(Well, here it is. Chapter Five. Sorry it took so long, but my birthday came up and I got awesome gifts to distract myself with, my Grandma moved in and we had to get her set up, writer's block struck, etc. This is the longest and best chapter yet, the real start of the story. Remember to review; the reviews are my lifeblood, and without lifeblood, I'm too weak to write. This chapter is dedicated to all the people who reviewed last chapter. I'm hard at work on Chapter Six as we speak, but I'll work harder if I get reviews.
Review, darnit.
Note: This chapter is gorier than the previous chapters, and because of this the fic has been rated PG-13.
Disclaimer: Bioware, Floodgate Entertainment, Wizards of the Coast, Forbidden Realms, Dungeons & Dragons, and Atari all turned down my offer of two nickels and a lintball, so I still don't own Neverwinter Nights.)
Chapter Five
Deekin was awakened by a loud noise. No, he realized as he came to completely and listened, many loud noises. The sounds of things being bashed, rough voices shouting, and blood-curdling shrieks ripped through the evening. The kobold sat stunned for a moment, then scrambled to his feet and stood beneath the window, realizing he was too short to see out of it. Surveying the room, he found a chair so filthy its oaken surface had turned dark gray and dragged it over to the window, then hopped up partially onto it, testing its strength before pulling himself up all the way. The window, too, was covered in grime, so he rubbed a spot on the glass clean with his patchy shirt and peered through it.
The sight Deekin was met with filled him with dread. The entire village was being demolished before his eyes; flames licked at the houses, people moaned and writhed in the frozen dirt. A hen and her chicks had been toppled in line, dogs choked on their own blood and fell to the ground, and there were oxen strewn here and there for good measure. Blood soaked the snow, the fires roared louder and leapt higher, and the gnolls were there amidst it all, laughing as they hacked apart the innocent.
The people that hadn't been brutally slain were being led away in chains by the gnolls, to be kept as slaves or food in the creatures' home caves, perhaps both. The gnolls themselves were merry and bright, chuckling to themselves and wagging their tails.
Deekin slunk down off the chair, his heart hanging heavy in his chest. What could he do? The screams beat against his ears as he shut his eyes tight. A hero would go out...a hero would punish the gnolls for what they were doing--Deekin cringed as he heard a woman's pained yell even now. A hero would be brave...a hero would do what was right...
Deekin crunched himself into a tight ball, tail tucked under and face pressed into his knees. He wasn't brave...he wasn't strong enough to go out and do something...he'd only be killed himself. He was no hero...but maybe...he brought himself back up to feet and climbed back onto the chair, wincing at the horrid scene outside. He knew a few spells...Tymofarrar had trained him...he was terrified, and the gnolls would undoubtedly tear him to shreds, but maybe he could go out and do somethin--
Deekin yelped and toppled backward out of his chair as a hairy, grinning gnoll face filled the window. Licking the blood off the matted fur around its mouth, the gnoll punched a muscular arm through the frail glass window and grasped for Deekin with its filthy, stout-fingered paw. Eyes widening and pupils dilating to slits in fright, Deekin crawled backward across the dusty floor until he hit the opposite wall, trembling as the gnoll shouted curses at him in its velar native tongue. Realizing it wasn't going to be able to reach him clear across the room, the gnoll withdrew its arm and left. Deekin's fear quelled for an instant, then restated itself a moment later when the same gnoll began pounding on the door.
"Come on out of there, kobold!" the gnoll growled threateningly, and started chopping through the wood with an axe when Deekin didn't comply. Deekin began to quiver uncontrollably as the blade hewed the door, whack by whack by whack, until the door was as full of holes as that slice of cheese Tymofarrar had given him once. All the gnoll had to do now was kick it in...Deekin shut his eyes tight and braced himself for a painful death...
...then opened them again when the pounding abruptly stopped and nothing came in. There was gagging, and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground, then silence for a brief period. This was quickly broken by the sound of screaming--gnoll screaming. Wary but intrigued, he scrambled back up onto the chair and slowly raised himself up to the shattered window.
