to the cave as her servants and protectors. By talking with her new servants, she learned of other goblins and hobgoblins wandering the lands after Yggdrasil’s roots had freed them. She sent out her dark power to these goblinkin — drawing them to her. Soon after, Goblin Town was founded.
Shadow Maw continued to devour goblins, adventurers, and deep shard remnants as her tastes dictated. But she found her hunger increased even as a darkness began to spill from her mouth. She thought little of her cravings. After a time, two emissaries of King Doomshallow — one Duergar and one Drow — arrived. They brought with them a message which read — “Your gifts of servants have made you the greatest of my hounds. We shall use them in our coming war against Midgard. Continue. Gather your forces and send me more of these servants. I find them both wonderous and dark.”
Each time Shadow Maw devoured a goblin or a hobgoblin, they were transformed into a Skeleton, Zombie, or a Shadow and sent to serve King Doomshallow. Each time she destroyed an adventurer, another Deep Shard added to the might of the darkness gathering within her. Now she rules Goblin Town from her dark throne at the end of her Hollow of Horrors — her tunneled hunting grounds where she takes goblins, hobgoblins, and adventurers alike for sport and to swell the ranks of King Doomshallow’s armies. Goblins and Hobgoblins in Goblin Town have fractured under Shadow Maw into three rough groups. The first are fanatical devotees who believe that serving Shadow Maw will grant them preferential treatment (sometimes she does, but Shadow Maw is fickle). The second are those whose AIs haven’t yet developed a sense of self preservation. They follow Shadow Maw automatically and in an uncaring fashion, although they sometimes display confusion over their present circumstances. The third group are those who’ve realized Shadow Maw presents a terrible danger to them. Some of this group fled and asked for help from adventurers. The rest live in a constant state of terror in Goblin Town and may give adventurers subtle aid as they move to confront the Barghest.
Quest Alert: Infiltrate Goblin Town and Slay Shadow Maw
Make a copy of the following green highlighted text to give to the players when they receive this Quest from RubyNight:
Situation: Monsters are gathering in Goblin Town in large numbers. They represent a threat to all who travel across the central lands of Midgard. They are mostly Goblins and Hobgoblins organized and led by Shadow Maw — a creature that can take either the form of fiendish hound or a goblin. Shadow Maw rules over goblin town through terror. She hunts and devours her own subjects. She has also killed a number of adventurers.
Objective: Infiltrate Goblin Town and slay Shadow Maw.
Objective: Disrupt and disperse the monsters gathered in Goblin Town.
Objective: Some goblins live in fear of being devoured by Shadow Maw. If possible, find these goblins and seek their aid in your attack on Shadow Maw.
Objective: Learn more about Shadow Maw, its origins, and the gathering of monsters in Goblin Town.
Reward: 750 gold (250 gold awarded by each of the major guilds).
Hobgoblin Raiders and Sneaking into Goblin Town
After the players accept this quest, they must then journey to Goblin Town and plan their entry into its dungeon environment. Goblin Town is to the east of Yggdrasil in a hilly region of land that spills down into plains. Nestled in a valley, the town features only one entrance which is guarded by a wooden wall, a simple gate, and two wooden watch towers. Use the Midgard campaign map (updated above) for the players’ overland journey. You may wish to include a random encounter appropriate for level 2 characters along the way. The lands away from towns and safe zones should begin to feel more dangerous. You can add to this tensions by making the monsters seem more bold and aggressive. For example, an ambush by a roving Giant Spider or a group of two Giant Frogs might help to set the tone.
Hobgoblin Raiders
Once the players reach Goblin Town’s environs, they may begin to notice some changes. So long as at least one party member has a passive Perception of 10, read the following description.
The woods ahead are now a familiar outlier which you know screens Goblin Town’s ugly entrance. Lurking within is a group of four heavily armed hobgoblins. They move outward swiftly, finger weapons, and seem ready for a fight.
Regardless, when the players arrive in the vicinity of Goblin Town, they encounter a band of four Hobgoblin (Monster Manual, 186) raiders who immediately attack once they see the party. They are one of four groups sent out by Shadow Maw to raid travelers passing near Goblin Town and should be positioned in the woods leading up to the gate. If the party is stealthy, they may avoid the raiders who have a passive perception of 10.
Map of Goblin Town’s Entrance and its surrounding lands. Battle map is sized for 37×40 5 foot grid squares.
Treasure: The hobgoblin raiders drop 4 gold, 12 silver, and 10 copper. They each wear chainmail and a shield, carry a longsword and a longbow and have quivers with ten arrows (40 total). Their gear can be sold for half value in a Home Town. In addition, their clothes and equipment can be donned by players attempting to disguise themselves to enter Goblin Town (see below).
Entering Goblin Town
Loud shrieks, wicked lights, and oily smoke spills from the cave entrance to Goblin Town. A river of polluted water flows out between two rickety towers and through an opening in a wooden palisade wall. Two hobgoblins guard a gate in the wall. You see four pairs of goblin eyes peering out from fighting platforms on the towers.
After dealing with the hobgoblin raiders, the party must then devise a way to enter Goblin Town. The gate is presently guarded by two Hobgoblins. In addition, four Goblins man the towers — with two in each tower. If the party engaged with the hobgoblin raiders in the woods, those manning the gates and the towers are on heightened alert. Players attempting to sneak into Goblin Tower make stealth checks at disadvantage as a result.
Treasure: These goblins and hobgoblins drop 6 gold, 15 silver, 8 copper and one topaz worth 5 gold. The only gear that’s retrievable after the fight is 20 arrows, one suit of chainmail (half value), and one longsword (half value).
A Tough Fight
Fighting the guards is a rather bad idea as it will result in eight goblins and four hobgoblins arriving two rounds after combat begins (from area 1 in Goblin Town below) so long as one of the goblins in the towers rings one of the alarm bells hanging inside the towers. If these bells are rung, residents of Goblin Town are also on put on high alert (see below). If both groups of guards are defeated at the gate, the PCs may continue into Goblin Town, but are likely to face further combat against large groups of monsters.
Sneaking Into Goblin Town
For those attempting to sneak in, there is little cover or concealment on land. Hiding in the hills behind the gate is possible for those making successful athletics checks to climb into the hills (DC 10), Stealth checks to avoid being seen by the guards while climbing the hills (DC 10), and final Stealth checks to drop down behind the gate and into the cave entrance from above without being noticed (DC 15). Jumping down from the hills into the cave also requires a DC 13 Athletics check to avoid taking 1d6 damage from the fall.
The river provides another means of possible stealth entrance for the players. Those making successful Athletics checks (DC 13) may swim against the current. They must stay beneath the water, holding their breath, and make successful DC 10 Stealth checks to avoid detection. They must then scale the waterfall from beneath the flow of water — requiring a DC 15 Athletics check. Once scaling the waterfall, they must again swim underwater for another twenty feet into the cave to avoid detection (DC 10 Stealth and DC 13 Athletics).
Bluffing Your Way into Goblin Town
Bluffing the hobgoblin guards is also possible so long as the players have secured hobgoblin gear from the raiders or have devised some other way to come up with a reasonable disguise. Though without a Disguise Kit or some kind of illusion magic, the hobgoblin guards will almost surely discover them. In addition, if the deceiving player cannot speak goblin, any Deception checks are made at disadvantage as they attempt to use non-verbal signals to bluff their way in. Just wearing the hobgoblin gear and bringing along any extra players as prisoners requires a successful DC 23 Deception check. A successful Disguise Kit check of 13 and a following Deception check of 13 would also allow entry. If illusion is used on at least 1-2 players, the above Deception checks are made with advantage. If illusion is used on all players wearing hobgoblin gear, the difficulty of all deception checks is also reduced by 5. Last of all, if there are more PCs than hobgoblin gear, the players may try to persuade the guards that these players are captives by succeeding on a DC 13 Persuasion skill check.
Facilitating Challenges For Creative Players
Of course, players may use other creative magics (charms, animal friends, animal forms etc) to attempt to gain entry. Be open to players thinking outside the box and allow them to attempt to execute various creative, non-combat means of entry if they’re so inclined. Use your discretion to adjudicate these unforeseen challenges.
A Dungeon Town of Goblins and Hobgoblins
To navigate Goblin Town’s dangers, players will likely need to balance cunning, diplomacy and use of force. Three factions of goblins and hobgoblins inhabit the town (see The Three Monster Factions below). Each goblin faction has different motivations, perceptions, and levels of alertness. Astute players can leverage the factions’ differences to gain advantage, allies, and even temporary safety.
General Features
Goblin Town occupies a large central cavern with various chambers that off-shoot from the main area. A river that is eight feet deep at its center runs through the town. The central cavern’s ceiling is 15 feet high near the walls and increases to 30 feet high at the cavern’s center. Lighting is bright within twenty feet of light sources indicated on the map. Otherwise, lighting in the central cavern and area 6 is dim. Area 7 is dimly lit by glowing crystals. Area 8 is dark. Staircases leading down into The Hollow of Horrors are cut out of living rock. The bridge in area 3 was constructed by dwarves long ago. The cavern’s one ogre — Smash Face — demands tribute from any who cross the bridge. His loud, bellowed demands can be heard throughout Goblin Town. These bellows mix with the wicked laughter and chanting of the goblin fanatics in areas 2 and 6.
Dungeon Maps
Below are two larger dungeon maps covering all of Goblin Town, The Hollow of Horrors and Shadow Maw’s Throne (Area 25). One is gridded to provide the proper scale. Another is un-gridded if you need a non gridded option. Areas 23, 24 and 25 along with 15 and 16 also provide high resolution versions of Shadow Maw’s Throne (gridded and non gridded) and Ghoul Spider Ambush for use as battle maps.
Gridded version of Goblin Town and the Hollow of Horrors
This large gridded dungeon map for Troubles Rise Part 1 is made for virtual tabletop use at moderate resolution and 1.8 MB.
Clean version of Goblin Town and the Hollow of Horrors. Both maps are originally made by me using Inkarnate.
A non-gridded map of Goblin Town and the Hollow of Horrors is also provided for your ease of use on virtual table tops. Also at 1.8 MB resolution.
The Three Monster Factions
One group are fanatical devotees of Shadow Maw. These goblins and hobgoblins control areas 2 and 6 of Goblin Town. They are also the ruling force within the town. This group believes that if they give Shadow Maw what she wants, she will devour them last, or not at all. There is some truth to this assumption — as Shadow Maw favors devouring her least effective or most rebellious servants. However, Shadow Maw is both fickle and hungry. So even fanatical devotion is no guarantee. The PCs, though, will be unable to negotiate with this set of goblins and hobgoblins. In fact, if this group notices the adventurers, they’ll try to mount a large force to capture them and present them as prizes to Shadow Maw.
The second group involves typical goblin and hobgoblin AIs. They occupy area of 4 of Goblin Town. The guards to the Hollow of Horrors at areas 10 are also typical goblins and hobgoblins. These goblins and hobgoblins are set up to fight adventurers and do so without thinking even as they act like typical monsters. They do not relish attacking adventurers as Shadow Maw’s devotees do, however. And, recently, some among this group have begun to question their existence as well as the wisdom of serving a vicious monster like Shadow Maw who will ultimately devour them in the end. If a rare opportunity arises for a PC to converse with one of these goblins or hobgoblins outside of combat, they can persuade these monsters to behave non-aggressively with a successful DC 20 Persuasion check. The monsters will not, however, directly help the players. But they may help tilt odds in the players’ favor. Such typical goblins and hobgoblins may be asked to look the other way as PCs pass, for example.
Group three are composed of goblins and hobgoblins who’ve fully realized that Shadow Maw will ultimately kill them. These monsters occupy area 5. In addition, a hobgoblin alchemist hermit with similar views lives in a hovel concocting various potions in area 9. Members of this group feel compelled to obey Shadow Maw and her servants only under terror of death. They will fight the PCs if pressed by the fanatics. However, if given an opportunity, they will provide subtle aid to the players in exchange for assurances from the players that they will try to save them. Fear prevents them from fighting at the players’ side except in self-defense. But they can be persuaded to hide players in their huts (DC 12 Persuasion), allowing players to rest and gain the benefits of an Inn (Long Rest) after staying there for one hour. This may trigger a coordinated battle if goblins and hobgoblins from group three are found to be hiding the players by group one’s fanatics. In this case, the goblins, hobgoblins and shamans in areas 2 and 6 gather to assault and kill the goblins in area 5 — triggering an exciting battle for the control of Goblin Town.
1. The Entrance to Goblin Town
Smoke, flickering firelight, loud bellows and wicked laughter issue from the wide cave entrance in front of you. The polluted river flows through it. On its oily waters floats various wastes and refuse. Beyond, the cave opens up into a much larger chamber.
Four hobgoblins and eight goblins also occupy this area ready to reinforce the gate should the alarm bell ring. If the players are disguised, this group lets them pass. However, adventurers who snuck in will then be confronted by these guards unless they can also sneak past them — most likely be continuing to hide in the foul water (Stealth 10), swimming up stream (Athletics 13), and climbing up out of the river in the dim light before they reach the bridge (Stealth 15).
Treasure: If defeated, these monsters drop 22 gold, 25 silver, and 45 copper. 44 arrows, one longsword, and one longbow are retrievable (half value).
2. Goblin Fanatics Camp
This cluster of five tents to the northwest of Goblin Town is painted with a symbol of open black jaws. Figures wearing similar signs dance around an open fire. At their lead is a fat goblin waving a banner painted with a black mountain whose cave entrance opens like a red mouth.
These tents are occupied by twelve Goblins, four Hobgoblins, and one Goblin Boss. The Goblin Boss, Snarloc Crutke, is a fantastical devotee of Doomshallow’s hound Shadow Maw. He has seen the (to him) wonderfully dark land of Svartalfheim and glimpsed Doomshallow’s mountain kingdom of Soria. His banner is painted as a symbol of Soria. Those trained in History can recognize the symbol as related to the world of Svartalfheim on a successful check (DC 20). The black painted maws are obvious symbols of the Barghest Shadow Maw.
If approached, the fanatics immediately recognize the players as intruders and attack. They shout to raise an alarm. This brings the other fanatics from area 6 with the two wolf riders arriving by round 2 and the rest from area 6 arriving by round 3. By round 5, the regular goblins from area 4 arrive. The bridge ogre in area 3 is too self-interested to be bothered unless directly ordered by one of the goblin fanatics to engage. If things are going badly after the first round of combat, Snarloc Crutke orders two goblins to run off and roust the ogre. If these goblins reach the ogre, they return with it on round 4. In combat, Snarloc wields a major Deep Shard Scimitar (See Ominous Signs Before the Breach)– granting him an additional +1 to hit, +1 to damage and +1 necrotic damage on a critical hit. He commands his goblins to incapacitate the PCs if possible — he intends to bring them to Shadow Maw for execution and collection of their death remains as Deep Shard Crystals.
The fearful goblins in area 5 stay put if the fanatics are attacked, hoping that this new event can somehow aid in their escape. The gate guards in areas 10 and 1 stay at their posts. Though if things go badly for Snarloc, one of the gate guards in area 10 to the south will alert a wolf rider in area 11 to send a message to Shadow Maw that her goblins are under attack. This rider, however, never makes it to Shadow Maw and is instead trapped and eaten by the Undead Giant Spiders in areas 15 and 16.
Treasure: If the fanatical goblins and hobgoblins are defeated, players searching the bodies and the tents find Snarloc’s major Deep Shard Scimitar, 57 gold, 10 electrum, 107 silver, 43 copper, and a black opal worth 50 gold along with 72 arrows, two longswords, three scimitars, and one suit of serviceable chain mail (all normal items re-sellable for half value).
3. Ogre’s Bridge
Polluted water flows under a finely constructed bridge lit by two oily torches. A fat ogre holding a gigantic spiked club leers at you as you approach. He thrusts a hand the size of a dinner plate out toward you, the wicked light of greed glinting in his eyes. In garbled common, he says “Want cross? Pay Smash. No pay? Then swim in nasty water.” He gives a wicked chuckle, seeming to relish the thought of you struggling through filthy water.
Smash Face is a greedy Ogre who’s planted himself beside this bridge to demand tribute for anyone crossing. Smash Face isn’t discerning. He’ll accept food, coppers, even pieces of gear or clothing (he uses any clothes gifted as a napkin to wipe his filthy face). If the party gives him gold, he’ll offer to carry the person giving him the gold across the bridge on his shoulders.
Smash Face doesn’t much care for the fate of the goblins. He’s got his bridge and that’s what makes him happy. Though he’s obliged to fight at the command of the goblin boss Snarloc, he does so reluctantly. If he loses more than 50 percent of his hit points in any fight, he’ll return to his bridge, roll himself into a ball, and hide under it while crying big ogre tears over the cruelness of the world. If attacked at his bridge, Smash Face will fight to the death to defend his precious home and source of income.
Treasure: Snarloc hides his loot in a sack underneath his bridge. His sack contains — one half eaten goat, one cooked chicken, one pot of potato stew, 531 copper pieces, 223 silver pieces, 15 gold, a golden ring worth 25 gold, and a platinum brooch worth 100 gold. The potato stew will provide three rations — each granting a short rest. The goat and the chicken are too old and rotten to provide proper sustenance for the players. If they attempt to eat either, describe their rotted state. If they persist, any player consuming either must succeed in a DC 12 Constitution save or be poisoned for one hour.
4. Regular Goblin and Hobgoblin Camp
Goblins and hobgoblins gather around the fire, eat food, and sharpen weapons. They peer out into the darkness, clutch at their swords or bows, and otherwise seem ready for a fight.
Twelve goblins and four hobgoblins occupy this cluster of tents. If approached, they send a hobgoblin and two goblins to intercept the party. If party members are in disguise as hobgoblins, they ask the party “what you want?” If they recognize the party members as adventurers, they attack.
Noise from any combat will draw the attention of the two guards in area 10 on round 2. By round 3, the alerted fanatics from area 2 arrive to join the fray. Once engaged in combat, all monsters involved will fight to the death.
Treasure: 20 gold, 15 silver, 32 copper, two suits of chainmail, two shields, one longsword, one longbow, four scimitars (all re-sellable at half value).
5. Mila Gloomflower and the Fearful Goblins
A cluster of seven tents occupies the southern section of Goblin Town. Their residents appear to hide, cowering in the shadows, or peaking through tent openings as you approach. A lone goblin, her spikey blue hair glinting in the firelight cautiously draws near to you as she clutches a ragged doll to her chest with one hand, apparently for comfort. A short sword of Deep Shard glints darkly in the other. She appears to be the only goblin brave enough to confront you. Though she holds a weapon, she does not appear to threaten.
Mila Gloomflower is a goblin AI who was swallowed by Shadow Maw when she was sent into the Hollow of Horrors to serve as hunt fodder by Snarloc. Mila used her Major Deep Shard Short Sword (stolen from a goblin fanatic before she was cast into the Hollow) to stab the inside of Shadow Maw’s throat as she tumbled down into the darkness of Shadow Maw’s gullet. Shadow Maw spat her out into a crevice of void beneath a tangle of Yggdrasil’s roots. Mila was swirled off by a cold current into Ginnungagap only to be sloshed about in an eddy of darkness and then emerge among another tangle of Yggdrasil roots nearby. At last free, she was able to make her way back to her goblin family in area 5.
After surviving this ordeal, Mila discovered the emergence of strange powers. She is now a level 1 Shadow Magic Sorcerer / level 1 Arcane Cleric (See Appendix below). Though young, she’s now a driving force among the fearful goblins. Her words have already inspired some to take the risk to escape. She’s sticking around to see if the other goblins in her little community are willing to also give it a try. But if they delay too long, she’ll soon strike out on her own.
Mila speaks both Common and Goblin. She’s curious about the adventurers and is willing to talk. She first asks if the adventurers are here to defeat Shadow Maw. She appears hopeful. If they tell Mila about their quest she reveals the following.
The goblins in area 5 are fearful and want to escape Shadow Maw.
Rayvol the goblin alchemist in area has healing potions that he may be willing to sell or give the adventurers if they tell him they’re here to deal with Shadow Maw.
The goblin tents here can be used for hiding and rest. The player will just have to convince the community elder Wimbler Crobix to take them in.
Mila is willing to cast Healing Word on one player who is wounded.
If the players ask Mila to accompany them, she agrees if they succeed on a DC 14 Persuasion check. She is otherwise willing to help them if they return to area 5.
If asked about Shadow Maw, Mila says: “She hungers to consume all who live here. Even I was swallowed by her. But I was lucky and escaped. She says she eats us to send us to serve her Lord. A dwarf called Doomshallow. Though she eats her followers, she lusts for adventurers even more. She came from a darkness in some roots behind her throne in the Hollow. The fanatics say she came from a place called Soria in Svartalfheim. Two from Soria — a dark elf and a dwarf are always near her.”
Twelve goblins and three hobgoblins reside in the seven tents scattered throughout area 5. Their numbers were reduced after one hobgoblin and seven goblins took an opportunity to flee about a day ago. Wimbler Crobix, an old hobgoblin is their present leader. He at first seems suspicious of the adventurers. But if they succeed in a DC 15 Persuasion Check after telling him about their mission to defeat Shadow Maw, Wimbler will offer the players rest in one of the goblin tents.
Other than Mila, the fearful goblins cannot be convinced to fight Shadow Maw, the fanatics, or the other goblins. However, the fight may come to them. The first time the players use a tent to spend an hour to receive a long rest, nothing happens. However, the second time the players rest in area 5, fanatics from area 2 spying on the fearful goblin camp discover them and organize an assault. They gather all the goblins in area 2, 6, and 4 along with two guards from area 10 and the two wolf riders from area 11 to attack. The players find their rest interrupted as battle commences. However, their new goblin allies immediately cast off restraint and join the fight. If the fanatics have already been defeated, then the players may rest undisturbed. But if the players rest a third time, Shadow Maw spits out a force of 10 skeletons, 8 zombies, and 6 shadows from Svartalfheim, led by a hobgoblin to march to Goblin Town. If they discover the fanatics have been defeated, they surmise the cause and attack the goblins and the PCs in area 5.
Treasure: 25 gold, 22 silver, 11 copper, Mila’s Deep Shard Shortsword, and one garnet pendant worth 50 gold.
