The Bridge Burners confront the blood mage, Snarlock Fell, who has been hunting them, turning the tables in an epic ambush and battle in an abandoned warehouse. After a vicious struggle against Fell and his accomplices, the mage reveals he is merely a pawn in service of a darker force. This force reveals itself almost immediately to be a dread necromancer, who the party have encountered before in various guises, and who has been manipulating their journey in pursuit of his own agenda. The Bridge Burners, hopelessly outmatched, retreat, except for Atlender Stormwind who rushes the necromancer single handed and pays the ultimate price...
Battle in the warehouse
An extract from the humble tome’s of the epic “Through Darkness Until the Light; The Fall of an Empire” by Saramonus the Pure ; lover, bard, free spirt, official chronicler & part time accountant. Volume 2, Chapter 11.
"They're here!" I gasped breathlessly stumbling into the gloom of the abandoned warehouse and pushing the battered wooden door shut behind me. A voice just behind my ear -
Torbera , the fierce artificer dwarf - hissed "
then get out of the way young one!" A magical message of course. I knew the plan for the ambush the Bridge Burners had prepared; Torbera,
Ildreth , the taciturn elf ranger, and
Dustinby , the unpredictable but gifted gnome mage, were hidden along the gantry that ran around the edge of the wide warehouse floor, perched some 10 feet up on solid oak struts, forming a perfect vantage point. I dashed past the tall figure of
Atlender Stormwind standing motionless in the centre of the room, not bothering to hide himself from view, as I remembered just in time to dodge the vicious were-bear traps we'd hidden under innocent-looking piles of sackcloth.
Barely had I scrambled into my chosen hiding spot deep within a stack of empty crates, when the door I had entered through was slammed open and my pursuers rushed into the warehouse. In front; a pair of huge dogs, more like wolves to my eyes, with an equally vicious looking pair of men behind them. But behind them came a trio that almost made me yelp aloud with fear, for I recognised them in an instant;
Snarlock Fell. Raising his arm to the sky and summoning an eagle familiar, whilst behind him was the famous duellist and rogue,
Lardo the Wind, tipping back his wide brimmed hat to murmur an instruction in the bird's ear before launching it into the vaulted space. The slim, alluring figure dressed in blood red silks was the Tiefling assassin I had heard named
Tsachia - a merciless killer with a cruel sense of humour. The amulet around my neck began to hum and I clutched it, hoping it's noise and orange glow didn't give me away as the Blood Mage, the fiend who had hounded us all the way from Phlan, laid a wizened hand topped with sharpened nails on the Tiefling's shoulder, casting some dark spell on her.
Slowly, carefully, the mercenaries picked their way across the broken, uneven, floor of the warehouse, suspicious now that they’d been led into a trap. I held my breath, scare able to breathe. Suddenly the dogs stopped, raising their heads and pricking their ears as they spotted Atlendor calmly waiting, his sword balanced across his broad shoulders. Then he grinned, his teeth flashing in the half-light and the dogs leapt towards him, jaws slavering.
“Duck!” yelled Largo as from the gantry came a flash and hum as bullet and arrow flew down on the front runners then a moment later the screams of men as the iron jaws of our traps slammed shut on their legs. The first dog disappeared as it ran directly into the pit we’d concealed, pitiful yelps suggesting it was mortally broken by the long fall to the hard earth below. The final beast growled and leapt aiming to knock Atlendor down and rip his throat but the ex-soldier almost casually swung his blade around from his shoulder and caught the dog in midair, knocking it aside and leaving a huge gash across the creature’s flank. It’s legs scrabbled against the boards for a few moments then lay still.
I glanced at the Blood Mage to see if he was perturbed by the easy slaughter of his minions but Fell was already weaving a spell, chanting under his breath and stretching out towards one of the trapped men. The Drow, Lardo, was already past them, dashing towards Atlendor, whipping his rapier back and forth, eager for a fight. Then Torbera’s mechanical hound leapt from the shadows, blocking the Drow with snapping teeth and metal claws. Almost quicker than I could follow, the Tiefling bounded from barrels up and onto the gallery, disappearing from my view but almost directly on top of where I knew my friend Dustinby was hiding. He would need all his courage and skill to fight off the assassin I thought.
