Rise of The Runelords Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

The Companions stand upon the doorstep of the hidden realm of Xin-Shalast. Many foul creatures, ancient evils, and terrible monsters had stood in their way, but soon they would face Karzoug on the steps of his own realm. As they turned to watch Shepherd lead his charges back home toward the south, they could hear the yawning void within the cave. They knew not what lurked beyond, but according to Mirelinda's harrowing it could be nothing good.

 

So they went, prepared for anything... except, perhaps, what they found. For those who need to catch up regarding this adventure, previous installments are below!

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

So what lies ahead? Only the darkest secrets of the soul...

Through The Nexus

 

As the Companions entered the cave, the wind gave way to something else. The stone around them began to crack, and through the cracks they could see far-away lights. The smells of the material plane fell away behind them, and there was only the empty scent of a vast gulf. Light came from everywhere and nowhere, but it did nothing to illuminate the cavernous blackness as the walls fell away. Their paths floated untethered in a void... a void that seemed to respond to them strangely.

Where the hell are we, exactly?

As the Companions advanced, weapons and spells at the ready, they began to hear things... strange things. Voices of those long dead. Whispers from the void speaking of what might have happened in other places, and other times. Zhakar was in the midst of attempting to reassure his friends when he heard a familiar voice for the first time since he'd been a child; his mother's voice.

He stopped cold, the steel of his manica shrieking as spikes ran down the metal like gooseflesh. As he turned his face, a path of stones manifested, and built into a doorway. Darkling light shone through, along with screams of anguished pleasure. Shadows danced beyond, and he stepped forward, knowing as he did that he did not wish to see what lay beyond that gate.

My son... how you've grown...

As Mirelinda shouted for Zhakar to turn back, and Thokk yelled for his friend, Zhakar stared through a gateway and into a scene from hell. His mother stood there, facing the gateway. Her skin shone like burnished silver, and her hair like spun gold. She wore a simple dress of white, but it seemed wrong somehow... the white of a wraith rather than that of an angel. That was when Zhakar realized she was not alone.

Looming over her, his perfect face filled with indolent desire, was a creature Zhakar had only heard of spoken in whispers. He bore his bat wing and red scales with pride, his tunic cut to show rather than hide his corruption. The clawed hand that rested on his mother's shoulder was possessive, the claws digging into her skin. When the archfiend Belial spoke, it was the sound of a beautiful serpent, singing to distract you as it dripped poison into your ear.

"My son," the creature said, genuine pleasure in its voice. "You have made me proud."

 

Zhakar stood in horror, rooted to the stones, his control over his form slipping. His wings flared, the fire filling his eyes sparking from a coal to a blaze. Rather than seeming afraid, the Lord of Lust simply smiled wider... a parent watching its child run instead of walk for the first time.

"Come," the fiend intoned, holding out its other hand. It held Zhakar's mother tighter, wringing a gasp of pain from her. "Join us. This is where you belong, blood of my blood, and flesh of my flesh."

 

Shaking, torn between fear, rage, pain, and fury, Zhakar reached for the runeforged weapon at his side. A weapon that would be the bane of a shapeshifter, as he well knew his father to be. He gripped it until his knuckles cracked, and he stared through the portal. He held his mother's eyes. Eyes that held their own fear, and their own pain... but eyes that had once faced down the horrors of the Worldwound and kept their sanity. Eyes that had seen a thousand battles, and who understood. Zhakar gazed upon the too-perfect face of his father, and spoke with a formality none had heard from him before. The voice of a squire taking his oath.

"When my task is complete, and my deeds here done, I will come for her. I swear it upon this steel," Zhakar said. "And were I you, I would hope that day does not come."

 

His fiendish father merely grinned, and spoke the words that would echo in Zhakar's mind from that day forward. "Do as you wish."

An Oath Made, and a Duty To Be Fulfilled

The portal collapsed as Zhakar turned his back upon it. His shoulders sagging, his face open and naked. The fear was gone from his face, the hatred drained away... the man who stumbled toward his friends seemed more like the scared child that he had been when he had lost his mother the first time, and was cast out by the zealots and witch hunters that fancied themselves crusaders. Thok embraced his friend, holding him as if he meant to keep his soul from fleeing his body.

Zhakar gathered strength from that moment, standing tall once again. He was himself, but more than that... he seemed more like the man who had stood with them at Sandpoint when the goblins attacked. Like an old sword that had been sharpened and honed, it was as if the edge had returned to him... the fire in his heart that had nearly guttered growing once more.

"Let us see this done, my friends," he said, turning once again to the bright light springing into being on the other side of eternity. "It seems I have other business to attend, and do not wish to keep it waiting long."

Next Time on Table Talk!

The adventure draws toward a head! Karzoug has nowhere left to hide, and he has chosen the home territory of his mountain fortress... but will it be enough to save him from the Companions' vengeance? Stay tuned, and I'll see you next time on Table Talk!

For more of my work, check out my Vocal archives, as well as the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio where I help out from time to time. Or, to check out books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife or my recent short story collection The Rejects, head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, as well as on Pinterest where I'm building all sorts of boards dedicated to my books, RPG supplements, and greatest hits. Lastly, to help support me and my work, consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi, or heading over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron! Even a little donation can have a big impact.

Rise of The Runelords Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation

Though the gates were guarded by a fell dragon, as well as ancient stone golems, the Companions found their way within the Runeforge. A place thought lost to myths and legends, containing some of the most brilliant and blasphemous works of arcane magic the world had ever seen. A place of danger, to be sure, but perhaps the one place they could find what they need to end the threat of Karzoug.

