Post by LACKLAN on Jun 13, 2018 2:01:30 GMT -5
On a night in which no one will ever forget, the most EPIC game of Dungeons and Dragons was played at the Hit Girl stadium in Cincinnati as a “team building” exercise. Many adventures were to be had by various members of the LFL team, of which the main story, that of Necronium the Long-Winded, was told. But many adventures from that night have not yet been told, as that would have made for an INSANELY long promotional video.
But THIS is one of those tales.
Merovingian the Righteous stared down the ravine with a small look of hesitation on her face. The blonde shivered as a howling wind blew through her camp, making the horses dance and her men look around with frightened glances as if children once more. She reached up to her chest and held her holy symbol, a large die of twenty sides made of pure silver for the Unforgotten God THAC0, and whispered a prayer to He Who Decides Your Fate:
“...grant us strength…”
Merovingian steps away from the ravine leading into the den of her objective and turns to take a look at her camp. Twenty men strong, retainers of her liege, were breaking their fast over pots of beans. She had hoped to find some kind of meat along the way, something to hunt, but their rabbit traps put up every night had returned nothing, and the only birds in the area flew too high for their arrows to pierce. Her group, so strong and proud when they left Lacklanlandia the month before, had grown weary on the deserted paths leading to this swamp. They had been rained on for what seemed like the entire trip, rain that beat at them, soaked them, robbed them of their will. Winds had swept in, winds to chill their soaked bodies and make them shiver. It seemed that nature itself was fighting them, keeping them from their mission, but she had faith that they would persevere.
She made her way towards her tent, meeting with men and woman from their followers as she did so. Being in charge of this mission meant far more than just some type of gallant charge atop proud stallion warhorse, Mane of Red, and was instead filled with seemingly endless paperwork. She had to make sure that they had enough food and provisions. Had to make sure that their camp followers kept their boots, horseshoes, and packs repaired. Had to make sure every soldier was oiling their blades every night. She was big on delegation, as any successful general should be, but still the amount of items which needed her personal signature or notice was staggering.
When she finally pulled back the curtains of her tent and made her way inside, she groaned as she realized immediately that she was not alone.
“Good morrow, commander! Would you care for a song?”
Thespina the Bard, her ebony skin offset by a sparkling attire of green covered head to toe in bells, smiled up at her from the table in the center of her living space. Her long braids, also covered in bells, shook as she smiled at her, the bright tinkling of the bells filling the room. Merovingian sighed and shook her head as she walked over to where her armor rested on its own table. Her great maul Knocker, an odd choice for a paladin’s holy avenger, to be certain, stood next to the table. She picked it up and hefted it in her hand, feeling the weight of the hammerhead. She knew that she would have to trade it in for a proper blade if she was to sever the head of Necronium the Long-Winded, the patriarch dragon from Clan Blowhard who was terrorizing this land by sending entire towns into an endless sleep with his boring and seemingly unending monologues, but this was the weapons she needed today. This was the weapon she needed to face the dreaded Dryder, Edenossa.
Merovingian sighed as the tinkling of bells announced that Thespina had gotten up out of the chair and headed in her direction. The paladin tried to distract herself by setting Knocker down and ran a finger along the contours of her armor. The breastplate had been formed for her specifically, the metal shaped around her moderate bust as she lay still for many hours, until it was done in such a way as to allow her to move almost as if she were wearing nothing at all.
“Copper piece for your thoughts?”
Merovingian nearly jumped as Thespina’s hands touched her shoulders and the question was whispered in her ear. She could feel the heat from the bard’s lips...felt it travel down her entire body...made her shiver. She moved away from the bard’s reach and walked towards her table. She reached down and took up two of the many papers on the desk, one a map of the area, the other detailing as much information about Edenossa as she could garner from the Oracle, Deimosious.
“We leave at dawn. I hope that the Dryder’s power will be lessened during the day time, even if she is well within her realm. Deimosious said that Edenossa’s power of seduction wouldn’t be as strong durin-”
She was so distracted by the reports in her hand that she did not hear the tinkling of bells. She was grabbed from behind and spun with more force than the small bard’s frame should possess. Her lips were on hers before she could react. Her body shivered more than even before, and when the bard finally let her up for air, her legs felt like water, ready to give way at any moment. Thespina smirked up at her, her dark brown eyes full of knowing.
“Your plan is perfect, commander. Do not fret over it. Let yourself just...relax...”
The paladin sighed as the bard smirked even more and moved in on her again.
Merovingian led her troops down the ravine slowly. Their horses, including her strong Mane of Red, were left behind, as they would not only have been useless on the swampy terrain, but might well have injured themselves to the point of needing to be put down. So her 20 men made their way down slowly, with four scouts leading the way, each trained to keep an eye out for anything and everything that might be a part of the Dryder’s traps. While the Oracle had been obtuse about what would lie in store for them once they were in Edenossa’s realm, he had been clear about the traps she had laid.
