Chapter 34: Bedeviled (part 2)
Cyran Tavorick was over eighty years old, pushing ninety. He was wrinkled, his limbs emaciated with age. His eyes had grown dull, though he was still as enamored of young beautiful women as ever. Now, however, Lord Tavorick stood without a hunch, holding the blade in a swordsman's pose and a smile on his face.
The soldiers of the Watch were shocked. Initially, they tried to hold the old man back, but he charged past them before they were able to do so. Then the soldiers tried to reach him and protect the man. But soon the press of flapping creatures were upon them, and before they knew it, Lord Tavorick was slicing the creatures apart, and defending the soldiers from attacks they had not anticipated.
The old man moved with both grace and power, his blade weaving back and forth to intercept attacks from the clawed talons of the imps. One succubus moved to attack the man, presenting her body boldly forward temptingly while at the same time she looked for an opening to rip into his flesh with her clawed hands. Her face was beautifully feminine, but her eyes shone with demonic cruelty. Tavorick slashed the creature in the face and then across her waist without a hint of hesitation, even as the monster tried to entice him with its deceptive promises of pleasure.
"Sorry, bitch," he said without even a trace of remorse, "you're not my type."
The guards were surprised to find that only the dwarf and the paladin were more effective against the hordes of devils and demons. This hardly seemed the same decrepit old man they had been guarding just the day before.
Then there was a sudden cracking sound and the doorway to the foyer gave way. A massive form shouldered its way through the opening. It was a hezrou demon, all muscles, claws and teeth. An incredible acrid stench issued from its body, a grayish green cloud of decay and malevolence that had the Watch guards choking and retching. Even Captain Ballard and the experienced adventurers were nauseated by the creature's presence.
The beast took a moment to speak, identifying itself to its prey in the hopes of instilling fear and despair in their souls before it would devour them. As stout as Flynn, Guff, Wetherly, and Deorwin were, they creature's sinister words had their intended effect. These men had never faced something like this.
Cyran Tavorick, however, showed no fear at all. He took a step towards the demon with a confident look on his wrinkled face. "I've been waiting for you to show up. Now, where's this master of yours who took you from your devil hunting? I have business with him."
The demon Qaggoth-Yeg, sniffed the air, finding the scent of his prey intriguing. "You have a wondrous scent, little lordling. Beneath the age and rot of your weak flesh, I smell the scent of lives ended and dreams shattered. The master was good to give a treat such as you to me while he claims the item he seeks from the one who has taken it."
At the creature's words, Tavorick froze in his tracks. "I see," the man said. Then his face began to melt away and his body began to grow taller and firmer, his chest began to stick out. The man was not Lord Cyran Tavorick. It was not even a man.
Tamil Farlong stood where "Lord Tavorick" had been, casting off Tavorick's robe to reveal the shining suit of mithral armor she wore beneath it. "I guess there's no more point in disguise then. Oh, and by the way, I can smell you too, and you STINK!"
The following battle was fierce and brutal. As soon as the watch soldiers wiped the sheer surprise off their faces, they set to with their bows. Casavir, Khelgar, and Tamil all charged the huge lead demon, while Neeshka swung around towards the rear to find a spot to strike. It wasn't easy, though, as the hezrou was joined by a pair of succubi, a pair of erinyes, and a half dozen imps.
"Focus on the smaller ones first!" Daniel called out.
"What?" Jack protested.
"Just trust me," the archaeologist assured him. "Let Tamil and those guys keep the big one at bay. Once we drop the smaller ones, Sam and I will finish the big one off."
It was easier said than done, though. SG-1 focused on firing at the black-winged female devils and demons with short bursts from their P90s, Teal'c using his staff weapon instead of an Earth firearm. The imps proved more troublesome, their erratic flight making using the use of small arms fire all but useless. Jack and Teal'c switched to melee combat, Jack using twin short swords and Teal'c using his staff to physically strike the creatures.
Tamil, Khelgar, and Casavir had an even more difficult time with Qaggoth-Yeg. He was a powerful beast. The worst part was that his cloud of stench weakened them both physically and mentally. Khelgar found himself caught by the creature and nearly bitten in half. Only by crawling away from the monstrosity to have Teal'c use his healing magic on him did the dwarf manage to survive. Were it not for the harmony of Tamil and Grobnar's singing, shielding them from the worst of harm with a skin of iron, healing them and lending them courage, it was not likely they could have held.