For those who haven't caught up on this adventure yet, check out the previous chapters below:

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

Now, into the depths of the Runeforge!

A Strange Place, Unseen in Centuries

Well we're here... now what?

Entering the Runeforge, the Companions found themselves in a large, central chamber. A strange fountain of prismatic energy flowed, casting lights onto the stone faces of the statues of the Runelords. Each stood before a hallway that appeared dedicated to their sin and magical school of choice. There were no indications as to where Runeforged weapons might lie, or even if there was anyone else in this ancient plane of existence, separate and apart from the material realm.

After some debate, and with nothing rushing toward them from the depths of the Runeforge to challenge their presence, the Companions decided the most likely place to find a weapon was in the section dedicated to evocation. So, arms at the ready, they headed off to see what they might find.

Storming The Halls of War

The first thing the Companions found, other than perfectly smooth halls, was a massive entryway with a huge statue atop a stone outcropping. It looked like some sort of construct, inactive for now, watching over the room. Bostwick was the first to step into the open space, triggering a blaring alarm, and making the sentry guardian shiver to life.

Well, it noticed us. Evasive maneuvers!

The golem turned, took aim, and fired, sending massive projectiles ripping through the air. Zhakar unfurled his wings, drawing the flametongue he'd taken from the dragon's hoard and blasting the sentry with a bolt of fire. The golem re-oriented its cannon, drawing a bead on the winged figure as Chikara loosed an arrow. The crackling shaft smashed into the golem, leaving it jittering and slow to fire. In attempting to defend Zhakar, she'd discovered the thing's weakness to electricity.

Bostwick rushed the plinth, scrambling up the wall and laying into the machine with hammer blows from his tiny fists, each one dancing with electrical sparks. Thok loosed one arrow after another, before Zhakar swooped down, clasped his friend's arm, and dropped him atop the outcropping where Thok could use his spear on the guardian. Drawing its fire from the air, the thing was quickly overwhelmed, and outmatched, unable to focus through the storm of blows. Whatever force powered it overheated, and it crumbled, it's legs buckling, and its arms clanging as they fell to the floor.

Though the chance for surprise was clearly gone, the Companions had no choice but to move forward... and to hope the other defenses were human rather than automated, so they could perhaps find a diplomatic solution to their situation.

Beyond the shattered hulk, they found a strange portal. Deciding there was no other way forward, they stepped through it. As before, Bostwick went first, which was fortunate as the formation of sorcerous soldiers who'd drawn up in firing formation loosed their spells at the first enemy to come through. Protected by his sheer resistance to magical energies, not a single projectile managed to land a blow against the small monk. As the others came through, and stared at the force arrayed against them, they knew that peace would not be an option.

They also saw that every, single wizard was the same man. Half a dozen of them, as alike as twins.

Well... this just got weird.

Moving in strange, silent tandem the evokers warded themselves, and slung spells at the Companions. Great balls of fire exploded, and missiles of raw force hammered at them. Illusions made the wizards nearly impossible to hit, with ghosts vanishing in whiffs of smoke as Thok's arrows and Chikara's ax passed through them. The wizards did not react to entreaties to stop fighting, and wouldn't even speak, simply hurling more magic at the Companions.

Enraged, Zhakar unleashed his hellfire, as well as his blinding beams of light, immolating several wizards, and blinding most of those who were left. Hacking through their remaining defenses, Chikara and Zordlan dispatched the rest, while Thok's arrows found their mark, leaving a field of bodies where previously there had been silent, deadly warriors.

Shock Troopers

Winded, and confused, the Companions looked around and found themselves in a barracks. The place where, supposedly, these wizards would have lived, worked, and trained. And despite the fact that the Runeforge made sleep and eating optional rather than required, there were beds that had been used, and carefully preserved rations stacked up and ready. As if these warriors had been preparing for something. And then, in a strange, alchemical array in the rear of the room, they found what looked like a cross between a cauldron, and some kind of birthing chamber.

Well, at least we know where they were coming from...

The Companions rested, staying vigilant, but taking care to keep an eye on the portals in, and out of the barracks. Once their strength returned, they continued on through the next portal, finding themselves in an even stranger place... a place that was one part armory, and one part arena. A curtain of flames stood against the left wall, burning silently. Unsure if they'd found a hold of Runeforged weapons, Zordlan examined the arms hanging on the wall. While they were clearly wrought by masters of their craft, there was nothing else unusual about them. Nothing strange or enchanted. They'd also been attached to the wall, rendering them little more than decoration.

That was when a challenge rang out from beyond the fires. An invitation to step into the arena, and to die with honor.

The Mistress of Evocation

Be careful what you wish for.

The Companions stepped through the fire, hoping they could reason with the woman who had challenged them. That there was some way they could explain what was going on, and end things peacefully. When they saw the red-haired warrior wreathed in flames, with a hulking, demonic slave standing ready to aid her, they knew there would be no way to halt her. Not without putting their own lives at great risk.

As the battle began, the wizard flew into the air, howling for blood as she sent streams of baleful light down toward the Companions. As her demonic minion began a buzzing intonation, Thok loosed an arrow, taking it in the throat. The creature's concentration broken, it failed to summon more of its brethren to join the fray. Chikara charged it, her ax holding its full attention. Zhakar rose to meet the mistress of the chamber, an inhuman battle cry bellowing from his throat as his eyes burned, and his wings flared. Mirelinda spoke the soft, dire words she'd only uttered a few times before, and the light of bright intelligence in the evoker's eyes went out. All that was left was a brute, animal hatred, and a desire for battle.

