Chapter 18 - Part 11

“What’s going on up there?” Orphan asked, hearing the screams and the clanking.

“Something is killing the kyton,” Sentry told him softly. “And whatever it is, it is not having any difficultly doing so. I feel its magic from down here.” He turned his translucent head to stare at the demonic rod that lay amidst the bones behind him. “Orphan, the fiends must not get that rod.”

“I understand,” Orphan said. The kyton gave a final, agonized scream, and then there were more orders given by a new voice. Spells were cast as demonlings fell in line. “What are they doing?”

“I cannot tell,” Sentry said. “I cannot hear the spells clearly.” The ghost of the coutal paused. “And now I can hear nothing.” He chanted, casting his own spell, as Orphan moved back to stand by the rod within the corpse. Magically-created daylight flooded the end of the tunnel and the entrance to the cave. Sentry did not need it, but he knew that Orphan did.

Orphan tensed, watching, waiting. He heard nothing.

Too much nothing, the warforged suddenly realized. Like when the naga had used a silencing spell back in the Eldeen Reaches. “Sentry!” he yelled in warning. The ghost did not hear him, as the silence field was already overlapping the unsuspecting coutal.

Orphan began to dart forward, but he was far too late. A great veil of illusion dropped, and suddenly a dozen dretches with crossbows became visible as they fired at Sentry. The bolts tore into the ghost, making the coutal open his mouth in a silent scream.

Orphan charged while the ghost writhed, trying to summon his magic through the pain of the crossbow bolts. All of the dretches reloaded their crossbows except for one who took a small Eberron dragonshard and smashed it against a wall, ending the silence spell.

Sentry flicked a translucent tail through one dretch, causing that one to shrivel and wither, but the other fired again, and most of them hit. The dretch who crushed the dragonshard yelled back up the tunnel as sound came back, and more dretches came charging down towards Sentry, some with longspears, and some with crossbow bolts. The ones with crossbows were already firing. Most hit the wall of the tunnel. Others hit the dretches milling around in front of Sentry. Enough made it to the coutal’s form, tearing him up, making his translucent form break apart.

The ghost’s screams were ringing in Orphan’s ears as he rolled into the mess of dretches, punching all around him. Some tried to shoot at him point blank, or slash at him with their claws, but most focused on Sentry. Orphan killed dretches in seconds, but Sentry fell nonetheless. The ghost screamed one more time, then dissipated into nothing.

The dretches now attacked Orphan, trying to overwhelm him. The warforged fought back ferociously, but there were dozens of them left, and they were more afraid of what waited at the top of the tunnel than they were of him. They came, they shot crossbows, they lashed out with claw and spear, and they died. Orphan took wounds, at first minor ones, then larger ones, but he did not waver. Fist, foot, and flying shiruken drove the dretches back even as they surrounded him.

A particularly bad blow came from a longspear to the side, and he tumbled backwards, realizing that he needed to get his back to a wall. A dretch standing there held a loaded crossbow to Orphan’s face, but the warforged slapped it out of the demonling’s hands. Orphan flicked a shiruken with a minor fire charm at another crossbow, setting the weapon ablaze

A command in a terrible language came from atop the tunnel, and the dretches all fell back, surrounding the warforged in a wide semi-circle. There were still about forty dretches left, and many had bruises from Orphan’s punches. But they were not Orphan’s concern now.

A tall figure in a dark robe with silvery tracings at the hem was walking confidently down the tunnel. It was humanoid in shape, but it had the head of a tiger, and wore a gold monocle on a mithril chain on one eye. The figure was chanting, and he cast a black light that erupted from his hand and wrapped around Orphan’s form, seeking to paralyze him.

Except that was impossible. Warforged did not have joints and a nervous system as living creatures did, and they could not be paralyzed by chemical or magical means. Orphan charged at the creature, seeking to tackle it so that it could not cast spells.

The warforged crashed against an unseen barrier surrounded the tiger-headed thing that gazed at him impassively. With a flick of its orange-and-black striped hand – a hand that seemed to be attached backwards – it cast another spell, and the ground opened up underneath Orphan’s feet.

The warforged flipped backwards before he fell in, scrambling away from the tiger-headed thing. “What are you?” the warforged asked, backing towards the dretches. One demonling charged at the warforged from behind, and Orphan kicked it in the face without turning around, knocking it unconscious.

“The oldest race does not explain itself to the newest,” the tiger-thing said calmly. Another wave of its hand made the daylight spell disappear, and Orphan was rendered blind as the tunnel was plunged into darkness.

The tiger-thing gave another command in its terrible language, and the dretches charged again. Orphan managed to kick a few, but in the darkness he missed too many. A claw scratched him. A longspear stabbed him. A crossbow was smashed onto his head.

The warforged fell, and something horrible gouged at him. His mind shut down, and he stopped feeling pain.