Daniel Jackson had been carefully watching the battle, cloaked in a magical armor of shadow that shielded him from physical harm as well as a range of necromantic magics. Where the enemy numbers were concentrated he would blast them with a cone of conjured acid, which he found to be effective against imps and mephits, but had almost no effect on the succubus that had got caught in the blast. When one of the watch guardsman got into difficulty, getting outnumbered by flying enemies, Daniel coordinated a blitz of magic missiles with Sam to quickly even the odds.
Now, though, was the time to strike. There were still a few imps and one of the erinyes remaining, but they were separated from the huge demon controlling them. Daniel signaled Sam and the two began casting their spells simultaneously. When they finished, there was a flurry of magical discharges. Ten whitish-blue streaks of magic blasted from Carter's outstretched fingers, only to be outdone by more than a dozen much larger streaks of magical energy from Daniel's direction. The combined barrage of missiles slammed directly into the demon's chest.
The creature, already heavily wounded from combined attacks from the archers, swords, and hammer that had already struck it, let out a gurgling groan. Then it slumped over backwards, its chest blackened and grievously burned. An otherworldly, slow burning flame licked up from the ground to consume the body.
Jack looked at where the creature had been, then back at the pair of wizards and gave out a low whistle. "Good work," he said simply. "Okay, now when's dinner? If we get back to the Flagon early enough we can still have movie night."
Tamil Farlong nodded towards Dr. Jackson and Dr. Carter. "Yes, very nicely done, very impressive," but then the bard shook her head, her silky jet black hair tossing from side to side. "But I'm afraid movie night will have to wait. We need to get to the Moonstone Mask. Right now."
.
The warlock surveyed the destruction of the ground floor of the Moonstone Mask. A number of tables were blackened with flame and a couple of the escorts employed by the establishment lay on the ground, bleeding profusely from wounds that were certainly fatal. He had never liked the place. It was, and always had been, a den of iniquity. Not that his soul was unstained, far from it, but the sort of vice that went on behind these closed doors and was not the kind that he could respect. The dalliances that went on in this "private club" were pure indulgence and weakness.
The patrons of this place had deserved what they had gotten simply by being here, as had the employees. The matron of the place, Ophala if memory served the bald headed man correctly, was unscrupulous and in no way the "lady" she pretended herself to be. Of course, he would still need to reprimand his servants for their disobedience in acting without his explicit command. But no matter. The lives of these fools were of no consequence.
The warlock sensed that the object he sought lay upstairs. He sent his mind through his link to his Haven, and to the devil he had tied to that place. What he had in mind would be ironic. Erinyes and Succubi in a place like this.
'Blooden. Hezebel.'
Their names connected him to their minds and their will. These two were no simple demons or devils. They were paragons of their kind, with power over hundreds of weaker members of their species. Where the typical erinyes or succubus could summon one of their own kind once a day, these two could summon several, and several times a day. At the time these most deadly of seductresses had bound themselves to his circles in return for the offerings, sacrifices, and bargains he had made, they had not realized how deeply they would be tied to him. And now these creatures of evil were his to command, all the powers they controlled were his to direct.
Now the warlock directed that power against the fools on the floor above him. Neverwinter was a city of fools. And if fools died for their foolishness, he had long ago gone beyond caring about that. Any who stood to oppose him deserved to die.
The warlock reached the top of the stairs to see bloody carnage as the patrons and "entertainers" ran screaming around, chased by fire mephits and near-nude demonic women laughing wickedly, their clawed hands dripping red liquid that could only be one thing. The warlock walked through the chaos as if it didn't exist. He was focused on only one thing. The shard.
It was behind the door. Those Neverwinter buffoons had been passing it between themselves for experiments. Fortunately, the sum total of their arcane prowess would not even amount to the skill of an average true mage. It was doubtful anything they might have done could have ruined it. Still, one by one they had paid the price for meddling in what they should not have. Especially Dalren. The warlock had enjoyed taking the life of that one. There was only one left who still lived. This time, the shard of the silver sword would be his.