The battle was lost after that. The demon soon fell beneath the onslaught of blades and arrows carving its flesh, and with a final blow from his pick, Zhakar pierced the wizard's ribs, the spike ramming in beneath her arm, and puncturing her heart. As the body floated to the ground, something strange happened. The symbol on her forehead, which had blazed brightly, lifted from her brow. It streaked toward Zhakar, striking him just above his eyes. It burned there, a blazing symbol heating his steel skin red hot, making slag drip around the edges. It didn't hurt, though... quite the opposite. It pulsed with power, filling his blood with heat. A potent weapon the evoker had burned into herself, transferred on her death to the hand that had thrown her down.

What Next?

Shaken, and confused, the Companions realized they were no closer to getting what they came there for. Worse, if the evokers were anything to judge by, those in the Runeforge would be universally hostile, giving them no choice but to fight for every answer, and every foot of ground.

With half a dozen halls left to choose from, there was still a great deal more of the place to explore.

Next Time on Table Talk!

Will the Companions survive the horrors of the Runeforge? Will they find the weapons they seek, or is it all just a deadly trap? Find out on the next installment of Table Talk!

For more of my work, check out my Vocal archives, as well as the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio where I help out from time to time. Or, to check out books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife, head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, as well as on Pinterest where I'm building all sorts of boards dedicated to my books, RPG supplements, and greatest hits. Lastly, to help support me and my work, consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi, or heading over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron! Even a little donation can have a big impact.

Rise of The Runelords Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, and Lost Captains

Turtleback Ferry was on the verge of being overrun by hidden forces of wicked intent... but with the ogres slain, the Black Arrows rescued, and the dam preserved, it seems that Sandpoint's Companions have once more saved the day... but when a rider in black comes to town with a dire message, it seems there is something else on the horizon. A task only they are truly qualified to handle.

For those who want to get up to speed, check out:

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

Just as the heroes were preparing to leave, they're told that something is going wrong in the forests beyond the Black Arrows' fortress. Something... disturbing.

Lost Loves, and Stolen Bodies

Tired from their many battles and adventures, the Companions weren't willing to leave any potential loose ends in the town of Turtleback Ferry. So they rode to the edge of the forest, guided by one of the elite Black Arrows. The trees there were old and heavy with years, and they seemed to hang under a great weight. Silence filled the air, and no birds nor beasts stirred within. It was as if the entire wood were holding its breath, and waiting for something.

Well, nothing good could possibly come from this.

The horses balked at the edge of the wood, and would go no further. Taking that as a sign of danger, the Companions dismounted, and headed deeper into the expanse of trees. The light grew dimmer, and the air colder. Mist curled around them, taking on the shapes of faces frozen in mid scream. The spirits of animals fled the heart of the wood, running past the Companions as if they were running from a great fire. All of it in complete and utter silence.

After several hours of walking, the first living creature they'd seen in hours peers out from behind a tree. A small, terrified fey, it informed them that her mistress was ahead. She was in great pain, and mourning, but if the Black Arrows sent the Companions then perhaps they could help. Confused, and more reluctant than before, the Companions approached a clearing with a clear, half-frozen pool of water in the midst. Zordlan and Mirelinda took up positions behind heavy trees, while Zhakar and Thok approached the pool.

That was when the Lady of the forest burst forth from the water, shrieking like a mad woman, glowing brighter than the sun. Thok was struck blind, falling to a knee. Zhakar stood firm, raising his voice to be heard over her screams of grief. He was there to help her, if she would but tell him how.

Though it took some convincing, the Lady lowered her blinding light, and told the Companions through her tears that her lover had been slain, and his body stolen. She had tried and tried to bring him back to her, to reincarnate him, but she couldn't. Which meant somewhere to the north, atop the frozen mountain, he had been remade into a hideous thing... an undead husk, bound with putrid energies. The only way for her to find peace would be for the Companions to return him to her. They swore they would, and when she returned beneath the waters of her pool, left her realm.

The Giants of the Mountain

As they journey northward, into the frozen peaks of the mountains, the Companions remembered they'd uncovered a strange trove of letters in the Black Arrow commander's bedroom. They had seemed intensely personal and out of place at the time, but on reflection, it was likely that his frequent jaunts into the forest to rendezvous with his Lady love were one reason the ogres took the fortress by surprise.

And for our trouble, we now have to climb this sonofabitch.

The climb into the mountains was rigorous, but with clever mountaineer's tricks from Thok, and some unique pathfinding by Zordlan, the Companions made good time. They found sign of giants, as well, so when they finally found the cavern entrance at the top of the mountain, they were not surprised to find it guarded by a pair of ogres.

The ogres, though, barely had time to be surprised before a volley of arrows and carefully slung spells left them staining the snow.

The true challenge lay inside the mountain, though. The ogres had been the lowest rungs on the chain of brute force, and it was why they'd been left outside. Inside, the caverns were filled with stone giants. While there weren't many of them, perhaps seven or eight all told, that was more than enough to prove a challenge; even with Thok's lifetime of experience training to hunt giants among the northern kellids, Zordlan's knowledge of the world's monstrous races, and Mirelinda's ever-growing sorcerous abilities.

