Steam Room Defenders:
Gherota, Human Fighter, Level 1. First and foremost a front-line swordswoman, and quite skilled. Irritated by Fisk's violent, exploitative worldview.
Gurnlocke Fisk, Dwarf Warlock, Level 1. A bitter spell-slinger with powers touched by brimstone. An advocate for Machiavellian methods and strategies.
Mairrethid, Human Wizard, Level 1. Student of mechanical magic and military theory, a war mage. Both moderate rationalist and mediator.
Mez Gobbo, Goblin Rogue, Level 1. Lockpick and shadow-skulking cut-throat. Motivated by enlightened self-interest, a mercenary.
Schlobrock, Ork Cleric, Level 1. Nature-worshipping shaman and medicine woman, with a huge axe. Has trouble pronouncing the letters F, S, T and V.
First Ch 01: Poot's Angels
Previous Chapter 10
The steam room door burst open.
Mairrethid already had his staff aimed at the doorway, and unleashed a blast of kinetic force against the elf standing in front of it.
The blast of force packed into the elf, doubling him over with a half-dozen cracked ribs. The kinetic charge radiated out, smashing into all five of the elves standing around him. Among them, there were five carrying sickles attached to a length of weighted chain--among them both the one originally hit and another standing outside of the blast radius. Another had a longbow, and a third carried a long dagger and hung back a bit from the others.
Fisk followed up with his own attack, first breathing an empowered curse and then latching onto the elf in the doorway with his own ectoplasmic tendrils to form an energy-sucking conduit. The elf twitched like a marionette and then collapsed, dying. Fisk relished the surge in his own power as the elf passed into unconsciousness.
Mez was quick with a dagger from his off-hand, tossing it against the elf with the long dagger, easily recognizing the enemies’ leader. He hit, with a solid strike.
Seven elves where in the hall, and one of them was down. They arrayed against Fisk and his allies, who were pressed into the back two-thirds of a fifteen-foot square steam room. This created a five-foot space that the elves had to cross to close with their enemy, maneuvering in through a doorway. Schlobrock and Mez flanked Gherota with weapons ready, while Gherota stood ready to take the best the elves’ had to offer on her armor and her shield. Mairrethid and Fisk stood behind them, hurling magic between their allies’ imposing presence.
The elf archer was ready, and he returned fire, slipping an arrow in around Gherota’s shield.
The elf with the long dagger darted in to follow up with his own deft knifework.
Schlobrock and Gherota were waiting for him with ready attacks, however. Schlobrock’s spear caught him first, charged with radiant light that poured through the gaping wound and lit him up like a flare for Gherota’s follow-up. Gherota gently turned into the elf, presenting her back for just a moment less than it took for the elf to land a blow, twirling quickly and following through with her sword. The result ripped through the elf’s throat, inches away from a perfect decapitation.
The elf continued to move forward, nearly collapsing against Gherota’s shield and stabbing around it--almost on instinct--before rebounding back into the hallway, fumbling a healing potion out of his pocket and downing it in a single gulp. His throat mended itself, more or less.
Another elf stepped over his fallen comrade and laid into Gherota, lashing at him with the chain first, and then the sickle. The chain did a little damage, and managed to tangle Gherota’s feet, while she easily deflected the more conventional attack from the sickle.
Another of the chain and sickle elves moved into the room, but he had to squeeze past his ally. In doing so, he drew attacks from the entire front line. Schlobrock skewered him pretty well, while the other two missed. The elf relished his opportunity--still breathing if badly wounded--to bring weapons to bear against Gherota, follow the double-attack pattern. Both ends of her chain and sickle hit, overcoming Gherota’s resolve and dropping her to the floor, dying.
Another elf squeezed into the room, using the distraction of his ally to avoid drawing any attacks against himself. He swiped at Mez with his chain, but the goblin easily dodged. He came around with his sickle, however, and managed to knick him.
The last elf to act used the full length of his chain to attack Schlobrock, through the doorway and past his allies. The attacked narrowly missed.
Three elves, all wounded, now faced the steam room defenders holding sophisticated chain and sickle weapons. Three of their allies where close at hand in the hallway outside, with the long dagger-wielding leader in the door, another chain and sickle elf and his side, and an archer behind him.
In the steam room, the defenders formed two ranks. The front was anchored by Gherota, who was unconscious due to her wounds. However, she was flanked on either side by Schlobrock and Mez, and backed up by the healing skills and magicks of her allies. The second rank include two magi, Mairrethid and Fisk, who continued to rain death upon their enemies from a distance.
Mairrethid had another spell ready, and conjured a large ball of concentrated heat right on top of the elf long dagger. He used the ball to lunge at his enemy, but the elf managed to dodge. However, the ball continued to bath everyone around it in scorching heat--with potentially lethal consequences.
“My spell will wear them down, so just hurt them bad, and that heat will finish them off,” Mairrethid said.
