Shadow Knight
Allies of Necessity
Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast
29 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)
"Gon natula…"
"Stop! Stop!" a worried little voice shouted from somewhere below, what had affectionately become known as, the 'Gnome-o-gutter'.
Sand stopped casting the spell in mild irritation, wishing, not for the first time, that he could simply incinerate the cause of the interruption.
Like that ignorant girl would have, eh, old boy?
He shook such thoughts from his mind, awaiting either the arrival of the gnome or the news he so desperately seemed to carry.
Work on the keep's outer walls had progressed steadily, so that they had been able to shift their focus to some of the inner walls three days previously. Almost a third of the outer wall had been fully repaired thanks to Sand's spells and Master Veedle's able workmen, mostly masons, stonecutters and a few bricklayers or plasterers. It was just vaguely possible that they had hit their first major complication, Grobnar being the harbinger of their doom.
"What seems to be the reason for this, Gnomehands?" the elf called as he descended to the rocky ground below.
Grobnar paused for a moment or two, hands on his knees as his breath puffed white in the frigid air. The cold wind ripped the plumes away almost instantly. When he had gathered his breath, he launched into his litany.
"It's the Gnome-o-gutter, Sir Sand. It cannot take much more."
"Well," Sand replied imperiously, "I fail to see how that has become my problem. I was under the impression that your workmanship was without equal here at the Keep."
"Oh but it is, Sir Sand, it certainly is. It's just… well, not to put too fine a point on it… it was never designed to carry so much frozen mud all at one time."
"What frozen mud?"
"Oh you know: the frozen mud that keeps on accumulating in the central gutter each time you send down another load, Sir Sand."
"What the hells are you babbling about, Grobnar?"
"Perhaps you should come and see for yourself," the gnome offered, "It's most impressive, Sir Sand. Almost like a dead earth elemental. Well, that is if it had been melted by Lady Qara first, and then allowed to run down the Gnome-o-gutter and then frozen by the breath of a… well a white dragon or a Rashemi orglash, I suppose."
"While I am sure you exaggerate the problem with your use of the poetic, I suppose I shall have to. 'Tis a good thing I have been preparing a few extra flight spells lately."
"Oh, no, Sir Sand. You can save your spells," Grobnar replied eagerly.
"Oh?"
"The men and I have installed a kind of lifter… well, that's to say… a humanoid conveyor, as long as you're not a giant or a Khelgar…"
"And?"
"I mean, it lifts people. Up and down, you see. It's got pulleys and rope and levers and… Oh, my goodness, that will simply never rhyme…"
"Grobnar!"
"Yes, Sir Sand?"
"Just lead the way," the wizard suggested, his ire greatly overshadowed by his inability to simply throttle some sense out of the gnome.
"I'm so sorry about that," Grobnar explained, hanging by his fingertips from the planked, wooden floor of the elevator. "Bad, bad Construct!" he shouted down at the oblivious golem on the ground.
"Just…" the elf struggled ineffectively, trying to loosen his sleeve from where it had gotten caught in the mass of gears, cogs and wheels at the back of the contraption.
Taking a deep breath, he tried again, but only managed to get his hand smeared with dirty, black grease and his knuckles skinned.
He swore, the Elven curses puffing out like little white exclamation marks in the cold air.
"Just get back up here and… dare I suggest it: cut me loose."
The icy rain that had been threatening all day, finally started to fall, turning his hair and robes to a sodden mess in the time it took the gnome to clamber back on board and cut a ragged six inches from his trapped sleeve.
"Slowly, Construct!" Grobnar called down this time, and the elevator started moving up again, jerking to a gentle halt at the top.
Sand peered thoughtfully at the frozen mess in the central gutter, sucking at his bloody knuckles, while muttering in Elven.
"I've seen enough," he declared, then with a dignity reclaiming, gull feathered flourish and intoned, "Ripuva!" started flying towards the keep entrance. "Meet me in the library in half a bell, Gnomehands. No, make that a full bell and bring the girl with you."
He was somewhat satisfied to hear a commanded, "Down, Construct!" then a surprised yelp and loud crash coming from behind him.
"So what's this about, elf? And why'd you have to send the gnome to come and fetch me?" Qara asked as she entered the library.
Sand sighed, mentally bit his tongue and looked up from the voluminous book he was poring over. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the hovering, glowing spheres he had used to illuminate his reading.
"Ah, Qara," he greeted, "Just the girl I wished to see. Why, did you not appreciate Gnomehands interrupting your 'beauty sleep'?"
"Would you really like me to burn down this library around your charred corpse, elf?"
"Fortunately, I have warded it against all forms of fire, girl. Priceless knowledge like this should be protected from unschooled barbarians like you, after all."
"And here I thought you were going blind as well as senile with all these mere cantrips floating around."
"While I so enjoy our banter, I can see that I have made a mistake. You are clearly not up to the task I had envisioned."
"What task?" she asked, falling neatly into his verbal trap.
"Oh, 'tis nothing really."
"What task?"
"Creating a new spell, using your unlimited power. As I said, I was mistaken."
"Is this place warded against lightning too, elf, or are you going to explain yourself?"
"Oh, very well," he sighed, "I guess it cannot hurt to tell you about our little construction problem…"
"Know that what you ask I cannot accomplish," Zhjaeve replied gravely.
"But you do have spells of protection against the elements, don't you?" the young sorceress asked, frowning, "Like the one you cast on the elf that day we first got here, right?"
"Know that by my will, I may summon many forms of enduring, just as you may summon many forms of destruction."
"Well, I'd hate to see that elf being right about something," Qara grinned fiercely, "So let's try that spell first."
"What would you have me do?" the curious githzerai asked.
"Cast that same spell on me, so that I can feel what it does and how it taps the Weave."
