Witchwolf: Thanks for the review, and the compliments! Yeah, I've had lazy moments like that myself. I need to review more in general… Tenari, the Drow under the Valsharess' command, is a special case. I won't say anymore about him, though.. you'll see.
50,000 word, hurray for me.
Chapter 12
Excruciating. That was the best word Alain could use to describe the hour-long trip it had taken to haul the power source to Ferron. He and Valen had agreed to take turns lugging the huge crystalline vial: Valen had pulled the power source until they had reached the site of the first golem battle, then Alain had taken over while Valen kept an eye out for any more golems. But though the trek had been strenuous, it had at least been uneventful. Alain had not seen any flesh golems after their battle of Aghaaz.
"They're gone for good," Valen said grimly, when Alain mentioned this to him. "Their leader is dead, and their faith has died. Be proud!" he grunted, as he struggled to pull the power source over the threshold of a doorway. "We've just destroyed a society's beliefs!"
Which might have been true. For whatever else Aghaaz and his minions had been, they had truly believed in their Creator. 500 years was as long time, but they had remained as unchanging and fanatical in their faith as any soapbox prophet in all of Toril. He just had to believe that Ferron was as good as he was made out to be: if Aghaaz hated him, he couldn't be all bad, right?
Luckily, Alain's judgement of Ferron turned out to be correct. Overjoyed that the two had defeated his biggest obstacle and retrieved their inextinguishable source of strength, Alain believed that the huge mithril golem had been ready to give them his right arm to repay them. But therein was the problem.
"I can't believe after all we did for them, that they still can't lend us a few golems for our defense!" Alain complained.
The two were resting in a small room, safely in Ferron's territory. Ferron had regretfully rejected their attempt at recruitment. In consolation however, he had offered them a place to rest for a few hours, before the golems departed the island for good. Alain had grudgingly accepted; after all the fighting the two had been doing, even Valen was beginning to tire.
"Don't blame them," Valen said, leaning against the wall as he polished his armor with an old rag. "They're looking out for their freedom first. And there aren't too many golems to spare either. They have been at war."
"True," Alain agreed. "Ferron's followers had probably had enough of war for a long time. "We did a good thing here. But…"
"But, this trip still feels like a waste," Valen said, finishing Alain's thought. "Am I right?"
Alain nodded. "Those doubts about me being a savior must be sounding better and bettere about now, huh?" he said ruefully. Valen didn't reply. In truth, he had been impressed by the young monk's resourcefulness, and his skill in battle rivaled his own. The duergar outside the ruins had been trying to penetrate the lower level for years, and here Alain had done it in a day. There was no reason not to like him. Still, he couldn't trust him. Perhaps it was his tiefling blood, rejecting what could be a friend. Perhaps it was pride. Valen didn't care either way.
"I'm hitting the hay," Alain said, yawning. "Wake me if something happens…" He was asleep before his head hit the floor. Valen stayed awake a few minutes longer, listening to the excited shouts of the mythril golems in the other room. Then, laying his heavy flail by his pillow, he too fell quickly asleep.
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Alain's sleep was brief and fitful, punctured by dreams. In his first dream, he saw a Drow leading an army through what he could guess was the Valsharess' courtyard. The Drow leader looked vaguely familiar, but Alain couldn't place him. This dream soon melted away and shifted into another. In this new dream he saw the Valsharess speaking to a large devil, chained to the wall by magic. He couldn't hear what was being spoken, but by the Valsharess' movements, she looked angry. The devil looked only bored, not terrified, and when the Valsharess paused in her rant for another breath, the devil looked directly at Alain and winked. Then he lifted his right hand and saluted him almost cheerfully. In his hand was the Relic.
Pawns, he thought feverishly. We're all pawns to him. But this dream faded and the words, with whatever meaning they carried, became so much smoke in the wind.
The third dream was the most important. He saw a helmeted man walking through an alien place. The man was alone and surrounded by enemies, but his aura showed no fear. The dream clouded over, and for a moment Alain could see nothing. Then the haze cleared, showing him a different picture. Now the man was speaking with a stand-offish Drow, his own aura drawn tightly around him like a protective coat. The man was dressed in rags and looked unkempt, but that didn't prevent Alain from recognizing him.
Alain gasped aloud and sat up, awaking out of the dream. Valen looked at him bemusedly from his place near the doorway.
"You all right?" he inquired. "You were mumbling and turning in your sleep."
"It's Trey!" Alain cried, shaking his blanket off him and standing up. "Trey's in trouble!"
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It didn't take long to discover how the illithids had created such a huge dwelling. The first waves of panic that washed over him was soon replaced by wonder. The stone ceiling stretched far above, with stalactites twisted into fantastic and beautiful spirals. Buildings great and small dotted the cave, tall towers and squat huts, all ornate. Illithids walked about, dressed in finery. The answer, Trey realized, was slave labor. No, slave labor was too kind: it was thrall labor.
Trey had walked about in a sort of daze, thinking vaguely that he would be caught and jailed again. It didn't seem to matter. He was more concerned with the fact that there were so many other… beings doing what he was doing. An illithid passed him by, giving him a perfunctionary mental poke, followed closely by a slack-jawed deep gnome. A human woman dressed in rags entered a building to his right; trailing behind her was a shifty-eyed Duergar watching her closely.
Come one, come all! The thrall auction will begin in just minutes! An illithid broadcast from a small stand, flanked by umber hulks. Trey was reminded of human barkers back on the surface, bellowing from their appointed stands on the carnival grounds. The illithid sounded frighteningly similar, though his wares were quite different.
