Howl Of The Carrion King

Awakening

Chapter 5

Time seems to slow as the cleric falls to the dusty stone floor of the chapel with a heavy thud. A few seconds pass. He's not moving. "Firon!"

I run over to him as fast as I can, jumping over tiny broken bodies and rotting pews, reaching the downed man in only moments. I put two fingers to his neck, fearing the worst. But there's only a warm pulse, and his eyes slowly open. He's alive, thank the gods.

"Aesur? What're you doing?! We need to finish off the rest of the-" His eyes drift upwards and notices the distinct abscence of the pugwampi's makeshift floor in the rafters. He turns his head towards me. "Did we defeat them all?"

I nod. His spells had saved the day, while I didn't help one bit. I can't help but feel a bit jealous of Firon, and then I notice how close I've crouched over him in my worry. I quickly stand up and back up a few steps, trying not to act too awkward. "Uh. Y-yeah, we did. But... um... what just happened to you? It looked like you'd..."

"I got a little tired from casting so many spells at once. And they weren't exactly the easiest ones to use anyways..." He sits up, rubbing his his temples, not seeming to notice anything amiss. It's almost as if he's passing the subject off as something less important than it truly is.

I'm confused. I always thought clerics drew upon their god's power, not their own. That wouldn't explain why Firon just collapsed into a heap after casting a few spells. "But... don't you get spells from Desna? Why would you be drained by using her energies?"

Firon only smirks. "Do you really think it's that easy for a cleric to cast his spells? If that were true, every common peasant would be slinging around magic like it was nothing. Divine magic comes from the gods, yes, but the vast power of the source is unimaginable, and it takes a lot of control alongside effort to keep that in check. The more skilled a cleric becomes, the more divine power he can allow to course through his body without killing himself."

So clerics are living conduits of a god's divine might? I look upon Firon with new respect, and I think to myself about how hard it must be to channel his god Desna's power. The black, sparkling mist that Firon commands ended up to be more taxing than it had first appeared.

"Well... thank you, Firon. If it weren't for you... I'd have..." It was true. Just me and my bow couldn't stand up to Firon's power. That much was apparant from the last battle. If I had been alone, the pugwampis would have gotten tired after awhile, climbed down from the rafters, and then attacked me en masse. I probably could have taken out a few, but I would have been overwhelmed in the end.

Firon's eyebrows raise in mock surprise. "Me? No Aesur, you too served a valuable role in the battle as well. A distraction. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to fire off those rocks at the little beasts." He obviously doesn't realize the demoralization of being the 'bait' in a fight.

Sighing, I nod in resignation. "Alright. I suppose. But, um, we have to keep moving, Almah wanted us to clear this place out. Of dangers I mean."

Firon began to laugh jokingly. "Oh, so we're the obediant little mercenary are we now? I'll have to report to Almah on your good behavior." His teasing doesn't help my mood, and I turn around and walk out of the chapel back into the hallway. Firon's is a good person, and talented in a fight, but it doesn't stop the fact that he sometimes can be annoying and inconsiderate as can be.

I say nothing as Firon follows me out of the stained glass room and into the nave. The pillars alone in their silent vigil are still there, and the large hole in the wall that leads outside as well. For a moment we both stand in silence, not sure of where to go next. And then I notice the narrow hallway to my left. It's placed diagonally in the wall so if one were facing towards the chapel room it couldn't be seen. But now that the two of us are pointed in the opposite direction, our way is laid out before us.

"Let's, uh, go through here... and be careful. There might be more." Firon nods and gestures towards his weapons. I don't need to tell him what there might be more of

Allowing the cleric to take the lead, I stay close behind, inching through the tight corridor. The walls must have been at most two feet wide, and I wonder in frustration what those old monks were thinking when they built this place. After a minute or two of uncomfortable shuffiling, Firon and I enter into a larger hallway. The floor is made of a cracked marble that must have once been marvelous to behold, but for the most part the passageway isn't as rundown as the rest of the monastery. Opposite the right wall, a series of open arches lead out into a open-air courtyard.

But on the wall, there is a huge bas-relief sculpture depicting five, larger than life humanoids riding the wind with triumph carved upon their faces. They seem to be in the middle of a battle against several creatures of evil demeanor. Some of the creatures even seem to be composed at least partly of fire, while others are much more difficult to define. In the background of the imprinted picture, Pale Mountain looms large, and over it two titanic figures lock in a deadly wrestler's embrace. Once has the demonic visage of a noble efreeti, and the other a gorgeous woman who could only be a djinni princess.

The tales of djinnis are old and considered myth, though not long ago the stories' popularity rose unexpectedly, and many began to believe in the tales once again. I can't recall any specifics about the myths, as I never really payed attention to them. Some other slaves held onto them like a lifeline, but I never was interested. Now though, I wish I had listened to the stories told in careful whispers during the night between servants. Maybe then I could discern something from this elaborate carving.

"By Desna's stars... what is that thing? It looks like some kind of foul demon, or at least something of the sort." Firon was pointing at the efreeti, the figure struggling against the female djinni.

"You don't know? Well, it's an efreet. A fire spirit. They're common knowledge around Katapesh. Mischievous, power-hungry creatures that think only to consume and become stronger. The other is a djinni, an air spirit. Djinni are more kind than the efreeti, and often interact kindly with other races, even living together peacefully in some cases." I surprise myself with the flowing words that are coming out of my mouth. I always did like legends and such, but I never thought that I would be able to speak clearly when talking about them.

