Author's Note: Man, these last few chapters have been real downers, haven't they? I'll try and bring some semblance of happiness back to their lives soon... how long it lasts, that's debatable. Regardless, my thanks go out again to everyone who's reading! And if you have the time or inclination, reviews are, as always, appreciated.
Wraiths. Wights. Ghosts. Hollow Men. Every culture, every nation had a name for those empty spirits that haunted the living. Strange, that so much effort was put into filling the idea of something that was so... empty, in reality. As he mulled the different names around in his head, Greywulf couldn't help but stop at 'hollow men,' letting the wording flitter back and forth in his brain, absentmindedly contemplating the meaning as well as the connotations that it served.
That was after all, what they'd been subjected to a moment ago. Wraiths, hollow things. Empty spirits with no identity of their own, forced to take on the lives and forms and shapes of those who had lived in order to accomplish anything in their stolen time in this Plane. Almost sad. Pathetic. But they'd taken sacred forms. Forms that meant something to them- all of them. The moment they had done that, any sense of sympathy or understanding had been replaced with disgust, indignation, and most of all, rage. But perhaps, in the end, Greywulf should be thanking them. Not for what they had done to Jaheira and Imoen and Aerie and the rest. No, they were all three struggling to recover from the attacks on their psyches. The striking of a hammer blow to the foundations of everything they held true of the ones they'd loved and cherished in both memory and deed.
And even though it was just that- hollow- there was no way that there couldn't be, at the very least, a hairline fracture in the trust and belief they'd held. Maybe a small one. One that could possibly be ignored and pushed away like it didn't exist. But it was there, and no amount of denial would cover that up. And Greywulf was, in his own little way, glad for it. Glad for what? That he wasn't alone, that there were others around him now that held the same doubts and mistrust of their past and their family that he held? That the worries he constantly struggled against were now worries his companions could relate to? No- he wasn't quite that petty, and even if he was, he cared about his 'family', Jaheira and Imoen in particular, too much for it. No, he was glad for it because it gave *him* an excuse. Give him an enemy, and he'd immediately try and come up with a way to neutralize it on a bad day, or come up with an insult to taunt it on a good one. Give him an impossible situation, and he'd try to do the impossible. He might fail, but he'd give it a go. But that wasn't what he'd been given lately. Not at all.
Greywulf plodded silently toward the woman, trembling only every now and then, who sat alone in a far corner of the Pocket Plane he sustained through the power of his taint. His taint. This entire place was one giant reminder of what he'd been forced to deal with as of late. What Gromnir's death had awakened inside him. The power of Bhaal was growing stronger within him, forcing him to face his inner demons- a particularly vocal, scaly one included- and that was something he'd never been good at. Keeping them locked away for so long- having them ripped open and exposed to the light of day was like peeling back the scab of a wound, and it burned within him every time he tried to deal with it.
She heard his approach- how couldn't she, this was the same woman who could go from totally asleep to mentally combat ready in a matter of seconds- and turned her head just slightly so that he could see the redness to her eyes. She'd been crying. Not that she would admit it. The moment they had arrived back in the Pocket Plane, she'd stormed off alone, refusing to speak to him or anyone else. It wasn't a surprise. He'd expected it, rather. Everyone sought solace in their own way- Minsc was the selfless knight in shining armor for Aerie, once again playing the broken bird, though he imagined she'd immolate anyone who called her that to her face now. She took refuge from her fears in his massive arms, not seeing how her presence made it all the worse for Minsc as he fought his own guilt.