It was when the Companions stumbled across a coven of colossal hags, all gathered round their cauldron, that they sheathed their weapons, and spoke. Thok stepped forward, and asked the Mothers where the man we sought was. It had been a long time since they'd been offered northern courtesies, and in their own tongue, which they found deeply amusing. They had also grown tired of the stone giant who'd crowned himself king, and they told the Companions the creature they sought lay beyond the throne room. There was danger enough there, though, as a recent acquaintance of theirs awaited them.

Lamias and Giant Kings

After giving their guidance, the three huge hags vanished in a cloud of smoke. Oddly comforted, knowing that at least something around here was normal, Thok led the others to the throne room. What the Companions found waiting for them were a pair of stone giant guards, and their king seated upon a granite throne. Standing at his side was the lamia matriarch they had driven out of Fort Rannick mere days ago.

Second verse, same as the first.

The giant who had dubbed himself king was halfway through a prepared taunt when the lamia, threw up her hands to protect her face. With a dispassion rarely seen from him, Zhakar advanced, raising his hand. He blasted another brilliant ray, catching one of the royal guards, the matriarch, and the self-proclaimed ruler in the brilliant ray. While the matriarch managed to preserve her regained sight, the stone giants were not so lucky. One swung his club madly, smashing it into the walls, the stairs, and the ceiling, while the king screamed, hurling spells blindly about the room.

With the momentum thus gained, the battle was nearly won. The sighted giant fell to Bostwick's iron fists, and the blinded one was put out of its misery thanks to Thok's precision archery. The lamia attempted to stand, but with Mirelinda's spells seeking her out, and Zhakar advancing on her, she vanished once more into the ether, abandoning her erstwhile allies to their fate. Hearing that he was alone, the king held up his hands, and offered the Companions anything if they would only let him live.

They stripped him of his spellbook and his bonded item, as well as his headband and his enchanted bracers. Bound and under guard, they demanded to know what was happening. He told them stone giants were marching south from the stronghold of Jorgenfist, and that they would sweep their enemies before them. The giants had marshaled their kin, and were merely waiting for forward positions, like his, to be established. Once he'd talked himself out, they asked what had happened to the commander of the Black Arrows.

The giant king went, if possible, more pale than he already was. That thing lurked deeper in the frozen caverns, and it had slain half a dozen of his warriors. The man had been a danger in life... as a frozen wight, he was a plague upon the mountain.

The Dance of Ice and Fire

Though leery of their prisoner, the Companions paused in the throne room to rest. The wind howled through the crags, and the chill of the place wrapped around them. They built up fires, and watched the rear entrances of the room nearly as carefully as they watched the broken king. Once they had caught their breath, and readied their weapons, they set out to do what they'd come there for.

This is gonna hurt.

As the Companions entered the caverns, a chill far deeper than the rest of the mountain washed over them. An unnatural chill of the grave, and of things that defied it. A shudder passed through most, but flares of heat started to flash from beneath Zhakar's gauntlet. The skin around his right eye chafed, and when he rubbed it, flaked away. The steel beneath was still strong, but darker; blackened, as if by fire. Before Thok could ask his friend if he was all right, a hunched figure in tattered, black garb reared up and howled at them. Its hands were black from congealed blood, and its eyes glowed blue in the darkness. It still wore the signet chain of the Black Arrows' commander, but there was nothing else left of the man he'd once been.

Chaos erupted as each of the Companions snatched at scabbards, or reached for spell components. Zhakar merely held out his right hand, and gestured toward the creature. A pillar of black fire erupted around it, bursting from a rent in the air. It roared with a sound beyond the normal whoosh of evocation, and somewhere in its depths were the screams of the realm of the damned. The creature added to the cacophony, the flames eating away at the chill that sustained its life.

As the hellfire faded, the creature charged at Zhakar, swinging the sword it had wielded in life. Zhakar caught the blade on the spikes of his gauntlet, his right eye glowing with that inner, furnace light as his skin began to bubble and peel away. Thok sank his spear into the monster, attempting to push it away from his friend. Zordlon began to circle around, drawing his rapier as he sought an advantageous position. Bostwick caught it in the side, his fist cracking ribs the creature no longer felt. Mirelinda drew breath, preparing a spell to slow and bind the creature.

Then Zhakar took a single step back, pivoted, and loosed another beam of pure, white radiance. The beam caught the creature full-force, and it shrieked as the dark life inside it was ripped away. The hate in its eyes winked out, and it fell. First to its knees, then over on its side, smoke rising from its open mouth and empty sockets. Thok poked it with his spear, rolling it over. The body was just a body once more. Thok turned to Zhakar, asking in the harsh, Hallit language of his homeland if his friend was all right. Zhakar shook his head, the flesh already beginning to knit back up on his face, covering up what lurked beneath. The smoke faded as the afterimage of power left his hands.

"Let's get this back to the Lady of the Wood," he said, tightening his gauntlet another notch. "The sooner her lover comes home, the happier she'll be."

Lost and Found

The journey back was quiet. Almost somber. Though the woods were no livelier this time, they seemed hopeful, rather than bleak. And as some of the few remaining creatures saw what the Companions brought with them, word went ahead. This time when they reached the pool the Lady was waiting for them. Nervous, she was still a creature of terrible beauty.

Thok and Zhakar laid the body out before her, clutching the sword and wrapped in a clean cloak. She knelt, brushing the corpse's waxy forehead. She didn't speak, but leaned down to kiss her lover. When their lips met, a light flashed. The body was gone, as was the Lady. In their place, a strange, unreal-looking faun stood. Unsteady on its feet, it loped into the forest.