A gnoll staggered and collapsed a short space from the window, clutching its bleeding sides and shuddering before lying still. Beyond it, a few more were doing the same, while others ran for their lives, cursing in frustration. Those that hadn't fallen or fled were fighting a...a...well, Deekin wasn't quite sure what it was. The gnolls' opponent had humanoid shape and height and was clothed in a charcoal-gray robe, its face completely hidden by the dark shadows its hood cast. In each hand the fighter carried a longsword surrounded by a brilliant white aura, and used the identical weaponry to slice through flesh and bone as easily as it would through churned mud.
The melee gnoll fighters were soon completely massacred, the others keeping a safe distance as they fired flaming arrows into their strange new foe, who didn't seem to care that several arrows were now sticking out of its arms and torso. It didn't seem to be bleeding, either, but that could have been the dark fabric fooling Deekin's eyes. Sliding the swords into criss-crossed sheaths on its back, the stranger murmured something in a low voice and moved its hands in careful arcs. In response, a fleet of arrow-shaped fireballs came from nowhere and struck the remaining gnolls dead as the rest. The figure stood still a moment, to ascertain the gnolls had indeed perished, then began checking the buildings for survivors.
The hooded figure searched most of the houses, but found no living occupants despite its best efforts, splashing snow on the fires to extinguish them. Deekin watched it work in stunned silence, relieved and impressed at what short work it had made of the gnolls. This was a true hero. Unfortunately, the hero was headed right this way, and would probably treat a kobold as kindly as it had treated the gnolls. Deekin scurried under a long-forgotten desk, brushing the dirt-clogged cobwebs draped beneath it aside with the back of his hand, then quieted his breathing as much as he could and listened.
The door creaked open, and he could hear the stranger stepping inside. It stopped, and fell silent; Deekin held his breath so as not to be heard in this sudden hush. At last the stranger stepped back out and brought the door closed after it, and Deekin let out his breath in one relieved sigh. He pushed back through the soiled webbing and stood up, plucking a disgruntled black spider off his snout and letting it fall to the ground, where it scurried back to its ruined web.
Brushing the filth off his faded brown pants and tunic, Deekin gazed about warily out of habit before scurrying over to the front door. There were several footprints in the dust, disturbed by feet larger than his own but slimmer in proportion, with the leftover whisks of a long robe about and over them. Deekin turned up his eyes, trailing to the door. Gaps from the gnoll's siege marred it yet, light streaming through onto the powdered floor. Deekin still wore his pack; slowly, he twisted the knob and inclined the wearied door to open. He blinked his eyes against the full shine of an early, snow-blanketed day, disrupted by bloody corpses and fallen buildings. He was careful to avoid them, following closely after those same slim footprints he'd seen in the shop, following them out of Blumberg--once out, he could at least breathe easy, or easier, as he continued his self-determined quest. He was going to follow the hero.
Why? he asked himself, playfully hopping in and out of the footprints, in lighter spirits upon leaving the village. His own reply: Why not? This was a hero, after all; the real, genuine article. A right-doer, a preserver of the peace, a champion, a savior, a...a...Deekin was too excited to think up another simile, so instead entertained himself by leaping through four prints in a row before misjudging the stretch to the next footprint and falling flat on his face in the snow. He shivered at the sudden chill and wiped the slush away, getting to his feet and ambling along again. That hooded hero was the same sort of person Deekin had read about and admired so many times before; he was intrigued and enchanted by it, whoever it was, and whatever secrets it hid. What could possibly be more interesting than following this mysterious, bonafide hero around and chronicling their adventures? At the rate things were going, he queasily guessed he probably wouldn't live much longer, so he might as well enjoy what little time he had.
He walked on for quite a while, but though its footprints were ever present, the hooded figure was nowhere to be seen. Not only did it easily outstride him on its longer legs, but it never slowed its pace or stopped to rest, to Deekin's dismay, for going on at such a steady pace was taking its toll on him, especially after all his poor body had been through as of late. Fortunately, his resiliance paid off, and at last the stranger came into sight before he grew too winded. Upon reaching it, he saw what had halted it--a troll. A dozen trolls, actually, though by now all but four were lying pathetically on the ground, near death if not past it. The stranger swiftly finished and won the fight, and went on as Deekin regained some energy and followed.