Sarevok had only favored Greywulf with a nod, a familial, it almost seemed, nod of acknowledgement. A nod that might've, in a world apart from this, been a sign of approval. That even one so emotionally dead as he could see that they had needed this period of rest and healing. He had retreated to the old room where his first challenge had taken place in the Realm of Bhaal. Four doors were still hazed and covered with magic barring his entry. He forced any thoughts and second-guesses about their purpose from his mind, choosing instead to kneel beside Jaheira, tucking his long robe beneath him to give his knees some kind of protection from the rocky stone ground beneath, still digging into his knees uncomfortably-
Without warning, the rocky platform smoothed, bringing equal parts relief and annoyance. His mastery of this place was... discomforting. At least Cespenar had been wise enough to leave them well enough alone. Or had he subconsciously kept the imp away by his taint? The thoughts were enough to make his head spin, and so he pushed it away, choosing instead to wrap both arms around Jaheira from behind, wondering if she would recoil, slip back into her old, self-reliant persona that would spurn any sort of aid, refusing to admit weakness. To his slight surprise and relief, he felt only her lithe fingertips intertwine with his and he allowed himself the slightest feeling of ease. There... much better. Dealing with other people's problems was so much easier. They made so much more sense to him. He could see clearly, could see just what to do and how to go about it.
"It wasn't real. You know that." he murmured quietly, choosing words carefully. He had only caught one glimpse of her eyes upon their arrival, but there was no mistaking the raw anger that was there. He stiffened despite himself; he had known her long enough to realize that Jaheira's grief, while only displayed on the rarest of occasions, could so very quickly turn into a fury that few would dare confront. His status as her... lover, he supposed would be the appropriate term for now... might shield him more than others in trying to comfort her.
"I *know* it was a lie." she replied, her tone rough as gravel. She broke from his embrace to face him directly, the two on their knees as their gazes met. "I know who Gorion was! Who Khalid was!! I know they would not have been so callous, so... so... how dare he!! How dare that spectre defile their memories with such..."
He let his hands drift to her shoulders, trying to garner her attention, trying to direct her fury, to keep it from tearing her apart like an internal storm- something he'd seen too much when dealing with her betrayal by Dermin and his faction of the Harpers. "I know what you've- we both- have suffered. And I know what this did to you, inside-"
"Do you?" Jaheira's emerald eyes flashed as she continued. "You were so calm in the accusations of that... that thing! And the moment it targeted me, I felt my resolve falter- and it galls me to know that I doubted Khalid for even a moment! I have grieved in prayer and action for all that have fallen around me. I have fought to avenge each and every soul that has been taken in the fight for balance, and I will not be accused of dishonoring their memory, of benefiting from the death of friends!"
"Jaheira." Greywulf let the fury, the anger, flow past him and he stared deep into her eyes, finding the vulnerability that was truly there. "Nobody's accusing you of anything. Nobody. You have nothing to be ashamed of, do you understand? If I was any stronger than you back there, it was only because I've had more practice. People have been throwing Gorion's death, his expectations for me in my face since the day he died. I know what it's like to be hit a little too close to home."
"But you were never accused of benefiting from his death!" Jaheira defended, shaking her head wildly as the braids of her auburn hair whipped back and forth. "You were never told that you had wanted- had wanted- I..."
She stopped abruptly, and it was as if she had woken from a sleep, or that blinders had just been removed from her eyes. She blinked once, and for one of the few times he could remember, a look of shame crossed her half-elven features. "I... I am sorry, Greywulf. I should stop; I will not poison your view of me by having you assume my regrets. That is not fair to you. I apologize..."
"No need." he said, trying to fight the tightness in his throat as he swallowed. Her words betrayed the worries he had felt, rather, what he had feared she was feeling. Perhaps a reason why she had put their engagement on such an abrupt hold. Not that he minded waiting- it had been a spur of the moment thing, after all- but if this was the reason behind it, then he had cause to wonder whether there might be deeper troubles in their relationship than he knew. "Get some rest, all right? We've still got a war to stop, right?"
She eyed him for a moment, then allowed a quiet sigh of amusement, leaning over and kissing him gently on the cheek before slowly, unevenly stalking back to her bedroll- he considered willing a bed into creation where she was at, but thought better of it. Best to leave her alone for now- she was barely taking time to strip her plate armor off before collapsing, emotionally exhausted. He could sympathize- he lingered there, alone for a moment longer, only to hear familiar wing beats approach, and the concerned face of Cespenar beside him, glinting black eyes fixing with his. "Master? You okays? Can Cespenar help?"