🎶🎶“My, oh my, what a wonderful day!”🎶🎶
The paladin rolled her eyes as Thespina sang a song to “lift their spirits,” as she called it. She did not include the bard in her group of twenty she asked the King for, as no member of the Adventurous Six were considered to be “just” soldiers anymore, and she nearly regretted bringing her. Their group had had many adventures over the last couple of years as they brought together the weapons they would need to kill Necronium the Long-Winded and end his reign of sleepy terror, but none was more dangerous than this one. Edenossa the Dryder was well-known for her power and treachery, and had amassed a group of thralls, both weak and powerful, that would stand in their way. If anything happened to Thespina…
The bird’s call stopped the paladin short. The sound, that of the double-breasted albino pigeon, was not native to these parts. And any local, whether it be creature or monster, would not only not recognize it, but not understand what it meant to Merovingian and her troupe:
Danger ahead
Not for the first time, the paladin wished that her druid companion had been available to join her and Thespina on this mission, as Belgiana’s talent with animal empathy could help with the local wildlife, but she was far away with her best friend, bb, working to secure the help of the barbarian’s tribe. It was good work, work to help them defeat the dreaded dragon and his influence in the end, but she could sure use them now. So they moved slowly, with only the king’s scouts to guide them, now in absolute silence. Even Thespina’s bells were silent now as they neared the mouth of the cave, something that no longer surprised her. The bard had refused to say where she got the magical bells that now adorned her entire body, going from coyly shying away from questions to downright refusal to answer, and it concerned Merovingian.
The paladin took a small glance over her shoulder to regard her companion. The bard had become a lover, though the shame of the impropriety threatened to color the paladin’s fair skin to that of scarlet when even thinking about their secret trysts, and she was unsure of what to think of her. The Adventurous Six had been on many adventures, though some were starting to call them the Fearsome Five after the unfortunate death of their priest, BLQMFS, who fell to a surprisingly vicious woodland creature known as a brownie. Their travels had them on the roads, often sleeping in haystacks under the stars, and the necessity of body heat had brought her and the bard together. No doubt THAC0 disapproved of the immoral coupling, and certainly their liege did, but she could not help herself. Something about the bard’s dark skin-
A scream to curdle her blood shook her from her ill-timed reverie of memories. She snapped her head into the direction of the scream and saw one of her men, a pikeman from the South Hills named Lard, with that hooked nose known for that area, be dragged across the swamp. His foot was in the maw of what looked to be a giant rat, and by the look of the venom seeping from its teeth an into his leg, he was most likely already dead, screaming or not. Her shouted command sent arrows flying through the air and into beast and man both, ending the scream. It still rang in her ears, though. Her first loss.
Another bird call caught her attention. Unfortunately, that bird call was cut short and followed by another scream. Her second loss. She could feel the morale of the group dropping, but she could help with that. She turned back in the direction they were going and strode forward, the heavy metal boots of her chain-and-plate mail slinking into the mud with a disgusting sound, and pressed onward, both her actions and words driving them onward.
“Do not be afraid, Brethren! We march this day to end the life of Edenossa the Dryer! We march this day to rip her many legs from her body, to take the owl-head from her body, and end the business of enthralling our kinfolk! This day, we strike a great blow into the heart of her master, Necronium the Long-Winded! This day, we take back the souls how have fallen to her and bring them to the Creator, the Great God THAC0! Today, we-”
She cuts off as they push past a brush of trees, whose leaves were filled with a yellow stain of disease, and found themselves staring into the mouth of the cave leading into Edenossa’s lair. Her men joined her at the opening in the rockwall which brought an end to the swamp mud and she let out another bird call to tell her remaining scouts to meet them. Before long, her troupe of eighteen men, plus her bard companion, stood before her. Each wore chain armor and spiked helmets of the guard, each with a cloth over the mail which displayed both the red lightning bolt of their liege, Thunderous Red, as well as the purple lily of their queen, Momager, in addition to their house sigils. The Roaring Lion of South Hills. The Leaping Boar of Westersand. The Prancing Queen of West Holly. More. A dozen houses in total across the group.
“We stand at the precipice of greatness, my friends. In this hole lives the dreaded Dryder, Edenossa. You have all heard tale of her vicious countenance. The bulbous body of a spider, eight legs clacking on the stones. A human body atop the spider, with arms of steel. The long face of a wise nightbird. She is strong, powerful. Yet agile enough to climb her webs as if she weighed but a feather. But those are not her true weapons! Nay! Her TRUE power lays in her voice! Edenossa has the power of making men, ANY men, turn into unthinking thralls for her pleasure and designs. Do not let yourself become her thrall! Do not let yourself listen to her sweet voice! It is only sweet in the spell, for without it, when faced with the Mirror of Truth, her sweet sounds turn to a screech!”
Thespina reached into her bag and pulled out the famed Mirror of Truth on cue. They had practiced this in their tent, away from the eyes of her men, and the gasps from them proved how well planned this was. The Mirror of Truth was the pillage of yet another mission of the Adventurous Six, when Merovignian had personally braved the feared Barman of Mediocrity, Rydelliousness, and forced him to look into his own mirror. The Barman had, as the Oracle Deimosious had told them he would, turned to stone at seeing his own reflection. And now they brought that weapon to bear against the vile Dryder.