You there! The illithid called, gesturing to Trey. We just received a human female, undamaged, just like new! She'll do whatever you want, if you've just got the gold! Trey passed by quickly, the insinuations of the illithid not lost on him. With a start, he remembered the Duergar following the human woman and grew sick at the thought.
Luckily, he wasn't required to talk to anyone. The helmet acted as a portable mental damper, just like the one in his former cell: it kept his thoughts safe, and the illithids away. One helmet is all it takes to keep me from becoming like the rest of these poor souls.
He wandered the cavern aimlessly, with no direction, and no plan. Mostly he was astounded at what the illithids had done, what they had been allowed to do. Why had this gone unchecked?
A svirfneblin thrall bumped into him, and he stumbled. The thrall however, fell flat on his face before scrambling to his feet, his eyes wide and staring. He turned to look at Trey, his mouth gaping, before babbling out in uncertain Common, "P-preese! Herp m-me!"
Trey could only look at the thrall, stunned. The svirfneblin continued to screech, before getting his feet and taking off at a stumbling run. A nearby umber hulk snatched up the struggling thrall matter-of-factly, holding it up within range of its gnashing mandibles. Its antennae wiggled, its numerous eyes flashed a bright red, and the svirfneblin seemed to shrink in its grasp. The umber hulk dropped the thrall to the ground, and walked away, leaving the thrall twitching and shivering on the stone floor, a mindless slave once more.
That did it. He was decided. It didn't matter where Lith My'athar was, it didn't matter if the Valsharess had dispatched an army to capture him this instant, he would stop all of this. "Something's got to be done," he said quietly, and a passing Drow gave him stared at him with something that was almost curiosity on his face. He could only imagine how many creatures there were, walking around in a daze, almost able to remember what their past lives had been like… before they were taken.
But where do you start a rebellion? Possibilities bounded about in his head, but that was all; no revelation came to him. He was still wondering when the band of Drow slavers came upon him. He never heard them coming. The helmet was a double-edged sword: it kept his thoughts in, but also sounds out. A sharp blow to the back of the head was all it took. Trey collapsed to the stone floor, his vision darkening.
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He awoke with a throbbing head and a stiff neck. Hay stuck to his cheek as he raised himself off the ground, and he swiped at it with a grimy hand. "How long have I been out?" he muttered groggily to no one in particular. To his surprise, someone answered.
"About an hour since they threw you in here," a deep voice said above him. Ordinarily Trey would have flinched, or assumed some protective stance, but he was too tired. Tired and slow and shocked at what he had saw. He leaned back on his hands and looked around.
He was in another cell; different from the first, but still a cell. This cell was much larger, with bundles of hay scattered about for bedding, and filled with the Drow who slept on them. The Drow were dressed in rags and bits of cloth, and were different from the other Drow he had met in that they did not attack him on sight. Some were huddled around a pitiful-looking fire in a corner. Others sat together in a group, not speaking, just being there. He guessed that was about as affectionate as the Drow got. He looked down at himself and saw that he was dressed the same as they. It was the only time in his experience where a human was treated as an equal with Drow. The room stank, not of sweat and grime, but of fear, regret… despair. It was the scent that fills the cell of every prisoner on the day they are to be executed.
The voice belonged to a tall, bare-chested Drow. Ritualistic tattoos decorated his body, though Trey did not understand their significance. Though he was dressed only in a loincloth of sorts, he looked different from the other Drow. His lined face seemed to pulse with authority. His dark eyes seemed guarded though, and that was unusual. The other Drow were sullen, confused and angry. It was almost like this one…
"New here, hmm?" the Drow said, sizing him up. "And a human too. Now I've seen it all."
Prison again. Just my luck. "Who are you?"
Tattoo barked a short, humorless laugh. "What use are names to the dead? When they decode, let them name me."
"Who's 'they?'"
"They," Tattoo sighed heavily, "would be the slavers. Where were you when they caught you?"
"In the city," Trey said. Tattoo gave him a look that he couldn't read. It took him a moment for Trey to understand, but it came to him quickly, "but not as a slaver. I was an…escapee."
Tattoo stared at him skeptically. "No one escapes."
"I did," Trey answered, and Tattoo looked suspiciously at him. After a few moments, the suspicion died on his face.
"No…" Tattoo said slowly, "you aren't joking either. How did you do it?"
"Killed the guard," Trey said simply. "There were some helmets in the next room. I took one. It keeps them out," and he tapped his skull twice.
Tattoo's eyes lit up. "So there are such helmets! I never would have believed it," he sat down on the floor and scratched his head ruefully.
"I've got some questions," Trey stated. The other Drow in the room were eating some kind of soup from stone bowls. Tattoo offered him a bowl, which he sniffed gingerly, before sitting and slurping slowly from it.
"Ask away."
"How did you get captured?"
Tattoo shook his head. "Next question."
"Alright," Trey said, curious but respecting his privacy. "What's our purpose? Labor?"
Tattoo gave him a dumbfounded look. "You really don't know?" Fearing the worst, Trey took his head. "You must be a surfacer. We're gladiators, human. The main event."
"Gladiators?"
Tattoo explained to Trey the prime source of entertainment in the illithid world. First, their minds would be shattered, and broken down by an illithid. Then, they would be "rewritten" and thrown into a ring to be pitted against other thralls.
"It's brutal," Tattoo said, watching Trey's face carefully. "The thralls fight with no holding back for their new illithid master. Usually to the death. Day after day, if they make it past one. And when the gladiator loses too many limbs, or gets too slow for battle, then he becomes cheap labor, to carve up the stone for the illithid scum for the rest of their life," Lev's voice trembled with a mixture of rage and fear.
