Somewhere I can Belong

Chapter 15

The Mound II: Blood on the Mound

Rambling from Rohan: Greetings one and all, as promised even early, not even one week later and here is the latest installment, I thought I would be good to Quinn since I have not continued his tale in some time. Well once more I do not own anything D&D related and on with the tale.

There is a point that when your body is injured enough that you collapse into shock and no longer feel anything regardless of the wounds received, and then there is something beyond…when your body is completely engulfed in ravaged pain and there is no end to it. That was what Quinn felt as his broken body tumbled end over end across the mound. He begged for release for all consuming numbness to take him…but it would not, he was aware of every second that brought him untold anguish. After what seemed like an age he stopped tumbling and lay face down on top the mound at just the right angle to see Kreigon approach. There was nothing left to give, no last chance to pluck victory from the jaws of defeat, no escape to fight another day, this was the end. Quinn did the only thing he could do, he screamed in defiance but the words came out as earth shattering roar and not the retching cough he expected, and he began to feel himself rising up off the ground. His body was not his own anymore but rather something different.

Below the mound a dead but not undead elf floated followed a trail of spilt dirt and blood up the slope, the power of Grumush pushed against her barring her path at every movement…but she would not relent, then she heard the roar and knew what was to happen. "It is awake. What I would give to see the look on that doomed orcs face."

Kreigon advanced slowly, he wanted to forever preserve this image of triumph in his mind for all eternity, he would flay the skin off the wretched creature for a belt and offer up the cursed black blade to Grumush sure of himself, the druid lay nearly dead upon his mound, truly this was a sign from Grumush that he was destined for great things, then the druid began to convulse. The orc began to close the distance between the two, his every thought was on caring out his boast and he truly hoped the druid could cling to life for a few more moments. As he neared the body and his prize Kreigon could only watch dumbfounded as the entire sword began to dissolve and meld with the broken druid, and suddenly his victim was growing larger muscles bulging many times their normal size, bones elongating, thick coarse fur covered him now, and many obsidian dark teeth and claws reached for him as the druid arose again to renew combat.

"What you must change your form to fight me. I bested you before ad I shall do so again foul worshipper of a woman!" Kreigon's taunts had no effect on Quinn.. he was well beyond the stage of reason. He was now Nature's Wrath given form and nature does not listen well. The black bear advanced on Kreigon slashing ferociously with one massive paw then another, and they pierced his divine defenses just as easily as when they had been a sword.

Kreigon's increasingly desperate swings could not strike the bear as it merely batted the blows aside, while he barely stayed away from the massive paws. Time and time again Kreigon had dodged those massive paws till a massive backhand flung Kreigon back against his won altar….and Kreigon favored Soul of Grumush knew fear.

Kreigon frantically scrambled backwards till he was against the altar stone, throwing his axe away he grasped it with both bloodied hands and screamed out, "Great Grumush grant me strength to smite this abomination." The beast that had been Quinn advanced upon as every muscle in Kreigon's body strained to pry up the very altar of Grumush as a weapon, rivers of sweat ran down the orcs body and muscles pulled apart and broke under the strain, but with a final gut wrench scream the altar came loose. Grasping the toppled altar with the strength of a fanatic he raised it above his head with quivering arms to cast it at his hated enemy…it was to no avail as the bear had closed distance and mercilessly tear into the undefended torso gutting the orc like a trout.

For a moment Kreigon it seemed as though he was unaffected at the loss of his chest, but whatever strength had allowed the orc to lift the altar fled like the mist before a blazing sun, the altar stone came crashing down upon the gutted orc smashing his head like an ice giant stepping on a chicken egg. His limbs twitched for a scant moment then ceased their quivering. The bear that had been Quinn stood atop the toppled altar and let a victory roar before collapsing just inches away from its enemy. Slowly the muscle mass and bones shrunk to return Quinn to his original near death form with Nature's Wrath, clutched in a bloodied hand and surrounded by lilies breaking through the dead earth.

For the first time in decades life returned to the mound, white lilies sprang upward wherever Quinn's blood had fallen. Green shoots radiated outward from the bloody trail, till they reached the body of Kreigon, there the wave of life was stopped and forced back as a dark cloud of smoke rose from the crushed orc. The shadowy tentacles of smoke soon formed into a single shapeless cloud, ever so slowly it began to form a single cenral eye and where its gaze fell death followed. Soon the surging tide of life was being burned back by the presence of such a purely malignant entity. Ever so slowly the eye drifted toward Quinn's helpless body only to find its path blocked by an interloper. It was not the fallen druids mentor but rather something else entirely, a massive phantom wolf.