Fisk had his own spells ready to cast, but was waiting for a clear shot at the long dagger. He held steady and waited for the front line to clear out his enemies and prepare a clean shot.
Gherota held on to life, and somewhere behind her conscious mind, she knew that Schlobrock’s magic would return her to the battlefield, and with that second chance she’d answer for her hurt.
Schlobrock obliged, passing her holy words over Gherota while she plunging her spear into the healthier looking of the two elves in from of her. She struck, passing her glowing, guiding holy magic into the elf along with a nasty stab. This elf happened to be the one in the middle, who hadn’t made herself vulnerable to attack because he was the first to close with Gherota. That meant Mez could attack her target, and because Schlobrock was more confident in Gherota’s sword play, she passed the advantage of her fighting magicks on to Mez.
Gherota soaked in the magical healing energy of Schlobrock’s words, her wounds closing almost instantaneously. She stood, defiantly raising a sword that had never left her hand. With one stab, she passed her sword into the elf standing in front of Mez. He grunted painfully but defiantly as Gherota’s steel ran afoul of several vital-yet-not-immediately-fatal organs. Then she ripped it out, spinning the sword over the head of the middle elf and catching the third off-guard. The blade to the head was enough to take this third elf off his feat and lay him low.
Meanwhile, Mez used the distraction and drew his short sword through the still-glowing middle-elf’s chest with a cunning, disarming lack of interest. The elf fell to the ground, dying.
Fisk took advantage of all enemies between him and the long dagger elf being dropped to the floor--just as he had expected--and dropped his spell, summoning a wave of flames out of the ether and engulfing his target in a raging conflagration. The elf was dead before he hit the floor, and then continued burning.
“We were going to leave some alive for questioning,” Mairrethid hissed at Fisk.
“This dwarf goes to eleven,” Fisk said, clearly pleased with himself.
Gherota was back on her feet, and the rest of the steam room defenders were unharmed, except for Mez who had suffered a scratch. They maintained their starting posture, while their enemies were crippled and scattered.
The elves’ leader, with the long dagger, was dead and on fire. Three of the five who brought chains and sickles were dying on the ground. The two others, plus the archer, were all badly bloodied after twelve seconds of combat, and Mairrethid’s hovering fireball was blasting them with lethal waves of heat.
The elf archer turned tail and ran.
The other elf in the hallway followed him.
The elf in the room didn’t realize he was being abandoned, and flailed at Gherota with his chain and sickle.
Mairrethid let his flaming sphere wink out. Schlobrock moved to cut off the elf’s escape route. Everyone readied an attack for the moment the elf made a move.
And Gherota said, “We’re gonna kill you, unless you give up.”
The elf dropped his weapons, exhausted, standing on his last legs.
“We’ve got him covered,” Mairrethid said, meaning himself and Fisk who both had spells ready to deploy. “Tie him up, Mez. And let’s see about stabilizing the rest of the wounded.
“But I want to make them sacrifices to my black god,” Fisk whined.
“You can do that if this one doesn’t cooperate,” Mairrethid chided.
Schlobrock and Gherota went around applying bandages to the three wounded elves that remained, leaving them for Mez to tie up as none of them were conscious.
“Can you do something about him?” Gherota asked Fisk, gesturing to the corpse of the elf leader, still on fire.
“He’z quide dead,” Schlobrock said. “I can’d raize him.”
“He looks pretty razed to me,” Fisk chuckled.
“So, why did you try to kill us in the steam room?” Mairrethid asked the elf.
“Paid,” the elf gulped, “it was nothing personal.”
“Good enough for me,” Mairrethid said, grinning. “As long as you tell me and anyone else who asks who paid you.”
“It was Polygon Saul,” the elf explained without hesitation, “and he lives in the big house next door. He’s crazy, absolutely insane. I mean, if he finds out I talked and then catches me, he’s as likely to give me a promotion as to personally carve out my liver and eat it.”
“Huh,” Gherota exclaimed, overhearing the conversation.
“Will he have guards in the house with him?” Mairrethid pressed.
“Be sure of it. And he’s a mage, besides, so if you’re going to take him out, be ready for him,” the elf continued.
“You’re a smart one, elf,” Mairrethid complimented. “Now we’re gonna knock you out and stash you away until the fighting is over.”
Mairrethid cracked the elf with his staff and the elf went out like a light.
“Alright, so this plan is going better than I thought it would,” Fisk conceded.
“The merchant was right, that the whole town would turn on us if we barged into Saul’s place without justification. He may be a scumbag, but so is everyone in Red Creek,” Gherota reiterated.
Mairrethid nodded. “And, we seem to have a nack for digging in to a defensive position and destroying whatever comes after us. The situation did present us with an advantage.”
“It is a common dwarf tactic,” Fisk agreed, “but I’ve never liked giving up initiative.”
“Me eidher,” Schlobrock commented, “bud zomedimez dhere iz wisdom in playing dhe zpider.”