Despite his best efforts, the kobold found himself straggling behind. Luckily, the stranger was slowing down somewhat, though not from exhaustion, as he could tell from its smooth pace. Deekin noticed they were wandering into an area with a few pine trees sprouting here and there. The further they went, the more trees grew, blending together into a forest.
The High Forest, he realized, and felt his gut sink for the umpteenth time lately. The hero was going after the gnolls, and had slowed so it wouldn't be heard by keen gnoll ears. Though he couldn't afford to slow, Deekin tried to quiet his gasps for air and the thudding of his feet on the thinly frosted ground, hoping his fast-beating heart would not betray him. The gnolls...his death was soon and inevitable the way it was, and he didn't wish to hasten it. And yet, this brave individual was going after the gnolls to make them pay for their crimes and free the slaves they'd taken--someone had to tell its story, Deekin decided firmly, and kept on.
They trekked on. The snow was extremely shallow in this area, but frost clung in intricate white designs to the towering, sappy red trunks of the evergreens around them. Deekin suppressed any verbal complaints as he mistakenly trod upon the sharp green needles which littered the forest floor; wordlessly, he plucked the needles out of his numb feet, then looked to the imposing figure ahead and concentrated on it. At some point when Deekin was still far behind, the stranger had yanked the arrows out of its back and front, and its clothing bore no holes for the wear. This momentarily drew Deekin's curiosity to the robe itself.
The garment was a dark shade of gray, large and covering, with red and purple embroidery running along the rims of the sleeves, the hemline, and the sewn-in shawl collar. Deekin remembered reading about this sort of robe; it was called a Robe of Vecna, because Vecna, the God of Secrets, gave them out to his followers. This didn't surprise Deekin--whoever was hiding under the robe was full of secrets.
Deekin wondered what those secrets could be.
He didn't have much more time to wonder about this, as just then the hero was attacked by more trolls, as well as a couple of irritated brown bears. Deekin slipped out of their sight behind a thick, sticky pine tree trunk and watched the battle.
The stranger started with the troll at its right, striking each of the troll's eyes with a glowing blade and yanking down through the cheeks and out the jaws. The troll moaned and held its bleeding face, giving the hero enough time to slash through the monster's midsection. This wasn't enough to do it, as trolls are abnormally resistant to being hacked apart, but a fast slice through the beast's heart ended it. Immediately after this the hero spun about and wrenched the neck of the troll that had been sneaking up from behind, then chopped through its chest and halved a vital organ, killing this troll as well. The third troll was subjected to having its head removed and tossed aside--it landed too close to Deekin's hiding spot for comfort--and was subsequently stabbed in enough places it gave up and died as well.
The bears were hardly a match for the stranger, who brought one down with a single swipe of the sword, and the fallen's companion fled with a whimper. The fight over, the once-again victor tucked away its swords into the criss-crossed sheaths at its back, over which a dark, frayed woolen pack was slung. It began walking again, Deekin close behind; whoever this secretive person was, he found them more than worthy of his utmost admiration.
They walked on still longer, Deekin ever lagging behind at a safe distance while simultaneously struggling to keep up with the stranger's longer legs, the difficulty of this feat increased manyfold by the numbness of his limbs. There was more cold, more trees, more fights--not just with territorial trolls and bears, but feral wolves and human bandits as well--for a repetitive while, Deekin's idolization of the mysterious figure growing with every step, when they came upon an alcove in the side of a small hill. Blood, discarded shackles and gnoll footprints surrounded it; they had found the opening of the gnoll caves. The hero went in without a second thought, but Deekin didn't dare. He couldn't hope to last a second in those caves, he'd be torn apart by vicious gnoll teeth the moment he entered! But he couldn't go back either, not without the hero to clear the way. Either way, he was doomed, so he stood there in indecision and shivered, losing more feeling in his extremities with every passing moment.