The mourning pall was gone... but so was the madness that had nearly consumed this place, and its guardian.

There was more to do, though. If what the self-proclaimed king had said was true, the giants were coming. And Sandpoint stood squarely in their path.

What is around the next corner? Find out on the next installment of Table Talk!

For more of my work, check out my Vocal and Gamers archives, as well as the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio where I help out from time to time. Or, to check out books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife, head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, as well as on Pinterest where I'm building all sorts of boards dedicated to my books, RPG supplements, and greatest hits. Lastly, to help support me and my work, consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi, or heading over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron! Even a little donation can have a big impact.

Rise of The Runelords Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick

Sandpoint's heroes were far from home, but what had been a disquieting silence turned out to be far worse than any of them could have anticipated. Fort Rannick had been silently overrun by ogres, and their misbegotten kin roamed the high forests above the village of Turtleback Ferry. The ogre kin were slain, but the true ogres that held the fortress could sweep down at a moment's notice.

If no one stopped them, that was.

To get up to speed on the rest of the adventure, check out the previous chapters:

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

Finished? Excellent! Now then...

Retaking Fort Rannick

We can't exactly knock on the door and ask nicely.

While the Black Arrows are drinking deeply of their newfound freedom, eating for the first time in days, and having their wounds seen to, they tell the tale of how giants came down from the mountains and took them in the rear. Undermanned for years, and with their captain off in the forests for days at a time doing the gods only knew what, they didn't have the resources to stand against the creatures. A few had fled, but were trapped by the ogre kin before they could raise the alarm.

Fortunately for their saviors, there was a secret way into Fort Rannick. A side passage through a cave that just might let them get in unseen to spring a surprise counterattack.

A cunning plan was drawn up in the dirt, allowing them to see just what they were up against. There were a dozen ogres all told, though perhaps more now. While some watched the front gate, they didn't stand guard as men would stand guard. Vicious and brutish, the giants weren't soldiers. But if they were all alerted to a threat, then they might descend as one to crush it.

Unfortunately, the band quickly realized that was not an exaggeration. Because while Thok's hunter's instincts allowed him to move silently through the treeline near Fort Rannick, followed by Bostwick and Zordlan, Zhakar was never much of a woodsman, and his soldier's profile stuck out among the trees. Spotted by the ogres at the gate, they roared, and leaped off the wall. Eager to fight a lone figure they'd caught trying to sneak away, they anticipated a swift victory.

They were in for a rude awakening.

The giants were still a dozen paces from Zhakar when Thok's first arrows flew, slamming into the ogres and driving them sideways. Confused and angered, one ran toward the woods where Zordlan was drawing an arrow for his bow, and the other ran at Zhakar, his club raised. Snatching his short sword, Zhakar ducked and dodged around the massive club, cutting at the brute's arms and legs, always managing to stay one step ahead of the trunk. It wasn't until their captain joined the fray that Mirelinda loosed her magic, though, rocking the ogres back on their heels. Pressing their advantage, the brutes were soon slain. Before any of their compatriots could come to investigate, the companions fled into the small cavern behind a waterfall.

Cut Off The Head, The Body Will Die

The caverns were dark and quiet, but also empty of most dangers. Zhakar knelt and clucked his tongue, scratching a mating pair of shocker lizards whose haphazard discharges rolled right off of his skin while the others snuck through to the other side of their territory. A revenant rattled its chains in a forgotten crypt, but it showed no interest in crossing the confines of the consecrated ground.

Other than that, cave was fine!

The secret entrance of the cavern led into the courtyard of For Rannick... a place strewn with bones, and dismembered bodies. Some of them were animals... the others didn't bear thinking about. While one hunchbacked ogre stirred a pot and fussed with a drying rack, Zordlan drew a wand from up his sleeve, and whispered a word as he touched each of his companions with it. They quietly slid up the inner wall, one by one, crawling up the stone like spiders as the ogre cook stirred his pot and crumbled strange spices into the brew.

Once they were on the upper walk, they carefully stepped into the top floor hall. The place where the captain of the Black Arrows had his quarters, and where the men kept a chapel for those who served in the mountains. The hall stank of blood, and of the thick, cloying odor of something still living there.

The captain's quarters were first, where a pair of ogres were half caught in the act of copulation. Though surprised, they fought hard, with one half of the couple letting loose her magic and the other slamming a huge ax around the small space. Thokk managed to slay the warrior, leaving his own share of blood on the floor, and it was Bostwick who distracted the spellcaster long enough for Zordlan to drive his steel up under her arm and into her heart.

The fight had been brief, but they had no way of knowing if the sound of ogres mating and fighting were different enough to raise the alarm. Zhakar laid his left hand on Thok's shoulder, knitting the flesh together, before they opened the chapel. Inside was a slaughterhouse, where bodies had been desecrated, and then used as the components in some twisted ceremony meant to glorify a profane goddess. Another ogre, bigger than the others and drenched in blood, turned to see who had disturbed him. He launched himself forward, howling as battle was joined.