"How do they break your mind?" Trey asked. Quickly, he told the Drow of how he had been able to shield his mind in the cell, and so escape. Tattoo was startled, but his surprise quickly faded into disappointment.
"There's a machine outside this room which is used to put your mind into a kind of sleep-state. No matter how many thralls in the room- and you can see there's a lot in here- they all pass out like an orc after too many ales. It's completely different from an illithid's methods." Apparently, though it was possible for an illithid to completely dominate a thrall, it was easier to use the control.
"Don't give up hope yet," Trey said, wiping his mouth with a forearm and setting his stone bowl on the floor. "We're going to get out of here. We just need a plan." This Drow knows much. Too much. Was he a slaver himself?
"What makes you think you can get out of here?" Tattoo asked, looking at Trey defiantly. "I've heard a lot of stories about this place. One you get in, you don't get out."
"I did." Trey said once again. Fate had thrown this leader of Drow into his road, much like Tenari, the Drow captain. For good or for ill, they were connected, if only for a short time. But Trey had a feeling this partnership would be for the good of all. There were, after all, no such things as coincidences. "One last question. I need to know: who is the leader of the illithids?"
"You mean what. The illithids are connected by a central Overmind that oversees the community. Think a giant brain in a vat of sludge," Tattoo explained. "Killing the Overmind is nigh-impossible, as it's mental powers are the sum of ever illithid in the community. But if it were to happen, then it would weaken the entire compound."
"Perfect!" Trey said. His mind was already buzzing with the possibilities. The illithids are a part of the Valsharess' army. Striking now would be like attacking that army. Maybe I can lessen some of her troops… "Listen, I think I've got a plan…"
Tattoo listened, first with doubt, before the light of hope grew in his eyes. "Do you really think you can do all that?"
"What other choice do we have?" Trey said. "Let the other Drow know. Quick--" But he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. The two prisoners stood, listening. It was time to put the plan into action.
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"I don't think we should be so quick to leave yet," Valen said stubbornly. "There's still-"
"Just because I'm not your precious Seer doesn't mean my dreams don't mean anything!" Alain retorted hotly. "I can't ignore this!"
"The Seer has nothing to do with this!" Valen cried angrily, his blue eyes flashing. "I thought it would take more than nightmares to make you cry off!"
Alain bit his lip, doing his very best to contain another angry reply. He and Valen had been arguing for at least five minutes; the more time he wasted here, the less time he had to find Trey. There was no reason to believe Trey was in real trouble, except… Trey had had a dream of his own that proved true, hadn't he?
"Why are you so sure that your dream is prophecy?" Valen asked, his anger beginning to ebb with Alain's silence.
"There's a connection formed in battle between the members of a party," Alain explained slowly. "The monks in my order call it a Ki-link. When a group of warriors fight together long enough, they're able to cover for each other's weaknesses, anticipate what another will do before they do it. Most importantly, they're able to intuit when one of their number is in danger."
Alain nodded. The concept wasn't so hard to believe. Fighting was his profession, and though he had always battled alone, first in those dark memories of the Abyss, and then in his time with the Seer, hadn't he experienced what Alain was talking about? "So you think that's what it is?"
"I think so."
"All the same… While you were asleep, Ferron told me that the entrance to the last level is not too far from here. It's the last place where the Maker was seen. Lately they have been hearing strange sounds. Crashes and rattling, the sort of thing. Ferron says something else is down there. Another golem." Valen hesitated, before continuing, "I think it might what tore apart those golems we saw before."
"So what do you want to do?" Alain wasn't sure where Valen was going. Didn't they have more important things to do than go golem-hunting?
"Well, if whatever killed those golems is intelligent…" Valen trailed off, allowing Alain to fill in the blank.
"You want to recruit it? What if it's not intelligent?" Alain asked. Valen shook his head.
"Has anything we've seen so far been mindless?" Valen reasoned. Alain thought about it. It made sense. If they could salvage something of this trip, wouldn't Trey want him to try? We need to build morale, Trey had told him. Our biggest enemies are already here. Alain sighed. Valen was too stubborn to give up. He was trying to prove his worth just as Alain was with the camp. What better way than with a powerful new ally?
"Fine," Alain acquiesced. "We'll go downstairs, look around really quick, then it's right back to the Seer's camp."
"Deal," Valen said, and the two shook on it, both trying to break the other's hand.
The bottom level of the Maker's dungeon was the darkest yet. When they reached the end of the stairway, a rickety bridge spanning a seemingly-bottomless chasm greeted them. The air was musty and smelled of burning metal, an acrid scent that caused the two to wrinkle their nostrils in disgust.
"I guess this bridge is why Ferron couldn't go any farther," Valen remarked, as he began to cross the bridge. "Looks like a long way down.
"Mmm," Alain agreed, concentrating on getting across without looking over the edge.
They crossed with no mishaps. At the end of the bridge was small platform. As they stepped into the middle of it, four mirrors, previously dark, brightened. A small crystalline object jutting from the edge of the platform activated, sending a tiny beam of light at one of the mirrors. The light rebounded off the mirror and refracted, even brighter now, into another. The pattern continued until all the mirrors were reflecting the light right back into the crystal.
"Alain… do you feel..a little funny?" Valen said, sounding strangely hoarse.
Alain began to answer, but his throat had seemed to tighten into the shape of a pinhole. He realized with a start that it was getting harder to breath. It felt like something was sitting on his chest, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs. He turned to look at Valen, who was already beginning to turn blue in the face. He tried to cross back over the bridge to the stairway, but when he reached the end of the platform, he flew backwards, rebounding off an invisible wall. The smell of burning metal grew stronger as Valen landed on the ground with a grunt.