Switching his head to the side to revive his neck, he could make out a large, sharp-angled shape in the distance. It was a house--no, a grand mansion, situated all the way out here! No matter what it was doing here, just so long as it was here to save him from the bitter weather, Deekin thought as he tromped toward it, then stopped at the shore of an iced-over lake that separated him from the establishment. A network of connected docks bridged the gap, fortunately; he wasn't up to testing his weight by tripping across the ice, so he scampered over the docks gratefully.
Once there, he paused briefly to examine the mansion, constructed of rosy bricks. The roof was composed of shingles, originally dark green like the shutters, but muted by frost and ice to the shade of new spring leaves where it wasn't obliterated by the white of snow. The windows glinted out at the world like eyes, but Deekin disregarded their glare as he pressed himself against the structure's side and dug a trench down in the snow, lined it with some cloth napkins, and hunkered down. This set-up worked surprisingly well; without the wind chill to bring down his body temperature, the cold seeped away somewhat and he regained feeling in his limbs, snout and tail. Rubbing his shoulders for warmth, Deekin gazed across the frozen waters to the entrance to the gnoll caves and focused on it. The hero had to come out sooner or later; he just had to keep his eyes fixed on that spot until then. Warmed and relaxed, Deekin remembered his hunger and treated himself to a bit of dried meat, chewing on the jerky thoughtfully as he kept diligent watch.
For a moment, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps the stranger wouldn't make it out alive, but he quickly shook his head of such fallacies. The hero would make it through, he knew it. Confident, Deekin continued to keep vigil.
He waited there for a time, the warmth in his body waxing and waning. He was getting very bored, just staring at the entrance of the gnoll caves, and would have much rather been writing--but if he lowered his gaze to write, the hero might leave without him noticing. So he kept at it faithfully, despite the passage of hours.
At last, a familiar hooded figure rose from the cave's depths, along with Deekin's hope. Excited and eager to resume traveling, the kobold tugged his pack back over his shoulders and hopped out of the rut, shivering at the shock of the abrupt wind chill as he sprinted forth, careful to wait for the hero to turn in another direction and walk away before he skittered off down the docks. Making it to the other side, Deekin saw that the stranger had already ambled out of sight, and summoned a burst of energy to catch up. Resting in the ditch had done him good; it was much easier to keep up to the hero now.
Just as before, they wound their way through the forest, but were met with far fewer encounters this time, most potential foes either dead or in hiding. This made things much briefer, and before long the trees began to thin out again, until at last they had exited the High Forest. Deekin sighed in relief--then found he was out in the open. In a fit of panic, he flopped down in the snow and tried to cover himself in it. Ironically, this only attracted the hooded one's attention. The stranger turned about neatly, strode over, plucked Deekin out of the snow, and set him back down. Deekin chanced a look at the hero, who loomed intimidatingly over him; with a nervous swallow, he found his feet were a preferable sight.
"Why are you following me?" the hero asked in a deep voice, each word spoken with clarity. Despite its depth, the voice was not masculine; the hero was female. Up close, Deekin saw that it hadn't been the shadows fooling his eyes earlier--her skin was purely black, without a cast of blue or brown or any other color. Her eyes and hair were entirely hidden from view beneath the hood, though a narrow nose, thin lips and lean lower face showed.
"Deekin not follow you! Well, okay, maybe he follow you a little... but he only watch to see that you be great hero!" he protested desperately.
"Deekin? The kobolds in the crypt mentioned you," the hero said thoughtfully, extending and opening a long, spidery hand to him. "They bemoaned you and blurted that you had escaped the crypt with the tower statue. I was seeking you; how convenient that you would find me. I would request that you impart the statue to me, now." Deekin's heart and stomach dropped at once.
"You wants tower statue?" he squeaked. "What for?"
"I am an apprentice to the dwarf you attacked," she informed. "You stole the statue from him, and by right it is his yet. I am to gather and return to him the artifacts your fellows made off with." Deekin felt his insides sink even more.