6. Shrine to Shadow Maw
Each entrance to this cave is guarded by a goblin riding a wolf. Flickering fire light spills out from a cave bordered by dark, crystalline pillars. Beyond, you can see three goblins and a hobgoblin chanting and prostrating themselves before an idol atop an alter. The idol is made of carved granite and worked with silver. It depicts a fiendish hound that holds an orb of obsidian in its mouth. The entire wicked assemblage is presided over by a goblin wearing a robe with the sign of black open jaws blazoned on its front. This goblin carries a staff which it waves about as it preaches its unholy screed.
This room is guarded by two goblins — each riding a darkling wolf (A darkling wolf is a wolf bred by goblins for cave fighting. Darkling wolf stats are the same as those of a regular wolf from the Monster Manual, page 341, except that these wolves possess darkvision of 60 feet.). Inside is the goblin shaman (see appendix below) Nard Ulpa. He babbles wild prayers to Shadow Maw, singing her praises and spewing garbled nonsense words as he is overtaken by fanatical fervor. Three goblins and one hobgoblin join in with this mad idolatry prostrating themselves before the carved image of Shadow Maw.
In this room, goblin fantatics indoctrinate and brain-wash their followers. If approached by the players, the goblins immediately recognize them as invaders and attack. If the PCs haven’t yet confronted the fanatics in area 2, Nard sends one wolf and rider off to alert Snarloc. If this alert is raised, Snarloc arrives on round 3 followed by the goblin regulars from area 4 by round 5. If things get desperate, Snarloc then sends two goblins for the ogre at the bridge who arrives by round 6.
Treasure: The idol of Shadow Maw is worth 250 gold. Nard carries a fat purse filled with 40 gold pieces, 3 platinum pieces, and 72 silver pieces. The goblins have 14 gold, 12 silver, and 22 copper between them. They also have one sellable scimitar and one sellable suit of chainmail (half value).
7. Pristine Middens
A natural stone stair leads down to this softly luminous chamber. Large blue crystals provide cool lighting. The area is surprisingly clean and free of debris. The only refuse is a goblin skeleton that appears to hang from the wall to your right as you descend.
The hanging goblin remains to the right is actually suspended in a gelatinous cube (Monster Manual, 242). A DC 15 Perception check from the PCs reveals the cube for what it is. If the players descend the stairs without recognizing the cube, it lunges toward them as it attacks. It is otherwise content to stay in this room and allow goblins to dump their trash which it eats, along with the occasional goblin.
This room is one of the goblin’s garbage dumps. It is empty, however, because the cube eats everything the goblins cast here. The other garbage dump is the river — which is nonsensical as the goblins have an easy means of getting rid of trash in the form of the cube. Instead, they use carrying trash to the cube room as a punishment that may result in the trash carriers being eaten. The goblins and hobgoblins are also too lazy to devise a safe way for their fellows to drop trash into the cube’s lair. Often, goblins sent on trash duty just sneakily dump trash into the river instead. So the goblins are forced to subsist on nasty, polluted water.
8. Waterfall and Ooze
The lights fade as you approach a waterfall at the far end of Goblin Town. Deposits of metal paint the walls in veins of red and copper. Water from the fall swirls into a polluted pool — dark and foreboding.
This dark end is where the goblins mine their metal for weapon forging. Veins of iron and copper are plainly visible in the walls. However, a gray ooze lurks in the pool. This monster occasionally devours a goblin even as it nibbles on the tailings from the goblins’ mining. The predator ooze spits out any gold, however, which it cannot devour. This gold has accumulated in the bottom of its pool. Any adventurer carrying a torch will see it glistening beneath the polluted waters.
The pool is 10 feet deep. So adventurers trying to retrieve gold from the pool’s bottom will have to dive in. Swimming will alert the ooze who lurks under an out-cropping in the waterfall above the pool. It need only fall down on adventurers removing coins from. It is very well hidden and can only be discerned with a successful DC 20 Perception check.
Treasure: The pool contains 134 gold pieces. It takes about twenty minutes of diving to retrieve these scattered coins from the pool’s bottom.
9. Rayvol the Goblin Alchemist
An elderly goblin wearing goggles, a heavy leather apron, and work gloves fiddles with various potions and materials in a ragged lean-to against the cavern wall. A weak fire smolders in front of his humble home which is lit from the inside by various jars of glowing liquid.
This goblin is the alchemist Rayvol. He developed his skill at alchemy weeks before and has been practicing here ever since. When Shadow Maw and her goblin fanatics moved in, he couldn’t be bothered. However, her threats have now interfered with Rayvol’s work. Unlike the fearful goblins, Rayvol doesn’t want to leave. He just wants to be left alone to conduct his research. Because he sees Shadow Maw as a threat to his efforts, he is willing to help PCs who are polite to him.
Rayvol will give the PCs up to three healing potions so long as they pledge to ‘deal with Shadow Maw and those damned fanatics.’
Rayvol has four more healing potions which he will sell to the PCs for cost (half price).
Rayvol has the following items for sale — 3 +1 arrows (30 gold), a Potion of Enlarge (150 gold), and a Potion of Darkvision (50 gold).
Rayvol also possesses a Teleportation Crystal which he crafted after examining a player’s crystal in exchange for alchemical aid. If Rayvol is attacked, he uses his reaction to activate his crystal and teleport to a local safe zone in Nidavellir where he works a small shop front as an NPC. He cultivated this persona through an system exploit and has been living a double life ever since. Though he is loathe to abandon the cave and its numerous alchemical resources, he will not risk his life by remaining here. If Rayvol is forced to teleport away by aggressive PCs, he uses his exploits to bring his valuables along with him. The PCs who drove him off are then left with various bits of junk.
10. Hollow of Horrors Guard Posts
Two hobgoblins guard an opening that plunges down into darkness. Even the monsters appear uneasy in their positions, often glancing behind them as if expecting something terrible to creep up from the depths.
There are two entrances to the Hollow of Horrors. Both are guarded by two hobgoblin regulars. They are instructed to keep those living in the cavern out of the Hollow. However, at times, various residents of Goblin Town are seized and forced into the Hollow as fodder for Shadow Maw or for various other predatory denizens. If approached by players, the guards ready to fight when they recognize them as adventurers. They do not start combat against the players, though they will defend themselves. If the players communicate that they wish to enter the Hollow, the guards laugh, ask for one gold piece for each player, and allow them to pass. The guards believe they are sending the PCs to their death — allowing the monsters of the Hollow to do their dirty work for them. They will, however, not allow the players to return to Goblin Town without a fight.
Treasure: Each set of guards has 10 gold and drops one suit of useable chainmail (resellable for half value) if defeated by the players.
The Hollow of Horrors
This deadly warren of caverns serves as Shadow Maw’s main hunting ground. Deep caves collect pools of unlight. Yggdrasil’s roots pierce sections of floor and wall, spilling out the pitch darkness of Ginnungagap and causing light sources to dim. It is these roots that provided Shadow Maw’s first pathways to Midgard from Svartalfheim. The shadows of Ginnungagap, like the mouth of Shadow Maw, have a life-sapping influence on the creatures inhabiting the Hollow. Over time, those venturing there take on undead qualities. Mad goblins, crazed hobgoblins, their darkling wolves, various undead, and hunted prey all inhabit these dark and twisted caverns.
Lighting
There are no sources of light in the Hollow. In addition, pools of darkness around Yggdrasil’s roots reduce any light source provided by the players by one level. For example, a light spell would only produce dim light in a 20 foot radius while within an area of shadow near Yggdrasil’s roots.
Ceilings
Unless otherwise noted, ceilings are 10 feet high in passages, 15 feet high in open areas.
No Teleportation Crystals
Teleportation Crystals are deactivated within the Hollow of Horrors. Players wishing to teleport out must first at least return to Goblin Town which may require fighting the hobgoblins in area 10 in order to escape.
Reaching Level 3
It is possible that the players gain enough experience points to reach level 3 while in the Hollow. Unless they can return to Goblin Town and rest in area 5 or use their Teleportation Crystals to return to a Safe Zone and rest in an Inn, the players will be unable to gain their next level. Players who gain their level by resting in Goblin Town still need to visit a Home Town to receive training before the next long rest. Otherwise, they lose the benefits of their level up as their skill become perishable. If players rest at an Inn, they return to find that Shadow Maw has reinforced Goblin Town with 10 skeletons, 8 zombies, 6 shadows and 1 hobgoblin.
11. Cavorting Wolf Riders
Loud yips, howls and cries issue from this dark cavern as two vicious goblins riding their dark cave wolf mounts circle this chamber in search of prey.
Two goblins riding two darkling wolves roam about this area hunting for prey. They’ve inhabited the Hollow long enough to be afflicted by its madness. So they are neither quiet nor cunning. Instead they howl in wicked and vicious delight as animalistic urges consume them. They are also ravenous, attacking any creatures that enter this area without hesitation.
These creatures have not yet succumbed to the undeath brough about by Ginnungagap spilling out from the roots in this chamber’s western portion. However, they can now communicate with the undead in areas 12 and 13. Upon seeing any intruders and initiating combat, they give loud, barking cries which bring the goblin skeletons from area 12 on round 2 and the zombie ogre from area 13 on round 3.
Treasure: Each goblin wields a serviceable shortbow and scimitar which can be resold for half price.
12. Goblin Skeletons
This chamber is scattered with bones and coins. The bones appear gnawed on, splintered, but not consumed.
Four goblin skeletons inhabit this dark chamber. Though they no longer need to eat, they still hunger and often crouch here gnawing the bones cast aside by the goblins and wolves in area 11. These skeletons are aggressive and will attack any creature they encounter other than the goblins in area 11, hobgoblin patrols, or other undead. They may also be summoned by the goblins in area 11.
Treasure: 13 gold, 22 silver and 5 coppers are scattered throughout this room.
13. Ogre Zombie
This foul chamber is smeared with gore and grime. The stench wafting out from it is unbearable. Various roots pierce its walls, dredging up the darkness of Ginnungagap.
Smash Face’s brother Mij Norjda, known as an incoherent babbler of obscenities, was sent to the Hollow to serve as monster fodder. His continuous mad ravings have infected the minds of the two goblins occupying area 11.
Mij Norjda is an ogre zombie. He has formed a rudimentary pact with the goblins in area 11 and will respond to their summons.
Treasure: Mij Norjda’s single treasure is a piece of sapphire jewelry cut in the shape of a blue cornflower set in gold. He keeps it in a red and black box in a cleaner corner of his filth-infested room. This piece of jewelry is worth 150 gold.
14. Roper Bait
The passageway widens into a chamber ahead. Shadows of Ginnungagap spill from its northwest wall through a break produced by a tangle of Yggdrasil roots.
Two goblin skeletons occupy this larger chamber. They position themselves to ambush any travelers in the Hollow. One hides behind the pillar, the other in the hallway to the southeast. Once they see anyone other than undead, goblins, or hobgoblins traveling in this passage, they pop out from around the corner to each shoot an arrow. They then flee toward area 17 — hoping to bait victims into the waiting tentacles of the Roper there.
15. & 16. Ghoul and Ghast Giant Spiders
The area up ahead exudes an air of heavy menace. Foulness and stench waft toward you even as the darker shadows there seem to twitch.
Area 16 is occupied by three Ghoul Giant Spiders, Area 15 is occupied by a Ghast Giant Spider. These predators predated both Shadow Maw and the invasion of Yggdrasil’s roots. They were a cluster of monsters never cleared away by earlier forays of adventurers — effectively slaying many such travelers through use of their lethal ambush tactics.
Each ghoul giant spider uses the Giant Spider stat block with the following exceptions. Each spider’s bite does 2d6+3 piercing damage and a bitten creature must make a DC 11 Constitution save or be paralyzed for one minute. The target can repeat this saving throw at the end of each of its turns.
Undead Spiders battle map
The ghast giant spider also uses the Giant Spider stat block. However, its hit points are increased to 36. It gains resistance to necrotic damage. It exudes a stench such that creatures within 5 feet of it must make a DC 10 Constitution save or be poisoned until the start of their next turn. On a successful save creatures are immune to this stench for 24 hours. The ghast giant spider’s bite does 2d8+3 damage. Creatures bitten by the ghast giant spider must also make a DC 10 Constitution save or be paralyzed for one minute, repeating the save at the end of each of its turns.
The ghoul giant spiders are CR 1 Undead. The ghast giant spider is a CR 2 undead with turn resistance.
Across each entrance, and before the visible webbing, the spiders have laid alert lines. These lines are low and well hidden — requiring a DC 17 Perception check to notice. If the PCs do not notice them, all spiders are simultaneously alerted to the player’s presence. Once alert, the spiders pop out to fling webs at their foes, then withdraw back into shadow. This tactics are meant to break up the movement and momentum of anyone entering the spiders’ lair. If the characters move in, the spiders then surround players while trying to bite them — trying to set up situations where two spiders can focus on one adventurer until down or paralyzed. Then, the spiders circle back to dispatch any foes still stuck in their webs.
If players avoid the trip lines, they still much succeed in a party Stealth Check (DC 15) to approach without alerting the spiders. However, if the players enter the visible webs on the map, the spiders are alerted. Visible webs are difficult terrain. They may be burned away at the rate of 5 feet per round as an action by players holding a source of fire. In any case, the spiders have blindsight 10 and will see anything within range of their darkvision 60. The spiders stick to their own Yggdrasil root (one for each root in area 16 and for the one root in area 15).
If the players defeat the spiders, read the following.
This foul chamber’s walls are covered in spider webs enmeshing the long-dead remains of victims. The entire place is filled with the shadow and chill of Ginnungagap, it reeks of death.
Searching the chamber reveals various treasures that must be cut from the layers of webbing and decayed flesh from the spiders’ past victims.
Treasure: 1 Suit of Splint Mail sized for a human (or like), a bag containing 200 gold pieces, a Helm rimmed in platinum and set with zircon (200 gold), and a Wand of Magic Missiles.
17. Roper
This chamber is filled with rock formations that give the impression of a giant maw filled with teeth.
A Roper (Monster Manual, 261) inhabits this chamber. It has formed a macabre pact with the goblin skeletons in area 14. In exchange for luring prey into its reach, it allows the goblin skeletons to gnaw the bones of its victims. As with other skeletal goblins, these undead gain no sustenance from the bones. Although they find seem to find the gnawing action somehow satisfying.
The terrain in this chamber is broken by numerous rock formation and is considered difficult. The Roper occupies the southwestern wall near a cluster of Yggdrasil roots and Ginnungagap shadows. By keeping to these shadows, it is difficult to see for those without darkvision. It keeps alert to the sounds of the goblin skeletons’ arrows — which are notched so that they make a shrieking sound when they fly. If the Roper hears this sound, add it to the initiative count with a readied action to use a tendril on the first creature that passes in front of its lair entrance. It has advantage on this first attack unless the player has some unexpected means of sensing the Roper.
Once the goblin skeletons have lured prey to the Roper, they turn to harass the party with arrow fire.
Treasure: Near the roper in a pile of regurgitated remains are 3 gems. One is a garnet with 75 gold. One an emerald worth 100 gold. One a ruby worth 250 gold.
18. Captain Chumrod & Zombie Hobgoblins
This barracks once contained an organized force of hobgoblins under the command of Captain Chumrod. It is now a shambles filled with milling undead barely contained by the will of their Captain whom they still hold a vestige of loyalty to.
The hobgoblins have now all been transformed into zombies and skeletons by the dark nature of the Hollow. That said, these undead hobgoblins both still listen to their commander even as they tend to move with an otherworldly celerity. Captain Chumrod is a Hobgoblin Captain. He rides a Worg. He command four zombies and four skeletons. Both of these undead use typical stat blocks with the exception that their speed has been increased by 5 feet, their armor class is increased by 1, and the skeletons use longbows (1d8+2 damage). Captain Chumrod can also use his commanding presence feature to increase the likelihood that zombies will succeed on their fortitude saves to remain standing.
Treasure: Captain Chumrod wears chaimail, a longsword, and a longbow. All are in good repair and can be sold at half price in the marketplace. In addition, his purse contains 50 gold.
19. Giant Ghoulish Rats
Within the shadowy confines of this side-chamber dwell eight undead Giant Rats. They live in the tangle of Yggdrasil roots and shadows at the northern end of this chamber. These rats use the same stat block as regular giant rats with the exception that their bites cause paralysis to those who fail a DC 8 Constitution save. This paralysis lasts for one minute unless the creature succeeds on this save at the end of each of their turns. It otherwise acts as ghoul paralysis.
The giant ghoulish rats are both hungry and aggressive. They will attack anyone entering the chamber or any non-undead, non-goblin passing outside the chamber.
20. Cowering Victim
To the left, the shadows deepen even as the passage widens into a larger room. You can hear a soft whimpering coming from a dark area overtaken by Yggdrasil’s roots.
A level 2 High Elf Circle of the Moon Druid OPC named WhiteCat69 (see Appendix) huddles in this empty room alone and afraid. She was captured by hobgoblins and thrown into the Hollow as fodder for one of Shadow Maw’s hunts. Not allowed food and deprived of a means to rest, she is out of leveled spells, has only half her hit points remaining and only has one use of wild shape left. She still has her equipment, though, and is relieved to the point of near-hysteria if the PCs offer to let her join their party. If asked about her name, she says — “Oh that. Yeah, my brother dared me to use the number 69 in my name. For some reason, he finds this hilarious.” An Insight 12 Check by the players reveals that WhiteCat69 doesn’t get the joke.
21. & 22. Captain Shraevok and the Shadows
A deathly quiet hangs about these open caverns.
Four shadows cluster near the Yggdrasil roots in area 21. They immediately move to attack any living thing that enters this chamber, making loud shrieks to alert Captain Shraevok in area 22. Shraevok is a hobgoblin turned wight who has made a bed of sorts out of a cluster of Yggdrasil roots. He wields a MajorDeep Shard Longsword (granting him +1 to hit and damage while dealing 1 additional necrotic damage on a critical strike) and is accompanied by two zombies who lurch about near the corners of his chamber — the result of him slaying two adventurers with his life drain ability during recent hunts.
Treasure: Major Deep Shard Longsword, a small chest containing 30 platinum, 100 gold, and a Tiger Eye worth 50 gold.
Doomshallow’s Hound — The Barghest Shadow Maw
Shadow Maw’s throne chamber is divided into three sections — the entry (area 23), the throne room (area 24), and the shadow gate (area 25). The ceiling of the entry and throne room are 20 feet high. Near the shadow gate, the ceiling dips down to 15 feet. Lighting in the entry is dark. Lighting in the throne room is dim, dark within 10 feet of the Yggdrasil root, and bright within 10 feet of a braziers.
Shadow Maw’s Throne
23. 24. & 25. Throne Entry
Before you is an area covered in shadow. Your eyes catch lurching movement, ears pick up the clink of readied weapons. Beyond the darkness is an open chamber. Its center is dominated by a sprout of Yggdrasil roots which spill a flood of shadow. Orange light erupts from braziers — illuminating a dwarf-crafted throne on a dais of obsidian. Behind the throne — a yawning portal. A gate in a massive swirl of Yggdrasil roots. In the room, goblin skeletons ready weapons. A drow and a duergar stand coiled on the dais. The shadows in front of you seem to swarm. On the throne sits a female goblin holding a flail of Deep Shard. From her mouth spills tendrils of shadow like smoke. When she opens her mouth, you gaze into nothing. “Welcome, prey,” she says to you, “How polite of you to present yourselves to me.”
Within area 23 are six zombie hobgoblins they use the same stat block as zombies except they move at a rate of 30. They are commanded by the hobgoblin captain Nit Thayn — who immediately activates his leadership trait to keep his cohort in the fight by assisting their zombie fortitude saves. Captain Nit rides a worg.
The throne room (area 24) is guarded by six hobgoblin and goblin skeletons. Two shadows lurk in the darkness surrounding the Yggdrasil root. Upon the dais is a drow named Thes Ornga and a squat old Duergar emissary from Doomshallow named Clasher Hocke wearing a necklace of glittering jewels.
Shadow Maw is presently in her goblin boss form. In this form, Shadow Maw possesses the following additional traits and items:
Maximum hit points (36).
16 strength.
A Major Deep Shard Flail (which has a reach of 10, does 1d8+6 damage, adds +1 to hit and damage, and adds 1 necrotic damage on a crit).
She can use her redirect attack reaction on any ally in area 23, 24, or 25.
When her goblin form reaches zero hit points, Shadow Maw transforms into a Barghest. In this form she appears as a large fiendish hound with elongated black fangs and a mouth dripping darkness.
The horrid bites from Shadow Maw in her Barghest form do an additional 1d6 points of necrotic damage.
If Shadow Maw ends her turn in a pool of darkness near a Yggdrasil root, she regains 10 hit points.
PCs slain by Shadow Maw’s bites instantly have their remnants transformed into Deep Shard regardless of whether they are standing in the areas affected by the Ginnungagap’s shadows.
Shadow Maw can spend an action to devour a Deep Shard remnant to regain 15 hit points.
Shadow Maw can spend an action to belch forth an undead ally from Svartalfheim. Roll a d3. On a roll of 1 the ally is a skeleton, 2 a zombie, and 3 a shadow. This ability recharges on a 5 or 6 on a D6.
Flanking the throne are two braziers. In addition to emitting light, a creature stepping or forced into a brazier’s space takes 1d6 fire damage.
Behind the throne is an open gateway to Svartalfheim. This is the root path Shadow Maw originally took to enter these chambers. The players cannot yet enter Svartalfheim unless they have possessed a Deep Shard item for 10 days or are standing within five feet of a such a player while touching them. Within this chamber is a shadow. If combat begins in the throne room, the shadow phases through the dais to stand beside Shadowmaw.
Treasure: Shadow Maw possesses a Major Deep Shard Flail. A locked chest behind her throne contains 1,000 gold, 300 silver, and 250 copper.
Within the chest is a message to Shadow Maw bearing the seal of King Doomshallow (A black mountain with a gaping red entrance opening like a mouth.)
“Your gifts of servants have made you the greatest of my hounds. We shall use them in our coming war against Midgard. Continue. Gather your forces and send me more of these servants. I find them both wonderous and dark.”
Shadow Maw’s crown is made of obsidian and is worth 150 gold.
Clasher Hocke’s necklace is made of gold which encrusts three bloodstones. This piece of jewelry is worth 250 gold.
Hidden in a secret compartment (DC 15 Perception) under the obsidian dais is Phoenix Tear (see Appendix).