“We shall take away her great power, slay her, and have an even greater weapon against Necronium the Long-Winded!”
A great shout erupted from her men at this assurance.. Necronium had burst into their kingdom with an unending, unyielding, unbearable series of monologues which had sent half the kingdom into an unshakable slumber. Their liege had tasked all of his soothsayers to wake those affected, but every known cure for magical sleep had proved unsuccessful. No kiss, no matter how true the love was, could wake them. And so they must cut the head from the dragon himself, lest they be asleep forever.
In the time since his arrival, the dragon from Clan Blowhard had brought destruction to every fife he visited. Carried by his great wings of breadth and repetition, his triple threat of “mono,” monotonous, monotone monologues, had taken down any and all who tried to defeat or even resist him. Groups of adventurers had fallen, even three at a time, each unable to resist the prowess of his drowsiness. Even recently, on the massive battlefield on the Fields of Melee, he had shown unbelievable strength, sending sleeping bodies flying over and again, some even up and over the very mountains themselves. But Merovingian knew the secret now to how to defeat the dreaded Dragon of the Unceasing Sleep. Thanks to the song of the CAPTAIN of many faces, and the obscured words of the Oracle, they knew to rip his head from his body and save the kingdom.
Into the cave she and her men went. They made slow progress at first, the cave only allowing them to walk two abreast, and they made far more noise than she wished. The jingling of her men’s chain, and the solid CLANK! of her own plates, would announce their arrival to even the dead. And it was not long before Edenossa’s thralls came to stop them.
“LIGHT THE FIRES!”
Torches turned arrows tipped with rags soaked in alcohol into flaming projectiles. The slow, plodding steps of the Dryad’s thralls, men with lust in their yes and evil in their hearts, were met with fiery death. Screams of pain erupted from the thralls, each no match for the prepared paladin’s methods. To her horror, she recognized a few of the faces in the legion of thralls. Men, good men, who had been put under Edenossa’s spell. Men who had thought that THEY were what the ugly Dryad wanted, men who that that THEY were her heart’s and loin’s desire. Each man, good or not, was a fool to the last. The Dryder was a solitary creature with a heart of ice.
And so she watched thralls die at the end of their flaming arrows. She saw Vainamous, the Man of 1000 Names, once a great knight in the king’s service, fall. It had been a dark day when he had been taken thrall by Edenossa, and now she whispered a small prayer to THAC0 for his soul. She saw the Good Doctor Baaaaaa fall, the man who knew sheep better than any Good Doctor ever had. Why, children still sung songs about his ability to make sheep dance a mighty jig! It was crushing to see him become a thrall of the Dryder, become just another puppet of hers convinced of some greater meaning through the promise of her bed. No one would be introduced to him anymore.
Still, the thralls came. They closed quarters, too close for arrowfire. “CHARGE!” came the cry from Merovingian's lips, and she led the charge herself, her great maul Knocker high in the air. Down it came in a crushing blow that cracked the skull of one thrall. Across with a sweep into the side of another. A jab with the spiked head pierced the chest of yet a third. She looked around as best she could, keeping tabs on her men. She saw them do well, even saw a thrall she recognized be killed by Pietre, no more than a boy of 15 who didn’t need to shave more than once or twice a month. What was that thrall’s name? Kinglsey? The fool’s understudy who was known for his oral flatulence? It did not matter; Kingsley the Fool’s Understudy had become a thrall to Edenossa and was now dead and forgotten.
But she saw her own men fall, too. Joury, a nice boy from the Eastern Skies. Old Man Kendar, of the Rox Bario, the finest swordmaster she could find on such short notice. Michene, a retired soldier who had found a life outside service as a blacksmith. More. One after another, they fell. When the onslaught of the thralls ended, only a bare handful of her troupe remained. The paladin was bloody, felt the hotness of her lifeblood running down the inside of her full helmet. And she felt panic begin to set as she looked around what remained of her men.
“Thespina?”
Most found her accent too thick to understand, and she was sure that it was downright unintelligible under the helmet, so she flipped up her face guard.
“Thespina?!”
Louder this time. Her men looked around themselves but did not see the bard. But then a chuckling came from down the cave, a chuckling which made all the spirits of the soldier near to breaking, made their bowels inch towards water. Helmeted heads looked all around but the paladin did not hesitate.
“THESPIE!”
She run toward the sound of the chuckling, her heavy boots slamming down with a great thunder. She did not hear the clanking of the boots behind her, her men rushing to their captain’s aid; no, she stayed focused on that chuckle. That chuckle filled with a mocking humor. She burst through the tunnel and into a great cavern filled with webs, thick strands of dull grey, with small mounds of THAC0-knew-what littered throughout. She ran on, knowing full well what she would see:
Thespina was trapped in the center of the web. Her dark eyes were glazed over and she shook, her bells giving a small tingle with the little she could move, and behind her stood the dreaded Dryder herself, Edenossa.
“Welcome, my pretties, to your eternity!”
