The Lightning Thief

Even after over a month in the Underdark the amount of light down here continued to surprise Aravae. Phosphorus fungi growing on the walls and ceiling of the cavern they entered, likely feeding off the swirling radiation of the faerzress also present, bathed the area in a pale, blue-tinged glow. The illumination gave the rippling surface of the stream coursing across the rocky terrain an eerie sheen and made the others of their scouting party - Mialee, the three dwarves of the Enclave, the deep gnome from Blingdenstone, and a human wearing magical goggles imbued with dark vision, along with the giant lizard he rode - look ghostly and washed out.

"Looks dwarven," Thargus, the lead dwarf Enclave scout sent on the expedition, said in a rumbling whisper, pointing with his bearded chin. "Might be from the age of Delzoun."

What Aravae first took for raised spurs of rock were actually the remains of a crumbling fortress. She'd been so distracted by the presence of fungal light that her gaze had drifted upward before taking in all of her surroundings on the ground.

"Something might be lairing there," Griswalla, the female dwarf Enclave scout observed. "Or hiding there."

"Might," Thargus said, considering.

The dwarves looked to the deep gnome in their group, Vort, who shrugged.

"Nothing dangerous when we journeyed past before," the svirfneblin said, speaking of the caravan from Blingdenstone to Gauntlgrym. "But that was months ago. Things change."

"That they do," Thargus said, his sigh revealing how much he knew the truth of that.

"I could scout from above," Mialee offered.

The dwarf shook his head.

"If there is nothing," he said. "Ye'll have wasted one of ye're shiftings. Best save them fer trouble."

He motioned them forward and to spread out. Aravae and Mialee shared a nod. Here was something familiar. They came across ruins of ancient fallen elven empires in their capacity as Enclave guardians in the High Forest all the time. The sun-elf held her bow loose and relaxed, but with an arrow fitted to string and leapt lightly over the stream to approach the ruins at a different angle from the others. Farryl, the human cavalry scout from Yartar sent by the Lord's Alliance, guided his lizard mount to splash across near her. He also held his bow nocked and, while no spell archer like herself, he wielded it capably - for a human at least.

"Good stone," one of the dwarves, Brim this time, whispered, barely audible at a distance over the babble of stream for even Aravae's elven ears. "Could be reused."

"Could," Thargus agreed.

With those few words the dwarves discussed the possibility for the construction of an outpost. Their scouting party not only searched for lurking dangers ahead of the main expeditionary force but also found and reported on places that could be fortified to secure the route between Gauntlgrym and Blingdenstone. Much of the fallen stonework the bladesinger skirted around was relatively intact and could be used to build a new structure, not that she could imagine lifting one of the massive things herself.

The first sign of danger came from the lizard mount. Its long tongue flicked out several times in rapid succession, tasting the cool, damp air, then it came to a halt, refusing to budge despite Farryl prodding with his heels against its flanks or his urging in a soothing tone. Whatever the giant lizard sensed, it did not like, and after half a dozen more steps forward, Aravae's less acute nose smelled it as well.

Death. Rot. Decay.

The smell came from inside the ring of what remained of the fallen walls of the fortress. Aravae now stopped as did the others, some of them midstep. Communication followed in a series of glances, shrugs, and collective nods. Clearly something unpleasant lay within the ruins of the fortress, but they couldn't back away and leave it when it might be a threat to the expeditionary force following them. They continued forward, step by cautious step, measuring their progress so they all peered inside the broken fortress's remains at roughly the same time. Peeking through a gap in the walls, Aravae found the source of the foul smell.

Carcasses.

The skeletal detritus of a predator littered the interior of the fortress ruins. The combined sight and stench nearly made the bladesinger gag, but she forced herself to stare and search. Nothing living stirred among the carnage. Whatever laired here was not present, only the grisly carrion of its meals.

"I think that is a behir," Vort said.

The deep gnome's voice was filled with awe and as Aravae's gaze traced the remains of the serpentine spine and curving rib bones, she was awed as well. She knew of behir, snakelike dragonkin that could breathe lightning, not that she'd ever seen one.

"A young one," Thargus agreed. "It was small. Not yet fully grown."

