Prisoners

Mar 3rd - Mar 6th

The atmosphere in Korven’s throne room is tense. Vetrick, Morikand and the grey orc priest Headlock are surrounded. Korven taunts them arrogantly and they realise that the emperor of Bretonia is not going to let them leave. Morikand’s persistent questioning regarding Asigoth brings no clear answer but it does provoke Korven into revealing that he will not let them leave. All around them in the galleries are the nobility of Korven’s court. Each man and woman holds a dark mask to their eyes, a mask with no slits for eyes.

Morikand goes on the offensive, his initial dispel magic fails but his demonic glove connects. To his horror the glove turns black instantly and is shattered into a million pieces that disappear as into nothingness. Korven laughs raucously and forbids his men to intervene. "They are mine!" he spits.

Vetrick pulls the demonic greatsword and lunges at the calm demonologist before him. Korven does not flinch. As the blade hits him Vetrick recoils; the greatsword succumbs to the awesome force of Korven’s Void protection leaving Vetrick no choice but to draw Scar, the blade that sent Malakar from Grayhawk.

Korven unleashes a spell at Headlock who vanishes instantly, banished to some remote Abyssal prison. The emperor laughs maniacally and stretches out his right hand. Both Morikand and Vetrick notice the creeping blackness that spreads from his fingernails to encompass the entirety of it. He lunges at Vetrick and tries to touch him with the Void Hand. But Vetrick is too quick.

A few more failed dispel magics make Morikand realise that the only possible outcome is obliteration. He fingers the coin given to him by Gresil and after several attempts he manages to break the protection of Korven’s vast pentacle and he and Vetrick vanish. The kindly old man that is the librarian greets them warmly…

* * * * *

It is dark. The stench makes Headlock’s eyes water. He casts light and the full horror of the prison becomes apparent. There are many bodies, skeletons litter the place but there are also survivors, barely able to lift their weak limbs to shield their eyes from the brightness. Headlock counts five that breathe. He casts cure light wounds systematically and finds Fallis, a Nadir hunter, the strongest of the survivors. Headlock spends the first few days curing and devising a plan to escape.

When one of the demonic guards peers through a viewing slit in the door Headlock tosses a throwing star into its face. Gripped by rage the gaolers – three in all – enter the cell with cruel whips and start to strike all in their path. But Headlock casts bless enabling all weapons to affect the demonic gaolers. His warhammer connects with one of the towering brutes and snaps the spine in two. The creature collapses and writhes around before dying. Fallis’ rusty longsword is more than a match for the second gaoler and between the remaining four they manage to overpower the last one.

Headlock snatches a bunch of heavy keys and leads them into a vast, mesmerising maze of twisting passageways and corridors. Doors line the walls; each one houses an unfortunate victim of the demonic prison. Headlock moves quickly and checks each of the viewing slits in the doors. He frees anyone human, leaving some of the more demonic horrors behind. Soon his numbers swell to around fifty. The last cell he opens contains a surprisingly fit and athletic man who, when released, calls himself Dorik Luckwarden.

"Are you…?" Headlock says.

"I am Drusor Luckwarden’s younger brother. Well met priest, I owe you my life. What’s the plan?"

Headlock leads them to a guard room. Twenty gaolers, similar in size and shape as the ones he overpowered in his cell. Through that door Headlock hopes to build a barricade.

"They want you to escape," Dorik says, "it is part of their sport. They allow so many to flee so that the demonic nobility can hunt them down."

Headlock casts bless. "Then we will give them the kind of sport they won’t forget in a hurry." He charges through the door and the battle is short and brutal. Dorik Luckwarden possesses great skill with the rusty longsword. Every attack connects with – and fells – the lumbering gaolers. Fallis is equally skilled and between them they manage to overcome all the resistance and secure the three entrances to the upper levels of the prison.

Dorik hands out the weaponry that lines the racks. Headlock waits…

* * * * *

Vetrick wastes no time. With Gresil’s help he studies the three primal powers; The Void, Rootvile and Creation. When he returns to Gresils antechamber Morikand is gone. Nourished, refreshed and strangely calm he speaks Gresil.

"There was a priest with us in Gran Breton, an Elenian by the name of Headlock. It is my belief that Korven banished him to some demonic prison and I need to get to him."

Gresil sighs. "I fear what you say is true lord Vetrick. But the prison in question is impenetrable. It is called Aggragar and is run by the arch demon Cusar. An army could not breach it."

"Then I need to get to a temple of Elena. The Lady will help me. Know any priests Gresil?"

Gresil the Great Librarian smiles and sends Vetrick back to Grayhawk. Vast trees are all around him. He studies the ground, tastes the fresh water and observes the minutiae around him. He is a ranger lord and knows, instinctively, that he is in the Kalador forest.