The monster was as gruesome as Merovingian had described to her men. The body of a spider, including a bulbous behind, with eight legs that rose in sharp spikes. The body of a woman, with a slender waist, a large bosom that Thespina seemed to be staring at, and arms of steel. A head of long black hair sprouting from the face of an owl, the terribly wise nightbird of legend. Next to her stood a thrall, one that the paladin knew well: Jethro, Prince of Somerville. This made a terrible sense. No wonder why Edenossa had been able to reach into so many lands. No wonder why Edenossa had been able to capture so many high profile thralls. The Prince of the neighboring kingdom was hers.
“Get them, Jethro!”
The thrall leaped at Merovingian’s men with a snarl, two twin blades appearing in his hands from nowhere. Merovingian hated magic, hated those who would reach deeply into the Dark Arts, but Jethro’s expertise in the field was well known. He slashed at her men, moving about as if in a dance, his famously luxurious hair waving all about. Down went one of her men. Down went another. And then another still. He was a whirling dervish of death, his powers heightened as a thrall. The paladin knew that to face him was death, to face him meant death to the entire kingdom, for Necronium would send all into the deep sleep of monotony if she did not prevail. She knew what she needed to do.
She turned away from him. She faced Edenossa.
“You will die today, spawn of demons!”
She rose her great maul into the air and ran at Edenossa. But oh, the Dryder was quick! Spider’s legs carried her away from her resting place before the paladin could bring the Knocker down, skittering away on feet ending in pinchers. Merovingian spun, the Knocker held at her shoulder’s length, just in time to deflect an attack from the Dryder. She knew that while Edenossa’s true power lay in her ability to enslave men of all kinds to do her bidding, her own strikes could be deadly.
A large sweeping of Knocker pushed the Dryder back on its hind quarters, showing a large red spot that shown brightly against her black carapace. Merovingian stopped her swing and redirected the momentum forward, driving the spike into the red spot. The Dryder howled in pain but then swiped at the paladin, catching her in the shoulders and head with great swings of her legs. For legs, two on each side, smash into the paladin and drove her down, denting her heavy plate armor. Thespina screamed, screamed for her secret lover, and Edenossa turned towards her. The owl’s beak pulled up into an impossible smile.
“Do you feel this pain, girl? Embrace this pain! Embrace the dark side! Become MINE!”
The Dryder rushed towards the bard but was stopped as the Knocker smashed down on her large rear. She cried out in pain as the spike on the hammer pierced her, and a dark ink shot out back at the paladin, splashing into her faceguard. Merovingian pushed up her guard so that she could see and screamed out:
“NOW! THESPIE, NOW!”
Thespina shook herself violently, trying to press past the enthrallment. Her eyes could not seem to stray away from the large bosom of Edenossa no matter how hard she tried, but she was able to reach into her back and pull up the Mirror of Truth. She held it up high, forcing the Dryer to look into the mirror. What did she see? No one can say. Only those who look in the mirror can say what they see for certain. It is said that the mirror shows you who you really are, no matter what you say or do. Merovignian could see herself in the mirror behind the Dryder, and she saw a beacon of light. What did Edenossa see?
The Dryder screamed with such remorse and sadness as to bring a halt to the fighting between Jethro and the remaining soldiers.
“MY FACE!” she cried. “MY BEAUTIFUL FACE! WHEN DID I GET SO OLD AND FRAIL?! WHEN DID I LOSE ALL ABILITY TO DO ANYTHING ON MY OWN?! WHEN DID I BECOME A MID-LEVEL BOSS?! WHAT A WORLD!”
The Dryder fell to the ground, her legs splaying out underneath her. Merovignian raised her great maul high and slammed the Knocker down with all the might and authority granted to her by THAC0 and crushed the Dryder’s head like a plump grape under her steel boot. Blood and brain tissue splattered everywhere as the maul’s head broke through, slamming down with a thickening thud. And then, the paladin pressed her gloved hand down the gaping hole in the Dryder’s head, pushed past the gunk and grime, and ripped out her heart.
“We have it!” she cried out, holding the organ up high. “We have the Heart of Edenossa!”
A small cheer rose in the cavern by her paltry crew, only totaling four men in number. Jethro sat on the ground, his eyes in a daze, the effects of the enthrallment fading. The paladin wished she could have saved more than him, wished that she could have killed the Dryder before having to end the lives of the thralls, but she did all that she could.
It was a dirty group of seven who limped their way back through the halls and through the swamp. Merovingian the Righteous leaned heavily on Thespina the Bard with one hand, the other clutching the satchel which held a most important weapon to fight Necronium the Long-Winded, the Heart of the Dryder. The four soldiers helped Jethro, Prince of Somerville, out into the air, his eyes seeing clearly for the first time in months. Victory over Edenossa was theirs.
“Auntie?”
They did not hear the high-pitched voice deep in the cavern as they made their way back to camp. Did not see the flash of bright white that skipped down the webs. They did not see the tears of hatred and sadness fall from the face of the Albino Vampire Queen as she wept and mourned over the corpse of her favorite auntie Edenossa. They did not hear her vow vengeance for her auntie’s death, did not hear her promise to take everything that was important to the paladin away from her. Did not hear the cackle, half mad with grief, about how she would rip away the paladin’s lover and make her her own, would take away the life she stole from her family.