Small? Judging by the skeletal remains the thing must have measured twenty feet in life at least. How big did behir grow?

"Still, what would dare hunt even a young behir?" Griswalla asked. "Let alone be able to kill one?"

Fate, it seemed, decided to provide an answer. Off key singing came from the mouth of a tunnel opposite to the one the scouting party had used to enter the cavern. Aravae heard multiple voices, not only out of tune but also out of time with one another. They sang in a language she did not understand. She turned and raised her bow but did not yet draw the fletching of her nocked arrow back to her ear.

A troll entered the cavern, mottled skin a dull gray in the combined blue-tinged light of the phosphorus fungi and faerzress. It wore a thick scarf of pale yellow - no not a scarf. It carried a dead carrion crawler, the segmented centipede-like body draped over the troll's broad, sloping shoulders. Atop those shoulders were three heads, two facing forward, each with a neck and the third like a growth out the right shoulder blade where, it seemed, it must perpetually stare backwards and upwards. But strangest of all was the drooping draconic head that appeared to be grafted onto the monster's chest.

The creature stopped singing the moment it caught sight of the scouting party in its lair. The mouths of the two forward facing troll heads dropped open in apparent surprise, displaying rows of jagged sharp teeth and the beady yellow eyes over the bulbous noses just stared. Meanwhile the growth of a head off the shoulder blade babbled, likely in the language of giants which Aravae did not speak, but the question in its tone was clear enough.

"Troll!" Farryl yelled out in warning.

Under him his lizard mount was now all too willing to move. It hissed and scrabbled backwards across the stony floor towards the rest of the party, putting as much distance as possible between it and the multi-headed monstrosity which had entered the cavern.

"Dire troll!" Mialee screamed as her skin crackled with the telltale sound of a layer of bark forming over it.

The bladesinger and her druid companion had encountered trolls before in the High Forest, ravenous giant kin with remarkable regeneration abilities that would eat anything they could catch. But they'd only heard of dire trolls. Rarely, despite their appetite, did trolls resort to cannibalism. When they did, a horrifying mutation of their regenerative properties could occur where the one consumed regrew, combining with the eater, and a new head sprouted. Enclave orders about such aberrations were clear - destroy it. Both because its mutation might spread and because the creature would be driven mad with an insatiable hunger.

They also exhibited the odd behavior of grafting body parts onto themselves. Aravae had once been told a story of a multi-headed troll with the hindquarters of a deer grafted to its side, hooved legs endlessly kicking at the air in a futile attempt to flee the horror of what it had become. But what was grafted to the chest of the troll before here now were no deer legs and as the monster cast aside its carrion crawler prey and the beady eyes on each of its troll heads grew predatory, the great reptilian head stirred and lifted.

"Impossible," the dwarf Brim breathed.

But in the demon infested Underdark, beneath the pale blue light of faerzress infused fungi, the impossible was happening. The draconic head of the dead behir rose, eyelids opening to reveal empty sockets, and sparks of electricity began to dance between the opening, broken toothed maw.

"Move yer arses!" Thargus growled.

Aravae already moved, slipping through the gap in the wall and taking shelter amid the skeletal remains in the interior of the ruined fortress. The stench of rot and decay assaulted her nose as a bright light flashed across the cavern ceiling and lightning crackled. The combined scream of man and lizard told the bladesinger what she would see when she emerged again, bow raised and fletching drawn back to her ear. Farryl and his mount lay on the ground, the blast of electricity had knocked the rider well clear of the giant lizard, smoke rose from their open mouths and the charred remnants of their eye sockets.

Surprisingly the troll was also burnt and blackened from its attack. All its heads roared in pain, but it still stood. Aravae sighted and loosed, the whisper of a spell leaving her lips. Her arrow flew true, and the force of the magic infused missile knocked the already staggering creature off its feet with a flesh rending explosion.

Quicker than one would think, given its great bulk, ungainly build, and charred flesh, the troll scrambled to his feet. The unburnt behir head drooped, once again lifeless, but the troll heads roared in defiance. For a moment the creature stood posed, a spectacle of monstrous rage, long muscular arms spread wide, and claws extended as its scream reverberated off the walls and ceiling of the cavern. Then the bulk of a great bark-skinned cave bear hit it with a feral growl of her own.