APPENDIX
This module includes one new magic item in the form of Phoenix Tear. In addition, the stats for a key O(PCs) — Mila Gloomflower and WhiteCat69 — are included below.
Magic Items
Phoenix Tear (Legendary, Weapon, Dormant)
This item appears to be a glove made of a crystalline mesh in the shapes of hundreds of tiny teardrops. While wearing the glove, you may use a bonus action to summon a blade of pure radiance into your hand. So long as the blade exists, it acts as a magical longsword with the finesse and versatile properties. If you are proficient with shortswords or longswords, you are proficient with Phoenix Tear. You may use a bonus action to dismiss any blade summoned in this way. If the blade leaves your hand, it disappears after one round.
In its present, dormant state, Phoenix Tear can be used to summon a +1 weapon that does radiant damage. It may be awakened and its powers thus increased by certain events throughout this adventure series.
Phoenix Tear is the sister glove to Star Rain — which may be found elsewhere in the world of Battlestorm Online.
OPC and Monster Stats
Stats for Mila Gloomflower, Goblin Shamans, and WhiteCat69 are found below.
Mila Gloomflower — 5e stats
Small Goblin, neutral
Armor Class 12 (15) (mage armor) Hit Points 15 Speed 30 ft.
STR
DEX
CON
INT
WIS
CHA
8 (-1)
14 (+2)
14 (+2)
11 (0)
16 (+3)
13 (+1)
Saving Throws Con +4, Cha +3 Skills Insight +5, Arcana +2, Perception +5, Religion +2, Stealth +4 Senses passive Perception 15, darkvision 120 Languages Common, Goblin
Magic Weapon. Mila Gloomflower has a Major Deep Shard Short Sword (attack stats adjusted).
Arcane Initiate. Mila Gloomflower has training in the Arcana Skill. In addition, she gains two cantrips from the wizard spell list. These are cleric spells for her.
Eyes of the Dark.Mila Gloomflower has darkvision of 120 feet.
Strength of the Grave.Mila Gloomflower exists in a twilight state between life and death that makes her difficult to defeat. When damage reduces her to 0 hit points, she can make a Charisma saving throw (DC 5 + the damage taken). On a success, she instead drops to 1 hit point. She can’t use this feature if she is reduced to 0 hit points by radiant damage or by a critical hit.
After the saving throw succeeds, she can’t use this feature again until she finishes a long rest.
Spellcasting. Mila Gloomflower is a 2nd-level spellcaster. His spellcasting ability is Wisdom and Charisma (spell save DC 13, +5 to hit with spell attacks, and spell save DC 11, +3 to hit with spell attacks). She has the following spells prepared:
Firebolt.Spell Attack: +5 to hit, range 120 feet, one target. Hit: 6 (1d10) fire damage.
Greenflame Blade.Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, range 5 feet, one target. Hit: 7 (1d6+3) fire damage. Second target within 5 takes 3 fire damage. Critical: +1 necrotic damage.
Magic Missile.Ranged Spell Attack: Auto hit. Range 120 feet. 3d4+3 force damage.
Inflict Wounds.Melee Spell Attack: +5 to hit, range 5 feet, one target. Hit: 3d10 (18) necrotic damage.
Guiding Bolt.Ranged Spell Attack: +5 to hit, range 120 feet, one target. Hit: 4d6 (16) radiant damage and target grants advantage to next attack roll against it.
DESCRIPTION
MiIa Gloomflower is a Goblin with cold gray skin and blue hair. She clutches an old raggedy doll in one hand and wields a deep shard short sword in the other.
**********
Goblin Shaman
Smallhumanoid (goblinoid), neutral evil
Armor Class 15 (Leather Armor, Shield)
Hit Points 17 (5d6)
Speed 30 ft.
STR 10 (+0), DEX 14 (+2), CON 10 (+0), INT 10 (+0), WIS 14 (+2), CHA 10 (+0)
Skills Perception +4, Stealth +6, Medicine +4
Senses Darkvision 60 Ft., passive Perception 14
Languages Common, Goblin
Challenge 1 (200 XP)
Nimble Escape. The goblin can take the Disengage or Hide action as a bonus action on each of its turns.
Staff.Melee Weapon Attack: +2 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 4 (1d6) bludgeoning damage.
Spellcasting. The goblin is a 3rd-level spellcaster. Its spellcasting ability is Wisdom (spell save DC 12, +4 to hit with spell attacks). It has the following Druid spells prepared:
Armor Class 13 (leather armor Hit Points 17 (presently 9) Speed 30 ft.
STR
DEX
CON
INT
WIS
CHA
8 (-1)
14 (+2)
14 (+2)
12 (+1)
16 (+3)
12 (+1)
Saving Throws Wis +5, Cha +3 Skills Insight +5, Nature +2, Perception +5, Animal Handling +5 Senses passive Perception 15, darkvision 60 Languages Common, Elfish
Circle Forms. WhiteCat69 has the ability to transform into more dangerous animal forms. She can use her Wild Shape to transform into a beast with a challenge rating as high as 1. She uses this ability to shape change into a white lion during combat.
Combat Wild Shape.WhiteCat69 can use Wild Shape on her turn as a bonus action, rather than as an action. Additionally, while she is transformed by Wild Shape, she may use a bonus action to expend one spell slot to regain 1d8 hit points per level of the spell slot expended (when found in area 20, WhiteCat69 no longer has any spell slots remaining).
Spellcasting. WhiteCat69is a 2nd-level spellcaster. His spellcasting ability is Wisdom (spell save DC 13, +5 to hit with spell attacks). She has the following spells prepared:
Create Bonfire.Spell: One five foot cube of fire on the ground within 60 feet. DC 13 Dexterity save or take 5 (1d8) fire damage. Repeat save if creature enters fire or ends turn there.
Scimitar.Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, range 5 feet, one target. Hit: 6 (1d6+2) slashing damage.
DESCRIPTION
WhiteCat69 is a female elf with white hair and cat-like tabby paint marking on her face and neck. She is battered from her capture and numerous scrapes with monsters in the Hollow.
My little ragtag army of Mottles, Urdrakes, and Plumacats is ready to go. Sure, they’re scared witless. Who wouldn’t be facing down the worst Hell has to offer in the form of scores of heavily armed devils?? Fiendish Drivers who want to nothing more than to kill your corpus, rip out your wisp, then force it to serve as a slave in a torturous worb. All led by terrible Overseers profiting from the horrible wisp trade. But our little force is fresh from two big victories against the devils of Overseer Tower. They’re also serious badasses. It’s starting to dawn on me that the Urdrakes and Plumacats are both some kind of uber predator. The Urdrakes are mini godzillas as giant snapping turtles — with the ability to shoot beams of killing light out of their frigging heads. Plumacats remind me of some tiger-velociraptor hybrid. Mottles, though not carnivorous, are like a badass mash-up of a giant bat with a cloaker from D&D. Yeah, after all the fighting, I’ve got D&D on my mind today. Deal.
I ride the nasty Vortex up to the canyon wall, my company of uber predators and other misfits following along in the Hell machine’s stinking wake. Its banshee-wail engine rips at my ears. Poor, tortured wisps churning inside a ring of spiritual teeth — spitting out soul-juice to spike the fossil-fuel crud devils burn in their engines. Clouds of noxious smoke rise around me.
I climb over the canyon’s lip, stare out across hills spilling into the Wisp Fields. Mists from earlier are now clear. Lights and shadows play together beneath a fractured night sky. At first, it’s tough to make out what I’m seeing. Though I’m pretty sure most of the lights are wisps, there’s a huge group of devils tooling about down there.
Grimjaw pads up beside me, points with a clawed hand into the lands below. “See them,” he growls. I follow the tip of his claw to a large force of devils churning across stinking lands. They’re still many miles away. A plume of back-lit smoke rises from their Vortexes which swarm around hulking scorpions — tail tips blazing in red-orange orbs from stolen wisp energy. They’re tough to miss once I know where to look. Still far off, so it’s understandable I overlooked them in omnis scientia. Grimjaw shifts his claw lower. “There too,” he says again in more of a whisper. I have to focus. After a few seconds, I catch a smoke plume against the night. Following it down, I see a cluster of flickering worbs. They’re close enough for me to hear the faint sound of Vortex engines wailing now that I’ve briefly throttled down my own nasty machine.
“I see them,” I reply. Mottle quivers as he shares in my senses. He’s excited, afraid, anticipating what’s to come.
Grimjaw shifts his hand a final time. He points above the wisps fields. I focus my sight. I can’t see shit. Closing my eyes, I shift to omnis scientia, then use its enhanced sight to follow Grimjaw’s claw to the point he’s indicating. At last I see the Uktena — its red-ribbon form threading through the night sky.
“Fuck!” I say as I recognize the devil-snake. I’d heard Grimjaw’s earlier report of the sighting. But I hoped the big Plumacat was somehow mistaken. The Uktena’s flying right for that big force of devils. It’s a rather slow flyer. But judging from its path and speed, it’ll meet with the larger devil force in about a half hour. I stare as Plumacats and Urdrake climb up onto the ridge beside me. Mottles glide overhead. Our scouts are already on the next ridge about a half mile away.
Theri and Zel pull up beside me on their own stinking Vortexes. Zaya’s flying overhead. The two wounded Plumacats wail in on their Vortexes behind us. “I want all of you to stay close to me,” I say to them. “Zaya, I’m going to need you again soon. Do you think you’ll be ready to change more wisps in about an hour?”
The Hell faerie hovers close, she has to shout over the wail of the stupid Vortexes. “I’ll have to rely on you more! But yes!”
“Fanfriggingtastic!” I turn to Zel and Theri. “What can you tell me about the scorpions? We took that one out really quick. But I don’t think I got a chance to see what it was fully capable of.”
Zel looks at Theri who replies. “The scorps are great machine monsters. Close in, they can shred about anything with their burning claws. The tails, are the bigger threat, though. They can steal raw wisp energy to throw glowing balls of destruction. Much larger than the fireball rounds. But slow. You’ll see them coming if they do. Better get out of the way.”
Fucking great. I was worried about something like this. Zel took out the tail of the first scorp we ambushed quick. So I didn’t get to see it in action. “How far can it throw its hell balls?”
“About ten miles. But like I said, they’re slow. You can see them coming. If you move, you can get out of their path.” This creates a new complication. The scorps are about eight miles out. Within range if the devils spot us. That’ll probably happen soon. Although one thing’s certain. I don’t intent to sit still.
“Frigging Great! Now follow me!” I gun my Vortex over to Zorfang. He’s got a cluster of Urdrakes near him. They’re walking in a shambling line along the ridge. Their pace is slow but steady. The measured movement is something I’ve thought about as we climb up to the ridge line. Soon, the larger devil force will see us. I’m going to need to move quick. But I’ve got to make sure I employ these Urdrake effectively or we’re all pretty much effed.
“I need to know what you’ve got, Zorfang,” I say to the massive godzilla turtle thing.
He tilts his giant reptile head down toward me giving a quizzical expression. It’s cute, even on a beast I know could bite my friggin arm off with one great snap of his serrated beak.
I point to the crystal formation at the top of his head. “How far do those shoot? Can you run out?”
Zorfang scratches at the crystal formation with a large claw. “Shoots as far as I see. But gets weak with distance. Up close, it cuts. Further, it heats. Further still, it will blind.”
I point down to the large group of devils in the Wisp Fields’ center. “What can you do to that?”
“If some look this way, we can blind them, perhaps.”
I point to the Uktena. “That?” I ask. I’m using omnis scientia to see it. I can’t fracking see it with my own eyes. I’m wondering if Zorfang can.
Zorfang looks in the direction I’m pointing. He casts about for a moment. Then, he closes his eyes. He tilts the crystal structure a little, then a small beam shoots out. In omnis scientia, I see the Uktena momentarily light up. Neat trick.
“Ahhh…” Zorfang hums. “Though closer, it is small and bobs around.” He seems to consider a moment more before replying. “Blind it. Three, maybe four of us can heat it.”
This is new information. “You can combine your beams?”
Zorfang nods.
I’m impressed. This is a hell of a capability. The Urdrakes may be slow, but they could lay down the literal heat over long distances. I felt like a commander of a laser artillery battery. Last of all, I point at the scouts closing in on their Vortexes. “And those?”
Zorfang doesn’t even hesitate. “Small cuts. We can heat the machines to explode.”
Amazing. “OK, Zorfang. That’s really helpful. So I’m going to take these Vortexes, the Mottles and the Plumacats out into the wisp fields. We’re going to be moving crazy fast. I want you to get your Urdrakes to hit that Uktena now. If you can, get him out of the air. But try not to make too much light, if you can.” I point to the next ridge line. “Then I want you to run to that ridge as fast as you can. You might have some fire hurled your way from those giant scorps.” I motion down to the larger force of devils. “So I want you guys to shoot, then move, shoot again, then move again. Keep ’em guessing. Get all the Urdrakes up there and be ready.”
Zorfang nods. “Yes father,” he says in his deep, musical tones, then begins to shuffle off.
“Wait a sec. I’m not quite finished.”
Zorfang pauses. I reach out a hand to touch his forehead. Casting my curse magic out, I connect him to omnis scientia. “Una!” I incant. Now he can see and hear through the sensor. I direct it to hover down next to me. “This is omnis scientia. It’s a sensor I’ve crafted out of magic. I’m taking it with me. I’ve just set it up so you can see me through it when you concentrate on me. Close your eyes. Try it out.”
Zorfang closes his eyes. “I can see Myra,” he says. “It is clearer than crystal sight.”
“Fantastic! Now, when I touch the sensor, you will also be able to hear me.” I reach out, drag my hand through the sensor’s curse-shaped body. “Like this,” I say as I touch it.
Zorfang shuffles in surprise as my voice is transmitted to him twice — once through regular sound and once through the sensor. “Yes! I hear!”
“OK. So you know what your first mission is, right?”
“The red snake in the sky. We try to heat or blind it. Then, on to that rise! Shoot, then move!” He sings the last bit loudly. He seems to be getting riled up.
“Excellent! After that, we’ll be in touch.” I tap my ear. I pause, look behind me at Rookfang. For a moment, I muse about their names. Neither actually has any real fangs. Just serrated beaks. I shake off my moment of bemusement. Grabbing Rookfang’s, arm, I slide him gently off the bike. Takes a lot of effort. The guy is huge. Weighs hundreds of pounds. He plunks down to the ground beside Zorfang. “One more thing. I’ll need you to take him with you. Get two of your stronger Urdrakes to carry him.”
Positions of Forces and Recent Events During the Battle of Sunken Crag
Zorfang looks down at Rookfang, then harrooms and affirmation. With a smile and a thumbs up, I ride off in the direction of Featherstar. She’s got ten Plumacats lined up. Eight of them have finally teamed with the remaining Mottles. Grimjaw, Shade, and his scout team flow into them. Theri, Zel, and the two wounded Plumacats on Vortexes ride up. Zaya hovers overhead. My stomach tightens as I take in this motley assortment. Together we number a mere thirty-seven. Including the scouts running out ahead, that’s forty-nine. Pretty thin. But I’m counting on the twenty-three frigging laser artillery Urdrakes I’m leaving behind to give us some heavy support. As I look over my force, I feel like I’m about to take a big drop on a huge roller coaster. But this rollercoaster is diving me straight into heavy combat. Stuff is about to get real brutal.
“The chips are down. It’s time for some desperate moves,” I say to them. “We’re heading out together. Our first objective is to take out that scout company.” I point in the direction of the ten devils on Vortexes heading toward us fast. “Next, we circle back to eliminate their main force. I’m counting on you to be swift and fierce. We’re going to punch ’em in the nose, then draw them into a fight they won’t make it out of.” I sound a lot more confident than I feel. But I’ve got to make them believe it’s possible. Otherwise, it won’t be. “The Urdrakes will set up in these hills to rain barrages of blinding and heating lights down on them. Don’t look back toward the hills.” I point to my eyes, then point back at them. “Eyes to the enemy.”
I ride to the downslope, summon my moonshadow blade, then point it at the leading force of devils. “Now charge!”
***********
Corviss flies through the air as swift as he can. It’s infuriatingly slow.
He’s not a fast flier — more a swimmer of air currents. While near the Vortexes, he can catch a slipstream and glide along. Carried forward by the bike’s motion.
His teleports are crazy-quick, but short distance. At most, his jumps cover about five hundred feet. Making such swift jumps is highly exerting. He’d panicked when the fireball blossomed around him above the canyon. The sudden expense of energy needed to escape its blast drained him. He might be able to jump once or twice more before succumbing to exhaustion. So he’s stuck coiling slowly through the air toward Lavross’s lumbering force. It’s frustrating. Lavross must know about the mage’s large and deadly gathering of Plumacats, Mottles, and Urdrakes.
“Lavross, Lavross… See me Lavross!” He laments, hoping the Overseer will spot him and send out his Vortex riders to scoop him up.
He rides toward a current of falling air he hopes will carry him to Lavross when his skin suddenly becomes blazing hot. He shrieks, JUMPS!, then spins to see where the fireball round came from. There is no fireball round! Just a painful burning sensation all over his body that lets him know the heat he felt was real. He spins in a spiral. His teleport brought him lower, but he still has the advantage of height for perspective. He looks toward the Razor Hills. It takes him a moment to make out the distant forms of Urdrakes in a line along a ridge. Then, a barrage of brilliant flashes shoots out from the Urdrakes. He feels another searing pain — this time over his face, his eyes. Darkness and burning swallow him. He JUMPS! again. Falls through a well of black. Slams into the ground.
All goes dark.
When Corviss wakes, he finds he’s lost all sight except his peripheral vision. A great black hole eats up his gaze. He tries to fly, but can’t gain perspective and slams into the ground again. Popping up, he tips his head to try to see the land around. There’s a nearby rise. He scrabbles atop it, tilts his head. The rim of sight is maddening in its illusiveness. He coils and spins as he tries to see. At last, he makes out the blurry form of a scorpion lumbering about five miles away in the corner of his gaze. Hissing in pain, frustration, and not a little fear, he begins to slither across the Wisp Fields, hoping some land predator doesn’t spot him in his damaged state. Now exhausted, his body aching, battered, stinging all over from burns, he wants nothing more than to sleep. To heal from the terrible damage done to him by the Urdrakes. Each twist of his body feels like it’s doing more damage. Regina did value him enough to grant him a healing infusion of wisp energy. Should he survive. A tickle of fear runs up his spine. Did she? Corviss crawls faster.
**********
Lavross snarls at the stupid psychic. “What the fuck are you telling me, then??” He yells. His fanged mouth bites off each word. He imagines they are chunks of this spineless wretch’s flesh.
The psychic, its long horns more like antennae than regular devils’ horns, wilts — its flesh turning from red to a light pink shade. Myzlic the psychic rides behind a hoary, burly Driver atop a Vortex. Though the machine’s wailing is enough to make Myzlic’s ears ring, somehow Lavross’s yelling seems even louder. “It’s a sending from one of Dressler’s psychics! Nymkat!” Myzlic shouts back. “She says the mage has Urdrake! You need to be careful! Regina’s sending a second group to reinforce yours!’
“I know about the fucking Urdrake! I saw their fucking lights! You think I’m a lemure? I’ve been an Overseer in these parts for a fucking hundred and twenty years!” Lavross shouts back. Stupid psychics and that bitch Regina pointing out the fucking obvious. And she’s sending a damned follow-on-force… That means one thing. Regina’s lost confidence in his ability to take down the mage. “Reinforce?? Felldust!! Who the fuck are they sending?”
“Nymkat says it’s Dressler himself!” Myzlic replies, trying to keep his voice neutral. He knew all too well what it meant, sometimes, to be the bearer of bad news. And Lavross looks furious.
“Look! You tell Regina and Dressler to sit fucking tight. A couple of Urdrake aren’t going to change that damned mage’s fate one notch. His wisp is good as taken!”
“I’ll tell them you received their message!” Myzlic says evenly, then thumps his Driver, motioning for him to slow down. The Dark Psychic drops back, but is treated to a parting barrage of curses coming from Lavross.
Lavross turns away from the cowardly Myzlic. Damned psychic. One of Asmodeus’s supposed all-knowing faithful. Worthless and weak! He should’ve sent him forward with Amagash or Talith. Now he has to suffer Regina’s insistent mewlings. He blows out a frustrated breath from between his jagged teeth. “Fucking Dressler.” Regina’s favorite Overseer is a tall devil with skin so dark red it borders on black. He has a snide, self-assured air that Lavross finds both insulting and effete. Yet Regina had chosen Dressler as her high commander for military situations just like this one. If she’s moving Dressler onto the field, that meant this wouldn’t be his shit-show for very much longer. Lavross looks at the lumbering scorpions in frustration one more time. If he plays a strong hand now, maybe he can keep ahead of Dressler’s meddling and still take credit for taking the mage’s wisp.
He just needed an opportunity.
Then, a ridge-line to his right erupts in bright flashes of light. Lines of white streak out from the Razor Hills and illuminate a region of sky to his front-right. There’s a second flash. The light allows him to zero in on its source. Then he sees them! A row of Urdrake on a hillside about eight miles away. At least five of them are emitting light. He looks for a moment toward Talith. But her Vortexes are well below the beams. He scans the sky. “What in blazes are they aiming at?” He shakes his head. No matter. They’d just given away their position. And none-too-soon with Dressler and Regina breathing down his neck.
“Ranthvar!” he shouts back to his fourth in command.
“Overseer!” Ranthvar shouts as he drives up beside Lavross and gives a sharp salute.
“Take your Lance and stick with the scorpion crews. Make for those hills! There are Urdrake atop that ridge. Put some fire on them now!” Lavross points toward where he glimpsed the Urdrakes’ light beams.
“Yes Overseer!”
Lavross always appreciated Ranthvar’s ease with taking orders. A bit thick. But intelligence is often over-rated. “I’m taking the remaining five Lances! We’re going ahead to charge those hills! If you see any more targets. Don’t hesitate to bring devastation down on them with our scorpions.”
“Very good, Overseer!”
“For the glory of Asmodeus!” Lavross says, giving the customary send off.
“For the victory of Minos!” Ranthvar replies.