But they would know it soon enough.
To Be Continued
But THIS is one of those tales.
The Heart of Edenossa
Merovingian the Righteous stared down the ravine with a small look of hesitation on her face. The blonde shivered as a howling wind blew through her camp, making the horses dance and her men look around with frightened glances as if children once more. She reached up to her chest and held her holy symbol, a large die of twenty sides made of pure silver for the Unforgotten God THAC0, and whispered a prayer to He Who Decides Your Fate:
“...grant us strength…”
Merovingian steps away from the ravine leading into the den of her objective and turns to take a look at her camp. Twenty men strong, retainers of her liege, were breaking their fast over pots of beans. She had hoped to find some kind of meat along the way, something to hunt, but their rabbit traps put up every night had returned nothing, and the only birds in the area flew too high for their arrows to pierce. Her group, so strong and proud when they left Lacklanlandia the month before, had grown weary on the deserted paths leading to this swamp. They had been rained on for what seemed like the entire trip, rain that beat at them, soaked them, robbed them of their will. Winds had swept in, winds to chill their soaked bodies and make them shiver. It seemed that nature itself was fighting them, keeping them from their mission, but she had faith that they would persevere.
She made her way towards her tent, meeting with men and woman from their followers as she did so. Being in charge of this mission meant far more than just some type of gallant charge atop proud stallion warhorse, Mane of Red, and was instead filled with seemingly endless paperwork. She had to make sure that they had enough food and provisions. Had to make sure that their camp followers kept their boots, horseshoes, and packs repaired. Had to make sure every soldier was oiling their blades every night. She was big on delegation, as any successful general should be, but still the amount of items which needed her personal signature or notice was staggering.
When she finally pulled back the curtains of her tent and made her way inside, she groaned as she realized immediately that she was not alone.
“Good morrow, commander! Would you care for a song?”
Thespina the Bard, her ebony skin offset by a sparkling attire of green covered head to toe in bells, smiled up at her from the table in the center of her living space. Her long braids, also covered in bells, shook as she smiled at her, the bright tinkling of the bells filling the room. Merovingian sighed and shook her head as she walked over to where her armor rested on its own table. Her great maul Knocker, an odd choice for a paladin’s holy avenger, to be certain, stood next to the table. She picked it up and hefted it in her hand, feeling the weight of the hammerhead. She knew that she would have to trade it in for a proper blade if she was to sever the head of Necronium the Long-Winded, the patriarch dragon from Clan Blowhard who was terrorizing this land by sending entire towns into an endless sleep with his boring and seemingly unending monologues, but this was the weapons she needed today. This was the weapon she needed to face the dreaded Dryder, Edenossa.
Merovingian sighed as the tinkling of bells announced that Thespina had gotten up out of the chair and headed in her direction. The paladin tried to distract herself by setting Knocker down and ran a finger along the contours of her armor. The breastplate had been formed for her specifically, the metal shaped around her moderate bust as she lay still for many hours, until it was done in such a way as to allow her to move almost as if she were wearing nothing at all.
“Copper piece for your thoughts?”
Merovingian nearly jumped as Thespina’s hands touched her shoulders and the question was whispered in her ear. She could feel the heat from the bard’s lips...felt it travel down her entire body...made her shiver. She moved away from the bard’s reach and walked towards her table. She reached down and took up two of the many papers on the desk, one a map of the area, the other detailing as much information about Edenossa as she could garner from the Oracle, Deimosious.
“We leave at dawn. I hope that the Dryder’s power will be lessened during the day time, even if she is well within her realm. Deimosious said that Edenossa’s power of seduction wouldn’t be as strong durin-”
She was so distracted by the reports in her hand that she did not hear the tinkling of bells. She was grabbed from behind and spun with more force than the small bard’s frame should possess. Her lips were on hers before she could react. Her body shivered more than even before, and when the bard finally let her up for air, her legs felt like water, ready to give way at any moment. Thespina smirked up at her, her dark brown eyes full of knowing.
“Your plan is perfect, commander. Do not fret over it. Let yourself just...relax...”
The paladin sighed as the bard smirked even more and moved in on her again.
* * * * * * * * * *
Merovingian led her troops down the ravine slowly. Their horses, including her strong Mane of Red, were left behind, as they would not only have been useless on the swampy terrain, but might well have injured themselves to the point of needing to be put down. So her 20 men made their way down slowly, with four scouts leading the way, each trained to keep an eye out for anything and everything that might be a part of the Dryder’s traps. While the Oracle had been obtuse about what would lie in store for them once they were in Edenossa’s realm, he had been clear about the traps she had laid.