“Duck?” someone yelled again but this time more in surprise than warning. My head snapped back round as the final member of our band, the mighty berserker
Thorgrim , still wearing his cursed duck hat, burst through the entrance behind Fell and launched a huge axe swing at his Blood Reaver bodyguard. In a second, the mage finished his spell and the mercenary he’d targeted screamed again, but this time with unquenchable rage, as blood magic infused him. Disregarding the torn shreds of his leg, the unfortunate man wrenched free and began a frenzied attack on Thorgrim, leaving the dwarf fighting two foes at once.
“Heeeellllllpppp meeee” echoed around the warehouse and I craned my neck in my hiding space trying to see how Dustinby fared. I had to blink and look again - Tsachia was underneath the gantry, but feet attached to the wooden boards as if she was a red-cloaked bat, laughing and stabbing upwards through the wood with daggers in each hand. Atlendor was running towards her, whirling his sword back and round, the soul-seeking curse within the blade lashing out like black whip. At the last moment the assassin seemed to sense the danger and danced away onto the wall itself, winking at the soldier glowering at her below. Suddenly a blossom of flame erupted across the gantry where Tsachia and been hanging. I smiled to myself - the gnome was conjuring magic of his own.
Another crash across the other side of the room and I saw Torbera lying prone on the floor with dozens of barrels and crates scattered around her. She must’ve seen Fell standing alone and attempted to jump from the gantry onto him but fatally misjudged the distance and now the Blood Mage was advancing on the stricken dwarf, drawing more evil power to him as he prepared to finish her off.
Time seemed to freeze as I looked from one skirmish to other and saw the Bridge Burners, my dearest friends and mentors, hard pressed. Then the back door - our escape route - was crashed aside and more mercenaries stormed in, followed by the biggest human I’d ever seen. He was 7 feet of lean scared muscle and he twitched and flicked his head constantly. In the seconds it took for me to take in his fiendish appearance the brute had seized one of his companions and hurled him onto the gantry above - right onto Ildrith.
The elf braced then sprang up flipped through the air, onto the floor, stringing and losing an arrow straight into the throat of the huge reaver with deadly precision. The cheer I almost uttered died on my lips as instead of collapsing from the injury, the man reached up snapped the arrow off at the shaft leaving the head buried in his flesh. His skin began to bulge as his head and shoulders bloated and stretched, twisting his form into a huge sets of jaws, filled with rows and rows of teeth. The were-shark gibbered and gnashed it’s maw bearing down on Ildrith.
In disgust I turned away and saw across the warehouse, Thorgrim borne to the floor by the blood-raged mercenary, pinning them dwarf with his own axe haft. The Reaver loomed above the struggling pair and rammed his sword down, again and again, stabbing his own ally as he tried to get at the dwarf below. In response Thorgrim roared a berserker bellow and heaved the dead and bloody man off him and brought his axe up from the floor in a vicious uppercut, cutting the Reaver from groin to deep within his stomach. Kicking the half-severed corpse from his axe, the dwarf charged towards Snarlock Fell as he stood over Torbera. Purple lightning darted from the mage’s taloned hands, sparking and crackling against the translucent bubble of energy the artificer had conjured up to protect herself.
At the sounds of his bodyguards death throes, Fell turned and saw the dwarf berserker, soaked in blood, advancing on him and he stepped back towards the centre of the warehouse where his forces still fought. As the dwarves made to follow the mage, a cloud of impenetrable darkness poured up from the floor, obscuring them all from my view.
Atlendor had rushed into the fray once more, already one mercenary lay dead at his feet and his cursed sword left slashed in the hide of the were-shark, filled with black ice, preventing the creature from healing. The beast launched itself at Atlendor, catching his shoulder with its teeth, tearing hunks of flesh almost to the bone.
The assassin reappeared, landing just in front of where I crouched, right behind Ildrith. Before the ranger could react, Tsachia flicked a long woven cord behind his legs, pulling the elf off his feet, even as the Tiefling snatched the bow from his hand as he flailed out. Ildrith staggered upright, seething, as the assassin cartwheeled away to safety taking his precious longbow with him. The pair jumped back up onto the gantry, elf versus Tiefling, and out of my sight.
Back in the middle ground, a triumphant yell signalled that Lardo had finally found a weak point in the metal dog that had kept him out of the fight. As the automaton crumbled to the floor, the Drow swept his feathered hat from his head and bowed to his opponent, a curiously pointless gesture I thought.
Fell emerged from the black murk he had conjured rushing to Lardo’s side trying to put some distance between himself and the dwarves who pursued him. From the impenetrable fog a fire bolt streaked straight at the Drow who casually dodged rolling his shoulder with a cocky half smile. The ball of flame shot past him and hit the bright red barrel that we’d positioned near the pit as a final trap. The oil inside ignited instantly throwing a sheet of burning pitch and wood shards in all directions, taking the Blood mage and the Drow with it.