"Very well," the zerth agreed, laying her slender hand on the young woman, "WihQa'zo'fehKa'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!"
"Yes, I know this one. It is useful, but I don't think it'll do. Let me just… Iba Nar!"
Touching her flaming hand to her robes, the sorceress smiled as the fire was extinguished while she felt the protective power dissipating.
"Do you wish for more powerful endurance?" Zhjaeve asked, her face an impassive mask behind the veil she always wore.
"Yes. Can you cast something stronger on me?"
"Know that I am able, but that I would rather dispel the power this time. I fear for your safety."
"Just do it, Zhjaeve, and let me worry about that."
"As you wish," the githzerai conceded, again touching the sorceress as she intoned, "WihQa'zo'fihKa'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!"¹
"Good! I know this one too," Qara claimed, before reaching out to the zerth in turn, "Let me just cast it on you too and then test it. Indelstan Nuade!"²
"Know that you are correct. Your will is as my will in this."
"Good," Qara grinned, "Now stand still for a breath or two. Iba Dos!"³
Engulfing flames sprang up from the stone floor of the basement, licking hungrily at the two, but to no avail. When the heat started becoming noticeable, Qara extinguished the flames with an angry wave of her hands.
"It's no good!" she cried out in frustration.
"Know that you fight the Foe of Melniak in this, but that you shall prevail by your will."
"It doesn't last long enough, and I can already hear that stupid elf laughing as he tells the rest of them about my failure. I might as well go back to Duncan's stinking Flagon and clean up puke again."
"Know that I have even greater endurance to bestow upon us, or would you rather not shape any more power by your will?"
"What have you got?" she asked hopefully.
"First, I would know how you will test this, so that our wills may be as one."
"With fire of course."
"Perhaps our wills should be focused on enduring cold rather…"
"No, it has to… Wait a moment! Perhaps you are right. Instead of trying to protect and warm the frozen sludge at the same time, I should simply learn to stop it from freezing in the first place."
"It is often said among my people that if Melniak had known Senzi's Reward, he would have triumphed all the sooner. I am honoured to have seen that come to pass before my eyes."
"Then protect us from cold, and let me see if I can turn us into icy statues."
"It shall be my pleasure," the zerth replied with just a hint of a smile in her eyes, "WihQa'zo'fihKeha'dhe'zh'to'mahli'ne'!"ª
¹ githzerai, "Be protected against elements":- protection from energy
² draconic, "Energy Protection":- protection from energy
³ draconic, "Fiery Wall":- wall of fire
ª githzerai, "Be immune against elements":- cold immunity
Crossroad Keep Ruins, the Sword Coast
30 Marpenoth, the Year of the Cauldron (1378 DR)
Silence grabbed a rough hold of the patrons as the door to the Phoenix Tail Inn banged open, revealing the young sorceress, robes and cloak cracking–whip like–around her slender frame. Her short, auburn hair whipped around her face and into her eyes like the crazed snakes on the head of an irate medusa. With graceless, but grim determination, she stumbled over the threshold, turned and wrested the door out of the gale's grasp and managed to wrestle it shut. She collapsed against it for a moment, regaining her wind-stolen breath, and then seemed to disappear in a small cloud of vapour. Dry once more–and seemingly unashamed of the inordinate amount of her naked legs the gale had shown the stunned patrons a moment earlier–she strode towards the bar.
"By Tyr's left buttock!" the dwarf oathed, "And here I be thinking this day couldn't possibly get any worse."
"What?" she smiled at him sweetly, "Miss tripping over the horned one's tail already?"
"Nay, Princess Firehair, and I don't be enjoying your company neither."
"Oh, come now, Stumpy? I traipsed here through that 'wonderful breeze' outside just to see what's become of the famous Ironfist manhood."
"I'm not in the mood, lass. Why don't ye go start a fire somewhere else?"
"Can't I at least buy you an ale, or is the manhood small enough already?"
"Aye, if ye be offering, it'll at least make up for your company…"
"Why don't you go and find us a nice, empty table then, Khelgar," she suggested, "I'll bring our drinks."
"As long as ye don't spill any of it on your way over," he grumpily agreed.
"I've had enough practice at the Flagon, Stumpy. Mind you don't trip over your beard rather." Turning to Sal, she said, "One small ale please, Sal."
"What're you up to lass?" the barkeep asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Don't worry your head about it. I won't set fire to the place, if that's what you're asking."
"I don't want no trouble you hear," he admonished, handing over the flagon.
"Yarchonis Gul!"¹ she quickly intoned, dipping a finger into the liquid, before licking it off.
"Hmmm," she smiled sweetly, before the barkeep could object, "At least your ale is better than Duncan's, Sal."
"I'm still keeping my eye on you, Qara," he warned, but she had already walked off towards their table.
"Such a small flagon, Princess?" Khelgar asked, taking a long swallow from it, "Bah, and warm too!"
"It's small because I won't be pestering you for too long, Stumpy, but allow me to cool it down for you."
"Well that's a… What the…" he started, but the sorceress had already risen from the table, extending her hand in his direction.
"Chaun Gul!"²
A miniature blizzard seemed to originate from Qara's palm, aimed at the flagon, but also catching most of the dwarf and the table in its fury.
"By Clangeddin's beard," he managed, before his teeth started chattering too much for any more sense to leave his mouth.
"Drink up, Stumpy," she giggled, pointing at the small icicles clinging to his facial hair, "It'll help with those."
"But it's still warm," he protested, grimacing at the small swallow he had nevertheless managed.
"You won't believe how glad I am to hear that," she smiled triumphantly, "Be sure to tell that pompous elf when next you see him."
¹ draconic, "Keep Away Cold":- resist freezing
² draconic, "Spit Out Cold":- cone of cold