🎶🎶“My, oh my, what a wonderful day!”🎶🎶
The paladin rolled her eyes as Thespina sang a song to “lift their spirits,” as she called it. She did not include the bard in her group of twenty she asked the King for, as no member of the Adventurous Six were considered to be “just” soldiers anymore, and she nearly regretted bringing her. Their group had had many adventures over the last couple of years as they brought together the weapons they would need to kill Necronium the Long-Winded and end his reign of sleepy terror, but none was more dangerous than this one. Edenossa the Dryder was well-known for her power and treachery, and had amassed a group of thralls, both weak and powerful, that would stand in their way. If anything happened to Thespina…
The bird’s call stopped the paladin short. The sound, that of the double-breasted albino pigeon, was not native to these parts. And any local, whether it be creature or monster, would not only not recognize it, but not understand what it meant to Merovingian and her troupe:
Danger ahead
Not for the first time, the paladin wished that her druid companion had been available to join her and Thespina on this mission, as Belgiana’s talent with animal empathy could help with the local wildlife, but she was far away with her best friend, bb, working to secure the help of the barbarian’s tribe. It was good work, work to help them defeat the dreaded dragon and his influence in the end, but she could sure use them now. So they moved slowly, with only the king’s scouts to guide them, now in absolute silence. Even Thespina’s bells were silent now as they neared the mouth of the cave, something that no longer surprised her. The bard had refused to say where she got the magical bells that now adorned her entire body, going from coyly shying away from questions to downright refusal to answer, and it concerned Merovingian.
The paladin took a small glance over her shoulder to regard her companion. The bard had become a lover, though the shame of the impropriety threatened to color the paladin’s fair skin to that of scarlet when even thinking about their secret trysts, and she was unsure of what to think of her. The Adventurous Six had been on many adventures, though some were starting to call them the Fearsome Five after the unfortunate death of their priest, BLQMFS, who fell to a surprisingly vicious woodland creature known as a brownie. Their travels had them on the roads, often sleeping in haystacks under the stars, and the necessity of body heat had brought her and the bard together. No doubt THAC0 disapproved of the immoral coupling, and certainly their liege did, but she could not help herself. Something about the bard’s dark skin-
A scream to curdle her blood shook her from her ill-timed reverie of memories. She snapped her head into the direction of the scream and saw one of her men, a pikeman from the South Hills named Lard, with that hooked nose known for that area, be dragged across the swamp. His foot was in the maw of what looked to be a giant rat, and by the look of the venom seeping from its teeth an into his leg, he was most likely already dead, screaming or not. Her shouted command sent arrows flying through the air and into beast and man both, ending the scream. It still rang in her ears, though. Her first loss.
Another bird call caught her attention. Unfortunately, that bird call was cut short and followed by another scream. Her second loss. She could feel the morale of the group dropping, but she could help with that. She turned back in the direction they were going and strode forward, the heavy metal boots of her chain-and-plate mail slinking into the mud with a disgusting sound, and pressed onward, both her actions and words driving them onward.
“Do not be afraid, Brethren! We march this day to end the life of Edenossa the Dryer! We march this day to rip her many legs from her body, to take the owl-head from her body, and end the business of enthralling our kinfolk! This day, we strike a great blow into the heart of her master, Necronium the Long-Winded! This day, we take back the souls how have fallen to her and bring them to the Creator, the Great God THAC0! Today, we-”
She cuts off as they push past a brush of trees, whose leaves were filled with a yellow stain of disease, and found themselves staring into the mouth of the cave leading into Edenossa’s lair. Her men joined her at the opening in the rockwall which brought an end to the swamp mud and she let out another bird call to tell her remaining scouts to meet them. Before long, her troupe of eighteen men, plus her bard companion, stood before her. Each wore chain armor and spiked helmets of the guard, each with a cloth over the mail which displayed both the red lightning bolt of their liege, Thunderous Red, as well as the purple lily of their queen, Momager, in addition to their house sigils. The Roaring Lion of South Hills. The Leaping Boar of Westersand. The Prancing Queen of West Holly. More. A dozen houses in total across the group.
“We stand at the precipice of greatness, my friends. In this hole lives the dreaded Dryder, Edenossa. You have all heard tale of her vicious countenance. The bulbous body of a spider, eight legs clacking on the stones. A human body atop the spider, with arms of steel. The long face of a wise nightbird. She is strong, powerful. Yet agile enough to climb her webs as if she weighed but a feather. But those are not her true weapons! Nay! Her TRUE power lays in her voice! Edenossa has the power of making men, ANY men, turn into unthinking thralls for her pleasure and designs. Do not let yourself become her thrall! Do not let yourself listen to her sweet voice! It is only sweet in the spell, for without it, when faced with the Mirror of Truth, her sweet sounds turn to a screech!”
Thespina reached into her bag and pulled out the famed Mirror of Truth on cue. They had practiced this in their tent, away from the eyes of her men, and the gasps from them proved how well planned this was. The Mirror of Truth was the pillage of yet another mission of the Adventurous Six, when Merovignian had personally braved the feared Barman of Mediocrity, Rydelliousness, and forced him to look into his own mirror. The Barman had, as the Oracle Deimosious had told them he would, turned to stone at seeing his own reflection. And now they brought that weapon to bear against the vile Dryder.
“We shall take away her great power, slay her, and have an even greater weapon against Necronium the Long-Winded!”