The shifted Mialee and the troll tumbled to the ground, clawing and biting. Aravae suppressed worry for her friend knowing any damage the druid took would rend the magical form of her wild shape first. The bladesinger hovered a hand over her quiver and concentrated. Fire countered a troll's regeneration ability. She whispered a spell to imbue her arrows with a flaming attack. The three dwarven Enclave scouts took similar measures, pulling free oil flasks as they moved to circle the rolling combatants. She did not see Vort. The deep gnome probably used the inherent svirfneblin rock blur ability to hide and wait till he judged the moment to act right.

The bark-skinned bear tried to pin the troll to maul it, but the monstrous creature proved stronger. It flipped its ursine assailant onto her back and attacked in a whirlwind of claws that tore away wild shaped flesh. The shifted form of the cave bear disappeared, replaced by a desperately crawling wood-elf.

"Mialee!" Aravae screamed.

She drew an arrow, sighted and loosed, then drew and loosed again. Both arrows whirred their passage before sinking into the troll's back, just below the chin of its shoulder mounted head. The previously burned flesh already healed and regenerated, but now it burned again as the cast spell made the missiles burst into flame. Fire licked up at the chin of the monster's back facing head, which howled in pain and fixed Aravae with a baleful stare. Sprays of oil flung from flasks by dwarven scouts spattered into the creature, igniting the already smoldering fire to a roaring, spreading blaze.

The troll spun in circles, beating out the flames with its huge, clawed hands, its screams echoing off stone. Mialee was nearly trampled, but the Vort was there, helping her scramble free and out of the creature's reach. She sprinted away, rushing towards her friend in a curving trajectory that gave Aravae a line of sight to their adversary even as the deep gnome blended in once more with the surrounding stone and hid.

"Flame arrows!" the druid yelled. "Draw out its lightning if you can!"

The bladesinger cocked her head in confusion as she loosed an arrow from her bow and sent another speeding after it. She'd already intended on hitting the troll with more flame arrows, but why would she try to draw out the behir head's deadly lightning breath?

She couldn't ask. Mialee already shifted and wouldn't be able to answer. The shape of her cave bear form morphed into existence as she ran and dropped to all fours. Around the cavern the dwarves backed away, flinging aside empty oil flasks and drawing axes.

Aravae's arrows found their mark in the upper chest of her target and burst into flame. Troll flesh burned and a monstrous scream rent the air, but it was more rage filled than pain wracked and this time the fire died quickly without the added fuel of oil. The two forward facing troll heads leveled a hate filled glare that promised revenge and below them the draconic grafted head stirred to life once more, electricity sparking in its opening maw. The bladesinger glanced left and right. There was no place to take cover.

She thought of casting her mirror image spell, hoping to confound the creature, but before the idea even fully formed, Mialee bowled into her and sent her spinning to the ground in a series of painful tumbles across the rocky terrain.

Aravae lost hold of the arrow she drew, and many more arrows spilled free of her quiver as well. As she scrambled up to her knees she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the shifted druid turn and roar in challenge. One of the troll heads spared a lingering glance at the fallen bladesinger but the reptilian head took aim at the cave bear instead.

"No!" Aravae yelled.

Lightning crackled, so blinding in its intensity the bladesinger lifted a hand to shield her eyes. The cave bear danced a rigid dance then fell, wild shape form smoking away to reveal the fallen wood-elf beneath. Surprisingly, the troll twitched as well, electricity coursing through it and the monster coughed sparks from its screaming mouths. Flesh charred, except for the behir head which seemed immune to the lightning. This head drooped once more - breath weapon spent.

Aravae suddenly understood. The lightning breath, the power the creature had stolen and grafted onto itself, was its greatest weapon, but also its greatest weakness. She drew an arrow, pulled fletching to ear, then hesitated before shifting her aim and letting fly, whispering a spell as she did.

She'd lost concentration on the flaming arrow spell with her knock to the ground and imbued this missile with magic to explode as she'd done with her first attack against the troll. That first arrow had dropped the creature momentarily but did little beyond that. This time, when her arrow pierced into its target, it did so just above the knee. The shaft quivered in charred flesh for just a moment, then the arrow exploded, shredding the knee with a spray of blood, bone, tendon, and muscle.