"The m-mirrors!" Valen gasped, climbing to his feet. There was a scorched spot on his breastplate where he had been struck. The air in front of the bridge shimmered sinisterly.
Alain's hand dove into his satchel and emerged with four silver shurikens. Though he couldn't breathe, it was easy for him to hit all the mirrors with a flick of his wrist. One by one the mirrors shattered, and the light disappeared. Gradually the feeling of pressure faded. Valen heaved a great lungful of air gratefully.
"What in hells..?" Valen began, before staring fixedly at something behind Alain.
"What is it?" Alain wheeled about, looking about for some unseen enemy. When he saw nothing, he turned back to Valen annoyed. "You shouldn't joke around like that, Valen."
"I'm not joking! Look!" Valen cried, pointing at the crystal. Alain saw that the light had not faded from the crystal. Even more strange, the crystal seemed to be pulsating rhythmically. Almost like…
"A heartbeat?" Alain breathed. He approached the crystal slowly, gathering Ki in his palm steadily. One swipe would shatter it. The crystal's beat seemed to quicken, as he grew closer.
"Alain…don't!" Valen cried, realizing what the monk meant to do. A second too late. Alain struck the crystal with a quick left-hand chop. Instead of breaking, the crystal seemed to grow larger. A bright light flashed, causing Valen to shield his eyes. When he opened them, Alain was on the ground in front of him, motionless. A large mirror now stood on the platform in front of them. The previous mirrors had been rectangular and dark, smudged with dust. This mirror was larger, in the shape of oval, and gleaming, as if brand new.
"Damn it," Valen muttered, kneeling beside Alain and checking for a pulse. The monk didn't stir, didn't even blink, and his pulse was erratic. He looked up at the mirror distrustfully, then froze. Oh no…
The surface of the mirror was rippling, like the surface of a disturbed pond. The wrinkles shifted and rolled, growing in number. Valen saw that the ripples were undulating in the same rhythm that the crystal had been making; that of a heartbeat. Just as he began to believe nothing would happen, a humanoid creature stepped out from the mirror. Valen loosed his flail and stepped over Alain's body, studying this new creature.
It was composed of whatever the pulsing crystal seemed to be made of; its body was all angles and points. At first glance, it appeared to be a tiefling made out of crystal, but when Valen looked closer, the creature almost looked human. He gazed into the mirror-creature's face, and suddenly it came to him.
It looks just like me! Or Alain.. or both? Is this some kind of Mimic? Indeed, the creature's face was a combination of both Alain and Valen. A small half-moon scar marred the face of the creature's right cheek. Horns jutted from the creature's forehead, and long, wavy hair made of crystal was on its head. It blinked, and the crystal in its eyes seemed to be a greenish color. It had no weapons, but sharp edges of crystal were attached to the end of the creature's bestial hands and feet. It was not exactly muscular, but seemed to be a blend of both he and Alain's build. Engraved in the top of the mirror it had stepped out of was a name: Algaricciragla.
"Are you the last creation of the Maker?" Alain asked hesitantly. Every golem they had met in this place had been capable of speech, but this one was the exception that proved the rule. The mirror-golem's face remained emotionless for most of Valen's speech, but when it heard "the Maker", it's features contorted into a bestial snarl. The golem lunged forward much quicker than any of the automatons Valen had met so far; it seemed more animal than mechanical. His heavy flail was in his hands before the golem had even raised its claws, parrying two swipes strong enough to send the vibrations down through the weapon and into his arms. He leapt back, sensing an opening, as the mirror-creature slashed the air where he had just stood. While the golem was still recovering his balance, he sprung forward, coming in low, and delivering a powerful strike with his flail, a home-run swing with every ounce of his strength behind it. The flail connected with the creature's jaw. It was a good strike, quick and true, but the golem didn't even flinch as the flail rebounded harmlessly off of the creature's face. Valen saw that he had not made even a dent on the golem's crystal hide.
The creature sprung at him, its jaws wide and its claws grasping, but Valen threw himself headlong to his left, avoiding the golem and landing at Alain's side. Something's happening to him! There was a glimmer of colored light hovering over Alain's chest, similar to the glow he had seen hovering over his own weapon. The light seemed to be connected to something else…cutting through the gloom to..
The mirror! The mirror that had materialized out of nowhere was now gleaming with many colors: first red, then orange, green, yellow, indigo and violet. Then the pattern repeated itself. The colors didn't matter so much as the fact that something was being taken from Alain: his soul, or his aura, or maybe just his life.
"Since I can't hit you, how about your mirror?" Valen asked, watching the golem closely and bending his knees slightly, tensing for another attack. The golem didn't reply, but its eyes flickered for just a second in the direction of the mirror. That was as good an indicator as Valen needed. He charged the large mirror, preparing for another swing, but when he got closer, he skidded to a stop. Now that he was closer, the spectrum of colors he had seen before had disappeared. In its place was a dim image of Alain standing inside the mirror, if that was possible. His hands were pressed against the glass, and he was shaking his head, warning Valen not to break the glass. Then Alain held up one of his hands. Valen saw that his hand was suffused with the spectrum of colors that the mirror had been shining with. With a Ki-charged finger, he pointed at Valen's weapon. Suddenly it came to him what Alain was trying to say.
I can only break this mirror by using that technique Alain used earlier, before Aghaaz? Valen thought, his hopes shrinking. It was no good. He had only learned about Ki a few hours ago, how was he supposed to use it in a situation like this?