A great shout erupted from her men at this assurance.. Necronium had burst into their kingdom with an unending, unyielding, unbearable series of monologues which had sent half the kingdom into an unshakable slumber. Their liege had tasked all of his soothsayers to wake those affected, but every known cure for magical sleep had proved unsuccessful. No kiss, no matter how true the love was, could wake them. And so they must cut the head from the dragon himself, lest they be asleep forever.
In the time since his arrival, the dragon from Clan Blowhard had brought destruction to every fife he visited. Carried by his great wings of breadth and repetition, his triple threat of “mono,” monotonous, monotone monologues, had taken down any and all who tried to defeat or even resist him. Groups of adventurers had fallen, even three at a time, each unable to resist the prowess of his drowsiness. Even recently, on the massive battlefield on the Fields of Melee, he had shown unbelievable strength, sending sleeping bodies flying over and again, some even up and over the very mountains themselves. But Merovingian knew the secret now to how to defeat the dreaded Dragon of the Unceasing Sleep. Thanks to the song of the CAPTAIN of many faces, and the obscured words of the Oracle, they knew to rip his head from his body and save the kingdom.
Into the cave she and her men went. They made slow progress at first, the cave only allowing them to walk two abreast, and they made far more noise than she wished. The jingling of her men’s chain, and the solid CLANK! of her own plates, would announce their arrival to even the dead. And it was not long before Edenossa’s thralls came to stop them.
“LIGHT THE FIRES!”
Torches turned arrows tipped with rags soaked in alcohol into flaming projectiles. The slow, plodding steps of the Dryad’s thralls, men with lust in their yes and evil in their hearts, were met with fiery death. Screams of pain erupted from the thralls, each no match for the prepared paladin’s methods. To her horror, she recognized a few of the faces in the legion of thralls. Men, good men, who had been put under Edenossa’s spell. Men who had thought that THEY were what the ugly Dryad wanted, men who that that THEY were her heart’s and loin’s desire. Each man, good or not, was a fool to the last. The Dryder was a solitary creature with a heart of ice.
And so she watched thralls die at the end of their flaming arrows. She saw Vainamous, the Man of 1000 Names, once a great knight in the king’s service, fall. It had been a dark day when he had been taken thrall by Edenossa, and now she whispered a small prayer to THAC0 for his soul. She saw the Good Doctor Baaaaaa fall, the man who knew sheep better than any Good Doctor ever had. Why, children still sung songs about his ability to make sheep dance a mighty jig! It was crushing to see him become a thrall of the Dryder, become just another puppet of hers convinced of some greater meaning through the promise of her bed. No one would be introduced to him anymore.
Still, the thralls came. They closed quarters, too close for arrowfire. “CHARGE!” came the cry from Merovingian's lips, and she led the charge herself, her great maul Knocker high in the air. Down it came in a crushing blow that cracked the skull of one thrall. Across with a sweep into the side of another. A jab with the spiked head pierced the chest of yet a third. She looked around as best she could, keeping tabs on her men. She saw them do well, even saw a thrall she recognized be killed by Pietre, no more than a boy of 15 who didn’t need to shave more than once or twice a month. What was that thrall’s name? Kinglsey? The fool’s understudy who was known for his oral flatulence? It did not matter; Kingsley the Fool’s Understudy had become a thrall to Edenossa and was now dead and forgotten.
But she saw her own men fall, too. Joury, a nice boy from the Eastern Skies. Old Man Kendar, of the Rox Bario, the finest swordmaster she could find on such short notice. Michene, a retired soldier who had found a life outside service as a blacksmith. More. One after another, they fell. When the onslaught of the thralls ended, only a bare handful of her troupe remained. The paladin was bloody, felt the hotness of her lifeblood running down the inside of her full helmet. And she felt panic begin to set as she looked around what remained of her men.
“Thespina?”
Most found her accent too thick to understand, and she was sure that it was downright unintelligible under the helmet, so she flipped up her face guard.
“Thespina?!”
Louder this time. Her men looked around themselves but did not see the bard. But then a chuckling came from down the cave, a chuckling which made all the spirits of the soldier near to breaking, made their bowels inch towards water. Helmeted heads looked all around but the paladin did not hesitate.
“THESPIE!”
She run toward the sound of the chuckling, her heavy boots slamming down with a great thunder. She did not hear the clanking of the boots behind her, her men rushing to their captain’s aid; no, she stayed focused on that chuckle. That chuckle filled with a mocking humor. She burst through the tunnel and into a great cavern filled with webs, thick strands of dull grey, with small mounds of THAC0-knew-what littered throughout. She ran on, knowing full well what she would see:
Thespina was trapped in the center of the web. Her dark eyes were glazed over and she shook, her bells giving a small tingle with the little she could move, and behind her stood the dreaded Dryder herself, Edenossa.
“Welcome, my pretties, to your eternity!”