Zhakar grabbed the descending spear head, wrenching it aside with his gauntleted hand. Green fire lit in his eye, the skin flaking away as it pulsed, revealing the gleaming steel beneath. His sword chimed as it cleared his sheathe, and bit deep when he sank it into the ogre. Surprised, and enraged, the creature fought on, blood pulsing from its side. Zordlan ducked a swing of the huge spear, angling to take their enemy in the rear, but the creature's thick hide turned the point of the elf's rapier. Mirelinda retreated from the creature, a long, willow wand flinging bolts of magic at the monster. Thok fell for its feint, and felt the whole weight of the spear slam through his side, driving him from the room. Just as the Numerian fell against the wall, Zhakar's blade slid between the ogre's ribs, and the mad flames roaring in the creature's eyes went out. It fell to the ground with a thud that nearly shook the walls.

What Lies Beneath

Though gravely wounded, Thok was on his feet after a slug of the sweet water potions the companions had brought all the way from Magnimar. Which was for the best, as Fort Rannick was far from reclaimed.

Gods and devils, how many of these bloody things ARE there?!

While the ground floor of Fort Rannick was not overrun with ogres, there were perhaps a dozen of them idling in the grand halls, and building nests in the unused rooms. In no mood to leave their new home, the giants fell one by one before the steel and spells of the companions. Rather than feeling as if they were drawing closer to victory, though, the entire fortress seemed to be holding its breath. As if there was something lurking... something that was merely waiting for them to find it.

That thing waited in the bowels below.

In the dungeons below Fort Rannick, a woman awaited them. Standing in an open cell bedecked with comforts, her red hair shone like a blaze, and her smile was radiant as the battle-wearied and blood-streaked Zhakar came down the steps, blade in hand. Thok stood behind him, his initial pleasure at the sight of the woman fading into suspicion, his grip on his spear tightening. Zordlan was more pleasant, but even as he spoke he did not sheathe his rapier.

If rumors were true, this woman should have drowned in the lake months ago beneath an overturned ferry. Why was she here now?

Her question, of course, was why the companions had traveled so far to see little old her. They'd been heroes in Magnimar, after all, why come to this little corner of nowhere? Unless, of course, they'd read her sister's letters and decided they wished to join her?

Oh son of a bitch, not another one!

The lamia matriarch revealed her true form, and asked if the companions would consider joining her and her masters. Such service was certainly preferable to death at her hands in this godsforsaken rock pile.

In response, Zhakar merely raised his empty left hand toward the creature. His hand glowed bright as day, and the light narrowed to a pinprick in his palm. For a moment the dust in the room stilled, and a beam bright enough to leave purple afterimages across his companions' eyes streaked across the dungeon cell, and slammed into the creature. It smashed through her resistance, and she screamed as her eyes were burned blind in her head. Clutching at her face, the matriarch slithered back, lashing out blindly before she bellowed a single word, and vanished with a crack of imploding air.

"The answer is no," Zhakar said, as he lowered his smoking left hand. He flexed the fingers, waiting until the last motes of light had winked out of existence before he turned to his friends. Zordlan stared, all but open mouthed. Mirelinda wasn't far behind. Thok grinned, proud of his friend for commanding the light that he knew had lived within him all along. "Let's go get the others. Tell them we got their fort back."

Though the fortress has been retaken, is the giant threat truly over? What other dangers lurk in the hamlet of Turtleback Ferry? Find out on the next installment of Table Talk!

For more of my work, check out my Vocal and Gamers archives, as well as the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio where I help out from time to time. Or, to check out books like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife, head over to My Amazon Author Page!

To stay on top of all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, as well as on Pinterest where I'm building all sorts of boards dedicated to my books, RPG supplements, and greatest hits. Lastly, to help support me and my work, consider Buying Me A Ko-Fi, or heading over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a regular, monthly patron! Even a little donation can have a big impact.

Rise of The Runelords Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower

After uncovering a cult of madmen, and finding their leader was a prominent judge in Magnimar, our heroes might be in hot water. If they can stop the cult's plans before they come to fruition, though, they may find themselves on the right side of the law when all is said and done. Can they do it in time?

If you're just now joining us, here's what's happened up till this point.

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

So what do our heroes do, surrounded by bodies and spattered with blood? They do the natural thing, of course... seek out the mayor.

A Moment of Your Time, Lord Mayor?

Leaving the scene locked behind them, our heroes made their way into the more opulent district of Magnimar's social "servants," including the offices of the Lord Mayor. With a few deft words from Zordlan and Zhakar, they quickly found themselves standing in front of the jovial, though perplexed, mayor. Curious as to what would prompt such a motley band to be standing in front of his desk, he lit his pipe and asked them the nature of their business.

Please, make yourselves comfortable in my humble offices.

In response, Zordlan produced a letter found among Judge Ironbriar's possessions. A letter specifically mentioning that the Lord Mayor was the next target of the cult's assassination plans, and that they have a means of tracking the head of the order and preventing their attempt on the mayor's life. All he needs to do is to provide Zordlan and his companions with a writ, and to give them the next day or so to handle this problem for him. No city funds need be accepted, no questions need be asked.

Though he blustered about protocol and procedure, such things seemed much less important when it was his own life on the line. Providing the writ, he left with the group, taking care to avoid windows as much as possible while informing his secretary he was going to call it an early day. Appointments should be moved to the following morning, pending the outcome of a matter of importance.

Into The Shadow, as The Pigeon Flies

With the mayor's endorsement, the party returned to the mill. The machinery was silenced, and no recently resurrected men leaped at them from the shadows. Above the room where Ironbriar's cooling corpse sat in a drying puddle of its own blood, there was a coop. Taking a bird, the party gently carried it down to the street. Then they mounted, and released it.