He sighed, then took a moment to regard the strangely eager imp, wondering briefly how it had all come to this. A plane where his every whim could become a reality, assuming he was willing to tap into the nature inside him that he tried so desperately to ignore. An imp butler. His murderous brother fighting alongside him. He snorted, then shook his head and gestured back toward the pile of his belongings he had left nearby Jaheira's bedroll. "If you like, you can go through my belongings and... do whatever it is you do. Just try to keep from waking Jaheira. For your safety, you understand."
Cespenar gulped but then nodded eagerly, flapping quietly over to the rucksack and digging into it, humming ever-so-quietly to himself. Without a distraction, Greywulf could feel his own mind aching from the strain of the past few days- and his work was not yet finished. Was it ever, really?
He considered it a bit longer as he squared his shoulders and bee-lined, if in a decidedly slow fashion, toward the forms of the ranger and the elf, Aerie asleep in Minsc's arms, though tear tracks could still be seen on her pale cheeks. The sight would have been enough to break his heart if he weren't already so emotionally drained. Minsc's head tilted ever so slightly without the rest of his body moving, keeping Aerie in the delicately crafted respite she had found from the torment of the past few hours. He regarded her with care for a moment longer before returning his gaze to Greywulf expectantly.
"Holding up all right?" the words were quiet and might have seemed callous to some, but they had been friends and companions for long enough that no other expansion was necessary. Minsc nodded quietly, speaking in hushed tones that were far too restrained for one of his size and usual temperament. "She will be fine... Minsc told her that her mother would not say such things. And... and even if it were true, she has a new family with Minsc and you and the rest."
Greywulf could not help but smile at that last statement- it was the truth. How many times had he considered these men and women that accompanied him to be nothing less than family? Certainly, they were more of a family than he could ever expect from those whose blood matched with his own. Present company excluded, of course- mostly. He nodded in understanding, then knelt beside Aerie and Minsc, running a hand across Aerie's brow, the girl looking so small and fragile despite the great power lurking within her. It would be a mistake to underestimate the strength within that elven woman.
It would also, Greywulf noted, be a mistake to regard Minsc's physical prowess and strength to be indicative of an iron spirit, one invulnerable to the same pain they had all suffered so recently. He smiled lightly at the ranger, cocking his head to one side. "I wasn't just asking about her, you know."
"Minsc knows." he replied solemnly. "Boo has told Minsc that the wraiths lied. Boo knows that Dynaheir would not have felt that way about us."
The distinction between 'Boo' and Minsc was not lost on the sympathetic sorcerer standing over the reclining ranger, his back to a rock wall as his sad blue eyes drifted everywhere but Greywulf's. The half-elf swallowed, then pressed just a bit further. "And do you believe that?"
He did not answer right away, and for one as direct as the Rashemani ranger, it was enough to say it all. Greywulf leaned in and rested his hand on Minsc's shoulder for a moment, then nodded to him. No words were necessary. He walked away, leaving the elf and the ranger to their own comfort, seeking out the last of those whom he felt responsible for checking with.
She was, unsurprisingly, off in her own corner of the Pocket Plane- he found her seated on a small wooden chair- a remnant of the furnishings he'd conjured during their last visit. With only a few small exceptions, the chair seemingly one of them, they disappeared without his will and presence to sustain them. Hollow. Just like those wraiths.
Her hair was hanging loose around her features, obscuring her face as he approached from the side, her arms folded across the backing and her chin resting atop. It was an impishly impatient, or perhaps sullen posture, but her eyes- if the eyes were the window to the soul, then Imoen's soul was a bright land of mischief and wonder when she was... normal, so to speak. When certain moods overtook her, when thoughts and memories of Irenicus drew too near, or when the taint began rising with her too forcefully- her eyes were a window to something dark, something that he both recognized and shied away from... because he recognized it in himself.
"Hey."
"Hey..."
Her simple reply, quiet and unenthused made him slightly less anxious, though that would have seemed callous to another. Imoen was... hesitant, to share her own problems with the others, especially him. That she wasn't trying to hide her discomfort, her distress made it clear just how shaken she was... but made it that much easier for him to help her. Or so he believed.