The mirror-golem sprung, and Valen, too caught up in his thoughts, was sent skidding across the ground, a large gash slashed in his breastplate. He regained his footing just in time to be saved from falling into the chasm below. He climbed to his feet, grabbing his flail from the ground, and grimaced at the creature, which was capering almost gleefully on the spot. This thing is intelligent! Alain was the only one who might have hurt it, and it took him out first. There's got to be some other way besides Ki to free him.
But if there was another way, Valen would be hard-pressed to find it. There was little room to fight, and less to dodge on the landing. His opponent was nigh invincible, his ally was useless to him, and he could feel his strength lagging. Worse, he could feel his fiendish strength lurking behind his weakness like a shadow, just waiting to be called upon. But his tiefling blood couldn't help him here: no matter how strong his fiendish self might be, it still wouldn't be enough to damage this golem. Besides, calling on that strength would mean losing control, fighting through a red fog. He might kill Alain with a careless swipe, or doom him to life inside a mirror. On the other hand, the more time he wasted dodging the golem's attacks, the sooner Alain would expire. Already he had lost color, his dark skin had taken on the hue of dry toast. In response, the image of Alain inside the mirror had grown clearer.
Breathing hard, he dodged yet another swipe from the golem, which seemed more bent on playing with him than killing him. I'm no threat to it, Valen thought. First it will finish draining Alain, feeding on him, and then it will finish me.
A clawed foot kicked out into his right shin, leaving a nasty welt, and knocking him off balance. He wavered, his arms pin-wheeling as he tried to avoid slipping off the edge. The golem reached out with a hand, seizing his belt, and almost casually yanked Valen toward it. With only one arm, it tossed Valen like a toy over his shoulder, who crashed at the base of the mirror. The tiefling spat blood angrily, getting up quickly. He could feel his fiendish blood crowding in, a dim red haze at the edge of his vision, threatening to take over. Got to control myself… Alain can't have too time left!
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The footsteps slowed to a stop just outside the room. Tattoo crept over to the door, pressing an ear against the cool metal, and beckoned Trey to do the same. Distantly, Trey realized he could hear beeping sounds just outside the door.
"That's the control," Tattoo whispered. "It releases some kind of chemical that relaxes the mind and dulls the senses. Then, the illithid comes in, and," Tattoo slashed a thumb across his throat. It was a grim gesture that left Trey wishing he hadn't seen it.
They slowly stood up and backed away from the door, suddenly fearful that they were being overheard. After a few moments of tensely listening for more footsteps, Tattoo turned to the group of Drow prisoners behind them and pointed towards the back. Trey nodded, stepping into the group, who stepped out of the monk's path, allowing him clear access to the back of the room.
Trey's plan hinged on the fact that he would be able to guard his mind, and resist the control. Tattoo was fairly sure that the drug the control released was more mental than physical; it calmed the mind, not the body. If he could protect his mind, then he could kill the illithids who entered and turn off the control. He sat down near the fire, and the other Drow about him shifted, stepping in front of him and blocking him from view. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the harsh, nervous breaths of the Drow around him, and tried to visualize himself inside a high, stone tower. A fortress of the mind.
A high, unearthly hum filled the room, slicing into his thoughts like a knife through cheap cloth. The warbling sound seemed to come from all around them, echoing and rebounding off of the stone walls until it was impossible to hear anything else. Try as he might, Trey found it impossible to envision his tower again. It was getting hard just to think…
One Drow in front of him slumped on the floor suddenly, a silly grin on his face that didn't match his blank, staring eyes. The other Dark Elves rocked unsteadily on their foot, as if they had just suffered some huge debilitating shock. Still the hum did not cease; it was a nagging edge of pain which seemed to split his skull. Trey soon found that his eyelids were growing heavier by the second; sleep became more and more of a certainty. Sweet, dreamless sleep, from which he could never awaken from.
Got to stay awake, he thought fuzzily. His eyes turned slowly to the flickering fire. Resistance didn't seem so important anymore. Why should he fight? He was warm, he was tired… why not relax for five minutes. Just lay his head on the floor and…take it easy.
With his last shred of conscious thought, he leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of hot coals.
The pain was slow in coming, and at first he feared that his mind was too clouded by the control. Then his palm flared, causing him to bite back a cry of pain. The red-hot coals tumbled from his hand; for the rest of his life his right hand would bear the faded scar. He wouldn't mind, it was a payment he had been welcome to make in exchange for his life.
The illithids may be able to enslave the mind, but Trey guessed that there were some functions of the brain that the illithids could not reach. Bodily functions, such as the heart's beating and digestion, were involuntary, controlled by his subconscious. Not even illithids could keep his heart from beating, because he could not stop it himself. The heat of the coals on his bare skin had startled his conscious mind out of its stupor. Sticking his hand into the fire had been an act of desperation, yet it was exactly what he needed to free himself. Coincidence? Trey doubted it.
The humming had not stopped, but now it seemed rather silly and unimportant. How could he have thought it was so loud? He was not refreshed, but aware, as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over him while he was asleep. He could hear the iron door at the front of the room swing open, and then footsteps. More than one. Quickly, he made his way through the crowd of Drow, who moved out of his path with no particular speed, and envisioned the stone tower in his mind. This time though, he imagined a group of illithids outside the tower, trying to find an entrance.
As he neared the front he changed his expression, mirroring the lack of emotion and dead, dreary eyes his fellow prisoners wore. There were three illithids inside; two of which were approaching Drow with their tentacles twitching in anticipation. The third was standing near the open door, scanning the crowd the way a skilled chef looks through his cookbook for a tasty meal.