Lavross spins off to shout to his other Lances. It takes only a minute for the command to run through the ranks. With a shout of “Forward!” Lavross presses the red and golden button on his Vortex. The worb-engine wails as wisps are ground down — injecting their spirit juice into fiery combustion within the engines. The vehicle leaps forward — shooting out and away from the collection of towering scorpions. The five Lances line up on Lavross, forming a great sweeping V with him at the center. His hand itches to reach for his weapon. His rifle. His Night Axe. “Soon now,” he growls to his axe. “Soon you will taste blood. Soon.”
As he speaks these words of violence-intended, behind him the Scorpions each fling an enormous ball of black and orange into the Hell-night. Casting a dark and fiery light, they rise ponderously toward the hills where he sighted the Urdrakes.
**********
The stupid Vortex is rattling my brain with its banshee wail. I shoot down the slope. On either side of me stretched out in a line are my thirty seven — Mottles, Plumacats, Theri, Zel, Zaya, my Mottle and last of all me. The Plumacats eat up ground in long bounds. The ones teamed up with Mottles can lope as fast as my Vortex so long as I don’t press the evil, spikey red-gold button. They can also frigging fly for short bursts. I’m counting on that mobility to save our bacon. We’re going to run out toward the enemy scouts fast and make ourselves a frigging target. If being a target doesn’t sound bacon-saving, wait around a while, clue? I’ve got tricks. Speaking of targets, I look up at Zaya. The luminous, green-skinned Hell-faerie’s born aloft on translucent wings like those of a giant dragonfly. Illuminated by lux, they become iridescent — casting little rainbows around her. As we reach the valley and start up toward the next ridge, I extend a hand to Zaya.
“I want you to ride with me!” I shout up to her. “Sit here!” I pat a spot on the Vortex’s seat in front of me.
Zaya looks with distaste down at the Vortex. “Must I?”
The Vortex bounces over some rocks, then shoots up the slope. It spits rocks and spews out more of its foul smoke. “Yes! If those devils see you, it might give away my plan! Worse, they could try to snipe you! Then we’d all be screwed!”
Zaya keeps flying near me but makes no move to land. She turns her face forward. I know she’s still listening, though.
“Look! You’re going to like what I’ve got planned! Just hang in there with me for an hour! Maybe less!”
“What’ve you got planned?” Zaya asks, drifting a bit closer.
I grin despite myself. Yeah, she’s hooked. “‘Keep your plans dark and impenetrable as night! And when you move — strike like a thunderbolt!'” I’m quoting Tsu Su here. It’s something Mori — Dad — used to say all the time. He’s fucking right.
“Oh, the secret thunderbolt plan!” Zaya replies. “OK, I’m in.” With one last disgusted look at the Vortex, the Hell Faerie flits down to enfold herself between my arms and behind the Vortex’s handlebars. Mottle quivers pleasantly at the faerie’s arrival. Yeah, Mottle, I like her too.
With Zaya safe, I focus on the slope. The Vortex pounds up toward the second ridge line. Atop it are my scouts. They see us coming, then leap forward, ghosting out ahead of our larger group. I keep the Vortex throttled back a bit to allow all the Plumacats to stay with me. It’s still a pretty stiff pace. I don’t have time to spare.
Before we hit the rise, I see the sky light up with the Urdrake’s frigging white laser beams. There’s a red flying snake with horns on the other end of those beams whose day just got a Hell of a lot worse. I grin wickedly. I shouldn’t be happy. But this is war after all. And that bastard is part of team ‘I’m going to kill you and enslave your effing soul.’ Yeah, count me happy the little bastard’s taking some serious heat right about now. I draw up short of the rise, allow all the Plumacats and Mottles to catch up. I look back to the Urdrakes, pushing my senses to omnis scientia. Through it, I clearly hear his deep, song-like commands. They’ve finished their barrage. Zorfang is moving them down the hill now. Good. They’ll take about two minutes to reach this ridge. Should work out just fine.
Then the night lights up as huge black-orange balls loft toward us from the Wisp Fields. They remind me of giant charred and flaming marshmallows tumbling through the sky. What a weird time to start thinking about smores. They move lazily. They’ll cover the distance to us in about two minutes. I don’t intend for him to be there when they effing land.
I reach out to omnis scientia. “OK, Zorfang, can you hear me?”
“Yes, father, we are moving as you asked. Shoot them move.” His voice is labored, huffing with exertion. Around him, I hear similar noises along with the sound of scrabbling. From what I’m hearing, those Urdrake are seriously halling ass for things so large and typically slow.
“Good. Get the Hell out of there. You’ve got effing meteors heading your way. Did you get the Uktena?”
“It fell from sky. Burned. Probably blind.”
“Perfect! Now, I have another instruction. When you reach the ridge where I am now, I want you to focus all your fire on the group of scouts heading toward us. It’s the small group of about ten devils on Vortexes. By the time you do, we should be engaged with them. Hurry! We’re going to need you!”
“I shall do this!” Zorfang roar-sings.
“Fantastic!” I say, then I shift my senses back to myself and the thirty-six other souls with me. Without another pause, I shout “Forward!” In a great spray of dirt, noxious smoke, flapping of Mottles and scrabble of claws we are shooting up over the rise. I glance at my horologium watch. It’s 4:41 AM, Hell time.
Above me, the giant blazing marshmallows begin to fall toward the ridge Zorfang just vacated. Below, the flat expanse of Wisp Fields opens up, illuminated by deadly lights passing overhead. About a mile and a half off, I can clearly see the ten devils on their Vortexes. They’re coming straight for us. Must’ve seen the Urdrake’s laser beams. They’re following the giant orange balls in toward us. Noise of their screaming engines mixes with my own. Yeah, they’re fucking close and coming in hot.
I turn toward the second, larger group of devils. What I see makes me grin despite the tormented screams of souls being ground up by devils’ engines for fuel tearing out my ever-loving ears. It’s a massive group of about fifty devils riding their Vortexes in my direction at full speed. They’re about seven miles away and running flat out. Must’ve pushed the evil spikey red and golden button. Time to put some heavy fire on these bastards. It’s also time to test the power of all the scores and scores of wisps filling up my energetic vessel.
I point my Vortex toward the scouts and gun the engine. They’re opposite the larger group. If I head toward the scouts, I buy myself a little time. So I race toward them. Plumacats teamed with Mottles fly down the slope beside me. The remaining Plumacats race behind. They lag a bit. But that’s OK. I want a follow-on force. My own scouts are up ahead. I see they found a gully to run and fly through on their way toward the ten devils on Vortexes. If I’m lucky, they’ll come at the bads from the left at about the same time I’m ready to hit them from the front.
My immediate worry is the fact that the goddamn devils have me outgunned. Only Theri, Zel, and I have firearms that can be used with any real skill. Sure, there are two Plumacats with rifles that got about five minutes of training. Enough to give away their positions, but little else. The ten devils rushing toward me are all armed with rifles. I can see them lifting their weapons from saddle holsters on their Vortexes, aiming toward us as our groups converge. These rifles probably have a maximum range of about a quarter mile. Fireball rounds — about the same. Given our closing speed, they’ll be coming into range really damn quick. I don’t want to give them a chance to use those weapons effectively.
I’m lifting my hand when all Hell breaks loose behind me. The giant burning marshmallows are finally landing. WHUP! WHUP! WHUP! WHUP! Four massive explosions tear the air. I don’t see any strike points. I’m blocked by the ridge. But burning material flies high and shrieking rocks rain down hundreds of yards away. I hope Zorfang’s long gone. I can’t afford any delay despite the frigging cataclysm practically coming down on my effing head. “Vexare! Verberare!” I incant, bleeding a crap-ton of energy from my rapidly refilling vessel to increase my missiles’ range. Five bright sparks shoot toward my enemies. As they rocket out, I shout “Una! Lux!” and bleed another excessive plug of energy into my incantation. The missiles swell with brilliant light. Each blazing like a sun, five five huge lights converge on the devil scouts. Range is excessive. Three miss altogether. But two strike a Vortex — causing its spiked tire to unfold like a ripped soda can. Its rider is flung about fifty feet before landing with a thump I can hear a mile off. Lux continues to spill out brilliant light. The devils hold up hands to shield their eyes as they skid to a halt.
They’re shouting in confusion. One is pointing at the larger force of Vortexes closing fast. The others recover as the blinding lights fade. They rev their engines. In a spray of dirt and rocks they rush forward again. More cautious, this time. I’ve bought us about thirty seconds. Pushing my focus back toward omnis scientia, I shout to Zorfang — “How soon ’til you get in place?”
For a moment, I don’t hear anything from Zorfang. Oh fuck! What if the giant marshmallows took him out!? Then, I hear the reassuring rasp of his labored breathing. “Thirty heartbeats!” he shouts through omnis scientia.
“Good!” I pour on speed and hurl another volley of over-juiced and lux-enhanced “Vexare Verberare!” at the scouts. This time, I intentionally aim short, lighting up the land to the riders’ front. One missile strikes a lead devil who’d broken away from the pack — blasting off an arm. He slams into the ground and is swallowed by churning spikes from a following Vortex. The nasty machine grinds the devil into hamburger before it skids to a halt in front of my blinding displays of lux.
“We are here, father!” Zorfang sings to me through omnis scientia. As the lights from my barrages fade, Urdrake lasers begin to rain down on the scouts. We’re still rushing them. By now we are in rifle range. Theri and Zel lift their weapons.
“No fireballs!” I shout.
Zel drops his weapon, exchanges the fireball round he was about to use. Theri shoots with her weapon, misses. Then I see shadows flying up from the crevice to my left. Six Mottles and six Plumacats crash into the devil’s flank. They tear two devils from their Vortexes. I don’t see everything that happens. But I hear the sounds of screaming, of chaotic rifle reports, of bones crunching, of flesh ripping. A Plumacat falls to the side, bleeding from a bullet wound. Its Mottle flaps off to engulf yet another devil. By now, lights from the Urdrake are raining down on the devils. One manages to get off a fireball round. It streaks toward us. I lift my hand. Sparks shoot out of my name curse as I shout — Confractus! The fireball round dissolves in mid-formation. Ten Plumacats and Mottles pounce on the remaining devils — many of which are now blind or surrounded by glows of raging air as they burn.
In a moment, all is silent. We’ve crushed another scout force. This time head-on. But with fifty more devils breathing down my neck, I’ve got zero time to celebrate. Out in the wisp fields, four more massive balls blossom from the scorpions’ tails. Four more burning marshmallows rise up. I reach out to omnis scientia. “Zorfang! Get the Hell out of there! Down the rise this time!”
“Shoot and move!” I hear Zorfang sing out again.
“Good! Stay alive! And when you get to the bottom, I want you to shoot at those scorpions. Try to blind those fuckers. We can’t continue to have this crap raining down on us.”
“Yes Myra!” Zorfang sings out. His voice is strained, his breathing labored. But there is no complaint in his tone. I plow on toward the downed devils. I see some Plumacats actually devouring their frigging corpses. I can’t take time to deal with that now. Besides, Plumacats gotta eat. Pulling up to a cluster of idle Vortexes, I shout “Lunen! Svert Umbra!” My moonshadow blade leaps out. A darkness in my hand. Soft light spreads all around. I turn to Zaya. “Are you ready?” I ask.
Her eyes twinkle. Her iridescent wings flutter. I think she’s guessed what I have planned next. “Oh yes! Very much yes! It’s thunderbolt time!”
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
Elation pumps through my body. Heartbeat pounds in my ears. All nerves jolt in celebration. I’m still alive! Our rag-tag force lets out another cheer. I take a breath. No time to celebrate, not now. Maybe not ever. This is Hell after all. I let my moonshadow blade flicker out. The sight of all the dead devils, their gore strewn across the canyon floor, makes me reel. The smell of death — extraordinary. It’s the coolest part of the day. Heat pounds down on me like a hammer. I lean to one side. Catch myself on a boulder, pop out Perry fuckin A, take a long drink.
Mottle must sense that I’m swooning from heat and exertion. He shakes himself, flicks off bits of crushed devil, then returns to cover me. The cool is welcome. The blood coating the inside of him sticks to me. I stumble again, look up. Urdrake and Plumacats are casting about. One walks around with long ropes of drool dripping from its jowls. Are they fucking hungry? Do they want to eat the devils? What do Plumacats and Urdrake eat anyway? I stare at them, taking in the Plumacats’ fangs and claws, the Urdrake’s serrated beaks. A Plumacat licks its jowls, glances at me, then actually frigging meows like it wants to eat the devil carcass and is asking me for permission.
This is too much for me to process. I suddenly feel really damn sick. Then I’m barfing the empty contents of my stomach all over the ground. Mostly just bile and water now. Last real food I had was at Starbucks in Berlin. A whole fucking world ago. A yesterday and a half ago. Frail fucking human who’s now surviving on Mottle injections. I wipe my mouth, make myself stand. I can’t afford a moment of weakness. Not now when everyone is fucking counting on me. Not when Zaya’s conjured up a pack of uber-predators for our allies that I now have to somehow appear strong enough to lead. Mom. Dad. All the souls here — in my name curse, in my shadow, I’m guessing maybe a whole Hell of a lot more than just that — they’re counting on me to get this right.
I glance at my horologium watch. It’s 3:47 Hell time. Goddamn dawn’s gonna break in a few hours. That won’t be pretty. I’ve got a full-on fucking war on my hands. I’m gonna be fighting it in the fucking heat pretty damn soon. I’m already fighting in the heat. It’s like a hundred and five out here. Day’s gonna kick that up to like one-thirty plus. I take another breath, let it out. Everyone’s quiet now. The victory elation has settled down. Some are picking through the devils’ equipment, poking at those weird unicycles, or nosing the corpses. Most are staring at me again. Waiting. Some watched on as I barfed. Great!
I wipe my mouth off, pull myself together, then jump up on top of the boulder I’m standing next to. Hell, if Plumacats can do it, why not me? “We just scored another major success. Here, in this canyon, we plant our second victory flag!” I scan them as I talk loudly. I’m basically imitating my Dad’s impression of a drill sergeant from basic fucking training. I never went to basic — I’m just a frigging seventeen-year-old. But I think I got most of it through osmosis from early childhood. My manner seems to be working. I’ve got their attention at least. “So patting ourselves on the back is in order! But we can’t rest for too long! We just made a shit-ton of light and noise! Plus those were likely just a group of scouts! For now, we need to take stock. If there are wounded, I want to know. If any of you know how to help wounded, I want to know.” I point at Featherstar. “You’re in charge of setting up a detail to manage those who’ve been hurt! If there are casualties, I need to know about it fast!” If there are dead, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Featherstar gives me a speculative look, then bounds off.
I turn to Zorfang. He’s one of the Urdrake who shot beams of light out of their fucking heads. “I didn’t know you could…” I think of the right words for a moment. Oh Hell, it doesn’t matter. “…shoot beams of lethal light out of your heads! That’s crazy useful. Will have to keep that in mind for future. For now, I want you to get a group of Urdrakes to collect all the useful gear here. A lot’s broke. Some’s not. Find out what’s not. Collect it and distribute it. Also — put the weird bikes that still work to one side.”
Forces and Major Events in the Wisp Fields and Razor Hills
Zorfang growl-hums his agreement. I nod. He rumbles off, thick tail swishing back and forth. I lift my voice again. “You both have ten minutes! When you’re done report back!” I’m not sure if they know what minutes is. Doesn’t matter. They can tell from my tone that I want them to effing hurry.
“OK Mottle,” I whisper over my shoulder. “While they’re doing that, can you have the team of six Mottles and Plumacats head up to the canyon wall and fan out? I don’t hear any more of those weird devil bikes nearby. But if they’re coming I want to know.” Omnis scientia’s still floating high above the canyon. I can use that too. But more eyes are always better. I take a breath. This next part is a big risk. But it’s gotta be done. “Also, if any devils got away from our engagement, I want our scouts to hunt them down and take them out. Go for stragglers and small follow-on forces. Take down anyone who can run back and rat us out. Tell them to make a circuit of the ridge-line facing the Wisp Fields, get some eyes on both the fields and the scorpion we destroyed, then report back.”
Yes, Mottle thinks back to me simply, then flies off. He goes to the small group of scouts we organized back in the cave, touches a Mottle named Shade. There’s a brief pause as the two share thoughts. Shade’s Plumacat partner — Grimjaw — growls a couple commands. Then our scout squad bounds off. Our company watches them go. A few Plumacats give yowls of encouragement. Everyone seems to know they’re taking a huge risk for us.
With Mottle off my back, the heat hits me again like a hammer. I’m never going to get used to it. It’s way beyond human physiology to deal with this crazy inferno, the stifling sulfur air. My folks said a good chunk of devil magic’s set up just to keep them going through Hell’s nasty environment. Sure, they’re better adapted to it than humans. But adaptation can only do so much. Worbs and the magic they produce became a kind of Faustian bargain for most devils — enslave souls to survive in Hell. It all happened in the deep long ago when Hell’s environment took a nose-dive for the worst. There’s a reason most creatures left alive in Hell are devils. Many blue devils don’t have worbs. They tend not to live long. Maybe to age 35. When you’re dying off that quick, it’s hard to raise children to keep a species going.
Zaya flies up to me, tipping me out of my momentary reverie. Maybe I’m finally starting to get tired after two fights and hours of slogging through Hell’s crazy environment. “You wouldn’t let me fight,” she says with a cross look on her face.
“Yeah. Not this time. But don’t be too upset. There’s a lot of fighting left. So you’d best get ready for some more action.”
Zaya gives me one last frown. “What’s next, then?”
“Next we get ready to take the fight to them. But smart-like.”
“You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan.” I didn’t have shit. Well, not yet at least. I look at my watch. It’s 3:59 Hell time. I spring up, clap my hands together. I’m still standing on my boulder so I can see everyone. “OK! Time’s up! Zorfang! Featherstar! Mottle! Come back here and report!”
My newfangled commanders shuffle back. Theri and Zel return beside them together with a Plumacat and two Urdrakes. They’re carrying armfuls of weapons which they lay down in front of me. I told them to distribute these weapons. Guess I’ll have to tell them who gets what. Another five Urdrakes wheel the giant spikey unicycles toward us. Wow. Looks like five of their nasties still work.
I wait another minute for them to gather, then speak up, again adopting Dad’s drill sergeant tone. I admit, this part of my new ‘job’ would be kinda fun if the subject of it all weren’t so goddamn grim. “OK! First tell me about casualties.”
Featherstar leaps forward with a proud yowl. “Only three wounded. We lick their wounds now.” I think this is just a figure of speech. But when I follow Featherstar’s lashing tail, I see two prone Plumacats and an Urdrake being minstered to by a third Plumacat who’s actually licking them. I’m too much at a loss to say anything. Which is good. Because I stare on for another moment which is enough for me to notice some kind of white film spreading out with each lick of the Plumacat’s tongue. The film covers wounds, creating a natural binding.
Zaya’s still hovering nearby. I turn to her. “Care to explain that?” I point to the film. I’ve got a lot more questions for Zaya about the Urdrakes and Plumacats. But I’ve got like no frigging time — so I stick to essentials.
“Oh. It’s a kind of natural healing salve they produce through glands in their mouth. It stops bleeding, aids the healing process, can even be used to re-attach limbs.”
Re-attach limbs? That’s pretty potent healing. I file this information for later and carry on. “Fanfriggintastic!” The next question is one I dread to ask. “Any dead?”
Featherstar gives a proud if dismissive flick of her tail. “No dead,” she says simply. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. There are probably going to be dead by the end of today. Still not something I want on my conscience. When a creature dies in Hell, its wisp might reform after a time, if it is strong. Otherwise, second death in Hell means annihilation.
“Good! Excellent!” I say to Featherstar, trying to keep some kind of command presence. I’ve gotta project confidence to keep ’em all together and believing they’re going to live and such. Turning to Zorfang, I ask my next question. “So what’ve we got for spoils?”
“Five of these,” he points to the weird unicycles. His words, though still sonorous, are now much more articulate. “Six of those,” he points to a pile of rifles. “Seven of those,” he points to a cluster of handguns. “Eleven close-fighting weapons. Plus this –” he points to the bag of ammo hanging from Zel’s shoulder. I think for a moment. None of them but Zel, Theri and me know a damn thing about firearms. They’re going to need to learn quick. “Zel — you and Theri pick some Plumacats that you think might train up quick with the pistols and rifles.” Looking at the Urdrakes, I’m not sure if their hands will fit the firearms’ grips. I look at the pile of serrated swords and axes. “Distribute the heavier melee weapons to the Urdrakes. Give the lighter ones to the Plumacats.” There’s nothing here for the Mottles. From what I’d seen, the Mottles are badass enough. Hell, they’re all badass enough.
Theri and Zel start moving to distribute the weapons. They each pick a Plumacat, then immediately start giving it a basic instruction on firearms use. I give them a couple minutes to talk. The Plumacats aren’t going to be very effective with those weapons anytime soon. But it’s a start.
“OK. I hate to say it,” I say, raising my voice to address everyone, “but we’re going to need to get a move-on fast. So gather ’round!” I glance at horologium as the Plumacats, Urdrake, and Mottles cluster in the canyon’s center around me. “It’s already 4:06 AM Hell time. About twenty minutes ago we ambushed a squad of scouts.” I don’t know if this is the right technical term. But the devils on the Vortexes were about the size of a squad. “These scouts are almost certainly part of a larger force that’s coming out of Overseer Tower. We don’t know how big it is. But I’m guessing it’s not too large given the fact that we weren’t a fucking army when we hit the scorpion. So as I said before, we’re going to start moving toward Overseer. That’s our ultimate objective. We’ll stick to this canyon for now. But I want another group of six Mottles and Plumacats to form a …” What did Dad call it?? Oh yeah. “To form some pickets. We don’t want anyone surprising us as we move. So fan out about two hundred yards from us and report back if you see or contact any enemy. Got it?” Everyone is silent. “Good! Now let’s be ready to move in ten minutes.”
I plop down from my rock, gather Theri and Zel, then angle over to the wounded. The Plumacat and the Urdrake both have bullet wounds that the ‘medic’ Plumacat, Velestra, has bound up with her magical spit. The bullets were somehow neatly plucked out and are on the ground in a bloody pile. Both are conscious. They crane their heads to look at me as I approach. The other wounded Plumacat is unconscious with a large gash on his forehead. This gash is also bound up by the magical healing spit. I kneel by the two conscious wounded. “Can you move?” I ask them.
“They can. But no hard work.” Velestra speaks for them before they can answer.