"You want to talk about it?" he sat down cross-legged, looking up at her from the rocky ground. With another thought, this section of the Plane smoothed out. She noted the change with a snort, then shook her head mildly.
"No. Not really. Jus- jus' thinking about what happened. How stupid that ghost musta' been ta think we'd believe it, right? I mean, there's no way we'd buy that thing's vision of Gorion. No way."
The bitter tone to her normally melodic voice was far too easy to hear, and he grimaced at the self-loathing she was unable to hide. He opened his mouth to speak, but she erupted faster than he could, glaring harshly with a raised, pointed finger, daring him to speak. "No. No! You don't get to tell me that it was all fake an' that I'm beating myself up for nothing! I know that, ok? I know that thing was lying, and damn it all, I still believed it for a second! How pathetic is that, huh? And don't you dare to try and come cheer up 'poor ol' Imoen' cuz you think I can't handle it! I can!! I know what I am! I'm not turning into her, I'm not!"
Her sudden outburst took him by surprise, though he should have seen it coming, really. It was just that it happened so rarely: Imoen, dropping her legendary mask of sugar and sweetness and letting her true, raw emotions out in a time like this. He tried to speak up, to calm her for the sake of those sleeping around them if nothing else- "You're not going to become that *thing* from the other world. You're not the Laughing Death, all right?"
She eyed him for a moment, anger still in her young, beautiful eyes- he cracked the slightest of smiles and quipped, "Besides, I'm here this time, remember?"
The wrong time to joke; he saw it right away. She snorted, turning away and tossed behind her, "Yeah. I'm not turning into her. I'm turning into *you*."
Immediately, as soon as the words left her mouth, there was nothing but silence between them, a chill passing over brother and sister as Imoen slowly turned, pain in her eyes as she shook her head slowly. "I... Greywulf, I'm sorry- I didn't mean it..."
His gaze fell and he only nodded numbly, his words meaningless and unfelt. "Yeah... I know. Don't- don't worry about it."
Imoen's dropped her head into one hand with an air of remorse, whispering in regret, "It's just that you… you used to dream a lot. Right after Gorion died. And after what that thing said as Gorion- lately I've been having dreams. Nightmares, really."
"I thought your nightmares stopped after you got your soul back from Bodhi." Greywulf responded quietly, slowly regaining focus. There... a problem to solve. Something to focus his relentless will on- relentless against everything but his own problems. "I know there were a few, but you said it was over, mostly."
"They've started again. But they're not about Irenicus… really strange nightmares, like sailing on rivers of blood." she shivered as she spoke, an openly frightened look on her face. "So *real*. Those dreams you had... were they like that?"
"Yes… they were. Worse, sometimes." Greywulf said slowly, trying to keep himself from showing panic. Imoen was fearful enough without him losing his cool.
"Worse?" Imoen shuddered. "Then I… I dunno how much longer I can go on like this. The images- they keep coming to my mind when I sleep no matter how hard I try to block them out."
She paused a moment, then swallowed and took hold of Greywulf's arm, seeking something, anything as she continued. "An' I've started to... develop powers. Powers that reach down into the taint within me, and have nothing to do with my magic."
"What sort of powers?" Greywulf asked cautiously, the situation disturbingly familiar.
"Minor spells… like what you developed after you left Candlekeep. Healing. Curing poison, things like that." Imoen smiled weakly, trying not to cry. "Now ya know why I said I'm turning into you. This... this is the same path you took. That means that… that things could get worse. It means that I could become the Slayer…"
He came to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, closing his eyes as she snaked her arms around his body and held on tight. They collapsed against a wall, her body quivering every few moments, the pair of them a twisted, tainted version of Aerie and Minsc. While the ranger and elf were innocent in their own ways, pure in their own ways... they were the spawn of Murder. Children of a deity that brought bloodshed and fear wherever it walked. He could feel her fears slowly giving way to exhaustion as she slipped into a respite from the worries, the troubles of the day- and perhaps into more nightmares, more reminders of what she might become. Nothing was simple anymore; it hadn't been since their group had lost Dynaheir and Khalid.