A moment later a crashing wave poured from the gantry and deposited a drenched but triumphant gnome on the floor as the water elemental he’d summoned flowed into a column like a typhoon and enveloped the were-shark in a swirling current, spinning the beast round and round.
The Blood Mage and his cohorts were defeated and Fell clearly knew it. He crawled to his knees beating out small fires from his smouldering robes as Thorgrim burst from the magic smog and raised his axe up, ready to hack the warlock in two.
“Mercy! Mercy I beg you!” screamed Fell “
it’s not me you need to fear, worse is coming!”
Thorgrim paused in mid-swing, the eyes of the duck on his head fixed fiercely on the mage kneeling in front of him.
The Bridge Burners gathered, Ildrith collecting his longbow that the Tiefling assassin had abandoned before vaulting through a broken window. “
What’s that now?” snarled the dwarf berserker, double handed axe still raised, dripping blood onto the floor behind him.
“Too late, he’s here” shrieked Fell, pointing at the huge double doors to the warehouse, doors we’d barred and reinforced to construct the ambush. The doors exploded inwards like match sticks and stepping calmly through the debris...
An Old Face returns
“Brother Keefe” laughed Dustinby, “
gods are we glad to see you!”
The hooded and cowled figure continued to pace towards the group as the Blood Mage and his accomplices sidled towards the back of the warehouse and escape into the night.
“Where is it fools?” came a rasp from beneath the hood.
“Did you really think you could escape? Every step you’ve taken has been at our direction”
“Er, Brother Keefe?” said Dustinby, uncertain now. I crawled from my hiding place to stand at behind Ildrith who pretended he didn’t see me, a hilarious game he was always playing with me.
“The painting. Now” spat Brother Keefe. “
We will not ask again”. “
See,” said Attlendor, wiping down his soul sword on the cloak of a dismembered guard.
“We ain’t got it here so...”
“Death you have chosen.” Before he could move any further, Ildreth let loose a flaming arrow and exploding the last remaining oil barrel. Yet as the smoke cleared, it revealed the grim remains of Brother Keefe a horrifying, gaunt skeletal face with blazing red coals in place of eyes. I’m not ashamed to admit I screamed at the sight for this was the face of pure evil, darkness incarnate, a necromancer!
With screeches of souls in torment the bloody corpses of the recently slain mercenaries lurched to their feet all around us and a huge monster of earth and bone rose up from the pit in the centre of the floor, fully 15 feet of evil.
“
Charge!” and “
Retreat!” cried Atlendor and Dustinby simultaneously as the others hesitated, frozen in horror and confusion. Sword aimed squarely at the former-Brother Keefe, the warrior charged, yelling defiance. The necromancer laughed, the most terrifying sound yet, like a thousand knives scratching against bone, and with a flick of his hand a wave of evil energy buffeted Atlendor hurling him back.
Dustinby had seen enough, he turned and made for the door, but even as he spun on his heel, a wall of bones rose from the floor, blocking the door, trapping us inside. Screeching in fear and rage, the gnome thrust his fingers out stretched and tongues of flame shot out engulfing the wall of the warehouse.
I looked back to find Atlendor as Torbera, Ildrith, Thorgrim and myself backed away from the shambling horde. The warrior pushed himself up using his sword as a crutch, snarling in the face of the necromancer looming over him. The fiend waved his hand again and tentacles of purple energy darted and stabbed into Atlendor, forcing him back to his knees.
Torbera and Ildrith grabbed Thorgrim as the dwarf started forward; already the zombies and the bone monstrosity were between us and our stricken friend.
Again Atlendor rose up and this time managed to swing his sword, seemingly far out of reach of the necromancer. The soul sword lashed out, catching the dark wizard a glancing blow across the shoulder. The fiend cried out, a cruel mocking sound, then redoubled his assault, the glowing tendrils curled around the warrior, pinning his arms, lifting him into the air. Wherever the tentacles touched, they burned, armour, hair, flesh. Atlendor roared once more, a final scream of defiance, before his head gave an audible snap back and his body went limp.
“Enough of this” yelled Torbera, charging headfirst through the burning wall of the warehouse, smashing apart the boards, the rest of us tumbling after her into the cold, dark night and away from the body of our friend and warrior.
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