The door opened at his touch. He gestured and the two nearby succubi feasting on a fallen man rose up to answer his command. They wiped the blood from their mouths, scowling wrathfully at him for interrupting their feeding. But his face remained impassive and in the end they had no choice to bey, entering the room he had indicated. He followed behind and closed the door after himself.
The room the warlock entered was a large sitting chamber rather than one of the Moonstone Mask's more popular private rooms. Long tables lined the sides of the room, refreshments set up on them for the guests to enjoy. A roaring fireplace flanked by ornate suits of armor added to the comfortable atmosphere of the place. In front of the fireplace stood a young woman with dark hair, shielding a doddering old man who stood cowering behind her.
The gesture of the woman attempting to shield her customer was amusing to the warlock. The others had all fled, and some of the braver patrons had foolishly attempted to impress the "entertainers" by defending them. Those were the ones who screamed the loudest as they were ripped apart, of course. Yet here was a young woman who seemed willing to sacrifice her life to protect her client. The elderly man she was protecting was Lord Cyran Tavorick, one of those fool lords who thought to meddle in the affairs of things they should not.
Rather than simply bid his servants rip the girl to shreds and be done with it, the warlock decided to show a bit of mercy. "Hand over the shard, and the woman can go free," the warlock said to the man with his rough, deep voice. If he were a sentimental man, he would have noted that these were the first words he had uttered aloud in this city for many, many years. But he was not sentimental, and the milestone went unmarked.
Rather than Lord Tavorick responding, however, it was the woman who spoke. "You are mistaken, King of Shadows, if you think I will just give you the item you seek." she said with a hard glint to her eye. Then she threw off the cloak concealing her true identity to reveal the blue and white uniform emblazoned with the arcane eye of Neverwinter. She gestured towards the piece of metal strapped there to her belt. "I'm the one who possesses the silver shard you seek. And your business is not with this man," she said pulling out a long sword. "It's with me."
The woman was a member of Neverwinter's elite guards, not a courtesan afterall.
"So be it."
The woman was good with her sword. She was able to strike the two succubi and avoid their clawed grasp for the most part. Despite the fact that her sword was not holy, it did possess a rather powerful enchantment and did harm his servants when it struck. Had the warlock allowed the battle to continue without interfering, the lady warrior would have almost certainly defeated the pair of demons.
But that was not to be. The warlock raised his hands, gathered the force of his will, and blasted out a stream of pure magic that struck the woman in her waist. A cry of pain erupted from her lips, but she gritted her teeth and fought on. With her next thrust, she managed to disembowel the succubus on her right, causing the creature to shift back to its home in the Abyss after it collapsed behind her. The warlock blasted the woman again, the purplish black energy of his eldritch blast causing her to sink to her knees this time.
Now the outcome of the battle was assured. The warlock would not need to use any of his other resources here. She was too much weakened now to be a serious threat. But still, she managed to surprise him with her determination. The woman slashed the succubus from her knees, even as its claws raked her shoulder. Then she rose back up to her feet, slicing the head from the creature.
The warlock let loose a final blast of his power, and the woman crumpled lifelessly to the floor. He looked at her dead body for a moment contemplatively, then looked to the aged man still standing behind him. Tavorick was now quaking back against the wall. The man could wait at least long enough for him to retrieve the shard from the woman's corpse before he killed him, he decided. He walked over to the woman's body and took the shard of metal from its place on her belt.
That was when he heard the shouting and commotion from the doorway behind him, and then the door opened up once again. A woman who looked remarkably similar to the one he had just slain, only younger and even more beautiful, burst into the room with sword drawn and shield raised. Behind her charged in a barrel-chested dwarf hefting a bloodied ask, a knight in full plate armor carrying a hammer and… a group of humans wearing some odd set of matching uniform that did not resemble anything he remembered of Neverwinter's soldiers.
"Ah, reinforcements," the warlock said. Looking at the group, he seemed to remember them from somewhere. He thought he recognized the woman, and not just from her resemblance to the Neverwinter Nine member he had just dispatched. The knight was also familiar looking, and he was sure he had seen those uniformed humans before, their outfits were distinctive.
"I am afraid you have arrived too late to save this one. And if it's the shard you are after, I have that as well." Thinking back, it seemed to him he remembered that these were the same interlopers who had appeared at the githyanki caves when he had unsuccessfully sought the shard of the silver sword that group of gith had possessed.