Already ungainly from the behir head grafted to its chest, the troll toppled with an ear-splitting shriek. The Enclave dwarves seized this opportunity and surged forward like a pack of wolves on downed prey. Axes rose and fell, and limbs and necks were hewed and hacked. Vort unblurred as well and put tinder to a torch and coaxed a flame to life.

It was butchery.

The regenerative powers of a troll were legendary, but the already charred and blackened flesh could not mend itself faster than battle axes in the hands of three skilled dwarves could chop. Soon the axes were being used to push body parts apart from each other while Vort poked at the remains with a now burning torch, scorching troll flesh to its final rest.

"Mialee!" Aravae called out, half stumbling, half crawling to where the druid lay.

Relief flooded her as she saw her friend still breathed.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"No," Mialee groaned in answer.

But the irritated tone told the bladesinger her friend would recover. She looked pale, but that could be the blue light of the cavern, and her hair which had escaped the confines of her braid, normally ringlet curls, stood on end as if, well as if the electricity of a lightning bolt had coursed through it.

"That was very foolish," the bladesinger chided. "You could not know whether your wild shape would let you survive the behir's breath. And a little warning next time before you bear rush me would be appreciated."

"Well done, Mialee," the druid sighed. "You realized nothing we did hurt it as much as it hurt itself when it breathed lightning. Oh, and it was also very brave of you to protect your friend from that lightning."

"You expect to be praised and thanked for nearly getting yourself killed?" Aravae asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Right now, I'd settle for a hand up," the wood-elf said, but raised both hands instead of one.

The bladesinger responded in kind, clasping her friend's hands and hauling her to her feet.

"That was brave," she offered. "And appreciated. But also very, very foolish."

Mialee gave her a haunted look in response.

"I did what I had to," she breathed. "Did you see how fast that thing shredded my cave bear form? I wasn't going to survive another mauling like that."

Aravae nodded, conceding the necessity.

"Never could I have imagined such a thing," Thargus said, shaking his head as he approached. "A troll and behir mixed."

Across the cavern the other dwarves and the deep gnome still worked at burning the troll body parts.

"We were fortunate the creatures were mixed," Mialee said. "I don't think we'd have survived an encounter with either a behir or a dire troll by itself."

That was likely true. The troll damaging itself with lightning had played a part in their survival.

"Farryl and the lizard he rode didn't share our fortune," the dwarf growled, scowling. "What is said is true. The demons infesting the Underdark have made it wilder, more dangerous, even when they aren't about."

Involuntarily the gaze of the bladesinger flicked to the fallen human and his mount before she blew out a breath and gave a grim nod. These weren't the first of the expedition's losses and, Aravae was sure, they wouldn't be the last. She hoped the group traveling to Mantol-Derith - Kuhl, Aleina, Jhelnae, Sky and the rest - were having an easier time of it.

If you think I stole the title of this chapter from the famous book in the Percy Jackson series... you are right! My daughter loved those books to death and I thought they were pretty good myself. I figured I'd have some fun and reuse the title. So, I thought I should have a chapter showing the passage of time and travel in the Underdark. I was also keenly aware I had three dialogue heavy chapters in a row and that some action was in order. I called on Aravae as a POV character again to help deliver some action. We sat down in the recesses of my brain and started plotting. Reading through the random encounters of the module she was like, "A ruined fortress sounds good. Also the corpse of a behir. That would be a nice visual." "Yes, but we need action. What are you going to fight?" "What could possibly kill a behir?" "Well, lets see. A Behir is challenge rating 11 and the next Underdark related creature above that is a dire troll. Its challenge rating 13." Reading the lore on dire trolls we grew excited. "What if it grafted the head of the behir onto its body and could breathe lightning?" she asked. "That is good, really really good. One problem..." "Which is?" "A dire troll that can breathe lightning obviously has a challenge rating above 13. You are level 8..." "Oh...wait. What if the lightning wasn't such an advantage..." And so the chapter formed. ;) I hope it is alright. A fellow fanfic writer posted about just 'being sick' with editing and wanting to post it and move on. I can so relate to her statement!