Everything, despite all the good they had done, was always on the verge of falling apart… he didn't know how this group had survived together this long. At least when they had been fighting Sarevok the first time things had been easy- it was a simple fight to survive. Now there was so much more, so many complications that tore him in a million directions. Aerie and Minsc were, oddly enough, the most stable of the group, despite her insecurity and his madness. Imoen was fighting a battle within herself that even he had not won yet, and it appeared the taint within was gaining ground. Jaheira… he had thought that her doubts and any guilt she had about their relationship had been resolved… but the reemergence of the specters of Gorion and Khalid had changed all that.
The wild card, Sarevok, still an enigma to them all, not trusted by any, save perhaps Greywulf, who had the least reason to do so. And himself caught within the center of this maelstrom, trying to keep the group bound together, trying to keep them whole, even as he dealt with his own struggles inside. And yet... they gave him focus in more ways than one. There to keep him strong, there to keep him focused. If not for them, he might very well be... hollow. Kind of ironic, really.
X X X X X X
The world was a blur- awash in red and orange hues, all mingling together with the dingy brown of the wood planks that were crumbling before him and the gray ash that floated heavily through the air, choking him even as he sat, alone. The bar of the Tankard Tree- or rather, what was still standing of it, was home to a single occupant, seated at one of the bar stools, drinking out of a nearly empty bottle of rum, seemingly oblivious to all the death and madness erupting around him. The screams of the dying pierced the air and gave him pause every now and again, but still he would undoubtedly return to his drink, unfazed.
The sound of swords colliding was much rarer now- most of Saradush's militia and defenders were dead, and Yaga-Shura's army had all but overrun the city. The only reason he was still alive was that half of the building had collapsed and was covering the standing half, meaning that while he could escape from the admittedly unstable structure via small gaps in the rubble, he was unseen by any on the outside. Which put him in the safest place possible, as odd as it seemed. Not that he cared much. Nothing really fazed him these days. Not since meeting Mellissan. Not since losing his 'curse'... only to discover just how much he truly was cursed, now.
Viekang blinked in the darkness, glimmers of fire-driven light peeking in from every crack in the rubble that surrounded him in a tent of destruction. How long had it been? Three months, maybe? Three months since he had been found by Mellissan, after almost a year of running. His taint-fueled power had manifested itself quite differently than most- whenever he became frightened, whenever terror struck him, he teleported somewhere... anywhere else. He had no control over the location, nor a choice in the matter. More often than not he would find himself in the ocean for a split second or falling through the air before his terror would drag him elsewhere, only ceasing when he calmed enough to remain in whatever new situation he had found himself in. Impossible to create any kind of life like that- if he allowed himself to lose control, to let anxiety overtake him, even over the smallest, most inconsequential things, he would be gone in the blink of an eye.
And so, Viekang thought wryly as he swallowed another mouthful, feeling the alcohol burn all the way down, he had turned to Mellissan. Mellissan the savior, Mellissan the protector of god-children... Mellissan the betrayer. She had betrayed him, that he now saw. She knew how the god-children were being hunted. She knew how close they were to extinction at the hands of their own kin. And still she had done as Viekang asked. It was partially on him as well, of that there was no doubt, but still... she must've known. She had to have known this would happen.
The sound of shifting wood echoed all around, and any sane person would have jerked back and forth, looking for signs that the building was about to complete its collapse, and that his brief respite was at an end. Viekang merely glanced at the cracked foundations; no fear spurred him to run, and so he simply reached past the lifeless, crushed body of the barkeep and took another bottle from the slanted, half collapsed shelf behind him. This one was just about empty as well- whatever. It would be enough.
When he had heard of Mellissan and her efforts to help the Bhaalspawn, he had pleaded, begged her to find a cure for his curse. To find some way of letting him live a normal life. And after almost a month of study and spells, she had done the impossible. Rather than trying to remove the taint, she had simply removed the catalyst. He no longer felt fear. Ever. And for a time, it was good. He lived life to the fullest, never letting any misconceived ideas of how things might go wrong or how the world might turn against him govern his actions. He lived exactly how he chose until Yaga-Shura. Until he found himself just like a hundred others, a Bhaalspawn between an invulnerable fire giant and a mad general. But now the city was breached...