Soon he is surrounded by elves. The Kals, by reputation, are fiercely proud and warlike. Vetrick realises that he has strayed deep into the forest, deeper than any human has ever reached. The irony of the situation is not lost on him; if only they knew I was half demonic! Despite the Kals bravado and arrogance there is one voice of reason amongst them.

A silver haired elf says; "Can’t you see what sword he carries? That is the blade that marked Malakar."

There is silence. It is though even the birds, the insects and the very wind itself stills in awe of the elf’s words. New found respect is on every face. "I need to visit a temple," Vetrick says.

The temple of Elena, like so many in the great forests of Grayhawk, is an oasis of greenery, natural groves and beautiful gardens. The high priestess is called Gehlen, a striking woman who takes the ranger into a quiet room. There she leaves him. By a clear pool sits Elena, Vetrick composes himself to face the full force of her beauty, but the goddess is calm and smiles at him.

His gaze falls to the pool where he can see the scene of a dungeon. Headlock marshals a handful of beleaguered prisoners as they barricade the doors and prepare for some kind of assault.

"Can you get me there?" Vetrick says.

"It is a one way ticket Vetrick. Whilst I can place you inside the room the nature of the place will prevent you from leaving."

"I will not leave him to die there," the ranger says.

Elena smiles warmly. "Nor will I. But there is only one creature, the foul lord of this infernal place, that has the power to release those poor souls. Get to him, break his power and I will reach you."

The goddess reaches deep into the pool and in her hand is a great black sword. Vetrick steadies himself as the power of it nearly knocks him off his feet. A two handed blade of awesome power, the dark metal seems to absorb all light and as soon as he grips the black hilt he staggers back.

"It belongs to my brother," she says.

Vetrick staggers back once more.

"It’s presence will alert the foul lord of the prison and draw him to you as though Malakar himself had stepped into his domain. It is the only way."

* * * * *

Headlock does not even notice his companion arrive. Vetrick seems to melt out of the shadows into view. The priest can feel the sheer presence of the blade. Vetrick walks up to the confused Dorik Luckwarden and hands him Scar. "Take this sword, Drenai, because very soon we are going to get a visit."

"By the gods man!" Dorik says.

Vetrick grins. "Indeed."

There is little time to react. The weaker prisoners begin to die. A foul, foetid stench creeps into the guard room, a smell so unpleasant that it chokes the weak to death. The charged atmosphere turns cold as something approaches. The doors, heavily barricaded, begin to melt away. Great heat and raw power as the lord of the plane arrives to face the blade of Malakar.

A hulking shape crashes into the room. Two harsh red eyes lay either side of a tentacle that protrudes from a scaly forehead. Massive, powerful arms hold a double spear; a hook at one end and a blade at the other. Only Headlock, Fallis, Dorik and Vetrick remain able to fight as the beast advances. The remaining prisoners cower in the shadows.

It slashes this way and that with awesome speed. Vetrick dances away dextrously and awaits the inevitable opportunity. The walls shake as the arch demon hurls an unknown spell at the ranger but in the cocoon of Malakar’s protection the spell dissipates harmlessly around him. Vetrick feels strangely calm. He closes carefully and launches an attack on the demon’s soul.

Vetrick’s double handed strike is a blur. No defence – however skilled – would stop the blow. The blade smashes through the demon’s skull and buries itself deep into its heart. Blood, gore and the life force of the beast are spilt on the floor. As it screams its soul dies.

The power that binds the prison together is gone. The many-layered protections and wards are no more and the whole place begins to crumble. Walls and floors collapse. The screams of the millions of prisoners can be heard for miles and there is panic in the guard room. Vetrick wrenches the blade from the corpse and the whole scenery changes.

He, along with Headlock, Fallis, Dorik and the remaining prisoners, are suddenly in the warmth of the Kalador forest; the beautiful temple of Gehlen is all around them. The Kals are quick to comfort the sick and heal the wounded. Dorik and Fallis lead the cheers as Gehlen, the high priestess, walks amongst them. She stops and bows to Vetrick, her head inclined in the direction of the altar. Vetrick knows what must be done and knows also the truth of what happened. With no powerful protections around it Elena exerted her influence on the plane and plucked them all to safety.

"I am in your debt," she says, "to put yourself in such danger for a friend is a mark of greatness." She takes her brother’s blade and stares deeply into his eyes. Vetrick has the feeling that she stares directly into his soul, as though she opens him like the petals of a flower in blossom to see what is underneath. He does not flinch. Few men could withstand such scrutiny but Vetrick is unlike other men; his soul hardened by his experiences. Eventually, inevitably, Elena turns and is gone.

When he returns to the jubilant crowd he sees Dorik Luckwarden embracing Headlock. "I swear to you my orcish friend that I will keep my promise and follow your goddess."

Even the elves congratulate the orc who looks incongruous in such a beautiful place. Vetrick feels peace suffuse his entire being, a complete sense of well being he has otherwise never experienced. As he returns to the elves a chorus of victory songs are sung in his name…