I look at Zel and Theri, then point to the weird unicycles. “I know those are devil machines. I can see their worbs, sense the wisps within their jagged traps. But we’re going to need them now. We’ll free those wisps once we win this battle. If we win. Now I want you to figure out how to use them. I want you each to drive one and then to teach these two here how to drive them.” I motion down to the wounded Plumacats.
“What about the last one?” Zaya asks from her hovering position over my shoulder. She looks at the Vortex, various shades of disgust playing on her green face.
“I’m driving that one. I’ll be carrying the unconsious…” I turn to Velestra, “…what is his name?”
“Rookfang,” Velestra replies.
“I’ll be carrying Rookfang. Now let’s get to Hell’s version of driver’s ed. We only have five minutes.”
It takes more like ten minutes to get everyone moving. Jobs are assigned. Scout groups arranged and deployed. Looted weapons distributed. Rudimentary instruction on firearms use given. Everyone looks confused. ‘Clear as mud,’ is what Dad would say. Sounds about right. The bikes are thankfully simple to use — throttle, breaks, and turning all managed with the handlebars. The fat tires are surprisingly easy to balance on. The seats that rest atop them, if not comfortable, are functional. The machines, Theri and Zel call them Vortexes, are large, powerful, and covered in lethal spines. So using them takes caution. Like everything else in Hell, they burn some kind of nasty fossil fuel spiked with worb energy. All worbs are terrible — grinding down and torturing wisps to access their energy. But the Vortexes have a second setting that activates the worb to get more from the wisps. I tell everyone not to use that button unless they absolutely have to.
We finally start rolling out at 4:23 AM Hell time. More than three quarters of an hour after our fight with the scouts. I’m getting real damn anxious about follow-on forces that haven’t arrived. I’m conjuring up things to be paranoid about. I loft omnis scientia, sending it out toward Sunken Crag even as we move north among the hills. The Mottle-Plumacat teams of scouts fan out to our right and in front of us — venturing as close to the Wisp Fields as they dare while still keeping cover. The Vortex roars and spews stinking clouds of pollution beneath me as our main force continues down the canyon. The wisps within it moan in pain. The noise makes me cringe. It reminds me of a banshee wail. I’ve never heard a banshee wail. But this is what I imagine it would sound like. I take a breath. Ignore the horrible stink and sound. I’ve gotta think about next moves. But I really need to figure out where the bads are before I commit.
**********
Corviss plunges toward the ground, barely rights himself, then skips and skids to a stop. His last minute teleport saved his life. Above and to the left, a fireball blooms in the air five hundred feet away. It consumes the space where he flew just moments before. Hissing in terrified frustration, he threads his way back up into the air. Careful to stay low, he flees as fast as he can fly back down toward the wisp fields.
“Amagash you fool!” Corviss spits. But he can’t entirely blame Lavross’s lieutenant. No one expected the mage to have an army backing him. Her! He reminds himself. “Her,” he hisses out loud. He can still see her clearly — dripping an extraordinary excess of magic, sparks flying about her like the fireworks of some victory celebration held by Asmodeus on the battlefield of Avernum, a blade made of pure curse magic held in one hand, a shield like a spectral rosette blooming in front of her. He’d only ever seen two mages. Three now. This one was by far the most potent. The most brazen in her use of magic. He was certain Regina, high in Overseer, would’ve tasted the flood of power, seen the lights and explosions blooming over the Razor Hills. Lavross would’ve noticed as well. But both could only guess what they meant.
“I’m the last survivor. I must let them know.” Corviss didn’t see all his companions die. But he might as well have. The ambush was as sudden as it was fierce. No-one could survive that. The Mottles, Urdrakes, and Plumacats numbered three or four score at least. Other rebels — two blue devils stood with the mage. This was worse than any mere machination of Regina’s regional rival — Lanvfer. This was a rebellion of the old sort. Of the kind that hadn’t happened for hundreds of years. Corviss spits in disgust. There were still only seventy, eighty perhaps. “But how did so many hunted gather together? How did they organize?”
Corvis realizes he’s talking to himself as he flies, swift as his battered body will carry him toward Lavross. He can just make out the large scorpions lumbering across the Wisp Fields. Too slow for his liking. “All is well. I know her whereabouts. Once I report, Lavross will know what to do.”
**********
Out across the Wisp Fields, riding his Vortex, Lavross scratches his chin and frowns at the explosions flowering above the Razor Hills. The fireball rounds are familiar. Those lines of light are energy beams from at least ten Urdrake or he is a fool. It seems he was wise to send Amagash out ahead rather than lead the scout force himself. Looks like Amagash is getting more than he bargained for. This thought draws a chuckle from Lavross as he signals to Talith, his third in command and the remaining Overseer in his Century.
“Take another Lance and head into those hills. If Amagash needs help, back him up. And, get me a fucking report on the enemy’s number and location!”
Talith gives a smart salute, then drives off with her Lance. That’s two Lances deployed, violent contact made, and he still didn’t know squat. He sends out a command, adjusting the movement of his dwindling Century toward the explosions, and glances angrily at the scorpions. If he needs to pour on the speed, he’ll have to leave the beastly machines behind. He had the sinking feeling this night was about to turn into a shit-fest real quick.
***********
Qlul and Landrax are startled from their investigation of the scorpion’s wreckage by a loud series of explosions above the Razor Hills. Qlul’s just picked up a bit of glossy green membrane before he’s distracted by the loud rumble. About four miles off, the thunder of fireball rounds tear through the air. Sharp rifle reports crack. Then lines of light shoot up into the sky. “What the fuck?” Qlul exclaims as another explosion roars out of the hills. “It sounds like Amagash is getting his ass kicked over there,” he says to Landrax.
Landrax isn’t looking at the explosions. Instead he’s staring at the bit of insect-like membrane Qlul is holding in his hand. “Oh fuck,” Landrax says as he stares at the wing.
“What?” Qlul says.
“Well, you know I used to be a Poacher right?”
“Yeah, get to the fucking point.”
“That’s a Vila wing shedding. They’re really damn rare. But I’d bet my horns on it.”
“Vila?” Qlul asks, stunned for a moment more. Then, he looks back to the rent wisp vats on the scorpion. “Fuck? You think?”
“Whoever hit this scorpion, opened up those wisp vats. Maybe they we’re just looting the wisps. Maybe they took them for another reason.”
Qlul’s mind is catching up quick. “If there’s a mage and a Vila they could…”
“… shape a lot of fucking wisps into forbidden forms. Those lights look a lot like something the Urdrake can do. They’re not so rare as Vila these days. Tough buggers. I captured one once. Near blasted my face off with lights like that.”
“Oh fuck! We have to report back to Lavross and quick!” Ignoring the plight of their companions in the Hills, Qlul and Landrax mount their Vortexes and rush swiftly back toward Lavross.
**********
High up in Overseer Tower, Regina Rouge continues to scan the Wisp Fields for her new prize. Unable to rest, she instead revels in the imagined hunt, anticipates the taking of a great mage wisp. Her body lights up with energy. Like some primordial leviathan swimming through ancient waters, she tastes the air for her prey. Every now and then, she detects a tantalizing hint. The air is full of rumor of him.
Then, after hours, her patience is rewarded. A flood of magic rushes up from the Razor Hills. She feels it before she sees it. The outrush heats her face like Hell’s sun. Her sensitive eyes detect the broad arc of powerful curse-magic shining up from the Hills in a rain of sparks. It is a stunning display. For a moment, she’s taken aback at how much power the mage expends in what must be merely one or two magical castings. Then the air above the Razor Hills lights up with explosions and white rays of energy.
“What?” Regina is seldom at a loss for words. But, for a moment, she’s mystified by what she’s watching. “Urdrake?” she says as understanding begins to dawn. “How?”
Regina will puzzle this mystery out in due course. What is clear now, though, is the mage isn’t some cat’s paw in one of Lanvfer’s games. What’s happening on her lands is something else entirely. If multiple Urdrake and a mage are hiding out in her Razor Hills… it means a rebellion of the old kind may be underway. And Asmodeus hates nothing more than vile organizations of old kind on Minos, much less reports of them striking at any of his resources. These are Wisp Fields. One of the most precious land commodities in all the Hells. Regina cracks her Holocaust Scourge at her attendant. “Get me Dressler and a Dark Psychic. We may need to deploy the other Centuries.” Startled by her sudden mood-shift, her attendant skitters away.
************
Grimjaw’s powerful form springs across a deadfall. Above and behind him, the Mottle — Shade — billows out, forming a wing. Together, they fly fifty feet then land on a precipice over-looking the Wisp fields. His streak lands beside him. Five companions for his hunt. Just hours before, he was a frail wisp captured in a scorpion’s vat. It felt like being in the stomach of a great monster as it prepared him for digestion. Its horrible Hell magics stunned him, then began to taint his very being. Terror didn’t even begin to describe what he’d felt. But now the meaother Zaya and the feaother Myra had gifted him with a vicious and powerful body. A Plumacat form possessed of raptor eyes, feather-like fur and armor combined, deadly fangs and claws, sacks of healing salve at the back of his mouth, and a muscular form as powerful as that of a moderate-sized tiger. They’d made him into a hunter of hunters, a predator who preys on the slaver race. They’d partnered him with this majestic Mottle that granted him flight, camouflage, and a vibrational sense of everything around him. He rejoices in his new form, at his helpful allies, at the opportunity to do vengeance on those who sought to enslave him in the worst way imaginable.
It’d taken perhaps two hundred hearbeats for the swift Plumacat and Mottle streak to free themselves of the canyon, to leap over the ridge line, and to peer from this high hilltop down onto the Wisp Fields below. Grimjaw scans the land about. His eyes, keen as any bird of prey, make out minute details. He immediately sees the larger force of devils out among the drifting wisps. They’re in the middle of the fields. Four scorpions, eighty riders. Another ten riders breaking off to head in his direction. Grimjaw shifts his gaze, carefully scanning for any other movement. Then he sees it. Below him and moving in the direction of the larger devil force is the red thread of a flying serpent. An Uktena — as meaother and feaother had called it. Grimjaw growls in frustration. The Uktena is too high up. Too distant to strike. But it is slow-moving and doesn’t seem to notice the smaller force of ten riders. It will take another hour or so to reach the large group of devils.
Map of Recent Events
Shade tenses. Something comes, the Mottle’s words form in Grimjaw’s head even as its senses merge with his. He can now feel a vibration off to his right. He turns his head in time to see two of the spiked, one wheel bikes roar out toward the Wisp Fields’ center. They’re heading out from the ring of debris marking the destroyed scorpion. In about a minute, they’ll pass a hundred yards in front of Grimjaw’s position. He growl-signals to his team. His Mottle touches the others. His intent for them to strike spreads through them as emotion and thought. Careful to use a ridge-line jutting out from the hills to mask their movement, Grimjaw leads his streak closer in. They fly-run-fly down to a low rise about twenty feet above where the Hellish unicycles will pass. Grimjaw tenses, his streak-mates smile in anticipation. The bikes arrive. Grimjaw pounces, Shade unfurls. The combined force of his jump and the Mottle’s flap propels him thirty feet up. At the top of his flight’s arc he extends his claws, locks his eyes on a prey. It is the front biker.
“Qlul!!!” the rear biker bleats in terror is at sees Grimjaw descend. Too late!
Claws catch in the devil’s flesh. The Plumacat’s jaws close over the devil’s head. There is a satisfying crunch. Wet blood floods his mouth. He turns, with flesh in his mouth, to his streak-mates. They have dispatched the other rider. No more screams of warning from that one.
Grimshaw swallows the delicious-tasting devils’ flesh. “Good! It is good!” he growls. For a minute, he and his streak are taken in by the devouring. Shade ultimately shakes him out of the frenzy. “Yes,” he snarls at last. Shaking his fur a second time he snaps at his streak to drag the carcasses and bikes into a depression. He does not have time to revel in his hunt’s success. He must return to Myra. Must report the prey’s position. Satisfied these prey won’t be telling their fellows another word, Grimjaw, Shade and his streak leap-fly back toward the canyon. Grimjaw licks his fangs. The hunting tonight has been excellent.
**********
The nasty Vortex is giving me a fracking headache already. The fucking thing stinks. The wailing worb is a thousand times worse than a crying baby. You know, the kind that sticks burs of pain through your ever-loving ears and all the way into your effing brain. Yeah. Imagine that but ten times worse. It’s not just the sound. It’s the fucking fact that I know I’m torturing those souls just by riding this fucking infernal machine. That’s what it’s like riding a fossil fueled, soul-sucking Vortex. And I’ve only been at it for like five minutes. Feels like a fucking million years. According to horologium, it’s 4:28, Hell time.
The canyon cuts deeper into the hills. The land grows more jagged and threatening. I check on Rookfang. The big guy’s sprawled across the Vortex behind me. Still unconscious. Lucky to be him. I turn to look back up at the green-black puke of the late-night, early-morning Hell sky, stars barely visible, the moon Charon squatting down on the horizon like a frog when I see the silhouette of a Mottle and Plumacat fly overhead. They land with barely a sound beside me. Then five more pairs ghost down. It’s creepy and slick at the same time. Makes me jump just a little. They’re all covered tail-to-nose in blood. For a second I freak out. Then I realize the blood’s not theirs. I throttle down the Vortex and enjoy the blessed ever-loving silence of my ringing ears. Damn things should carry like five hundred warning labels.
Jumping off the Vortex, Mottle and I land lightly beside the scout team. It’s clearly the scouts. I’d recognize Grimjaw’s elongated fangs from a hundred feet off. I look the scouts over for a moment. Yeah. They are covered in gore. It was real bad for whoever or whatever it was they took down. “OK. Tell me what just happened.”
Grimjaw pads forward, dark eyes taking me in. His black feathers remind me a bit of what I learned about velociraptors. Feathered dinosaurs. Although I’m pretty sure velociraptor feathers were colorful and this Plumacat looks like some crazy mash-up between a black tiger and an eagle of some sort. Like seventy percent black tiger thirty percent eagle, but who’s counting. He flops down comfortably next to me and begins washing the gore off with his tongue. Maybe that’s eighty percent tiger?
“We scouted as you requested.”
I ordered it. But who’s splitting hairs. “Report what you saw.”
“There is a large force of about eighty Drivers in the Wisp Fields. They’re about halfway down from Overseer Tower. The Uktena escaped and is flying toward them. It’ll take about an hour to reach the force. There’s a smaller group of scouts out ahead and heading toward us. Perhaps another ten. We also ran into a couple of stragglers from the last group. We pounced them. They were heading back from the scorpion’s wreckage. Seemed to be in a hurry.” He continues to lick himself.
I give him a pat. “Good work. Damn good work.”
The Plumacat gives a rumble that sounds like a purr. “It is a pleasure. I delight in turning predator into prey.” His dark eyes twinkle with relish and something else. Perhaps satisfaction.
Grimjaw’s information is key. His taking out the two scouts probably saved us some time. Maybe the element of surprise too. I’m worried about that Uktena. It saw us. Probably got a decent account of our numbers. I don’t know if it’s figured out how we gained those numbers. I look to Zaya. The Vila’s flying a little bit off to my left. She’s hung back ever since we started using the Vortexes. She’s frowning and has a disgusted look on her face. I totally feel the same way about these disgusting machines. But each of them houses like ten wisps. And that might prove to be crucial to our next effort. They’re too heavy to drag. So we’ve gotta ride them.
Everyone has stopped. They’re staring at me. Waiting for orders. I’m in a kinda crucial moment. It’s go big or go home time. Go home’s not an option. I step back from Grimjaw, turn to my company of the transformed. They cluster around, large, feeling eyes stare down. The Plumacats and Urdrakes are predators. They kinda terrify me. But I remind myself that they’re a part of Hell’s order. Maybe they’re even a last-ditch reaction by nature here to throw off the destructive, world-wasting devils. The Mottles are a comfort. Though they too possess the capacity for great violence. It’s how you survive in this broken world. The way of the sword, the tooth, the claw. And now is the time to walk that path or be destroyed.
“Grimjaw and his scouts just discovered the enemy’s position. There’s about ninety bads down there in the Wisp Fields. Ten more scouts are headed toward us. The larger group’s also out there. But they’re moving slower on account of the four scorpions they’re bringing with them. They only outnumber us slightly now. But they still have a major advantage in organization and hitting power.” I’m kinda impressed with myself. Dad really beat tactics into my head with all the war gaming as a kid. Plus, you know, D&D can actually teach you up on tactics pretty quick if you’ve got a good game master. Dad was the best — always throwing me into the shit. Since like age seven or so. “We can’t let them survive this night. Overseer has much greater numbers to command. If they find us here, they’ll use that force as a base, then send out more fast-moving reinforcements to hem us in, pin us down, and annihilate us. So now is the time for us to strike a blow and take down those devils!”
The Plumacats yowl in support of my suggestion. The Urdrakes, inspired, raise their voices in a growling song. Even the usually chill Mottles seem taken in by the predators’ bloodlust.
“So we are going over that rise. We are heading out into the Wisp Fields. And we are going to take down those devils. Are you ready!?”
Their uplifted roar of response is deafening.
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
Below is an archive of live-streaming games from the Icewind Dale campaign GM’d by Ted Burgess and originally streamed on Twitch. It’s also an introduction to the Heroes of Icewind Dale — Alinar, Gaelya, Immeral, Roderick, Reugar, and Veris.
This game is a 5e fan-conversion of the 2e Dungeons and Dragons classic — Icewind Dale. Now managed by Beamdog, Icewind Dale is available for ePRG play on Steam. If you’re a lover of classic-style D&D, we recommend you check out the video game Ted’s epic campaign draws inspiration from.
Ted has a long-running love affair with Icewind Dale as an eRPG and as a Dungeons and Dragons adventure setting. His game takes a deep dive into the old-school Icewind Dale setting and series of adventures — expanding on its original gritty flavor and deadly style of adventuring. Icewind Dale live-streams on Twitch about every three weeks Saturday Nights starting at 9 PM EST. As the player of Gaelya, I’ll be streaming these games so that viewers can have an RPer’s perspective. Archived games will post on YouTube and are featured below.
Adventure Story
Our heroes came, by various means, to the frigid town of Easthaven where they were quickly conscripted by a local warlord named Hrothgar to undertake various quests. After dealing with troubles near Easthaven, the adventurers set out to confront a band of orc raiders hiding in a nearby cave. The party (only level 2 at the time) entered the cave to face a deadly fight as thirty five orcs, five wolves and an ogre swarmed to attack. After a vicious but heroic battle that left only two orcs alive, the party was defeated and killed (yep, a TPK!). This defeat would’ve been the end for our poor heroes had Hrothgar not sent a follow-on group from Easthaven to bring back our corpses and slay the remaining two orcs. Inspired by our heroism, Hrothgar decided to splurge and have the party returned to life.
After resurrection (generous or unfortunate is up for debate), the party was hired as caravan guards on the road to Kuldahar. An avalanche then wiped out the caravan leaving our party as its only survivors (yep, we’re cursed). After ridding the mountain pass and its settlements of goblin attackers in a glorious series of murder-hobo-type skirmishes, the adventurers journeyed to Kuldahar. There they learned of an evil occupying a nearby valley called The Vale of Shadows. They journeyed to the Vale to confront fearsome Yeti and hordes of terrible undead. Within the Vale is Kresslak’s Tomb. Our video archive picks up as the party explores this tomb and faces off against its swarms of evil undead.
Character Profiles
What follows are the character profiles for Alinar, Gaelya, Immeral, Roderick, Ruegar, and Veris. Presently these heroes (we use the term liberally) are all level five. The party is a bit further along than the video archive would indicate — as before starting our livestream, we completed about 8 campaign sessions. For your continuity, I’ve provided a brief synopsis of the campaign’s events above. It’s also worth noting that this group developed a strong sense of PC camaraderie as most of the present party members played through Ted’s Lords of Darkwell campaign prior to Icewind Dale over the course of about five years.
AlinarCaskshaper is an Elf Paladin of the Ancients. Played by J.D., Alinar is well known for running pretty much straight at the enemy with his dwarven maul ‘Punt’ swinging. One of the main front-liners for the party, Alinar has turned many a skeleton to tiny bone fragments with his mighty swings of Punt. Facing other foes, he switches out to the renowned Blade of Aihonen — a magical sword and a family heirloom.
Alinar’s Token
Backstory — Goldrid, Alinar’s foster father and a dwarf, always told Al that Larrel and Delsanra retired from adventuring when Alinar was born. He’d wax on about Alinar’s great lineage — suggesting Alinar was destined to become a famed adventurer like Delsanra, her mother Chalia of the Aerie, and her father Aihonen before her. Goldrid never mentioned just how his parents died, though. All Goldrid would say about them was — “Ah, lad, they were the best. One day, you may be half the hero yer da was and about a quarter the hero yer ma was. That’d make you three times the hero anyone in Icewind Dale has e’er seen!”
Aihonen, it turns out, married a sea elf named Elisia. Apparently, there has also been some business regarding dragons. Though the details are still somewhat unclear.
All this talk of adventuring seemed pretty dangerous to Alinar. Goldrid’s silence over his missing parents didn’t help. Alinar had other, more appealing and less lethal, ideas about life and livelihood. Pushing a boat around Maer Dualdon seemed like a better notion than risking one’s life as an adventurer. The closest Al got to adventuring before the present business was leading wealthy hunters out on expeditions to Kelvin’s Cairn. Of course, ever since becoming involved with that damned Hrothgar in Easthaven, Alinar’s been making good ol’ Goldrid proud.
Gaelya the Ghost is an Elf Bladesinger Wizard. Played by yours truly, Gaelya is a cheese-obsessive who provides much of the party’s explosive magical support. The recent acquisition of Fireball has kicked Gaelya’s blasts up a notch (yes, flaming cheese blob can substitute for bat guano as a material component). A Bladesinger who’s run a lot like the old-school fighter-mage, Gaelya’s also not afraid to mix it up in melee combat with the front liners. Though she’s small and physically fragile, her magical defenses are quite formidable (over-consumption of cheese can result in delusions of invulnerability). Her magically-enabled toughness is aided by her Belt of Beatification and Wand of Armory. In melee, she either wields her magical rapier or casts a spell to summon a Shadow Blade.