Meddlers. Foolish meddlers. The warlock was tired of people getting in his way. "It seems to me that all you have left is your lives. But that is easily corrected," the warlock said grimly.
'Koraboros,' he thought, sending his mind back to his Haven, to another of the creatures of the lower planes he had chained to his service.
Two massive Nessian War Hounds appeared flanking the warlock. He would feed their corpses to the hells. That would teach them to meddle in his affairs.
.
The group left Tavorick's mansion at a sprint. They had hastily explained to the Captain Black Ballard that Lord Tavorick had left the mansion the day their group arrived. According to what they knew, he had taken the shard out of the estate under the effect of an invisibility spell and taken it to a guest house known as the Moonstone Mask where nobody would think to look for it. Meanwhile, Tamil Farlong had used a number of polymorph scrolls to turn herself into the likeness of the aging man to serve as a decoy to draw the attackers out.
The plan had worked, at least in that they were attacked, but the assault on the Tavorick estate had only been a diversion designed to draw the city's defenses away from the shard's location. Somehow, the mastermind behind the murders had known that the shard was no longer in the mansion. If Tamil was right, the Blacklake killer would attack the location of the silver shard soon, expecting that the attack on the Tavorick estate would have drawn away any Watchman or other defenders.
The gates opened for the group and they continued their run through the Merchant Quarter. Grobnar and Khelgar had difficulty keeping up the pace, but they were determined not to be left behind. The entire group was panting when they finally arrived at the scene. The door to the establishment was open, and there was a bit of smoke pouring out of the building.
The group entered the Moonstone Mask to see the aftermath of what must have been a slaughter. A woman's corpse lay by the front door, burnt by some kind of magical force. To the sides, the once lavishly decorated entertainment parlor was now filled with scorch marks and the dead and dying.
The proprietress called out to them immediately, a mixture of relief and alarm on her face. She explained that the attacker had just gone up the stairs, and that there had been screams and sounds of fighting. Nobody gone up after them, and nobody had made it down the steps. It was indeed a massacre, perhaps still ongoing.
Tamil Farlong wasted no time getting up the stairs, her sword drawn. Unfortunately, there was nobody up there left alive. At least, nothing not infernal in nature. There were still several mephits flying around and a quartet of erinyes and succubi, but no living people.
Tamil and Khelgar led the way, slashing and ripping the creatures apart. By the time SG-1 managed to get all the way up the stairs, most of the creatures were already down. Even before the last of the group were dispatched, Tamil opened the one closed door on the level and burst in just in time to see a bald man with glowing tattoos on his head take something from the body of a woman on the ground, a body they recognized.
"Ah, reinforcements," the man said when he saw them. He spoke with utter disdain for all the life he had just taken, and for their lives as well. "I am afraid you have arrived too late to save this one. And if it's the shard you are after, I have that as well." He paused then, as if considering them. "It seems to me that all you have left is your lives. But that is easily corrected."
Then he raised his arms up in the air and suddenly, there were two dog-like creatures the size of a train engine in the room with them. The summoned Nessian War Hounds had deep red eyes, massive claws and teeth, and breath that smelled of brimstone and sulfur. That was, before they started breathing fire and their breath became flame.
The warlock knew in his mind that he should stay around and make sure his summoned creatures finished these opponents, but truthfully, he didn't really care that much. They were just a nuisance to be disposed of, not really anything important. In truth it didn't matter to him very much one way or the other if this group or even the old man ended up dying or living through this. What was important was that now that he had this shard, he had the means to divine the location of the others. And with that, he would soon have all the power he would need. He teleported back to his Haven.
Jack O'Neill watched as the tattooed-headed evil guy disappeared in a flash of light, leaving behind the oversized monster dogs. He hated villains like that. Big on the doom speeches, but fleeing and leaving it all to flunkies who almost always flunked out when it came time to fight.
Jack pulled out his P90 and started peppering the devilish canine on his left. Teal'c blasted the other one with his staff weapon. Daniel and Sam immediately began casting missile storm spells. A mass of magical missiles blasted the creatures. Combined with the firing of the staff weapon and the auto-fire from the Fabrique Nationale made Belgian P90's, the two creatures were severely wounded almost immediately. It was Khelgar and Casavir, however, who landed the killing blows a short time later, chopping and impaling the creatures' throats.