He laughed humorlessly, taking a swig. Maybe one more swallows' worth. He'd checked most of the rest of the bottles. This might be the last of it. Viekang rubbed his sharp, hooked nose, then brushed stringy brown hair from his vision. He tried again, squeezing his eyes shut... but nothing. Not the slightest ounce of fear chilled his bones. The knowledge that he was going to die the moment the building collapsed or when Yaga-Shura, infamous for tracking down the tainted children, found him did absolutely nothing. His pulse was steady and unchanging. He shook his head, and wondered how it had come to this? If his power had remained with him, there was almost no way he could ever have been caught. But Mellissan changed all that. It was her fault he would die, and how he hated her and himself for that fact.
Viekang swore and raised the bottle again, only this time the bottle vibrated in his hands, only for a moment. He paused, then felt it a second time. Footsteps. Large ones. A fire giant was approaching- with the sound of tearing metal and cracking wood, the small refuge Viekang had taken for his own was exposed to the fires of the sun and the burning rubble of Saradush. Towering over him stood a powerfully built giant, his orange beard glowing like the embers themselves. His eyes blazed with fury and power and the war hammer he held in both hands was easily Viekang's size. "Hahahaha! Did you think you could hide from Yaga-Shura forever?!!"
Viekang met Yaga-Shura's eyes, then shook his head with acceptance, finally downing the last of the liquor. He stood up from the bar stool, dropping the bottle with the crash of broken glass on the rocks below his feet. He squinted, trying to look up at the man towering over him, and said calmly, "No. No, I didn't. But I am not afraid of you, Yaga-Shura. Or death. Or anything, for that matter. If you wish to kill me, I ask that you do it now and without delay. Anything else would be but a waste of our time."
The giant paused, and Viekang wondered when the last time was that anyone had spoken to the Bhaalspawn without fear in their eyes, or voice. It wasn't that he wanted to die- he didn't, obviously. But without fear to motivate resistance... without fear to summon defiance... without fear to send him running- there was nothing. Viekang could muster nothing more than complacence, and he hated Mellissan for that. He hated himself for that.
Yaga-Shura's voice cut into his inner thoughts. "As you wish."
The next sensation he felt was excruciating pain as the war hammer Yaga-Shura held slammed into his body from the side and sent him hurtling through the air like a rag doll before finally slamming head first into a half-standing brick wall. It didn't take a physician to realize that he would die from the contusions and broken bones of the first hit, but when he heard a sickening snap upon impact of the wall, Viekang felt a sense of peace as he flopped to the ground. He could feel nothing below his neck, and blood began to trickle from his nose and mouth. The sound of Yaga-Shura coming closer- still, no fear. As his doom drew near, step by step, Viekang slowly began to smile. Hmm. Facing death without blinking. Few men could say they had done that. Even fewer in the face of a death such as this.
Yaga-Shura appeared in his rapidly dimming vision, raising one mammoth, sandaled foot over his face. Viekang said nothing, only remained staring forward, without fear. He could, after all, do no other.
X X X X X X
A stiff wind forced Solaufein to tug the hood of his cloak down further toward his face, trying to keep it from blowing off as the three men trudged ever further across the countryside south of Athkatla. The fortress of Watcher's Keep was another few days away, but only so long as they maintained their coastline direction, which meant enduring the constant buffeting of winds and the increased bandit activity. So far they'd only dealt with the first annoyance. The second, however, was still constantly on their minds.
They were almost to the top of a particular rising hill, where a patch of oak trees would provide some comfort from the elements, and with any luck, help cut the chill of the wind that plagued them. Or at least provide some wood for a fire. They had been traveling non-stop for nearly a day now; Anomen might have learned a thing or two in his time with the Bhaalspawn, but he still had some work to finish when it came to leading men. It had yet to reach him that not everybody had the same stamina and will as he-
Solaufein stopped in his tracks, his dark features knitting as he turned his head from one side to the other, scanning the area. Something... something wasn't right. His sudden halt had caught the attention of Reynald, at least. Anomen was still trudging forward at lead, scarce looking back to see if the others were there. Reynald took a step back, aligning himself further with the wary drow, asking quietly, "Is something troubling you, friend? You look... worried."
