The Box (Part XI)

Posted on November 5, 2013 by R. Richardsson

Oramiir walked through the eye of the storm, his robes rippling gently with each carefully placed step. He walked in large strides, with his right hand horizontally clenched before him. From afar, it might appear as if he were looking down the back of his forearm, lining up his path over his knuckles, but what one wouldn’t notice from any distance greater than five feet were the small crimson lines that ran out of either side of his fist.

Small drops of blood fell from his hand, but never reached the stone ground below. The sorcerer’s eyes glared over the back of his knuckles, deep in concentration as he focused on the magical dweomer from a ring on his middle finger. As each crimson drop fell from his hand, he called forth the powerful magic to send the sticky substance far ahead of him, where its scent would drive the creatures into a maddened fervor, snarling with an insatiable lust for the blood that now seemed to be all around them.

The flow began to thicken and he sighed as the ring’s power finally exhausted. For a few moments longer, he watched with a bemused expression as he hand shook wildly, before slowly lowering it to his side. The dark arts of the blood magic were taking its toll on his body much sooner than he expected. Even as he pondered this, the hourglass dipped before him, falling ever so slightly from where it had been hovering.

With a predatory grin, he watched a the last few sands fell from into the bottom of the container. Quickly, he lifted his hand once more, opening it to catch the enchanted item as its magic also exhausted, causing it to fall to the ground. Thankfully, his reflexes didn’t betray him and he caught it with ease.

In the same instant that the item’s power was no more, there came a low rumble of thunder as every item’s sound rushed back to their source. The sounds moved so quickly that for a split second he felt as if it were that fateful moment before the heavens opened and the flood-rains came.

Though he knew he was alone, he was still momentarily startled when he found himself surrounded by the sounds of frenzied battle. Elladuer’s battle cries dominated the sounds of the Destrachan, which were horrifying enough on their own, but he thought he could also hear the weak cries of the hobbit as well.

His lips curled even higher, lifting his cheeks and turning his features into a visage so terrible that to look upon it would send any lesser creatures fleeing at its sight. As the battle began to wane, decidedly in the favor of the Destrachan, he threw his head back and cackled insanely.

From its hidden perch nearby, a large bat opened its eyes and watched distrustfully as the man passed beneath it. It’s first instinct was to attack the creature that dared disturb its slumber, but the evil which radiated from him sent it fluttering down the tunnels in the opposite direction to seek a safer place to rest.

The Box (Part X)

Posted on October 14, 2013 by R. Richardsson

“…get a grip, rider…”

The elfin words rebounded off of the walls around him, forced backwards by the spell he had previously placed on his companion. The words trembled with fear, something that he had not known was possible in his companion, and were spoken by the lips of one who was no longer sure of himself.

It had been only a few moments since the gaping maw had been inches from his face. He could still smell the foul odor it had breathed onto him, coating his senses with its rotten promise of death.

He walked in long strides, the only sound from him being the soft whisper of his robes as they rustled with each step, following the path that the smaller creature had taken. The creatures were visibly agitated, but he had already expected that they would be.

“…gods…”

A sinister smile slowly placed the evil on his expression when he heard the single word prayer spit out by the elf.

It wouldn’t be long before the creatures swarmed in on the one he had scented as the intruder in their tunnels. The ruse had been easy enough. They had expected him to place wards against the dragon’s fire, but they knew very little about the nature of his magic. He had drawn the knife across his palm in the beginning of the ritual and spread his blood on the back of the elf’s armor.

Later, during the ‘show’ of silencing each of their loudest parts, he had enchanted the blood sigil with a scent that would drive any nearby predators mad with rage. It had worked sooner than he had expected, but then, he hadn’t thought of the Destrachan being the first creatures to come within range of the scent.

From what he knew of the creatures, they were more suited to the deeper regions of the underdark, where sounds were a precious commodity and smells got you killed. It was curious that they had wandered this close to the surface. More curious still that they hunted this close to a dragon’s lair.