It was easily 5 foot tall at the shoulder with a sleek muscular build and gleaming teeth and claws. With a howl that shook the pillars of Heaven and the pits of Avenrus the wolf sprang forward tearing into the eye. The eye desperately turned its lethal gaze to the interloper but the wolf dodged at the last moment and sprang upon the eye again tearing into it with its ethereal claws and teeth. Under the wolfs relentless onslaught it soon it lost its form completely becoming a shapeless cloud, but the vengeful sprit of a dead orc would not relent and refused to depart gracefully. Dozens of smaller eyes formed upon the cloud lashing out with all the hate, anger, and fury that Kreigon had possessed in life.

While the servants of their gods battled Quinn was drifting closer and closer to true death till he heard a voice. It was not a gentle one. "Novice! What are you doing lying there? Get up, rise up once more, your task is not done! You must say the prayer of reconscration, otherwise all of this if for naught!"

Quinn tried to ignore it the wrathful voice of his mentor, letting himself drift deeper and deeper into the darkness, but he would find no sanctuary from the howling voice of his mentor. "Say the words novice, move your mouth and say the words or I swear that all that is green and goodly in this world I will hound your through the afterlife and drag you back to this plane a piece at a time!"

Driven by fear he tried, he truly did. Blood, bile and saliva leaked from Quinn's mouth as he tried to speak, but no words came forth. Quinn's mind could not focus through the pain to speak the prayers that would reclaim the mound and save him, and no threat could force him to do so. Through their connection he shared with his mentor Quinn wearingly resigned, "It hurts too much I can't do it, I just can't, I've failed you like I've failed everyone else." With those words Quinn ceased his struggle and fell deeper into oblivion.

At that moment the elf that was dead but not undead truly saw him for what he was, and something cracked inside of her, and she did the only thing that she could think of and plunged into the depths of his soul, frantically trying to save one who did not wish to be saved. Deeper and deeper Quinn continued to fall, at every turn he was reminded with visions of his failures and faults. Towering images of those he could not save judged him from above, hurling barbs and condemnations down upon him. They would not relent in their bombardment and only one path was before him and it lead deeper and deeper into the darkness.

In a cold and dark place of abandonment that Quinn had drifted into something was happening to him. No longer did he feel cold and alone, a warm embrace encircling him and tears falling upon him, and an eternally sad voice from somewhere. "Please don't leave me alone here. I can't bear it anymore Quinn. Don't die this easily, think of the words Quinn. In this place it is enough, our goddess bled here, as did you to reclaim this sacred place. Think of the words and they will be." The images of his failures were beat back with memories of the good that he had done, a bad song composed by a young bard drove away horrific looking visages of his family. Gamgee, Gloin, Janet, and Crystal struck down monsters of his own creation, but first and foremost among them was a gigantic ancient winter wolf that the darkness fled from in complete and utter fear. From what had been a dark place of hopelessness Quinn remembered the words of the prayer, and by all rights no voice should have come from his broken body, but they did come, half muttered and poorly pronounced, but each came with more and more power behind them until the last words of the prayer boomed with the power of a god.

Outside of Quinn's tortured psyche a similar battle was being waged," With every slash of its claws, and bite from its fangs the cloud shrank its size, only to reform and continues the battle. When the eyes proved ineffective, it formed all matter of jagged claws and spikes to strike back at the wolf, but still they could not strike it, nor did they protect it from the strikes of the wolf… for few things in any plane of existence can withstand the wrath of a mother who finds one her children harmed. Just as Quinn's prayer was being gurgled out, the wolf fell upon the shapeless mass again with renewed fury and this time it was different. Every strike and tear was not healed. Wriggling obsidian tentacles bristling with spikes were torn away leaking putrid smoke, slaws and talons were shredded leaving only misty threads, and the wretched eyestalks were savagely ripped away leaking black ooze from the ruined sockets. With every strike the cloud became smaller and smaller until the last remnants of Kreigon's wrathful spirit withered away into nothingness under the horrible onslaught. For a timeless moment nothing happened, and then the wolf once more let out another earth shattering howl.

The howl it grew louder and louder echoing through the dead trees and cold cairn stones and across the plain, other wolves added their own cries…it was a message sent hurtling with the speed and the subtlety of a summer storm as it raced across the land. Even among the clash of battle it could be heard…but only precious few could understand. An ancient bedridden human, a mere shell of the man that he had once been with thin wiry hair the color of snow had heard it, and for the first time in years he rose unaided. Strength pulsed through wiry muscles and frail bones and he began to walk, his first steps were awkward as he slowly remembered how to but with each stride it became easier and more fluid. With a cry of unbridled glee he raced across the room to open a cabinet that the insides had not seen the light of the sun in years, inside rested a immaculately crafted great bow over 6 feet long and quivers bustling with arrows that more enchantments then could be counted. He had heard the sounds of conflict, the cries of the wounded and the howls of the dying, after all this time he would serve as he should have so long ago. Clad only in a think nightshirt and his ragged beard the ranger threw open the door of his room and raced up a spiraling stairway, taking steps three or sometimes even four at a time, till he at last reached the roof.