"I sense something." Solaufein whispered, his red eyes shifting, even as he turned in place, watching, looking for anything out of place, anything that might be the source of the disquieting feeling they were being-
Watched! Anomen cried out as a shimmering figure cut across his path like lightning, followed by a quick strike that sent him tumbling down the hill, rolling past the positions of Solaufein and Reynald. A chittering sound echoed all around them, and Solaufein's heart sank as he glanced at the small puncture mark in Anomen's breastplate, blood trickling from it. The cleric was trying to get to his feet, shaky but still alive. The attack had not been deep enough to kill- lucky. Solaufein growled as he whipped the two-handed blade from its sheath and planted his feet, his back to Reynald's as they moved to cover Anomen while he recovered.
"What's happening!?" Reynald tossed behind him as Solaufein narrowed his eyes, listening for the sound of the attack that was sure to come- there. The drumbeat of pattering strikes across the ground- Solaufein stepped into the attack and slid just a touch to the right, and the sound of a spear like implement stabbing the space he had occupied a second ago caught his ear- he did not take the time to relax, instead he swung his blade upward, and it slowed only a moment as it cut through the appendage that had been meant to impale him. As the shrieks of his attacker echoed through the area, he spat back at Reynald, the former knight looking on in amazement. "On your guard! The servants of Lolth have found me!"
Around them, several creatures hazed into existence, the element of surprise long gone. One of the spider-like creatures was hobbling backward, the foremost of its eight, lance-like legs chopped off and bleeding darkened blood. They were humanoid from the waist up with a bloated spider's body below, numbering four strong. Accompanying them were two of the drow elves, wearing splint mail made specifically to resist the rotting that adamantine underwent when exposed to the sun. One of the drow was a warrior, piercings covering his face as he sneered and spat a drow curse, pointing at Solaufein. "You are a blight on the drow people! You have brought the judgment of Lolth upon you- you will burn for your crimes against the Spider Queen!"
He charged along with a drider, the monstrosity skittering ahead of the man, razor like legs reaching to shred him. Solaufein grimaced- Anomen was just now getting to his feet, directly behind him. It would be hard to dodge and not condemn Anomen to a rushing attack that might overwhelm that already weakened warrior-priest. He braced himself, wondering if he could cut the drider's legs out before the drow reached him, when Reynald rushed in from the side, his tower shield slamming into the side of the drider as he shoved it out the drow's path, clearing Solaufein's field of vision to encompass the charging drow, taken by surprise with Reynald's sudden intervention. The renegade drow turned his defensive posture to an attacking one, launching out with an overhead blow, parried which turned it into a side sweep meant to take out the man's left leg. That was repelled and Solaufein spun in place, moving his attention to a second drider, letting his blade deflect a strike that would have left a neat hole in his back.
Anomen finally brought his own mace to bear, only sparing a brief glance to the wound in his chest before driving forward behind his family shield, charging up beneath another drider, pushing it back onto its hind leg sets. It clawed and hissed, the clattering of its appendages against his shield eager to reach behind and dissect the man beneath, but as Anomen pushed harder, keeping the creature in place, he shouted a brief plea to Helm, ducking even further behind his shield. A pillar of flame erupted from the sky and fell upon them both, but its bulk along with his shield left him unharmed as the burning carcass slid from atop him.