“…give me strength…”

The desperation in the voice of the elf amused him. He had seemed so strong, so capable. And yet, the panic in his words betrayed him. It was the sound of one who had just realized how utterly alone he truly was. The words were of one who knew that he had little chance of winning.

He reached into a small pouch hanging from his right hip and produced the hourglass he had shown his companions earlier. What he had told them was that it revealed the remaining time on the Ward vs. Dragon Fire spell he had cast. What it showed him was the time remaining on the silence spells, for which was its only purpose.

As before, when he opened his hands, it drifted a couple of feet away where it would float until he willed it to return. There were very few grains of sand left in the upper portion of the device and his grin grew to demonic proportions. Had either of the two seen his expression just then, they might have had more than a second thought about the sorcerer.

He left the enchanted timer to float where it was, it would continue maintain its position even when he was moving. He didn’t often do this, for it drained the enchantment much faster when it was out, but he wanted to watch the last grain of sand fall to the small pile on the bottom. There was a grim satisfaction in knowing that he would soon be the only one who would know the secret of The Box.

The Box (Part VII)

Posted on August 15, 2013 by R. Richardsson

The sounds were subtle at first, and if he hadn’t been actively searching for any signs of danger, he might have missed them altogether. A series of soft clicks echoed through the tunnels. They were innocent enough at first, and just as he was about to decide that they belonged to an insectile denizen of the underdark, a soft whistle answered.

For the first time since leaving his hearth home, his hands began to shake. His heart pounded so loudly in his chest that he worried the sound would give him away. There wasn’t time to think of such things. Slowly, he removed a small cylindrical object from one of his many hidden pockets and pressed it against the wall. Seconds later, he left the chalk message behind with utter confidence that his companions would easily discern its meaning; Danger!

He hoped that it was enough. It had to be. These creatures were difficult enough to battle when solitary, but he knew that this wouldn’t be the case. There were at least two of the Destrachan stalking him and the gods alone knew how many more were out there!

Having moved very little since replacing the chalk, he lowered his hand onto the pommel of his dagger. The feeling was warm and comforting, for it had been a faithful tool during his travels, but he also knew that it wouldn’t be enough. There was no way that he could take down two of them by himself!

The Destrachan are a legendary race of predators, mostly unknown to those above ground. They’re able to move deceptively quick on their powerful hind legs, at the bottom of which their tri-clawed feet which they can also use for attack. A powerful tail maintains their balance, in their hunched over posture, and is itself a deadly weapon in combat as well. Generations of living below ground have removed the necessity of having eyes, and a large circular mouth dominates the front of their head, inside of which is lined with several rows of razor-sharp teeth. Though they have two power arms to attack with, they are most commonly known to lead into battle with a kinetic attack from the mouth. A weaker version of the Banshee’s wail, this attack not only causes significant damage to their victims, but has been known to outright kill those more susceptible to the sonic attack.

Joeshan drew his dagger from its sheath and despaired that he couldn’t find a way to find the unfair advantage. There would be no sneaking around them, for, unlike most beasts, these were extremely intelligent. While it was true that they hunted for food, they also enjoyed toying with their prey before killing it. He’d even heard rumors that they could understand the common speech of man and delighted in the fear they caused in their victims.

More than their intelligence, their true advantage was with their extraordinary hearing. Their tripartite ears allow for it to adjust to the many different sensitivities of sound, which, in turn, allow them to ‘see’ better than most creatures who rely solely on their eyes.

As he was reflecting on the physiology of his enemy, he failed to notice that the tunnels had fallen silent. His stomach grumbled, but this time it wasn’t from the hunger. He felt sick. They were now upon him, and…

..an inhuman shriek shattered the silence, rending it beneath several waves of power. He didn’t see the attack that slammed into his chest, lifting him into the air and launching him several feet backwards. He couldn’t hear his screams as the Destrachan slowly crept to where he now lay. If he had, it would have sounded something like a woman’s scream, mixed with a pig’s squeal.

The blubbery lips of the monster rippled from the passage of its attack, but more unsettling than the sound from its mouth was the steady clickety-clack of its claws as it drew ever closer.

Stunned by its attack, Joeshan watched helplessly as it approached.