If I attack the closer illithids, the one by the door may escape outside, and come back with reinforcements. If I charge the lone illithid, then I may lose one of the Drow to its friends. What to do? He hesitated on the edge of the ground, torn with indecision. Quite abruptly, the choice was taken away from him when the illithid near the door spotted him (Trey did not witness the illithid look at him, he seemed to feel it within his mind). It broadcasted a telepathic warning to its mates, but by then Trey was already charging, coming in low and delivering a right uppercut into the mind-flayer's soft, yielding belly. The illithid leaned forward, gasping for breath, and Trey could smell for a brief second the creature's wafting breath: a stench of raw, rotting meat. Moving on instinct, he grabbed a handful of the illithid's flailing tentacles, which grasped at his hands, amazingly strong. He pushed the illithid backward, slamming its head forcefully into the edge of the steel door, and its tentacles loosened at once.
What a fighter this thrall is. One illithid commented almost breezily, before sending a wave of mental energy at the monk's back. Trey pitched forward onto his stomach, nausea rising in his throat. The illithid he had been holding onto went in the opposite direction, colliding with a dazed-looking Drow.
It's just a human. The other illithid sent, sounding disappointed. Unusual stock, but still human. Trey fought the urge to roll onto his back, instead forcing himself to his knees. His vision swam with gleeful floating dots, and his hands shook. Just like that, the fight had gone out of him.
I know you prefer Drow. The first illithid broadcast. I'll handle this one then. Grey hands gripped his shoulders roughly, from a thousand miles above him, and lifted him to his feet. Terror filled him suddenly, but no answering spurt of adrenaline, the great equalizer. Now he would see what was behind those writhing tentacles…
Now to see if human is as good as—the illithid began, before cutting off in mid-thought. Its head slumped forward at an odd angle, and the grip on his shoulders began to loosen. Those tentacles loomed closer as the illithid leaned toward him, as if trying to steal a kiss. Revulsion filled him, and he pushed the illithid backwards with no real strength. To his surprise, the illithid fell backwards onto the ground like a limp rag. A small dagger protruded from the back of its head, an obscene doorknob. He looked on in shock as the tattooed Drow pulled the dagger from the illithid's skull with a grunt.
"How did you…?" Trey began, but words failed him. The illithid's mental attack had unnerved him, and now an avalanche of exhaustion threatened to bury him. Luckily, Tattoo guessed his question correctly.
"The illithid over there," he pointed to the illithid whose tentacles Trey had grabbed, "knocked into me. Loosened whatever hold the control had on me, I suppose." He scratched his head speculatively. "Fell down. Saw what was going to happen to you."
"And the knife?"
"Illithids often carry little daggers on them. Some prefer an alternate way to open the skull." Trey saw that the other illithid had been stabbed neatly in the throat. Then, as Tattoo's words sank in, he realized what had been about to happen to him.
"They EAT…"
The Drow nodded grimly. "Best kind of brain food is…well." He helped Trey to his feet, who was still looking at the illithids with some horror. "How did you fight the control?"
Trey shook his head. "I didn't, actually. I grabbed a handful of flame. The pain cleared my head. After that…you know the rest."
"What's your name anyway? I can't call you human forever, especially since you saved our lives."
"It's Trey. And you saved lives just as much as I did."
"Delion. And I just assisted. You got the ball rolling."
They spent the next ten minutes arguing over who deserved the credit, while systematically waking the other stupefied Drow in the room through a combination of shoving, shouting and slapping. The illithid Trey had knocked out showed no sign of waking, and the two Delion had stabbed weren't going anywhere. Soon, the entire company of Drow was "awake" and aware.
Trey quickly led the Drow upstairs, where the crate containing the helmets was quickly opened and passed around. Soon the group of some fifteen Drow, and one human, had on a helmet. Along with the crates was a small cloth bag in a corner simply labeled "goods." Inside, Trey found his stolen clothing, shuriken, and belongings. After allowing him to get dressed, Delion called Trey over to him urgently.
"We have to move quickly now. They're roused, free," he said, gesturing to the Drow behind him, who had discovered several short swords and spears in an adjoining crate and talking excitedly. "I won't be able to rally them for much longer. They want blood."
An image of a tidal wave crashing over the walls of a dam struck Trey then, and he understood what Delion was trying to say. They were free, but there were too few of them to cause any significant damage to the illithid community. Even armed, the group of escapees would be quickly recaptured, or killed. "How much time can you give me?"
"A half-hour," Delion muttered, after looking over the Drow for a few moments. "We'll go back downstairs and free the rest of the prisoners, Drow or not. The chaos should give us some time to escape, regroup, and come back to burn this place to the ground."
What kind of resources does he have, to plan such a counter-attack already? Trey wondered.
"Thirty minutes," Delion repeated, pressing him. "Once again, I'm forced to rely on you. Get to the Overmind, and use this." Delion placed a small greenish vial in his open palm, capped with a wad of cloth. Trey looked at him questioningly. "The Overmind lies in a vat filled with its own juices. Very flammable. Pop this open and toss it in."
Easier said than done, Trey thought, remembering the effects of the control. " "Don't worry. I'll take care of the Overmind."
"The Overmind is protected, you'll have to take a transport to reach it. After you finish, come to the front gates. Just follow the other thralls. I'll meet you there," Delion said, but his eyes finished for him. Unless you're too slow.