Gaelya’s Token
Backstory — “Blasted magistrate’s house to the ground with primeval thunder because he exiled me sister. Got exiled meself real quick. Was forced onto ship sent from Evermeet. Big swan-like thing. It was beauteous and pretentious-like. Came to Waterdeep. Fell in love with cheese. Quickly ate self into a bellyache full of debt. Worked as cheese guard and got paid next to nothing. Never could afford cheese again. Now I’m a beggar — errrr — adventurer! Why is it so cold here? Icewind… Ya think that has somethin to do with it?”
Immeral Galanodel is an Elven Long Death Monk. Played by Mike, Immeral is a mobile front liner with surprising resilience. Assaulting the enemy with devastating flurries of blows, Immeral draws life energy from defeated foes to further buffer him from harm. Equipped with Glimglam’s Cloak, a magical longsword, magical bow, growing stocks of fire arrows, Bracers of Defense and a Robe of Cold Resistance, Immeral posesses a diverse array of offensive and defensive enablement beyond what even his considerable skills and ki provide.
Immeral Galanodel’s Token
Backstory — pending…
Reugar is a Goliath Rune Knight Fighter. Played by Wade, Reugar redefines the concept of rushing toward the enemy. A main front liner like Alinar, Reugar manages to draw a lot of aggro in combat while laying waste to his foes. Reugar’s penchant for attracting enemy fire is due to his huge presence and tendency to get in the enemy’s face. His ability to channel the might of his giant ancestors by triggering runes that increase his size to that of the frigging hulk fills out his role as an enemy magnet even further. Reugar possesses the Black Wolf Talisman, The Ring of the Warrior, and a magical warhammer.
Reugar’s Token
Backstory — pending…
Roderick Visport is a Human Trickery Domain Cleric/Rogue. Played by Lauren, Roderick puts a pretty face on a party of misfits, scoundrels and ruffians. Not to say that Roderick isn’t without his own rough edges. It’s just that he’s too much of a pretty boy for one to suspect much drama, at first. Or perhaps it’s just Tymora smiling on one of her main devotees. In combat, Roderick exploits openings for his deadly sneak attacks, uses healing to help his allies, and lays waste to his foes with powerful divine magic. Roderick is armed with a Static Dagger, a magic sling, and wears The Ring of Shadows. Lauren, Roderick’s player, is armed with a magical paint brush.
Roderick’s Token
Backstory — pending…
VerisBremein is a Custom Lineage Circle of the Shepherd Druid. Played by Dave, Veris packs a potent combination of summoning, shapechanging, attack, and healing magic. Veris can be counted on to lay down powerful heals while summoning a variety of creatures. In addition, his Circle of the Shepherd feature allows him call forth a Hawk, Bear, or Unicorn Spirit to aid himself and his allies. Veris often becomes the turning point on which a battle pivots — ensuring his allies stay standing, calling potent reinforments, or shifting into his ape form and throwing himself into the fray. Veris is equipped with a Wand of Magic Missiles capable of expelling a devastating barrage of magical projectiles, stunning Hammer Darts, a magic sling and a magic scimitar.
Veris’s Token
Backstory — pending…
Campaign Art by Lady Blue Wolf
Our Icewind Dale campaign is blessed with the most beauteous artwork of Roderick’s player — Lauren. As each campaign episode progresses, Lauren creates her own storyboard of key events — vividly portraying our various follies and victories in colorful and humorous form. Examples are sprinkled throughout this campaign archive. I’ll be posting more of these amazing, fun, and colorful bits of campaign art to each episode log’s cover page.
Episode 8 — Narrowed down to only four members, the party continues to delve into the dangerous tomb.
Episode 9 — Alinar and Reugar reinforce the beleaguered party in an epic battle against hordes of undead.
Episode 10 — Alinar and Gaelya suffer second death as the party confronts hordes of skeletons, specters, phantoms and a skeletal mage.
Episode 11 — After death (again), the party returns to The Vale of Shadows to hunt down a priestess of Auril.
Episode 12 — The party ventures to The Temple of the Forgotten God in search of the fabled Heart Stone.
Last Notes
For now, we conclude our gaming archive and related character profiles for Icewind Dale. Return for updates and new video archives occurring about 1-2 times a month. Also, I’ll be updating our character profiles when the situation warrants.
The blocky digital letters of my magical horologium watch tell me it’s 3:13 AM Hell time. I’m wide awake. Sure, I’m hot as Hell. Sweat’s running off me like a waterfall. Legs sore from all the goddamn walking, running, flying. Landing. Yeah, landings are the worst. Eyes burning with all the sulfur crud in the air. Lungs feel like I’ve smoked about a thousand packs of cigarrettes. Tongue tastes like fucking rotten eggs. Yep, they’ve managed to devil my damn tongue like an egg. I’ve been here all of fucking 35 hours.
I look over toward our motley company. The ninja-devil-turtle godzilla-things called Urdrakes stare back at me with their glossy, unblinking lizard eyes. It’s weird and cute at the same time. Not cuddly-cute. But lizard, turtle, godzilla cute. Hey, I’m into godzilla, OK? Deal. Beside the Urdrakes are a floppy-hoppy arrangement of Mottles. A bunch of them are now hanging on the wall. Great. An army of tapestry bats. Original Mottle is in a pile-up of them. They’re doing the touch-telepathy thing. Feathered Plumacats prowl around the cave. One brushes by, its feathers soft and prickly on my neck. Zaya, the green-skinned Vila, is in a ball beside me. Her soft breathing would normally lull me. I’m too jumped up for that. Probably adrenaline. Plus the fear. Definitely the fear. I turn to Zel and Theri.
“We should move again.” My eyes land on Zel.
He shrugs. “Worried?” he asks.
Damn straight I’m worried. We just hit one of Overseer Tower’s giant scorpions. Hard. The magic and destruction we unleashed — visible for miles around. Lit up the goddamn Hell-sky. Then we freed a boatload of their captive wisps. If there’s one thing devils take goddamn serious, it’s the souls they’ve trapped and subjugated. I try to compose myself. “Look. If they don’t know what’s happened by now, that we hit one of their scorpions, they’re fools. I’m guessing whoever’s in charge up there in Overseer didn’t get there by being a fool. So we need to keep moving.”
Theri puts her rough, clawed hand over mine. It’s weird and comforting at the same time. “You got us this far. What do you have in mind?”
Yeah. I got everyone into some deep shit alright. I take a breath, then jostle Zaya. She slowly rises, rubbing her eyes. “You’re going to want to be awake for this,” I say to her. I motion to Mottle, Zorfang, and Featherstar. “Over here, we’ve got to talk.”
Mottle shuffles out of his pile. Zorfang is already standing nearby. He leans closer. Lux from omnis scientia shines through the crystals ridging his back, casting little rainbows. My magical sensor’s hovering over my left shoulder. The amount of magic it takes barely means a thing to me now. The wisps sheltering in my name curse and shadow are pumping out a torrent of energy for my curses. Featherstar leaps up onto a boulder, then looks down at us imperiously. Definitely a cat. “Right. So we need to get moving. And since Overseer’s our objective, there’s no reason we shouldn’t head that way. They won’t expect a force as large as ours. Hopefully. We can use that to our advantage. Especially if we take a good position.”
I turn to Zaya, Zel, and Theri. “So what do you know about the land here? Any strategic points where we might gain an advantage?”
Zel and Theri exchange a glance. “There’s Sunken Crag,” Zel replies.
Theri nods. “It’s a deep canyon running between these hills and Knife Lake. Filled with nasty Scrabbers and Stelo-Mal. The wisp slavers in Overseer avoid its depths. One large bridge crosses it. The bridge has four watch towers. Each with a guard of about ten.”
A Live Reading of Helkey 29
“Scrabbers?” I ask. I know about Stelo Mal. That was Bob. Remember Bob? Yeah. That guy. He’s still with me here in my shadow. Chillin with all the other one hundred and two villains.
“Scrabbers are giant spider-crab devils. The Form Makers often turn wisps into them in this area,” Zel replies. “Deadly. Vicious. Mean.”
I think I might’ve glimpsed a Scrabber earlier tonight. What I saw looked damn nasty. I liked what I was hearing. “OK. We’ve got a shorta plan. Better than no plan at all. We head for Sunken Crag. As we do, we send scouts to figure out if Overseer’s sent a force to hunt us down. My bet is it has. We need to know where it is.” I turn to Featherstar. “You seem friendly with the Mottle Zephyr. Can you find about six others who’re willing to team up with a Mottle?”
Featherstar licks her hand. Long tongue lolls out. She then uses the back of her hand to clean behind an ear. Looking down at me, she finally replies — “Yes. I know six who’ll take a Mottle. What do you have in mind, faeyowther?”
“You’re already quick. I’ve seen you bounding across the cavern. Teamed with a Mottle, you can fly for short distances. Plus the Mottles will help you hide. I want you to scout out toward Sunken Crag and Overseer Tower. If there’s a force coming at us, I want you to find them, then report back. Don’t get into any fights unless you must. This is a scouting mission, clue?”
“Yes,” Featherstar purrs. “A stalking mission.”
That’s not what I said. But it’ll do. I’ve got omnis scientia which should help me get a wide view of the surrounding land. But that’s like having just one lookout on a high point. We needed to make sure we saw any devil force first. Then we could get ourselves into a better position. Plus, the bastards are bound to have their own scouts. We’d have to avoid those. Which brought me to my next aim.
I turn back to Theri and Zel. “So can you tell me what kind of eyes and ears these devils have? We need to deal with those.”
“All sorts,” Theri replies. “Psychic red devils with wide-ranging senses, forces riding rapid, one wheeled machines called Vortexes, horned flying snakes with an ability to teleport short distances called Uktena. Also, a Hell Lord can sense a mage wisp like a shark can sense a drop of blood in the water.”
Great. That made things tricky. It also provided opportunities. I turn to Mottle. “I’ll need all the remaining Mottles but you to spread out in pairs of two around our force. I want ’em to hunt down any of those flying snakes that come close. Small groups of four or less Vortex riders too. If more than four show up, send a flier back to me. Break up into groups of three. Don’t attack unless you have surprise and double the enemy’s numbers.”
Mottle slaps his tail on my arm. I can feel him quivering in excitement and fear. Yes, he sends to me. This is really happening. “Alright, everyone. Get ready. I want to be out of here in ten minutes.”
***********
Overseer Lavross rides into the Hell night, a toothy grin on his face, his dark worb bulging with tortured wisp energy. A rifle and a Night Axe are slung across his broad back. The Vortex beneath him eats up ground. The fast, lethal vehicle sends a thrill through him as its single, spiked wheel digs up furrows — a stinking cloud of exhaust and a hail of dirt clods trailing along behind.
Seven Lances of Vortex riders form around his four scorpions and command center. In each Lance are ten red devils. True fiends driven by lust for profit willing to do the hard, necessary work. The motley cavalcade is in high spirits. They clatter weapons against the flanks of their Vortexes, shout profanities, gun their engines ’til the entrapped wisps howl in torment. Lavross’s grin widens at their enthusiasm. It’d been long ages since he last hunted a mage. Many of these devils had never seen a mage hunt. Now they’re part of the myth. Lavross lets them have their frolic.
An eighth Lance, led by his lieutenant, the Overseer and former Hunter Amagash, runs out ahead. Amagash is already beyond sight. But Lavross is certain the scouts share in his Century’s enthusiasm. Amagash’ll scout the lands around the destroyed scorpion, then return with his report. If all goes well, Lavross will run down the attackers tonight.
Lavross scratches his horn in impatience, glancing at the slow-moving scorpions. His toothy grin fades back into a cavernous mouth. These lumbering machine-beasts tower above his Century. He doubts he’ll need their massive claws, bristling gun platforms, and devastation tails — capable of harvesting wisps and turning their raw energy into terrible force. They’re slowing him down. Yet Lavross is loath to part with the security their presence provides.
If it’s only a mage with a handful of rebels or undesirables, then Amagash will make quick work. The young devil will then try to claim most of the reward. Amagash had already tried overshadowing him once or twice. If that happens, Lavross’ll have to devise a way to take credit. Such subtle social maneuvers aren’t his forte. Lavross finds himself wishing he’d personally taken command of the scout force. But the suspected mage and his rabble demonstrated surprising lethality in taking down a scorpion. The machines, though large and slow, pack a serious punch. Either the mage is lucky or he knows what he’s doing. Luck or experience — Lavross doesn’t know which is worse. His hand drifts down to his chin, giving a speculative scratch. His mouth returns to its toothy grin. Hah! He’s more than happy to allow his lieutenant to take the risks! An unknown force with a dangerous leader! “Good luck, Amagash,” Lavross grumbles to himself. His voice sounds more genuine than he intends.
Early positions of devils and rebels in the Battle of Sunken Crag
Up ahead is Sunken Crag. The dark canyon gapes beneath a green-tinted night sky. Shadows lay deep, covering much of the Crag’s interior. Down there Scrabbers and Stelo Mal engage in endless struggles for dominance. Preying one upon the other. The Crag’s depths — a deadly gladiatorial pit where winners eat the losers and grow strong. Filled with super-predators, few who venture into Sunken Crag return alive. Lavross, lifts his eyes to the great bridge crossing a narrow portion of the Crag. It spans five hundred feet. Buttressed with heavy stone and dark steel forged in the pits of Mechanum, this structure provides the best, easiest passage across Sunken Crag. Its battlements and four towers form a strong point. One needed to deter the Crag’s predators while defending Overseer’s main approach.
Occasionally, some of the more rational Stelo Mal or Scrabbers will emerge to trade with the devils of Overseer. For the most part, they come out only to raid, devour and loot — as is the way of things in Hell.
Lavross’s thoughts break as his Vortex roars across the bridge apex. Spreading out to his left is the stinking, poisonous expanse of Knife Lake, to his right, the dead-falls and defiles of the Razor Hills. Lavross salutes the Crag Bridge guard. Their captain does him the honor of arraying his four Lances atop the towers, then tossing sulfur into the flames to light the fires green. Lavross grins at the gesture. One his reputation commands.
Its scorpions lumbering, its Vortexes roaring, Lavross’s force flows out onto the wisp fields beyond Sunken Crag. Up ahead, he can see some smoke plumes from Amagash’s scout force through the darkness and bobbing wisp-lights. The mists from earlier are long-since dispersed. His sensitive devil eyes drink up the night, providing clear sight and detail.
Across those wisp fields, already miles ahead, Amagash’s Lance howls through the night. The rangy Amagash wears a black-dyed Mottle trench coat. A recent prize he had specially tailored to house rows of jet metal spikes on the arms near his elbows and shoulders. Metal plates within the coat clatter in the wind as his Vortex tears up ground. At his shoulder, Corviss the Utenka flies. The red serpent threads through the air like living flame.
“We come near to the place,” the Utenka hisses.
Amagash grunts his reply. They top a rise, then descend into a depression. The scorpion is plainly visible below. A burned-out hulk in a ring of black ash hinting at a severe explosion. The Lance pulls up to the scorpion. Amagash calls a halt. Ten devils grow quiet as they take in the destruction. A couple crack brash jokes, tossing a small skull back and forth as they banter. Amagash dismounts, motions to Qlul, his second, to accompany him, then does a quick circuit of the wreck. As he reads the signs, Amagash begins to grin.
“Just a small group,” he says to Qlul and Corviss. “Only four sets of tracks. Two of them are fliers, though.” He points up toward the hills. “They looted the wreck, then headed off toward the land rise in that direction.”
Qlul nods. “I see the same. Though they hit that scorpion hard.”
Amagash scoffs. “Moved well and were good hunters, I’ll give ’em that. But they were lucky to take down the scorp’. No need to report back. We can take them ourselves.” He motions to Qlul. “Stay here with Jorlix. Investigate the wreckage. Let Lavross know we’ve headed into the hills.” He motions toward the highland.
“Is it wise?” Corviss hisses. “We are already few.”
Amagash spins on the snake, watches it thread itself into uncomfortable knots, then gives a confident grin. “It’s just a rag-tag little band. Nothing we can’t handle. Plus, I’ve got you for eyes and ears, right?” He turns and looks out into the hills. “They’ve probably gone to ground in some crack or crevice. Should be easy enough to smoke out.”
Corviss continues to spin nervously. Amagash takes joy in the little snake’s discomfort, then revs his Vortex engine. “Immolators! Onward!” he shouts the name of his Lance, they form up on him, then with a roar they head up the land rise and into the hills.
**********
I can hear the machine noise the moment we exit the cave. I look around. It’s not a great position. We’re in a canyon with only one visible escape. The Urdrakes, Plumacats, and Mottles all stare at me. A Plumacat blinks. I know the staring’s an affirmation of my leadership. No pressure! I’m seriously freaking out. We’ve all been thrown into this weird, must-survive relationship. It involves a lot of flash decision-making. I’m sure they’re all not-so-happy putting their frigging fates in the hands of some 17-year-old kid.
Sound’s approaching fast from up the canyon. I don’t have time to send any scout other than omnis scientia. Whatever’s coming will be on us in about a minute.
“OK. We gotta act fast! But not without info! Give me a second to look!” I listen to the rising sound of approaching engines, then loft omnis scientia toward it. Dark, smoking lands expand below as the sensor rises, then shoots up the canyon. It scans left. Then I see them. Eight red devils riding fat, single-wheeled vehicles sprouting pipes, belching long tails of smoke, and tearing the ground with wicked spikes. Their leader is a tall, thin devil wearing a cloak crafted out of Mottle skin. This pisses me off. I like Mottle skin on a living Mottle. Not for some devil’s sicko trophy. All devils are heavily armed — bristling with rifles, pistols, and various melee weapons. Omnis scientia ripples with magical detection. Ahead and above the devils, a red thread flies. Must be an Uktena — one of the devil snakes Theri and Zel warned about.
“There are eight devils on weird bikes and an Uktena!” I shout as I shift focus away from omnis scientia. “Ambush! We’ll ambush them! Mottles, up on the canyon wall! Plumacats and Urdrakes, hide among the boulders! Now!”
I spin on Zaya. She’s just started to emerge into the canyon. “Back in the cave! You’re too important to risk!”
She gives me a huffy look, then fades back. She’s the only one able to give wisps form. I’m the only one who can help her. But I’ve gotta lead this fracking fight. I don’t have time to argue. I’m glad she listens. I spin toward Mottle, Theri, and Zel. “You guys, follow me! Mottle, I need you!”
I storm off toward the canyon center. Mottle lands on my shoulders. His contact momentarily causes my senses to blur. He bites me. Doing the weird reverse vampire thing, he injects food and vitality into my neck veins. I immediately feel better as coolness and a rush of energy spreads through me. His form supports my body. My steps elongate into bounds. Theri and Zel run up beside me. All around, Plumacats are crouching, Mottles are hanging onto the canyon wall, blending in with the rocks. Urdrakes are pulling legs, arms, heads and tails into their shells, plunking down among the boulders. Once withdrawn into their shells, they look like a bunch of spikey rocks. This might just work.
I lead Theri and Zel past our new force of rebels in Hell. Reaching the canyon center, I turn and begin to gather my curse energy. “Those devils coming are heavily armed!” I shout to all in the canyon. “They’ve got that advantage! If they investigated the scorpion, they probably only expect us!” I point at myself, Theri, Zel and Mottle. “We’ll be bait!”
Zel and Theri give me a look that basically says what the fuck??? I Ignore them and continue. “Let’s make a show! Give ’em what they expect to see! Then, when they get in among the Urdrakes, Mottles, and Plumacats, we all pounce! Got it!?!?”
There are growls, yowls, and shuffles of affirmation.
“Good!” I turn to Theri and Zel. “No fireball rounds except for the Uktena. You can blast that flying snake to Hell if you want.” I point into the air. “Our friends on the ground are too close together.” I wave them toward my back as I face up the canyon. “Now! Get behind me! Be ready!”
The sound of diabolical engines growls loud in my ears. I don’t need omnis scientia to see the fire snake now. I lift my hand. Tap my energetic vessel. It is full — just two hours after emptying to help Zaya shape the Urdrakes, Plumacats, and Mottles. Sparks fall from my name curse, lighting up the whirls of my magical tattoo, casting deeps shadows around us. Lunen! Svert! Umbra! I shout. The sound echoes through the canyon as my moonshadow blade forms in my hand. I’m kicking extra energy into it. I’ve got loads to spare. The effect is one of blacker-than-black shadow, piercing silver moonlight spilling around me, and a loud sound like tearing as the blade’s magical substance hungrily devours Hell’s caustic air. I lift this sliver of destruction up and behind me. Then, I hold my left hand up in front, readying a spell for the devils’ attack.
Both Theri and Zel are grinning despite themselves. They have their rifles out, loaded, barrels poised. I admit, I feel pretty damn badass. We’re all gathered. Ready.
The devils on their weird spiked wheel unicycles turn ’round a bend in the canyon. Spray of pollution and crud kicked up from the ground trails behind their fat, mean-looking vehicles. At last visible to my naked sight, their leader points his gun at me. His devil’s eyes alight with hunger. He’s perceived my magic. His deep-red skin — a sign of devil nobility. Not a Hell Lord. But the kind sensitive to Curse Magic.
Not like he fucking needs it. I’m making quite a show with sparks spewing out of my name curse flying everywhere, moonlight glow surrounding me, and blade of frigging black moonshadow held aloft in my hand. The devils’ eyes all lock on me as they rush forward.
“The mage is mine to capture! Slay the rest!” The leader shouts in Minosian to his companions. They fan out, gunning their engines, aiming their vehicles like lethal missiles toward me, Theri, Mottle and Zel. The leader and two devils — one on each far end of the formation — lift their guns.
Clypeus! I shout, bleeding another large plug of energy from my swelling vessel into the protection curse. Sparks fly from me — converging to form a spectral shield of white like the unfolded petals of a flower in front of me.
Three guns report. Hell-bullets shoot out. Their trace lines speed toward Theri and Zel. They explode against my shield, then ricochet off in streaks of molten metal. Mottle quivers in rage. He’s finally noticed the leader’s coat. I lift my moonshadow blade. The devils approach the ambush point. More bullets impact against my shield. The devils’ leader is taken in by battle rage. “Little mage! Your wisp is forfeit! My mistress…!” He never finishes.
“Now!” I shout to my companions, then fling my curse-sword. It flips end over end, cutting the air like a roaring scythe. It tilts, spins to the side, then shears directly through the devil’s leg and his weird unicycle in one go. Damaged and deformed, the machine tumbles, rider flying headlong through the air to land with a crunch twenty feet from me. One of his horns breaks off from the impact. His body lurches and quivers.