There was a moment of quiet in the aftermath of the battle while everyone looked over the disturbing scene of blood and carnage. The devilish dogs had breathed out gouts of flame, causing great damage to this room as well. The beautiful tapestries that had hung in the place were ruined with smoke, and the carpeting was matted with the blood of the creatures that remained after their bodies disintegrated back to where they came from, oddly leaving behind the remnants of some gold coins, most likely from previous victims they had consumed.
Lord Cyran Tavorick timidly approached the body of the slain woman. Melia of the Nine. There were sincere tears in his eyes, and a sense of self-reproach. She had died for him.
"Uh, Teal'c," Jack looked over at his friend. "I hate to ask this of you buddy, but do you think you could do something about… you know… the dead girl?"
Teal'c bowed his head slightly as he said, "I will try, O'Neill." As he had done for Shandra and Dr. Carter, the favored of Tyr laid his hands on the girl and invoked the power given to him by his deity.
Melia gasped, and then sat up. She immediately looked around and found the kindly gaze of Teal'c staring at her. She saw the symbol of Tyr on his forehead and immediately knew what had happened.
"Lord Tavorick?" she asked.
"Your concern for him is admirable, Melia of Neverwinter," Teal'c replied, "but Lord Tavorick is unharmed."
"We got here in time protect him, but we were too late to save you or prevent the warlock from taking the shard."
Melia hung her head in shame. "I have failed," she said bitterly. But then she looked up at her rescuers with tears of gratitude in her eyes. "But I can't thank you enough. You did save me, and the patriarch of one of Neverwinter's most influential lords." She tried to stand, but found it difficult, wincing at the pain from where the blasts of eldritch energy had struck her.
Teal'c gently restrained the still gravely injured woman, then poured enough of his healing magic into her that she could move comfortably again. "My apologies. I am afraid I can not heal you any further. There are many others here who have grave injuries to whom I should tend."
"No, don't apologize. Thank you so much. Teal'c, I believe is your name, correct?"
Melia got to her feet and turned to the rest of the group. "I am well enough now, thank you. Please, stay and tend to the wounded here. I must go and make a report to Lord Nasher about all that has happened." Melia took in the faces of each of those in the group, trying to match what she knew of the companions of Neverwinter's newest and most famous squire, as well as what she had heard of the emissaries of the distant land that were her allies to those she saw before her. "Squire Farlong, Khelgar of the Ironfist clan of dwarves, esteemed emissaries of the United States of America," she said nodding to SG-1 taking care to get their home country correct, "Sir Casavir," she said, adding in his former title, "the famous Neeshka, and…" she paused with a frown as she took in the gnome, "Grubnor?"
"Grobnar," Daniel corrected immediately.
"Yes, my apologies," she apologized sincerely, "Grobnar Gnomehands. I should have remembered the name of one of the most talked about bards in Neverwinter."
The gnome beamed. "Oh, I don't mind. Not at all! That's a far sight better than some of the things people have mistaken my name for. There's been Girl-nar, and Goodgriefnar, and…"
Melia coughed, "Yes, well, be that as you may, you have all made a friend this day. I hope to see you all again at Court and under better circumstances." With that, she bowed, and made her way out of the Moonstone Mask.
It would be some time before the group of heroes left. They set to work healing the injured with both medical kits and magic. In addition to the favored of Try, both Tamil and Grobnar exhibited some magical healing ability, though the pair exhausted their magical healing strength well before Teal'c did. The former Jaffa attempted to bring a few others back to life, those who did not have missing limbs or vital organs, and managed to revive a couple very grateful people.
"Well, that's the end of that," Tamil said over an hour later when the last of the wounded were bandaged up and sent home or out to the temple of Try. With a sigh, she wiped the sweat from her forehead and slumped over to lean on a very surprised Jack O'Neill.
"So, now what?" Neeshka asked impatiently, ready to be doing something other than hanging around doing pro bona nursing work.
"Now," Tamil said, jumping back up from where she had just leaned on Colonel O'Neill, "we go back to the Flagon for movie night! We've got to see what happens in The Empire Strikes Back!"