The Drow offered his hand, and Trey took it. Both held the other's forearm for a few moments, until the monk released and left the building. Delion watched the door close, wishing him luck. Then he turned to the other Drow and roared aloud in Drow, "Back downstairs! Free the others, then we leave this place forever!"
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Before, Trey had walked the city in a fog, unmindful of the hostile staring of those around him. Now, though, he was conscious of every other creature around, and all of them seemed to be glowering at him. The helmet seemed like flimsy protection when he became aware of how many money-hungry slavers there were about him.
After fifteen minutes of wandering, he finally noticed an enclave to the side of the merchant's bazaar. A tall illithid stood blocking the entrance, flanked by two umber hulks. Trey stepped closer, peering inside past the illithid. Further inside, he could make out a flickering light. Could it be the teleporter? The illithid stepped in front of him, blocking his view, and Trey felt the mind-layer send out a mental feeler, touching his mind.
Thralls have no business with the Overmind. Leave quietly. The illithid sent, and the two umber hulks besides it looked at him impassively, their mandibles clicking.
"I've come from Lith My'athar," Trey bluffed. "It is imperative that I speak with the Overmind. It concerns the Valsharess." If his mind could still be scanned, even with the helmet, then he needed a story with just enough truth to rationalize the lie.
It makes no difference where you come- the illithid broke off in mid-thought, its eye rolling backwards in its head. Trey guessed it was receiving orders from the Overmind. After a few moments, the eye rolled back to stare at him. The Overmind requests your presence, but on one condition. The helmet stays here.
Trey slipped the helmet off of his head without a second thought. It had served its purpose, and what more could they do to him that they hadn't already? But the illithid didn't attack, only took the helmet from his hands and tossed it disdainfully into a corner. Then it stepped to one side, allowing him to pass, and beckoned towards the light further inside the cave. Trey nodded and stepped inside.
The light was generated by a small, circular mark in the stone. A similar circle was directly above it, on the ceiling. Trey stepped inside the circle warily, not knowing what to expect. A sensation of warmth surrounded him briefly, and all at once, the surroundings outside the circle of light blurred, swimming in and out of circle. A rush of cool air blew into his face, and the warmth faded. He stepped outside the circle and found himself in a completely different place. The huge vat in front of him containing a massive gray, veiny brain floating in greenish liquid confirmed his suspicions: this was undoubtedly the quarters of the Overmind.
The air wafting from the vat reeked of oils and perfumes; scents that relaxed the mind and senses. There were several complicated-looking devices along the sides of the vats: temperature control, vat pressure, and such, he guessed. The illithids spared no expenses in pampering the Overmind. Surprisingly, there was no protective covering over the vat; was security not an issue? The conclusion didn't comfort him: protection didn't concern the Overmind because it had no fear of being attacked. Here, it was king.
A mental feeler tentatively touched his mind, and the enormous mental presence caused him to grit his teeth. The Overmind was a mass of conflicting emotion: curiosity, confidence, some anger… no fear. Welcome to my quarters, thrall, the Overmind boomed, and Trey winced. The Overmind's "voice" resounded inside his head like an echo, leaving him feeling a little rattled. He took a step closer, his fingers brushing the vial that Delion had given him.
Not so fast, the Overmind said lazily, and Trey stopped dead in his tracks. He grunted, trying to move his legs, and succeeded in almost falling to the floor. His legs felt as if they had been cemented to the carpet. Paralyzed my legs, he thought to himself, trying to control panic, the untamed horse that could escape and run wild through his body. Never even had a chance. If it does—
That to your entire body? The Overmind finished. Trey could feel a bubbly happiness welling up inside the creature, and hatred blazed up within him. It loved playing with its victims like this. He could sense unseen faces and voices, begging the Overmind for their lives… were these its memories? Now he could feel that mental presence pushing into his mind like a lecherous lover, pawing over his own thoughts. He shivered, repulsed, and his fingers retracted from the vial as he struggled to call up the image of the stone tower, its fortress. Instead, a new image came to him: a ruined tower on a hill, its fine black bricks lying in shambles. The Overmind was mocking him.
That was your plan? You couldn't think it would be that easy, could you? Just walk in and assassinate me? the Overmind thundered. The large brain seemed to pulse in and out, almost as if it was taking breaths. The escapees are being captured right this moment, and your precious Seer will soon find the same fate. Lith My'athar isn't far from here; it's a shame you'll be too busy here, fighting for me! Image: A glassy-eyed Trey in armor, charging into battle… against Lith My'athar. The opposite side was led by a baffled Alain, followed by a horde of Drow swordsmen. A moment later, the younger monk fell to the ground, stabbed through the heart by Trey, who stooped and decapitated his opponent. The last mental image was Trey holding Alain's head aloft, his eyes blank and his tongue lolling out, sticky with blood.
Rage blossomed in his heart like an unnatural flower, snapping him out of the horrible vision. Trey's hand dove into his other pocket, which contained one of the illithid's knives, which he had pocketed earlier. Bracing himself, he reversed the blade and pistoned it downward, stabbing himself in the hip. A hot lance of pain erupted there, spreading throughout his body in a tremor of nerve endings. Blood spurted out onto the knife and his fingers, but it was a welcome sight: the paralysis gripping his legs had vanished, along with the mental force in his mind. As he stumbled forward onto the ground, he cried out in pain and relief. The Overmind had been too preoccupied with its victory to connect the knife Trey had concealed to his escape. He pulled the knife back slowly and tossed it to the ground carelessly, then stood, ignoring the blood seeping into his clothes.