Reynald was chasing the drider he had knocked aside, the creature skittering around him as he kept his long sword out at guard, parrying any jabs that his opponent made- a sound like the dark chants of a wicked monastery echoed all around him, and he knew that the second drow was a spellcaster. Dark bolts of energy crackled from the sky as an Unholy Smite engulfed them, and Reynald fought the urge to scream as one of them struck him cleanly through the midsection. His torso had lost all feeling, and it was an effort to stay on his feet- the drider he fought sensed his weakness and leapt forward, knocking him to the ground. His tower shield was the only thing between him and the eager drider's maw, the dark elf features doing nothing to hide the ravenous desire it felt to feast upon his flesh and blood. His sword arm was too well pinned to come around and strike the beast atop him- he winced as the drider's hands came down, slithering toward his neck. Not much time for the others to help-
Solaufein had felt the effects of the Unholy Blight, though it had struck Anomen and Reynald much harder than he. Perhaps that said something of him, but he did not dwell on it and instead focused his attention on reaching the drow cleric before she unleashed another spell upon them. He heard the clatter of metal and saw Reynald get pinned beneath a drider out of the corner of his eye as he tried to charge the dark priestess- damn. He aborted his charge, in the process throwing off the last drider that had been lunging for him, only to bring him back into the path of the drow swordsman. Solaufein grimaced as he dipped one hand into his pocket, clutching the stone inside- he vanished into a dimension door, the second half of the portal erupting right beside Reynald as he dove out, his sword swinging by and cutting neatly across the drider's neck. It remained motionless for a moment, before the head fell from the body, leaving Reynald to shove the lifeless corpse from atop him, scrambling to his feet to present something of a united front again.
Two of them against a hobbled drider and the two drow- Anomen was down, this time for the remainder of the fight, if not worse. The Unholy Smite had struck him horribly, and he would be of no use in the remainder of the fight- Solaufein gave Reynald a glance, first at the man's bloodied shield, then at the two impediments between them and the drow priestess. Already she was speaking her dark tongue once again- a red glow surrounded the two warriors they faced, and there was no time left for discussion. Reynald nodded, and charged ahead, Solaufein dropping in neatly behind him. The man's tower shield came first, slamming straight on into the drow soldier as he turned his shield sideways, blocking both the drider and the drow- Solaufein leapt from the ground, using Reynald as a stepping stone to vault over the top of the two that his companions was holding at bay, landing before the priestess with a snap swing across the midsection. She screamed, falling back with her hands trying desperately to keep her innards from falling out.
Reynald would have been pushed back easily by the combined forces of the opponents he faced, especially strengthened by the dead sorceress' spells, but the drider disengaged to face Solaufein once more- it staggered back and forth on its wounded legs, and then arced at him, spinning past to release a blast of webbing from its spinners. The sticky mess planted the drow to the spot- he grunted with rising panic, trying to swing his blade down to cut through the hindrance, but to no avail. It was far too thick and sticky to be cut so easily- he could do nothing but raise his weapon in defense as the drider circled him, looking for the best angle to strike from. It reached his backside, and Solaufein instantly knew he was done. There was no way he could defend with both feet planted to the ground like this. Unless Reynald could get past his own opponent quickly enough it was over for him...
White bolts of lightning gathered and struck all around them, impaling the drider as it sank to the ground, sliding to his feet, twitching with his mouth open in an endless scream. Reynald easily overpowered his suddenly weakened enemy and struck him down with one slice of his blade. Solaufein frowned in confusion, then spotted Anomen raised up on arm, lowering his hand from the Holy Smite he had brought down upon them. The exertion, however, was too much- he lost consciousness once more, dead to the world as Solaufein and Reynald finally untangled themselves and reached him, turning him over onto his back.
"By the gods, what were those things, man?" Reynald asked Solaufein, loathing in his eyes as he eyed the corpses littering the plains.
"They were driders... dark elves twisted even further by the magics of Lolth." Solaufein replied with hatred thick in his voice, still on alert even as he checked the cleric's pulse. "Anomen's life signs are faint- I shall tell you more of their twisted purposes once we have aided our companion. We will need a healer... or at the very least, a safe place for this man to rest."
"Athkatla will be another three days' journey, at least." Reynald shook his head. "We shall never make it back carrying him the whole way there, even more so should more of those demons come upon us."
"You are correct- and I would not dare suggest we have seen the last of Lolth's revenge attempts on my life." the drow grimaced, before a slight smile crept in at the edges of his mouth. "But I think I know where we might find refuge. An old bastion that will not have forgotten me, or indeed, any who fought with the Bhaalspawn to save it from a red dragon's malice. It will be a day's march to the De'Arnise Keep... I suggest we hurry if we are to make it before dark."