He was not alone for other archers were already there firing missiles of all kinds as the retched invaders. Upon the old man arrival there was shock and disbelief, many thought him to be mad because of his dress and his bright gleaming smile as he walked towards the edge of the roof. He only spoke a single sentence to the frantic stares and questioning looks, "Ehlona has returned, let all who fear her wrath tremble."

A Halfling standing on a barrel took a moment between shots to yell our concerned, "Get back below gramps before you hurt yourself."

Another added through blackened teeth, "You'll only die quicker up here you old coot get out of here, but leave the arrows and that fancy bow for me I'll put em to good use." Then they watched dumbfounded as he bent a bow as large as himself and let the first of three arrows fly. One struck a howling berserker orc with such force that it pinned the beast to the ground, another impaled a worg that immediately burst into a blue ball of fire, and the third arrow struck a fat orcish cleric through the sternum, immediately he began to convulse and smoke sprang form his eyes as he was burned from the inside out. The old man stopped to draw another set of arrows and locked gazes with stunned archers, but all he did was repeat what he had said before with the same downbeat tone, as he drew his aim again and resumed his bombardment, "Ehlona has returned, let all who fear her wrath tremble."

The leader of the archers regained her senses and jubilantly exclaimed, "She could not have picked a better time. Double time it lads, that old man from 111 is doing all our work for us. Take aim and fire!"

On a hill some distance away from the battle a group of horsemen watched the battle with the detached interest that only professional soldiers could possess they did not care how the battle went but they each paid careful attention as to how it may play out. They did not care about the loss of life, or the sheer amount of blood being spilled, but the howling that was something else entirely… it unnerved them. They talked amongst themselves as to what it might be, a portent of the gods perhaps but of what? Some thought that it was the cry of a horde of worgs racing to join the battle; still others thought it to be the cry of worgs fleeing the battle.

The two groups argued back and forth but they would not raise their voices above a whisper not would they raise their weapons; their mistress would brook no distractions as she communed with her spider goddess. They hated her down the deepest core of their spirits, but all were afraid of her and the power of the artifacts that she wielded aside from her own power. They were bound to her will and they had no choice save to follow where she commanded, such was the price for the safety of their families.

The hissing of her snakes was the first and only warning they had before she would appear, all arguments were forgotten as the curtains of her tent parted before their ebon skinned commander. She was as beautiful as she was deadly, and she was very beautiful. Immediately the soldiers fell to one knee before her in hopes of avoiding both her wrath and her snake headed whip. It fell upon the oldest of the unit, a grizzled veteran with more scars then hair on his body.

"My lady commander Ruehinda, all of our forces are mobilized but the city is still surrounded. What are your orders?"

She stared at him, her eyes scrutinizing every detail almost as if trying to peer into his very soul in search of some flaw or hidden deception. "Tell me bondsmen Elric, do you hear the howling?"

"Yes my lady commander. I believe it to be a large pack of wolves moving to support the orcs..." An instant to late he realized his mistake as the first of several snake headed whips lashed out at him. Somehow Elric found the will to stay standing as fiery venom coursed through his veins

"Never speak out of turn fool, let the venom remind you of it, the wolves are not here to support the orcs you senile old fool. They are merely spreading a message of some kind, it is of no importance so you will not waste what pitiful intelligence that you have been blessed with to discern the ways of the world. Remember that you are mine to spend s I see fit and let that be your one waking thought. Ready our forces, within an hour I want o be inside of that dirty hovel and out with the heir before I am forced to spend another hour riding one of your retched beasts. Well what are you standing here for, move you retched human."

Watching the retreating elf's back brought an almost uncontrollable urge to reach for one of his many daggers and cast it, fear of his own death did not bother him. It was the thought of his family's execution that stayed his hand once more. The pain from the venom was slowly lessening as he set of to fulfill the lady commander's wishes, knowing full well many of those under his command would never see their families again.

A different conversation was taking place on top of another hill, this one had far more bloodstains though. Quinn was slowly becoming crawling his way out of the depths of exhaustion and struggled to speak his first words after his very near death experience. "Mentor why are you naked again?"

"I don't know Quinn, and for some reason I feel cold, and hungry. I wonder why?" All of this was too much for Quinn who returned joyously to a blissful healing sleep.