Rise of the Runelords Session 24: Big Boss

The ground floor of Fort Rannick was empty of foes, but the ogres on this floor, fierce as they were, did not match the descriptions Jakandros had given for the ogre leadership.

“They must be upstairs,” he said when the party consulted him. Vale had put Kaven in one of the jail cells and was sitting on a table, sharpening one of his axes and scowling. Jakandros shot the big man a worried look. “It might be best if I stay here. For safety.”

Nevis tugged on Melissah's tunic. “I'm getting a fox, goat, and cabbage vibe here,” the gnome stage-whispered.

“What?” Jakandros asked, baffled.

“Huh?” was Nevis' eloquent response.

“Fortunately, we have a boat large enough for all three of them,” Melissah said, patting her satchel.

“What are you talking about? What boat?” They might be on solid ground, but Jakandros was definitely lost at sea.

Iozua gave the druid and bard comedy team a sour look. “Never mind them. We'll take care of things from here.”

“Oh. Good. Um, thank you.” the ranger captain said, glancing at Vale, who shrugged.

The top floor of the keep had a single hallway shaped like a backwards L, with three sets of doors opening off it. Foss trotted forward and kicked in the first door, revealing what had been, and in a sense still was, the fort's chapel to Erastil. The furniture had been thrown aside in a splintered mass and the walls were now mounted with dozens of trophy antlers, some taken from stags that must have stood as tall as a dire bear. Most of the antlers were draped with bits of rotten flesh, strips of skin, or coils of viscera. The marble altar was now heaped with the mangled remains of at least a half-dozen dead men and women. A crude image of what might be a three-eyed jackal was painted on the wall above the altar.

The massive ogre standing before the altar looked up. He was at least fourteen feet tall, almost the size of a true giant. “Guess m'brood din't take care o' you,” he grunted. “Reckon I gotta, now.”

“Lamashtu,” Jori whispered, shuddering. Iozua stepped into the doorway and threw a fireball while Shalelu fired over his shoulder. Explosion and arrows struck at almost the same moment. The beast grunted, but raised his hook to meet Foss' charge while Nevis sang mightily. Even the half-elf's axe blows made little impression on the massive ogre. It eyed Jori, who stepped up to assist Foss, and changed its direction mid-strike, slamming the cleric to the floor with one blow.

A flaming pillar struck the ogre as Melissah finished her spell, but it was still standing. Iozua flinched as the door further down the hall opened and two normal-sized ogres burst out, swinging at him. He stumbled back into Nevis with a shout of pain as a club struck his hip and another barely missed his head. The wizard made frantic arcane gestures and summoned a protective shield, while Shalelu fired more arrows at the flankers, trying to drive them back.

Jori struggled to regain her feet, and Foss stepped in front of her, ducking another feriocious swing and burying both axes in the ogre's gut. It wheezed and staggered, and Foss hacked away until it finally lay still. Jori scooted along the floor and channeled healing power, catching the party in a burst of warmth that eliminated most of their wounds.

Nevis briefly stopped singing and threw up her hands, shattering the air with a violent burst of sound that left the flanking ogres stunned. Shalelu's arrows and Iozua's burning ray finished them off, and it was quiet for a moment as Foss jumped into the hall, determined to get between his compatriots and any more attackers.

Then, the third door burst open and two more ogres appeared, one wearing a strange, serrated metal jaw on its face, the other making mystical signs with her hands. Foss engaged them without hesitating, but staggered when a hook gouged through his armor, nearly sending him to his knees. Melissah threw magical ice over his head and the metal jaw gaped open as the ogre shrieked.

Nevis scooted forward, touching Foss with magical healing that might enable him to survive another blow, but the female ogre finished her spell and strange visions clouded their sight. The gnome watched in horror as Foss hacked at his own leg with his axe, moving slowly and with dream-like intent.

Shalelu continued to fire, dropping the metal-jawed ogre with two arrows in his skull. Then she staggered as Melissah clubbed her from behind. The elven language performed admirably as a canvas for the archer's swearing.

“It's a confusion spell!” Iozua yelled, summoning a wall of elemental acid and forcing the ogre spellcaster back. “Got a dispel handy?!” he shouted at Nevis.

“I don't do that one!” the gnome squeaked, trying to stop Foss from further injuring himself.

“Hoo, boy . . .” Iozua muttered, rooting through his own spell components. Nevis ducked under Foss's arms and made a shushing gesture at the room, and all sound in that room ceased.

“Got it,” Iozua said, activating a ring on his hand. Foss and Melissah shook themselves as the confusion dissipated. Foss glanced at the acid wall, and Iozua gestured to dismiss it.

The ogre sorcerer screamed as Foss bore down on her, then fell, Shalelu's arrows feathering her face and throat. Silence fell again.

“WOOOOO!” Nevis shrieked, making everyone jump. She began jumping around excitedly. “DID YOU SEE THAT?! HOLY CRAP THOSE OGRES HAD SPELLS AND THAT ALMOST WENT SOOOO BAD AND NOW IT'S GREAT AND WE'RE AWESOME AND WE WON! WE LIVED! WE FREAKING LIVED! HOLY NINE HELLS WE COULD HAVE DIED!! WHAT A FUCKING RUSH!!!”

Iozua offered a tepid thumbs-up to the hyperactive gnome. “Are they all dead now?”

Melissah looked around. “All the ones in the keep, anyway. There were some more in the courtyard.”

Foss hacked off the heads of the ogre leaders and carried them up the tower, hurling them into the courtyard. Shalelu followed him, fingering her bow. The ogre below looked up, blinked, and started yelling. The outbuildings disgorged a few more ordinary grunt ogres, who looked cautiously at the heads, looked at Foss and Shalelu glaring down at them, and began edging toward the gate. They heaved it open and fled into the forest.

“FOSS!!” Nevis bellowed. “I'm totally going to tell stories of Foss the Axe-ecutioner!”

“Look at this,” Jori said. She was examining a smashed wine cabinet, which had revealed a hidden compartment. Pulling it open, she found a flat wooden coffer, a pair of soft green boots, and a tiny jewelry box. The coffer was crammed full of parchment. “They're . . . poems,” Jori said, opening one and reading a few lines. “To someone called Myriana.” She opened a locket, which held a curl of luxuriant hair.

“That must belong to Lamatar,” Jakandros said. He smiled sadly. “We decided to come check on you after all that noise. Everyone all right?” Vale nodded over his shoulder.

“More or less,” Shalelu said. “Who is Lamatar?”

“The commander. I didn't realize he was a poet.”

“He used to leave the fort for a couple of days every month, remember?” Vale said, turning a poem over in his hands. “He called them his 'communion' walks.”

Jakandros' face suddenly went white. “He was out on just such a walk when the attack came,” he whispered. “He might be alive.”

“Then we should see if we can locate him,” Melissah said.

“He mentions Whitewillow in this poetry. That's a part of the Shimmerglens said to be near one of the portals to the First World.”

Nevis perked up. “Ooh, I know what that is!”

“If he is alive, Lamatar should decide what to do with Kaven.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Melissah said.