Zel and Theri emerge from behind me. Zel raises his rifle. Theri follows. Both shoot fireball rounds into the sky. The red streaks rise to meet the flying serpent. It seems to waver, then is engulfed. The ball burns like a brilliant sun, illuminating the battle below. Urdrakes spring up from the shadows like so many monsters. Their heavy hands, snouts, tails lash out. They come away with arms, chunks of metal, spines. Those further off from the fray angle their shells toward the riders. Light ripples up their spines. Collecting in the crystals near the Urdrakes’ heads, it shoots out like frigging laser beams. Three converge on one rider. The devil is lopped into three pieces as his cycle careens off, hits a boulder and explodes. Plumacats pounce. Some fly on the wings of mottles. Two more devils are ripped from their seats by slashing claws and fangs.
I reform the moonshadow blade in my hand. By the time its shadow and light touches me, the Mottles are swooping down. There are only two bikers left. They’re engulfed. Their bones crunch as the Mottles use their muscular forms to crush them. Ouch. Before I can move, Mottle is flying off my back. He covers the distance between us and the prone leader in one leap. The guy is seriously fucked up. Blood gushes out of his leg stump as he struggles to grasp one of his many weapons. No luck for him. Mottle takes him in one swoop, rolls up his body like some wicked bat candy wrapper, gives him a nasty squeeze, then pushes out pulpy and shattered remains.
It all happened in maybe 30 seconds. Holy shit! We won! The words form in my mind first, then I shout them out in exhaltation. “We won! We fucking won!” My cry is infectious. Plumacats yowl, Urdrakes roar, Mottles flap. Theri and Zel join in the cheer. Zaya bursts out at last to sing her own celebration.
Yeah, we just won another freaking battle. Holy shit, do I feel lucky! But this lethal dance with the devils of Overseer Tower has only just begun.
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
Gibbons Crane howls in diabolical fury. White-hot sparks rain over his body. His human form, a gift of Asmodeus’s court, is tatters. His devil flesh — now naked for all to see. Not that any regular human wretches are nearby. The angel-mage, Beatrice, guided them away to safety before she and her companions trapped him here. The train stationary. Angelic magic locking him in, pummeling him with curses. His prey more distant with each passing minute. He can still see her. Beatrice Lushael — arrayed in glorious light. Rapier held before her like a dare. Her delicious wisp fluttering — delicate as butterfly wings. How could he not rush her? Claim her wisp for his own? A crown jewel among all his enslaved prizes.
It was a trap! So obvious! So irresistible! He, the great hunter, render of mages’ souls, Asmodeus’s own hand on Earth, played for a mere pawn! Now held in a cunning bottle.
Gibbons takes a breath. The air around him is super-heated by his wrath. By the destruction raining down on his devil’s form. Chairs burn. Plastic and metal melts. Windows crack. His eyes flick up and down the cursed caboose. The solar train itself is an insult. An impossible fantasy. Yet here it exists. No Blood of Earth sacrifice to Asmodeus fuels it. His Nightmare cannot possess it. Not enough delicious harm for his demon steed to latch onto. To take control. They chose this sacred ground to counter him, to mount their own attacks. It worked. He tips his hat, still whole on his head between his devil’s horns, to the mages who concocted this trap. Worthy prey. He should’ve sensed this was holy ground. The quarry, Beatrice, Mori, Ivan the Wolf, were all too distracting. The prizes too great. Their abilities — surprising.
“It’s been a little while,” he drawls to himself, reflecting on the last time prey put up such a fight. “More than a Century.” His Curse Rides are mostly straight-forward affairs. His diabolical might reaping souls like so many sheaves of wheat in a thresher. “Now I’m checked.” He says the word with amusement and rage combined. He does not lightly suffer delay. Defeat is unacceptable. Yet he must admit his setback. This holy train will never serve his Nightmare. The fate of its passengers — a distraction. There’s no victory to be had here. His true prey — long-gone.
But there may be a way to escape. To return to his hunt. Gibbons tilts his devil’s eyes toward melting plastic dribbling down onto the floor like so much slime. He reaches a clawed hand down, scoops some up, holds it up. The plastic gobbet ignites. Petroleum inside it burning off in red-blue flames. Blood of Earth. A delicious bit of corruption in this otherwise evil-free train. He conjures his wisps, flipping his lash until ten enslaved souls leap to his command. Each rising in a rictus of pain. He bleeds the wisps into the oozing plastic. They animate it, causing it to rear up in a promontory of burning plastic slime. Shifting his focus to the praesidia bottle confining him, he drives the wisps forward, lifts his right-hand six-shooter, then fires his third black bullet into the trap. Its black orb bows out, splashing over praesidia causing it to flicker in momentary darkness.
“Now!” He shouts, lifting his left hand to claw the air, lashing wisps to rush forward. Wrapped in Blood of Earth plastic, they rise. Confronting disrupted praesidia, they flow through its barrier. The plastic then splots onto the train’s wall. It touches the spirit of his Nightmare demon-steed. The Nightmare howls in victory, latches onto the familiar substance. Takes molten plastic for its new form. The wisps pop out, then flow back to his worb. His Nightmare, now given form, rips a hole in praesidia. Sending out pseudopods, it tears off a train window, then flings it into a nearby field. Gibbons springs. A whirl of sparks and flames surrounds him as he emerges. He lands on his feet — one hand holding his hat, the other holstering his pistol. He is free!
The Nightmare plops down from the train’s window. It flows over the ground, rising up in a swell of slime beside him. A nearby police officer sees them, then flees. Tabbing his radio, he sends a frantic call for help. Gibbons smirks at his terror. A delicious thrill — refreshing to his diabolical spirit. Free from the continuous barrage of macto curses, his mock-human flesh drinks up the fear and begins to reform. It slowly re-covers his devil flesh. His clothes also reweave and repair.
A cluster of police officers rushes around the train. Lifting weapons, they shout for Gibbons to raise his hands. Gibbons laughs, gives a tip of his hat to the officers, then bounds off toward the burning trees. Each leap covers twenty feet. A few stray bullets snap around him. If any hit, he doesn’t care. His Nightmare flows along beside him. Too small to ride, he allows it to keep its plastic form. Screams of fear from passengers, eyes glued to windows as the Nightmare’s burning blob flows beside his half-devil, half-human form, buoy him. Their terror — too delicious a banquet to pass up.
He angles away from the holy train. Its presence recedes to his right. He leaves its field of influence, running a bit more crooked, feeling a little stronger in his wickedness. Then, he’s plunging through the burning wood. Hot fires surround his body. Choking smoke enters his lungs. It almost feels like home. Almost. About ten more bounds and he’s through the flames. He emerges onto a back-road. Cutting past the fires, he finds one of his thralls. A Berserker who laughs maniacally as he hurls another Molotov Cocktail into the inferno. Seeing Gibbons, he grins, then gives a Nazi salute. “Mein fuhrer,” he says with relish.
Gibbons grins back, tips his cowboy hat. “Hey, buddy,” he says, “I need your mount.” He points to the motorcycle parked by the dirt path. It doesn’t matter if his words are English. His connection to the Beserkers is strong enough for telepathic communication. His thrall hears the words in his native tongue.
“Ja!” he says with a slavish smile of devotion. Walking over to the bike, he kicks the stand, then presents it to Gibbons. “Es ware mir eine Ehre,” the biker replies, waving his hand with a flourish. His eyes spark with delight as Gibbons mounts the bike.
“Hey, thanks,” Gibbons replies. “Now go on,” he says to his Nightmare. The horror sluffs off its burning plastic form, then inhabits the rumbling motorcycle with a purr of demonic delight. The bike grows as the Nightmare’s possession takes hold. New tail pipes form. Black smoke belches. Ghostly flames flicker along its flanks. It lurches, gives an eager growl — headlight blinking like a monstrous eye.
“Heil dir im Siegerkranz!” the Berserker shouts as Gibbons drives off in a shower of dirt and smoke — flames belching from massive tail pipes. He lifts his black cowboy hat, waves a salute, then guns it down the path and toward the Brons. A stiff wind meets him. Scent of storm in the air among the forest fire smoke. The sky grumbles its malcontent. Evening shadows lengthen as a dark bank of cloud runs in overhead. A wall of titanic columns pushing up and up, spreading wide at the top. Their bases appear to grip the horizon with trailing talons. Gibbons grins. It’s his kind of weather — pumped up by the hot breath of foul fuels as they rise from millions upon millions of infernal engines ranging the Earth. Each a supplicant to Asmodeus’s dark power. They feed a great miasma of Hell’s heat riding Earth’s winds. This storm gobbled the heat greedily — growing from a gentle shower into the great monster above him. Gibbons lets go of the handle bars, allows his Nightmare to drive, and embraces the storm’s hellish winds. What a wonderful servant of destruction! No devil-stifling solar train. But a hellish storm gorging on fiendish fires. This is something he can work with.
Thunder rumbles from across the North Sea. His quarry moves amongst its towering waves. Destination uncertain. He senses them like a hunger in motion. No sight. Just a tension pulling away from him. Drawing him taut. He lowers his hands to the grips, angles his bike onto a main road, guns it up the ramp and onto Route 11. Turning north, he buzzes an angry motorist, smiling maniacally into the flipped bird, then ignites the throttle. Raucous acceleration blasts him up to 120 miles per hour. At this rate, he’s just six minutes away from his destination. The Oil Vessel Trold and its helicopter pad in Esjberg’s port. The Vulcanlundre corporation tends to its massive North Sea oil platform — Trekke Pa — with this vessel. Gibbons remembers it well. A gigantic, squat platform with its drill piercing sea bottom, pumps sucking up devilish fuels. Its tender ships mooring at Esjberg on the shrinking Dutch coastline. In his mind’s eye, he can see it along with the location of every oil facility dotting Europe’s lands and beyond. He knows them far better than most Catholic priests know their churches. Well he should. They’re shrines to Asmodeus’s presence here.
His quarry’s flight across the North Sea pointed almost directly at Vulcanlundre’s Trekke Pa oil platform. Its ship, the Trold, kept a helicopter on its landing pad. Just the kind of machine his Nightmare could easily inhabit. Once Gibbons took the ‘copter, he could then take the platform. No. This hunt was far from finished. In fact, he was about to kick things up a notch.
Gibbons cuts onto the off-ramp. Barreling through a red light, he jumps a barricade, then slams down onto Esjberg’s streets. Sidewalks are disappointingly empty. He rides in along a walkway, hoping to run over a stray pedestrian. Everyone’s inside. Huddling against the storm’s raging approach. Rain begins to fall. To Gibbons it tastes good. Just like wet cigarette butts. Turning down a side-street, he emerges into an industrial center. At the road’s end is a chain-link fence. Its padlocked shut. He ignores the barrier. His Nightmare blasts through the fence like a footrace winner crossing the tape. Metal shrieks. A twisted wreckage is left behind. Gibbons turns, tires squealing, fire blasting from tail pipes, water flying, across the parking lot. Shipping containers, cranes, and trucks blur by. In front of him the blue-hulled Trold bobs in the waves. Its red deck rocking. Fat, white helicopter squatting on a green pad like an overfed seagull. Beside the ship is a large pile of gravel. Gibbons races toward the gravel, shoots flames out the back of his Nightmare motorcycle, then explodes into the air. Trailing black smoke, he flies fifty feet, then lands with a squeal of tires on the helicopter pad. Rain pounds down. Smoke swirls up from his Nightmare. Back in the ship terminal, onlookers shout in surprise, then fear, as the smoke rises up into the shape of a skull, its eyes seeming to momentarily spark with ball lightning.
Gibbons senses, more than hears, their cries. Grins. For a moment indulging in this new feast of troubles. Then, cracking his knuckles, arching his back, he turns to the helicopter. With a snap from his whip, he channels diabolical energy out of his worb. The wisps trapped there scream in delicious pain as the worb’s cruel structure grinds them down. The Nightmare melts out of his motorcycle. The cycle shrinks down — looking odd and derelict sitting on the pad. A ghost shape rises up from it, taking on a horse-like form outlined in orange-red fire. In a flash, it jumps the ten feet to the helicopter. Gorging on petroleum fuel, it bulges through the craft, granting diabolical aspects. The rotor transforms into a shape like a bat wing. Hooked talons sprout to grasp the landing wheels. Long fangs grow from the vehicle’s nose. Its tail rotor takes the shape of a horn. Cockpit glass ignites into two flaming eyes. Its sliding door opens like a mouth — rimmed with serrated teeth.
The cries of those in the terminal fall into shocked silence.
Gibbons whipsaws himself through the open door, slams it shut behind him, then sits down in the cockpit. Grasping the throttle, placing his feet on the pedals, tweaking the collective, he naturally connects to his mount. No flight expertise necessary. The Nightmare-possessed vehicle is simply his to command. He engages the throttle. Batlike rotor blades turn, cutting through rain and storm. The Nightmare wails through the helicopter engine as its combustion engine revs up. It blasts out a ring of fire that neatly cuts the safety lines.
“Won’t need those,” Gibbons grunts as he pulls back. His new beast springs up in a whirl of smoke, flinging fire into the rain. Behind, the platform is left rent — ruined by the Nightmare’s talons. They rise to meet the storm. It seems to stoop to swallow them. The Nightmare shudders in delight as rings of cloud form around them. The diabolical storm enfolds the Nightmare — speeds its passage by generating a tunnel of air. Within this cavity, the Nightmare grows to still greater monstrosity. Taking on aspects of storm. Its spirit bulges beyond the helicopter. It drinks up the flying rain, clothes itself in howling gusts. A shape like a great black dragon grows out of it and into the sky. The helicopter becomes its head. Giant wings of turbulence thrust out. A trailing tail dips to the ranging ocean surface to become a waterspout. A Home Guard helicopter, sent to intercept the hi-jacked bird from Trold, Esjberg is buffeted by one great sweep of the Nightmare’s ghost-storm wings. Control lost, the Defense helicopter careens into the monster’s swinging tail. There it spins in three loops before being ejected — slamming into a towering wave face that swallows it whole.
The Nightmare rages through the furious storm. Joining with it, the Hell-beast becomes its most intense feature. A demon from a ruined world steadily entangling the Earth, the Nightmare roars over miles upon miles of towering waves. It slams the sea surface with wings of howling winds. It thrashes its waterspout tail. Observers on ships and planes marvel in terror. A teen posts a clip of the Nightmare dragon-cloud with lightning eyes onto Instagram. The huge frontal storm striking most of Europe with hurricane force, causing hundreds of billions in damage, gains a new name that explodes onto social media — Storm Kaiju.
At last Gibbons and his Nightmare emerge above the Trekke Pa oil platform. His monster stoops above. The platform tosses through towering seas below. The Nightmare seems to take the platform in its jaws. The helicopter head drops down on a neck of storm. It a swirl of fire and a howl of winds, it lands. The mouth-door swings open. Sirens blare as the watch triggers a security alarm. Gibbons grins, opens his arms to the oil workers watching him through a nearby window. Then, he activates his whip. The worb grinds its wisps. Their shrieks of pain spur his Nightmare. It leaps from the helicopter in a gout of rain and fire, rises in an arc in the storm’s mouth of darkness above the oil platform, then it plunges down into the massive structure with a spectral cry. One of the oil workers, hearing its banshee’s howl, is reminded of the Nazgul’s cries from Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Then, the great platform groans as it begins to take on a monstrous aspect beyond any of the oil workers’ worst imaginings…
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
The zodiac’s motor whirs. A gust flings spray off the Brons — splashing Beatrice’s face. Smoke stench from the fires fades as they speed toward flooded marshlands. Swells grow. The zodiac bobs and rolls. She huddles close to her companions — Mori, Sadie, dour Ivan, a surprisingly chipper Finn — in the bobbing boat. Above and ahead are towering masses of cloud. Fingers of lightning flicker at their dark bases. She can’t yet make out the North Sea. It’s blocked by low islands covered in grasses and scrubby trees. The marsh churns in chop and foam.
A wave bumps her face into her hand as the boat skips into the marsh. The soft scent of horse upon her skin — a momentary comfort. Ivan thought her calming the gentle creatures was curse magic. Only the craft of long years spent observing, learning their subtle gestures, how to cant her body and voice to project compassion. To earn their trust. It came easy. For she loved them in all their beauty and innocence. She had decades and decades more experience at it than any human. A practice in empathy. No curses required.
The zodiac plows into the marsh, lifting and dipping through swells and chop. It handles rough water surprisingly well, lifted up on a wave formed by its forward motion. Nonetheless, spray splashes in. Soon they’re all wet. Mori has a mad grin on his face. It makes her laugh. She’s pretty sure he’s trying to bleed off tension.
Finn points to an outlet emerging before them. The water broadens. It roils with chop and rising waves. A tumultuous confluence opening to an angry North Sea. Out there, massive rollers drop tails of white spray as they tumble before the storm. Jagged gray and white teeth pointing toward an angry cloud deck above. “There she is!” he shouts into the rising gale. “Our good Sun Shepherd.”
Beatrice follows the line of his finger. Tossed about in the confluence is a vessel about 100 feet long and covered from stem-to-stern in glistening solar panels.
Mori turns to her. Excitement flicks across his wet face. He’s such a geek for these things. “Badass! It’s one of those new electric boats. Skateboard battery laid through the keel. Super-efficient motors. Covered in solar panels, it’s got a practically unlimited range.” She grins back at him. His excitement is infectious.
“Wonderful! Can it handle the storm?” Beatrice asks as the zodiac flies over a large swell, catches air for a moment, then slams down into the trough. Spray flies everywhere. They’re all double-drenched now. The little craft is powering out through the choppy confluence. Her teeth clack together as they slam into another swell. Her hands, white-knuckled cling to a rope looped along the gunnel. Beatrice feels like she’s riding a child’s toy boat getting tossed around in a bathtub by a capricious toddler. Sadie’s holding on, gritting her teeth, closing her eyes against the spray. Ivan’s curled up in the zodiac’s bottom. His face taking on an unhealthy, green tint.
“Our little Sun Shepherd’s a fast one,” Finn says in answer. He’s stooped down on his knees. One hand on the motor handle, another gripping a cleat. “Her top speed’s a hundred and twenty! She won’t be so fast in this mess. But she’ll get us to Wind-Sun Isle in about a couple hours.” He points out toward a dark base of cloud rushing toward them. “We should miss the worst of it. Though I think we’ll take that gust-front head-on.”
The zodiac flies through the air, lands, then pitches. A breaker barrels over the little craft, flooding it in about four inches of water. Pumps kick in — spitting spray out behind the small boat as it barrels toward a majestic Sun Shepherd. Coming up alongside it, Beatrice takes stock of its size. At twenty-two feet wide and a hundred feet long, she dwarfs their zodiac. Massive waves, looming like hills behind, made her look surprisingly vulnerable as the larger vessel turns to shelter them from the onslaught churning out of the North Sea. Two crewmen toss lines overboard. Mori catches one. They haul the boat in, then swing a boom over the side to fasten the craft. Finn points to a ladder. One-by-one they clamber up — emerging onto a pitching deck with all the dignity of soaked cats. Beatrice times the swell, springs, shoots past the ladder and lands gracefully on the deck amidst a rain of spray. She blows her wet hair aside, relieved to be free of the tiny zodiac.
“Show-off,” Mori quips as he staggers up beside her, clutching his briefcase in one hand, gripping a hand-hold with the other. Every surface on the sleek vessel except for a narrow wooden walkway is covered in solar panels or solar film. It makes Beatrice think of a great black whale. Ivan is leaning over the railing, making foul noises. Sadie sways as she clenches a crew member’s offered hand. Finn scampers down to the first well deck at the vessel’s rear, he motions for them to follow. Beatrice lets a crewman — Karl — guide her companions back to the well as she assists another crew member — Franz — in attaching the zodiac to a pair of ropes, then hoisting it up using metal booms. With her help, it takes only a minute.
“You do ship work?” Franz asks in halting English, not aware she has omnis scientia drifting close by for translation.
“Yes. Back home,” Beatrice says simply. What she doesn’t say is her home world, Merrin, is almost entirely covered by water. Ships there are far different from those plying Earth’s own increasingly dangerous seas. Some principles of seacraft, though, are universal.
Franz makes a sound that could be an impressed grunt as they fasten the zodiac to a berth on Sun Shepherd’s roof. The noise is drowned out by the roaring sea. He pops a panel, then motions for her to help him fold a hard shell over the boat. She works with him to pull the sections out, fighting gusts as Sun Shepherd turns her nose into the waves. The shell comes in three parts. Each is covered with solar film. They snap sections together, attach electrical plugs to some internal wiring, and then are drenched by spray as the bow cleaves through what must be a fifteen foot wave. The wave’s force momentarily hurls them into the air. Beatrice turns instinctively, grabs a cleat, then with her trailing hand snags Franz by the hood of his rain slicker. They slam back down onto the deck. Franz scrambles up. Blinks at her in surprise and gratitude. Then gives a matter of fact nod. “Good!” He shouts. “Now best get below!” The roar of waves and wind nearly drowns out his voice.
Beatrice smiles at his affirmation. She nods toward the well, indicating he should go first. Franz curses something about how he should be helping her. She flicks his prideful outburst away with a glance, then watches on protectively as he struggles to reach the well across a pitching deck. She comes to her feet. In little bounds, she springs behind, riding the deck like a surfboard. Franz doesn’t look back. But Beatrice can see Mori keeping eyes on her through the bridge’s glass. He, Sadie, and a young woman are watching her escort Franz back to the well. The young woman — she must be Glenda Goodfuture — is staring with naked awe as the harsh elements force the large and muscled Franz to lurch and stagger even as Beatrice rides through it all with the grace of dancer.
At last, they reach the well. Franz lunges toward the door as Sun Shepherd pitches through a massive roller. Walls of foam surge on either side. He lurches through, nearly falling, still managing to hold the door open for her. She waits for the wave to pitch the stern upward, then uses its momentum to leap through, flying past him. Her boots squishing on a dry cockpit floor — the only sound she makes.
She’s greeted immediately by a beaming Glenda Goodfuture. “Bravo! Excellent!” she exclaims as she claps, then hands her a towel. “I was scared for you. But you make fighting through a storm look like body art.” She puts out her hand. “I’m Glenda.”