Fly, you glorious plot fowl!

The pigeon made its way to Underbridge, fluttering onto the top floor of the leaning tower that nearly pressed up into the underside of the Irespan. A rickety and uncertain structure, there was no telling what awaited them inside... or even if the building itself would withstand a battle in its upper stretches. Though there was a gate on the ground floor, that seemed too obvious. There was a window half a dozen stories up, but even from where they were they could tell it was barred.

Drawing a wand from his bandolier, Zordlan crouched and tapped Bostwick's feet with it. Zhakar drew the dull gray longsword from his hip, and handed it to his small-sized companion. Bostwick scrambled up the wall, with a knotted coil of rope at his hip. Though the bars on the window were firmly stuck, the adamantine blade sliced through them like spun sugar. Bostwick slipped through, secured the grappling hook, and tossed down the rope.

Keeping an eye on the roof, as well as on the street, his companions followed. The stairs sagged beneath Thok's weight, and they quickly staggered themselves out wider to reduce the stress on the wood. With a flight or more of space between them, and lightly armored as they were, they managed to begin the ascent with relative stealth.

When one of the bells fell from the tower, clearly aimed at two of the companions, that was when they knew the element of surprise had been lost.

The Lady of The Tower

Though the ascent was dangerous, all of them gained the top of the tower without injury. They found themselves face-to-face, so to speak, with more of the faceless assassins they'd squared off with back at the Foxglove town home. The creatures fell without so much as a cry, twitching as their ichor dripped through the floorboards.

Past these guards the heroes found the second coop of pigeons that had been sending messages... and they found the individual behind the assassination attempts. It was not exactly what they expected.

And who are you to enter my domain?

The creature that signed itself Xanesha on its letters was curled round a plinth, looking down on the mortals who had tracked her to her home. She did not ask who they were, or why they had come to her. Such things were beneath her concern. She merely lashed out with her magic, intending to slay those who thought themselves her equal.

Thok leaped aside, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sinuous movement of the matriarch, and the way her armor seemed to glide with her. Zhakar raised his right arm, shielding himself from the worse of her spell. As arrows flew, and Zordlan slipped another wand from his hip, it was Bostwick who leaped onto her perch. With a focused shout, he drive his fist into the creature's side just below her armpit. Her breath caught in her throat, and the wicked-looking spear tumbled from her grip. She fell, stunned, to the ground.

It was their chance. Zordlan rushed forward, snatching the spear from the ground and hurling it over the side of the tower, his hands stinging from even that brief contact with the weapon. Thok charged forward, his spear leaping into his hand as he drove it into the creature's flesh. Zhakar wasn't far behind, his short blade slicing into her side. Then, just as it seemed she might rise, Bostwick leaped from above, slamming into her, leaving her stunned once more.

Before she could rise again, the light in her eyes was doused by cold steel.

What Else Is There?

With the creature that called itself Xanesha slain, and the back of the Skinsaw cult broken, Magnimar seemed safe. The machinations were brought to an end, and the head seemed to have been cut off the serpent, so to speak. But is there more lying in wait for the heroes of Sandpoint? And when it comes, what form will it take?

Tune in for the next installment of Table Talk to find out!

For more of my work, check out Vocal, Gamers, and the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio! If you're looking for some books to add to your shelf, you could also stop in at My Amazon Author Page where you'll find reads like my sword and sorcery novel Crier's Knife.

To stay on top of all my latest updates, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. And if you'd like to help support me then Buy Me A Ko-Fi, or go to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today! Trust me, every little bit helps.

Rise of The Runelords Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain

After the death of Nualia, and the slaying of her lieutenants at Thistletop, the danger to Sandpoint seemed to be over. Or was it? Though there appeared to be nothing living in the fortress, once the heroes delivered their prisoners back to Balor Hemlock, they needed to give the crumbling ruins one, final going over to be sure there was nothing lurking there waiting to swoop down on the town again.

For the previous installments, make sure you catch up on:

- Chapter 1: Blood and Butterflies
- Chapter 2: Murder and Glass
- Chapter 3: The Sin Pit
- Chapter 4: Tussles in The Tangle
- Chapter 5: The Assault on Thistletop
- Chapter 6: Secrets Behind The Curtain
- Chapter 7: Murders At The Mill
- Chapter 8: Halflings and Ghouls
- Chapter 9: Fox in The Hen House
- Chapter 10: Something Rotten in Magnimar
- Chapter 11: The Crumbling Tower
- Chapter 12: Demonbane
- Chapter 13: Trouble at Turtleback Ferry
- Chapter 14: The Taking of Fort Rannick
- Chapter 15: Water Over The Dam
- Chapter 16: Mad Lovers, And Lost Captains
- Chapter 17: The March of The Giants
- Chapter 18: The Taking of Jorgenfist
- Chapter 19: The Secrets Beneath Sandpoint
- Chapter 20: At The Gates of The Runeforge
- Chapter 21: Storming The Halls of Evocation
- Chapter 22: The Bowels of Necromancy's Tomb

- Chapter 23: The End of Runeforge

- Chapter 24: Preparation For The Final Journey 

- Chapter 25: The Hunger in The Mountains 

- Chapter 26: The Gateway to Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 27: The Path of Temptation

- Chapter 28: The Three-Fold Challenge of Xin-Shalast

- Chapter 29: Crossing The Barrier of Greed

- Chapter 30: The Fall of Karzoug

And now, into the bowels of the ancient, crumbling fortress once more...