"You usually have your guests screened for weapons," Trey said grimly, pulling the vial from his pocket, along with six shurikens. "You were so eager to get me here, that you must have forgot. Too bad. If you had remembered, I would have had no chance." He felt a mental feeler touch his mind almost angrily, but whatever retort the Overmind wanted to make would not be heard: the throbbing pain in his hip had succeeded where his mental defenses did not. No matter. Trey would talk for both of them. He walked over to the vat, his eyes cold and sure, gauging for any vulnerable points in the brain. The liquid in the vial was a dirty brown, which he splashed over each of his shurikens. When he finished, his fingers tingled unpleasantly, and he wiped them on his tunic absently.
"For Delion, the Drow gladiators, and for every poor creature ever enslaved at your command!" Trey cried in a clear voice, before throwing the shurikens into the vat with quick, practiced flicks of his wrist. The shurikens penetrated the brain like it was wet paper, before combusting into flame and turning the perfumed vat into a flambé. The brain was consumed by the magical flame, and Trey felt a last, desperate attack on his mind by a mental feeler. As the wall of fire rose, he could dimly hear the sounds of screaming. Quickly, the monk turned his back on the smoldering brain and stepped into the teleporter without a second look.
It was better than he could have hoped. The guards stationed at the entrance of the cave were gone, and from the frenzied screaming and animal grunts in the distance, it sounded like the anarchy Delion promised with the Overmind's death had come. The Overmind had lied to him, the gladiators were making good their escape! The illithids might yet seize control, but the former thralls had a good chance of escaping nonetheless. As much as he wanted to, Trey couldn't help the rest of the thralls. He had to reach the front gates.
I'll be back for those who don't make it. Trey promised himself, before setting off at a fast run towards the entrance.
A/N: Thought you'd like some background information on Algaricciragla, the mirror-golem.
AlgaricciraglaFrom the files of Alsigard, the Maker
It is done. The last golem I shall ever make has been created, and my life (and unlife's) work is finished. It, or he, has decided to call himself Algaricciragla. In hindsight, perhaps that was the pebble that started the avalanche.
For years, I have attempted to assume the role of the Creator; I have tried to instill sentient thought and free will into golems. This facility was built because of the choice rocks and metals that is so important in building a golem. I have not been entirely unsuccessful, but there was still a problem. My first creations had free will, but chose to base their lives upon my choice. What was the point of free will if you chose to live in another's shadow?
I delved deeper into the earth, seeking pure metals in the hopes of building a superior golem. To my surprise, I found mythril and constructed several golems. When I ran out of mithril, I used the flesh of my assistants as new materials. They were of no longer use anyhow; they spent of their time whispering with each other and several times I caught them staring fixedly at me.
These golems were even more frustrating than the last. I had succeeded in instilling sentient thought, but instead of living in a society of their own creation, they based their lives around my will, as if I was their god. They ignored my protesting, until I grew fed up with them. At that time, I had discovered a deeper level, and had my first glimpse of the mirror. I appointed Aghaaz as leader of the society and departed.
I am not still completely sure of the mirror's origins. It seems ritualistic, perhaps used in some religious ceremony, and it is apparent that very old… perhaps dating back to the days of the Creator race. It is fairly large and deceptively heavy, and unlike other mirrors, will not show a reflection. Its most unusual characteristic is the fact that no matter how many times the mirror breaks, the glass on the frame regenerates, filling up the empty space the way water will seek to fill an empty cup. I recognized it immediately as the material from which I would sculpt my last, and greatest golem.
The name Algaricciragla etched itself into the space above the glass the moment the golem came into being. Perhaps the creature was independent from the very moment it came to be, regardless of my influence. It was apparent from the beginning that this golem was different from the others. It cared very little about my opinions, or instructions.
Another oddity is that the mirror I had discovered has now become integrated with Algaricciragla somehow. I assume this is because the pieces of the mirror are resonating, seeking to become one yet again. When the construct is resting, or feeding, the mirror will suddenly appear behind him, seemingly stepping out of existence. At times is clean and lustrous, at others it appears dull and scratched. Perhaps this has something to do with his state of mind, or condition?
Wizards who construct golems often insert a fail-safe into the creature, used to regain control of the construct in the event if it is captured by an enemy (which is rare.) Recognizing this as the crucial flaw which prevented my earlier golems from true freedom, I foolishly created Algaricciragla without this fail-safe. I had no fear that he might harm, golems are not blood-thirsty as a rule. On the contrary, Algaricciragla came to resent me for choosing to stay here. What he asked was impossible, of course. How could I leave this island, after all whom I know is dead?
AlgaricciraglaFeeding patterns
Again, this creature shows just how unique it is. Golems have no need to eat, as they are mechanical. Not true with A. My only hypothesis is that A.'s need to feed stems from the material from which he was created. A. has proved to be quite secretive during his hunt, traveling miles away from my laboratory before even beginning to track down prey, but my few observations of the hunt has proved quite enlightening.
A. stalks his prey, whether it be only a tiny rat or some larger foe, often baiting them into enclosed areas where they can not escape. If A. is hunting a rat, then the rat will often be chewing on some piece of food when A. comes upon him. If it some larger prey such as the large bats or birds that inhabit the area, it might be a bright piece of tin or bread that is the bait. It befuddles me as to how A. creates these "lures", it appears to be as natural for him as flying is to a bird.
When the creature is cornered, A. will then proceed to rip the animal to shreds, with no sense of malice at all. His mirror will appear behind him at this time. If it is currently filthy and dull, then the condition is reversed almost in seconds. If it is clean, then the mirror shines with a strange light. On this occasion, I can almost see something inside the mirror. What could it be?
Here Alsigard ended his writings.