Now it’s Beatrice’s turn to be impressed. Here before her was the pint-sized climate activist who’d taken the world by storm — forcing so many to reconsider their place on Earth and what they were doing to protect it for future generations. She nods a gracious thank you for the towel, then extends her hand. “Honored to finally meet you,” she says.
Glenda takes her hand, pumping it with a surprisingly firm grip for one so small. Beatrice at 5′ 4″ looks down at 5′ tall Glenda. She’s thin, early twenties, long sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail. Her T-shirt reads the now widespread youth climate message — #ClimateStrike #FridaysForFuture. A tiny form for quite a force. “Given your outfit, I figured you must be Erroll Flynn’s girlfriend. But he says you’re married.” She gives Mori, who looks every part the drowned crow, a disapproving frown.
Mori staggers forward, propelled back and forth by the Shepherd pitching as it struggles through the seas, hugs Beatrice, clears his throat awkwardly. “I definitely got the better end of that bargain.”
“Yee-ah,” Glenda says with an eye roll, then turns toward her father, her mouth scrunched up into a pensive frown. Ivan’s finally recovered. He looks green. His expression hang-dog. The bruises on his head are turning into ugly shiners. His burned hand is wrapped up in a gauze someone must’ve scrounged up while Beatrice was on deck securing the zodiac.
“Valyria, should’ve never left,” Ivan says to her in Russian. Omnis scientia, trailing behind Beatrice and patterned with interpretor, dutifully translates. “Your home was forsaken.”
Glenda drops Beatrice’s hand, giving it a pat as she releases it, then turns in anger toward her father. “Nonsense! I had to!” Glenda shouts in English, her brows lowered in sudden fury. “You! You left! You! Too selfish to do what’s right! You tried to force me! To be like you!” Glenda’s face is red at her brief but intense outburst. “I did what I must! What you wouldn’t!”
Ivan’s face flushes. Her use of English in front of everyone is like a slap in the face. “Valyria…” Ivan starts, his mouth working. “To be an adult…” he continues in Russian.
“Is not easy?” she interrupts in English. “You always say that. I did the harder thing. I took responsibility. That makes me the adult!”
Ivan clamps his mouth shut. His eyes cut side-to-side. Everyone on the bridge is silent. Mori’s stupid grin is back. Outside the waves rage higher. The wind howls. Lightning strikes a wave-top about a half mile away. “I missed you…” He says lamely through the roaring thunder.
“And I you. Ever since you went to work for that stupid bank. Ever since age 12 when I lost my father!” Glenda shouts, her face red, she hops on her toes, tears of rage fall from her eyes. “This!” She points at the mages, at the raging storm, at the Sun Shepherd. “This is the result! Devils! Terrorists! You’re a fucking shapechanger!” She glances at Sadie, but does not relent. “A devil’s fish hook’s in your heart! This is my intervention. Your last fucking chance to be a fucking human!”
On the bridge consul, a red light begins to flash and an alarm sounds. Finn, who’d taken the helm as soon as he entered the bridge picks up a hand mike, keys the tab. “Attention! Crew and passengers! Brace! Brace! Brace! Large wave inbound!”
Beatrice, spins, flicks omnis scientia out the front window. Ahead, a massive blue and white wall rises — easily towering forty feet above the sea surface. Its top rolls. She grabs hold of a handle. The others scramble to brace themselves. Glenda is caught unawares. Ivan freezes. Finn guns the engine — pushing Sun Shepherd up the wave face and toward its axe-shaped peak. Beatrice makes a decision. “Hit the deck!” she shouts, then jumps from her place of safety, grabbing both Glenda and Ivan, she pushes them to the floor. The wave crashes. The outer deck roils under a wall of whitewater. It slams over the window. For a moment, the bridge is submerged. Blue water swirls around omnis scientia where it hovers just over the deck. Behind them, windows reveal a maelstrom of white. Beatrice, Ivan and Glenda are lifted bodily, then flung in a tangle onto a nearby couch. The Sea Shepherd gathers itself beneath the wave, powerful electric engines making a space-ship sound. Then, with a rush and an explosion of spray, the vessel bursts through the wave’s back — resurfacing like a submarine.
Sea Shepherd bobs for a few seconds behind the wave, rights itself, then swiftly plows onward. Electric drives pushing a tail of water behind. Finn turns around. “Everyone OK? Thumbs up! Let me see them.” he shouts over the roaring wind and sea. They managed to brace. All except Beatrice, Glenda and Ivan who’re busy untangling themselves. Everyone gives the thumbs up. “Good!” Finn says. “Now, better buckle in. This monster storm has quite the bite!”
Beatrice helps Glenda fasten a seatbelt in the couch, then makes sure Ivan’s buckled in beside her. Whatever else she may think of Ivan, he’s still Glenda’s father. Despite everything, Glenda clearly still loves him. Beatrice, at last satisfied both he and Glenda are safe, begins to snap her own buckle.
“Not you,” Finn says back to her. “You’ve got the best sea legs I’ve ever seen. And Sadie told me… Well, I know about your talent. You have your special sight active?”
“It’s called omnis scientia. And yes. It’s floating just above the deck near the prow.”
“I may need you to use it to help navigate this mess. Up here!” He pats a co-pilot’s seat next to him. Beatrice springs up to it. In one smooth motion, she buckles in. She scans the array of indicators and screens. Depth finders, wave height measures, level of battery charge (eighty three percent), various outside cameras mostly blurred out by rain and waves, lidar and radar, the red collision warning light that just blinked out.
She turns and gives a little two-figured salute to Finn. “Aye, captain!” she replies, then flicks omnis scientia on ahead. It lifts off the prow, flits over raging wave-tops. “I’ve moved omnis scientia out to 300 feet in front of the vessel.”
“Good! Let me know if there’s another large wave coming. Something about double the size of regular swells.” He hesitates, takes in the raging sea-state. “Or larger… Describe it to me. That –” he points to the red collision warning indicator, now dim, “is just a dummy light.”
Beatrice gives the thumbs up.
“The rest of you, pipe down,” Finn continues. “We’re in for a rough ride out to Wind-Sun. You can settle your differences when you get there. Let’s make sure you do!”
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
“The Nightmare’s in the frigging train!” Mori shouts.
Beatrice spins, facing front. There’s a lurch, a shriek of wheels. The train contorts, jumping on its tracks, throwing passengers back and forth. Ghostly light strobes along the walls. People crouch and cower near her. Terrified murmurs surround her. What do I do? My energetic vessel’s almost empty. The Curse Rider’s arrival in terrible glory has left her stunned. Breathless.Fear threads through her — trying to freeze her to the floor. She spins, leaps up beside Mori.
“What now?” He says, his jaw line clenching in tension.
“We figure out some way to fight him,” She replies. To her ears, she sounds far more confident than she feels. “To exorcise the Nightmare.”
Sadie stands up. Puts a hand on Beatrice’s arm. “Wait. We’ve chosen our ground well. Look carefully.”
Beatrice lifts her eyes to the wall, watches the Nightmare’s ghostly spirit rushing back and forth through the train. Metal shudders. Plastic smolders. Wheels squeal and grind. But the train’s form does not change. There is no diabolical transformation.
“You see now? We picked a solar train for good reason. They don’t call it fueled by Heaven for nothing.” Then, Sadie lifts her hand, touches the train’s wall and incants “Ligamen Malum!” Blue-white light pulses out. A series of white rings expands from her point of contact. The rings ripple through the train — creating an interlocking chain of binding circles. The Nightmare spirit shrieks, fades, then melts back in silence. Smooth forward motion resumes. Beatrice’s eyes swirl with magical detection. The Nightmare thrashes. But it cannot escape from Sadie’s binding. Stuck in a substance anathema to its nature. Bound by a chain of celestial magic drawing strength from the solar train’s innate benevolence. For now, the demon is locked down, unable to move.
“You trapped it!” Beatrice exclaims in surprise and relief. “You chose the train for this reason didn’t you? You knew.”
Sadie taps the train’s deck with her foot, a sheepish grin spreading over her face. “What does Myra call this sort of conveyance? I heard her say it once?”
“Mobile holy ground, Highlander!” Mori says. “Damn, what a move! I saw you touch the wall and concentrate earlier. Didn’t know it was to work a heavy-weight curse!”
Beatrice wipes away a tear that forms, unbidden, at mention of her daughter. “The idea to set this trap came from something Myra said?”
“That’s as crazy as it is cool,” Mori actually laughs.
“No time to celebrate,” Sadie says. “We’ve knocked out one of his main weapons. But we still have a Curse Rider to deal with.”
“What’s the plan?” Beatrice asks.
“I’m drawing a blank too,” Mori says. He shares a glance with Beatrice, worry plain in his expression. “We’re both about tapped out.”
Ivan groans, clutches his belly, then barfs on the floor. Sadie grabs his collar, hoists him up. “We know what the Curse Rider wants.” She motions to Ivan. “Don’t we? For certainty, he hunts you to take your wisps. But he’s also here for Ivan. And as complicated as our Russian friend here makes things for us, he’s also splitting the Curse Rider’s focus.” Sadie pats Ivan on the back, then starts guiding him to the rear of the car.
“It’s a delay tactic,” Mori says.
Beatrice nods. “We move the quarries. Keep him guessing.” Flicking her sense through omnis scientia, she can see the Curse Rider raging on the train’s roof. His Nightmare trapped, his once-cool demeanor is now melting into a rictus of ugly rage. His eyes follow the magical lines running from the sensor back to Beatrice and Mori. With great leaps that seem impossible for such a whip-thin body, he begins bounding toward them. Where his feet touch the sanctified train, angry sparks lash out at him, burning him. He pays no mind as boots and cloths are blasted away. As human flesh sears to black and red scales, his feet taking on the shape of talons. “He’s coming! Let’s move!”
As they stand, Officer Winkler finally recovers from her shock at the madness caused by what she thinks is a mass phone hacking. She’s close, overhearing their conversation. Though some of it’s not processing for her, the magical parts mostly, she grasps the gist of their plan. Then, her police radio blares with a confusing report of a helicopter landing on the roof and depositing a likely hijacker. She stands, pulls her firearm. “Good idea! Get to the train’s rear! We’ll do what we can to protect your dignitary!” Winkler rushes into the next car, joins two other officers, then uses the emergency access to get to the roof.
Beatrice lifts a hand, then incants praesidia! The blue light of her protection curse shoots toward the officers, enveloping them in a momentary flare. She ties off the energy, watching sparks trail them as they climb onto the roof. It’ll last about ten minutes. Hopefully enough. Probing her energetic vessel she finds she’s got maybe one strong curse left. She doesn’t regret it. Those officers are good people going into a situation they don’t understand. One where they’re completely outclassed.
The Curse Rider is ten cars back and coming on fast. They turn and rush headlong toward the train’s rear. Running itself isn’t a strategy. It buys them time. And not much. Cunning Sadie must have another trick card in her deck.
Sadie grabs her by the shirt. “I know you’re almost out! Save your last magic until I tell you to use it! Going to need your special talent!”
Beatrice nods back, mouth forming a grim line. “Aye, my captain!” she replies, then rushes onward, checking her speed to make sure her companions can keep up. Most mages have specializations. Sadie’s are healing, binding, protection and traps. Mori’s involve information gathering, detection, stealth, obfuscation, and weapon-enhanced ranged combat. She has a few areas of magical specialization, but she bets Sadie will draw something from her wide-ranging, mobility-enabling quiver.
They pass through one train car. Another. Passengers stare in obvious shock from the phone disturbance, the jolting train, the diabolical light show. Warnings about a possible unauthorized boarder blare through the speakers. Ivan stumbles. Mori hit him pretty hard. Can’t say I blame him. Asmodeus’s Prophet is also cradling a burned hand, suffers from many bruises. The wound in his back and wisp from the Pride-Eater’s talon clearly troubles him as he lurches back and forth in a daze of pain. Beatrice hooks a hand under his arm, helping Sadie propel him onward.
Through omnis scientia, Beatrice watches as the officers climb onto the train’s roof. They shout, pointing at the Curse Rider who’s now become a horrific mash of devil and cowboy — running on taloned feet as divine energy sparks angrily around him. White light flares, rising from Sadie’s chain of binding circles. A Macto effect Sadie layered into her spell’s structure. The sparks are ripping holes in his human flesh. A superficial garment, some of it sags off in tatters — revealing more of the mottled black and red scales. A baleful black eye with a white pin-prick for its pupil scans them as the devil cowboy rushes forward, holding its black hat to its head with one hand.
“Halt!” the officers shout, weapons drawn. The interpretation from German ringing in her ears through the shared sensor.
Quicker than a cobra-strike, the devil cowboy draws his firearm. A massive six-shooter leaps into his hand. He fires. A black round erupts. It seems to expand, devouring light as it races toward its targets. The officers, pistols already out, return fire. A few bullets strike the Curse Rider. May as well be stinging gnats for all the damage they inflict. The black round shoots between the officers, contracts with a ‘wump!’ then explodes in a dark shockwave. Darkness tinged with fire bursts out, engulfing the officers and tearing a hole in the train roof. Blue light ripples, protecting them from the impact. Still, the officers are flung off like toys in warped bubbles. Two tumble away to the left. One to the right. Beatrice sees Winkler fall into bushes along the train tracks, blue light still shielding her. Safe if shook-up. The other two officers hurtle out of sight. The Curse Rider takes one leap, jumps through the hole opened by his black bullet, lands in a flare of sparks among screaming passengers, then continues his onrush from within the train.
Beatrice looks over her shoulder. She can’t see him yet. But she does see passengers cowering, diving under seats, or pressing themselves against walls. In the distance, through a series of doors, she can see material swirling around like confetti. “He’s in the train!” she shouts.
Sadie looks back at her, catches her eye. “Good,” she says.
Beatrice turns, facing the train’s rear. They sprint — slamming through doors and jumping over passengers, Ivan in tow. From behind them, the sounds of screams and crashes grows louder. Beatrice feels panic rise into her throat. Pricks run up her spine. She feels she’ll be snatched away and rent to pieces at any instant. They’re moving too fast now to look back. But the noise behind grows louder and louder.
Finally, they come to the caboose car’s entrance. Sadie lifts a hand. Beatrice spins to a halt. Mori stops, takes a knee. Ivan collapses. Toward the engine, not three cars away, the Curse Rider strides through a shower of sparks carrying Macto curses that blast into him in gory staccato. Bits of his human shell fly off — spraying over cowering and screaming passengers. He ignores them. Clawed feet hammer as he rushes toward them. Legs pistoning with terrible force that evokes both the machine and the reptilian. Eyes — twin white lights in orbs of darkness — fix on them like gun sights. His flesh and clothes are now tatters. Most of what made him look human is ripped away. His diabolical features — mottled black and bood-red scales, twin horns sprouting from his skull, long claws replacing toes and finger nails — take on most of his form now. Beatrice draws breath, in awe of what Sadie’s done with her magic. She turned the train into a gauntlet of destruction for the Curse Rider. It’s still no-where near enough. The thing she sees stands strong, barely phased by the terrible punishment coming in from all sides. The devil cowboy — it still wears its ridiculous hat — explodes into a dividing doorway. The door is thrown off its hinges with a shriek of steel. The Curse Rider bursts through. Now just two cars away.
“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Mori shouts to Sadie.
“He sees us! Good!” She shouts. “Now run! To the end of the train!”
They rush headlong. It’s a real race now and they’re losing fast. Beatrice has no idea what Sadie has in mind. But it better be good. They’re at the train’s end. All that stands between them and rushing tracks — a door of steel and glass. About a hundred feet away and opposite the door, the Curse Rider hurtles toward them. They’re trapped. Out of options.
“Mori! Shoot out the door!” Sadie shouts.
Mori, who was busy sighting down the Curse Rider, swings his weapon around, ejects the Macto magazine into his hand, switches it swiftly with a black magazine from his pocket, then aims at the door. Beatrice’s eyes widen as she recognizes the ammo. These are tungsten anti-material rounds! Mori shoots four times in succession, blasting away the hinges. The door flies off into space behind the train — tumbling like a leaf.
Sadie waves to the few passengers clustering near the caboose’s rear. “Too dangerous here! Run to the front now!” The passengers stand, scamper toward the car’s front. “Now hide! Something bad’s coming!” Sadie’s voice is laden with suggero spurring them to move despite their terror.
Not missing a beat, Sadie turns to Beatrice. “We’re going up top. Draw your sword. Use your defenses. Get its attention. Then follow my lead.” Sadie grabs Mori and Ivan. “Salire!” she incants. Together, they leap up — propelled in a swooping arc by Sadie’s curse magic. Then they’re on the roof, scampering toward the car’s front. Beatrice is now alone. She draws her curse-patterned rapier. Sparks fall from its tip. The tattoos on her feet and hands flare with magic as she prepares what remains in her energetic vessel. With her thumb, she taps the blue-white gem in her rapier’s pommel. A patterned praesidia curse triggers — enveloping her blade in a bubble of protective light. She’s deliberately bleeding a heavy amount of patterned lux into her name curse. Showing off both her nature as an angel and as a mage. A combination any devil worth its worb would lust for. In front of her, the door rips off — pinning two passengers as the Curse Rider tears it like a sheet of paper from a notebook, then casually casts it aside. She crouches. The Curse Rider’s white laser eyes in swirling darkness fall on her. She aims her sword at them. The Curse Rider hesitates for a moment, seems surprised she’s alone, glances about for her companions. The pause is only momentary. Her angelic, magical form, its vital wisp-energy fluttering within, is too spectacular a pull for a devil to resist. It tips its hat in seeming salute, lowers a hand toward the pistol on its belt, then leaps toward her.
“Sadie!!!” Beatrice shouts.
“Una!” Sadie replies. “Una!” she hears Mori speak in turn as he bridges the link between Sadie, Beatrice, himself, and Ivan. Una forms a bridge that flows like a river of magic between them. It then extends in a blue-green arc over the train, connecting them to their magical sensor — omnis scientia — hundreds of feet ahead. Beatrice’s senses are transported along the bridge to the sensor’s far-off focus. Its view is just above the hole created by the Curse Rider’s first black bullet when it exploded among the police officers minutes before.
In her real sight, she can see the Curse Rider tearing through the train’s floor with its clawed feet. “When I cast my curse use lanuae on the sensor!” Sadie shouts. The Curse Rider’s six shooter whips up. Beatrice’s sense of time dilates. The barrel seems to slowly rise. “QAUE MALA!” Sadie incants, using the binding circle curse to seal the caboose with a ward against evil.
Beatrice spins her rapier. The gun’s barrel lines up. Sparks swirl in the air. She can see the barrel through her circle of sparks like a gaping maw. The five black bullets still housed in its cylinder — each a bulge of devil’s magic waiting for launch. She grabs one spark. The gun’s hammer falls. She hurls the spark. It disappears as it passes into the magical link made by una and flares swiftly through the blue-green bridge above the train. The black bullet hurtles toward her, shadow tendrils swarm out from it. Her rapier blazes. The light of a star briefly blossoms in the caboose as praesidia forms its bubble around her. Shadow tendrils coil and swell from the black bullet. Around Beatrice, seats are ripped off their mountings and thrown from the train, windows shatter, metal bulges and cracks.
Beatrice is ejected out behind the train in this clash of forces. Tendrils blooming around the swelling black bullet core through her protective light. If they touch her, they will tear her wisp away. The black bullet will then capture it for the Curse Rider to enslave. Hundreds of feet ahead, in the train that is now leaving her behind, her spark finally crosses una’s bridge and shoots out of the magical sensor. It lands in the train roof’s hole. The black bullet begins to engulf her. Tendrils just inches away as she dips toward impact on the tracks. Tucking into a ball, she shouts “LANUAE!” The explosive magic of teleportation enfolds her — lighting up three more times to engulf her companions on the train car roof ahead and above. The black bullet cores through the explosion where she hung in mid-air a moment before.
Beatrice emerges along with Sadie, Mori, and Ivan. Each leaping up out of their own explosive spark-shower. They fall about 8 feet, then land in a chorus of thumps in the ruined train car. A few hundred feet away, within the caboose, the Curse Rider howls in rage. Sadie’s magic has formed an iridescent field around the damaged car. Reinforced by the train’s holy ground, it contains the Curse Rider even as he vents his fury. Pounding and shooting the magical containment in furious effort to find release. The remaining passengers, not similarly bound by Sadie’s magic and gathered near the exit forward, flee to safety in the next train car. For the moment, the Curse Rider is too distracted by his capture to pay them mind. He aims his might at breaking the bottle, he deforms the magical containment — causing the caboose to jump. Its walls are quickly tattered with dents and cracks. But, for now, the mighty Curse Rider is held even as Macto curses continue to rain down on it.
Beatrice slumps to the floor, still shaking from the intensity of a few moments before. “Whew!” she says. “Well, Sadie, you did it. Trapped a Curse Rider. But I don’t know for how long. I’ll take my miracles.”
“It’s bought us time. Hopefully enough to get where we need to go,” Sadie replies.
“Tonder?” Mori asks.
“Brons,” Sadie replies. “I’ve arranged a boat. We jump train there. If all goes as planned. Glenda will be on board.”
Beatrice looks at them, puts her shaking hand on her head. “Are you both going to let me know what you’ve cooked up? Do I have to guess at your charades? I did just… What would Myra call it? I think the term is tank. Yes. I did just tank that Curse Rider for you guys. A little explanation as gratitude would be appreciated.”
“Sweetheart,” Mori replies, catching her up in a reassuring embrace. “You tanked beautifully! And yes, I suppose we both missed a lot of Sadie’s subtlety here. So to fill you in, we’re going to jump off the train at Brons, then take a boat down the Brons River and out to our Heaven’s gate in the North Sea. Providence willing, the cage Sadie made for our Curse Rider will hold until then and for some time after.”
“Glorious!” Beatrice says in an outburst, trying to blow her shakes off into the word. “How much longer ’til Brons?”
“About fifty minutes,” Mori says.
“Seems like a long time given present circumstances.”
“It seems like forever.”
Ivan whimpers.
Beatrice stands, assesses her blessings. She’s still breathing — thanks in no small part to Sadie. This whole affair is too desperate. But she didn’t know what else to do. With Myra in Hell, they’re committed to this crazy path. And that was that.
(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)
Scribbler’s Fantastical Workshop 