"You...you be dwarf's apprentice?"
"Yes. You doubt my claims?"
"It just...Deekin not sees you when he be at dwarf's home."
"I was not alerted of the kobold siege until after you and the rest of your kin had fled," she sighed, hand still outstretched. "You waste your breath and my time. I wish the statue, not idle chatter." Deekin was frightened to disobey, but an idea occurred to him.
"Deekin knows you look for little statue. Deekin, he... gives it to you if you helps him...? That good idea, yes?" he tried hopefully.
"No. Handing the statue over to me before I lose my patience would be a good idea," she corrected.
"Umm... you is scaring Deekin lots right now. You is very scary," he admitted. "But... Deekin not so dumb he go get statue from where he hides it." The hero stood in silence, so he went on, "You helps Deekin and Deekin goes and finds it for you. That only way... even if you be very scary and mean." He braced himself for the worst, but the stranger didn't attack. Instead, she mumbled something to herself and swung her hand a little. Though for the entire conversation her expression never once changed from its emotionless look, her tone was suddenly warm and patronizing.
"I think you wish to give me the tower statue now," she said kindly.
"Ummm...Deekin does?" he asked quizzically, then recognized the spell she'd secretly cast. "Oh. Deekin knows what you did. You tries to charm Deekin. Master cast big spell on Deekin long time ago so Deekin not be charmed. That way Master's secrets all safe. That pretty sneaky, but Deekin not finds little broken tower statue for you unless you helps him. No ifs, ands or buts." He was surprised and delighted at his own sudden courage, but for all her lack of expression, he doubted the hooded one was as pleased.
"How am I to help you, then?" she questioned, realizing he wasn't going to budge on it.
"You be great hero!" Deekin answered emphatically. "Deekin knows this... he be watching you! You go and seek out Deekin's old Master, Tymofarrar!"
"The white dragon?" she queried bluntly. "I have met with him already. He owes me a favor...what shall I ask of him for you?" Deekin was ecstatic to hear this, but went on.
"Makes him free Deekin. Then Deekin gives you little broken tower statue," he responded steadfastly.
"Very well, I shall beseech your Master for your freedom. Once this is granted unto you, you shall fulfill your end of the bargain," she consented. "Are we in agreement?"
"Ooo! Deekin just knew that you would help him!" he beamed. "He just knew it! Deekin is so happy now... but, ummm, still a little scared."
"Where shall I find you to inform you of your freedom?" she inquired. Deekin admired her confidence.
"You goes and finds old Master and do what you going to do. Deekin goes to human village of Blumberg off to east and hides in shop there, okay?" he replied. The hero nodded to this, turned around and started off. Deekin suddenly remembered what he'd been dying to know.
"Wait!" he yelled after her. "What be your name?"
"I am called Umbra Lumina," she told him without pausing. Deekin stood there and watched her walk away, seeming smaller and smaller as she went, until at last she went down a hill and dipped out of sight. He lingered, then turned and raced eastward.
His mind playing the conversation with Umbra over and over again, Deekin was uncertain how long it took before he found his way back to Blumberg. The corpses were still there, and starting to smell, their spilt blood curdled on the ground. Deekin avoided them, too thrilled for his mood to be very dampened, then ducked back into the abandoned shop and shut the door closed behind him. Imagine! he grinned to himself, setting his pack on the floor with a miniature maelstrom of dust. A hero--a REAL HERO--had bargained with Deekin, agreed to free him from Tymofarrar! It was straight out of his dreams, too good to be true. He had to write it down, he decided, opening his pack and fishing out the inkwells, quill pens and stacks of parchment it held. He searched through what he'd written, and without a second thought tossed it aside, then dipped his quill in the ink and started anew:
"The hooded figure appeared amidst the flames, a glimmering beacon of hope on this blackest of nights. Figuratively, since the firelight shooed away the dark. The frightened, hiding kobold could only stare in wonder as this valiant hero slew the gnolls. Her name was Umbra Lumina..."