What Time Had Forgotten

Thistletop had been a ruin for far longer than it had been a fortress, but the fact that it was still standing was a testament to the craftsmanship put into it... or perhaps to something else. Though the goblins were gone, a presence still loomed over the fortress. A dark shadow, like the threat of rain, hung in the air. Invisible, but palpable all the same.

There's something down here with us... I don't know what, but something...

None of the goblins had returned to Thistletop to see what had befallen their leaders... or if they had, none had lingered to claim the fort. All that greeted the heroes upon their return was silence, and bloodstains. But something wasn't right. None of them could put their finger on precisely what it was, but all of them felt it.

It was when they delved deeper into the bowels of Thistletop that they came across a danger they had not seen previously. Though their lights were steady, shadows flickered along the walls. The air grew chill with the aura of undeath as the shades approached. Zordlan danced away from their grasping hands, trying in vain to riposte as his steel slid right through them. Thokk fired an arrow that would have killed any living man, but which passed straight through the dead. Mirelinda drew back, snatching a wand from her belt and pelting the things with unseen missiles. When the dead glanced toward her, Zhakar stepped forward, and plunged his left hand into one of their chests. A bright light emanated from within, and the shadow hissed as it dissolved away to nothing.

Unable to be frightened, the others continued their attack. Though one sapped Thokk's strength, it and its ally were swiftly destroyed. The threat passed, Zhakar made sure his friend was not at-risk of becoming a shadow himself. Waving off his friend's concern, Thokk insisted they continue. They found disused rooms, forgotten chests, and ruined murals, but little else.

Until Zordlan discovered a hidden room, accessed with a handful of gold pieces pressed through secret slots in a carving of stacks of coins.

A Vision From The Past

Behind the door was a chamber that reeked with the tang of ancient magic. In one room stood an illusory figure, his arms raised as he extolled an audience with a message that sounded to be of great import. The words he spoke were unintelligible, though, lost to time and malfunctioning enchantments alike. He seemed familiar, as well, though his dress was as strange as the language he spoke. If Zordlan was correct, this was a relic from the final days of ancient Thassilon.

And not the first they had come across in a ruined, underground cavern.

While Zordlan was fascinated by the leavings of the lost empire, Chikara was growing impatient. She'd returned for another dose of vengeance for her capture, and to get a share of whatever loot was being kept in the fort. In a third room she found what looked like a hundred ever-burning candles. Shrugging, she took the bag of holding she'd been carrying, and started plucking the candles out of their niches.

Until something attacked her, anyway.

With a shout of pain and surprise, Chikara turned to find a huge, grinning beast staring at her. Its eyes filled with madness, the thing roared, and brought the others running. They held up short, though, seeing a hulking barghest, its powers undimmed and its hunger unslaked for a thousand years or more.

If that thing got out, it would be worse than any plague the goblins could have wrought even if they'd had ten times their numbers.

Zhakar's eyes flashed, but this time a nimbus of light bled from them. He didn't speak, and his movements didn't seem like his own as he drew his blade and charged the monstrosity. Thokk, weakened though he was, came fast on his friend's heels. He had seen what happened when the spirits inhabited Zhakar, but he didn't know if this spirit would be strong enough to slay the beast. Zordlan drew his bow, and Mirelinda turned a shade of pale, even as she reached for the most potent spells she had.

The battle was brutal. The barghest slammed its head forward, missing Chikara by inches as she unslung her great ax and let out a howl of raw fury. She brought it down with all her might, but the thing's hide turned the worst of the damage. It couldn't escape Zhakar's blade, though, and the steel bit deep into its side. The barghest turned, slashing and biting at Zhakar. His blood ran, glowing like faerie fire where it spattered his armor. From the barghest's rear, Thokk drew a bastard sword they'd taken from a treasure hoard, and hacked at its flank. The creature began to blink, levitating, attempting to get out of their reach. Mirelinda drew close, sending jets of flame into its muzzle as Zordlan snatched the dagger taken from the imp and let fly.

The beast didn't go down without a fight. It sent Chikara sprawling to the ground, and had Thokk pressed back against the wall, bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds. Mirelinda panted, her magic all but exhausted. As Zhakar sank the final blow, and the creature howled back to whatever plane it had come from, he fell to his knees, his sword clattering away. His eyes cleared, and he frowned. It was Thokk's turn to put an arm around his friend's shoulders, and to haul him back to his feet.

"Did it happen again?" Zhakar asked in Thokk's native tongue.

"It did," Thokk said, and clapped his friend on the back. "Maybe next time, ask for more powerful spirit?"

Zhakar laughed, coughing as he regained his composure. They gathered Chikara, and made sure she could walk before returning the way they'd come. There were no more threats in Thistletop, they were sure of that. But there were still mysteries in those vaults... mysteries they would have to solve sooner, rather than later.

That's all for this installment of Table Talk. If you're enjoying this particular campaign, leave a comment and let me know! If you want to see more of my work, then head over to my Vocal author page, or click my Gamers archive to just see my tabletop stuff. Or you could stop by the YouTube channel Dungeon Keeper Radio, where I work with other gamers to make all kinds of gaming-related videos in an old-fashioned radio show format! To stay on top of all my releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. Lastly, if you want to support my work, then you can Buy Me A Ko-Fi as a one-time tip, or become a regular patron over on The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to help ensure I can keep making great content just for you! Either way, there's a boat load of free stuff in it for you.