The monster was as gruesome as Merovingian had described to her men. The body of a spider, including a bulbous behind, with eight legs that rose in sharp spikes. The body of a woman, with a slender waist, a large bosom that Thespina seemed to be staring at, and arms of steel. A head of long black hair sprouting from the face of an owl, the terribly wise nightbird of legend. Next to her stood a thrall, one that the paladin knew well: Jethro, Prince of Somerville. This made a terrible sense. No wonder why Edenossa had been able to reach into so many lands. No wonder why Edenossa had been able to capture so many high profile thralls. The Prince of the neighboring kingdom was hers.
“Get them, Jethro!”
The thrall leaped at Merovingian’s men with a snarl, two twin blades appearing in his hands from nowhere. Merovingian hated magic, hated those who would reach deeply into the Dark Arts, but Jethro’s expertise in the field was well known. He slashed at her men, moving about as if in a dance, his famously luxurious hair waving all about. Down went one of her men. Down went another. And then another still. He was a whirling dervish of death, his powers heightened as a thrall. The paladin knew that to face him was death, to face him meant death to the entire kingdom, for Necronium would send all into the deep sleep of monotony if she did not prevail. She knew what she needed to do.
She turned away from him. She faced Edenossa.
“You will die today, spawn of demons!”
She rose her great maul into the air and ran at Edenossa. But oh, the Dryder was quick! Spider’s legs carried her away from her resting place before the paladin could bring the Knocker down, skittering away on feet ending in pinchers. Merovingian spun, the Knocker held at her shoulder’s length, just in time to deflect an attack from the Dryder. She knew that while Edenossa’s true power lay in her ability to enslave men of all kinds to do her bidding, her own strikes could be deadly.
A large sweeping of Knocker pushed the Dryder back on its hind quarters, showing a large red spot that shown brightly against her black carapace. Merovingian stopped her swing and redirected the momentum forward, driving the spike into the red spot. The Dryder howled in pain but then swiped at the paladin, catching her in the shoulders and head with great swings of her legs. For legs, two on each side, smash into the paladin and drove her down, denting her heavy plate armor. Thespina screamed, screamed for her secret lover, and Edenossa turned towards her. The owl’s beak pulled up into an impossible smile.
“Do you feel this pain, girl? Embrace this pain! Embrace the dark side! Become MINE!”
The Dryder rushed towards the bard but was stopped as the Knocker smashed down on her large rear. She cried out in pain as the spike on the hammer pierced her, and a dark ink shot out back at the paladin, splashing into her faceguard. Merovingian pushed up her guard so that she could see and screamed out:
“NOW! THESPIE, NOW!”
Thespina shook herself violently, trying to press past the enthrallment. Her eyes could not seem to stray away from the large bosom of Edenossa no matter how hard she tried, but she was able to reach into her back and pull up the Mirror of Truth. She held it up high, forcing the Dryer to look into the mirror. What did she see? No one can say. Only those who look in the mirror can say what they see for certain. It is said that the mirror shows you who you really are, no matter what you say or do. Merovignian could see herself in the mirror behind the Dryder, and she saw a beacon of light. What did Edenossa see?
The Dryder screamed with such remorse and sadness as to bring a halt to the fighting between Jethro and the remaining soldiers.
“MY FACE!” she cried. “MY BEAUTIFUL FACE! WHEN DID I GET SO OLD AND FRAIL?! WHEN DID I LOSE ALL ABILITY TO DO ANYTHING ON MY OWN?! WHEN DID I BECOME A MID-LEVEL BOSS?! WHAT A WORLD!”
The Dryder fell to the ground, her legs splaying out underneath her. Merovignian raised her great maul high and slammed the Knocker down with all the might and authority granted to her by THAC0 and crushed the Dryder’s head like a plump grape under her steel boot. Blood and brain tissue splattered everywhere as the maul’s head broke through, slamming down with a thickening thud. And then, the paladin pressed her gloved hand down the gaping hole in the Dryder’s head, pushed past the gunk and grime, and ripped out her heart.
“We have it!” she cried out, holding the organ up high. “We have the Heart of Edenossa!”
A small cheer rose in the cavern by her paltry crew, only totaling four men in number. Jethro sat on the ground, his eyes in a daze, the effects of the enthrallment fading. The paladin wished she could have saved more than him, wished that she could have killed the Dryder before having to end the lives of the thralls, but she did all that she could.
It was a dirty group of seven who limped their way back through the halls and through the swamp. Merovingian the Righteous leaned heavily on Thespina the Bard with one hand, the other clutching the satchel which held a most important weapon to fight Necronium the Long-Winded, the Heart of the Dryder. The four soldiers helped Jethro, Prince of Somerville, out into the air, his eyes seeing clearly for the first time in months. Victory over Edenossa was theirs.
“Auntie?”
They did not hear the high-pitched voice deep in the cavern as they made their way back to camp. Did not see the flash of bright white that skipped down the webs. They did not see the tears of hatred and sadness fall from the face of the Albino Vampire Queen as she wept and mourned over the corpse of her favorite auntie Edenossa. They did not hear her vow vengeance for her auntie’s death, did not hear her promise to take everything that was important to the paladin away from her. Did not hear the cackle, half mad with grief, about how she would rip away the paladin’s lover and make her her own, would take away the life she stole from her family.
But they would know it soon enough.
To Be Continued
x2