"Mm, I see. Well they're definitely disagreeing over something... I wonder what it is?" Firon's face is scrunched up in contemplation, but my train of thought is interrupted by a rustling behind us. Turning around, I find myself facing a wall of twisted branches and dead vines. It's almost impossible to see more than a foot or so into the bunch of dead plants. Apparently. the courtyard apparently isn't as open-air as I had first thought. "Firon! There's something coming!"

"What is it?" The cleric walks up behind me, and we both move behind a wall with only our heads cautiously poking out into the courtyard. Branches shake and crash together, and dry leaves fall from the entangling vines wrapped around the thin wooden appendages. Then the branches still. A moment passes. Firon lets out a relieved sigh behind me right before three pugwampis come crashing out of the brush, one significantly fatter than the others. It has some kind of makeshift wooden circlet on its fur covered scalp, and wields a tiny hammer instead of a longbow like the other pair behind it. The hammer, though small, glows with a red light, harsh and sinister looking.

"More pugwampis! Dammit!" Firon's outspoken words cause the trio to notice our prescence. Not good. The fat one points his hammer at us and speaks in a halting common, "You! Why you in King Mokknokk's palace? Leave, now!" The squeaky voice aside, I am surprised that the creature can talk intelligently. It didn't seem like the other pugwampis could talk. The pair at 'King Mokknok's side stay silent, reinforcing my suspicions. Most likely this one is the chieftan of some sort ruling over the pugwampis living in the monastery.

Firon takes a bold step forward, clearing his throat and reaching down to grasp the multi-flails at his sides. "What if we don't want to? King Mokknokk and his followers must leave this place immediately, on orders of the Pactmasters of Katapesh." I take his meaning and draw my bow, my arm ready to reach back and grab an arrow at a second's notice. I doubt the pugwampis will give up so easily. Another fight on the same day... though I shouldn't be surprised, Almah did warn us that this mission would be dangerous.

The pudgy gremlin violently tosses his head back and forth in refusal. "What does King Mokknokk care about your 'Pactmasters'? Yark! Grek! Get them!" At their leader's command, the pugwampis close their eyes and a wave of uneasiness sweeps over me. The odd look on Firon's face tells me he feels it too. It's just like back in the catci patch... when every little thing was taking a turn for the worse. It must be the gremlins' unique aura Dashki had told us about.

King Mokknokk closes his eyes as well, and the feeling grows denser still. Then the little monster snaps his eyes open and dashes towards Firon, swinging his hammer in a vicious arc. Luckily Firon has the sense to jump out of the way, and the pugwampi misses him completely. Adrenaline beginning to seep into my veins, I metally note that the chieftan is must faster than the others. Much faster.

But I don't have time to contemplate my next move much longer, as the two pugwampis behind Mokknokk turn to face me. It seems that they think their leader can handle Firon. The thought burning in my mind, I draw an arrow and quickly release it at the fat pugwampi. The arrow flies true... but at the last second it veers off course and crashes into the wall, clattering to the floor. King Mokknokk laughs in glee, an high-pitched, unnerving cackle that seems to reverberate in the air. For a second I can't believe my eyes, but then I remember the pugwampis' reality altering ability. This fight is going to be tougher than it first looked.

The the pair of pugwampis, likely the king's bodyguards, fire their arrows at myself next, the tiny projectiles flying wide of my figure without me having to move an inch. They curse and growl, baring their canine snouts in feral snarls. It looks like I angered them, but still I glance over to Firon on the other side of the hallway, sparring with King Mokknokk. Dodging blow after blow from the tiny chieftan, Firon holds a flail in each hand while carefully anticipating each move. Even though he is a cleric, I'm a bit surprised at his combat prowess. With a yell, Firon sweeps one of his tri-fails down on King Mokknokk's head, shattering the crown and knocking the monster to the ground. It gets back up, seeming no worse for the wear, but my eyes pick out the tirckles of blood running down the gremlin's scalp. Firon seems to be holding his own, but a squeal of anger yanks my attention back to the pugwampis in front of me.

Not to be bested by Firon, I reach back and draw an arrow, nocking it to my weapon. The pugwampis shoot at me with their tiny bows again, but the shots fly wide as I dodge and let go of the arrow in one fluid motion. One of the pugwampis yelps in pain and careens into the overgrown courtyard, the momentum of my arrow buried in its chest carrying it into the tangle of dead plants. I sigh in relief, as it looks like the aura doesn't work constantly. I still have a chance to win this fight.

Of course, not a second passes before the remaining gremlin takes advantage of my triumphant opening and attacks me with alarming accuracy. The pugwampi's arrows lodges into my thigh, eliciting a pained groan from my lips. This one hurt much more than the arrow from before in the chapel. Wincing, I attempt to aim at the little beast with my weapon, but it leaps and tumbles through the air, gigling and clapping. How it could be having fun at the moment is beyond me. Again, I crouch down to get a better shot and release my arrow at the gremlin. Perhaps this time it will strike true.

And it does. The steel-tipped wooden shaft makes its way into the pugwampi's skull, knocking it back a few feet and up against the mural-covered wall, its face forever frozen mid-laugh. Only then do I notice the arrow protruding from my stomach. Panting, I sit back onto the stone floor, staring in disbelief at my wound. The pain from my thigh travels to my brain too, and I begin to feel a bit woozy.

It takes all my control not to fall over, and through my unfocused vision I see Firon exchanging heated blows with the pugwampis' king. Hammer versus flail, the sound of metal against metal bounces throughout the corridor, bounces through my head. And then the cleric takes a mighty horizontal swipe that the gremlin tries to block with his hammer, whose attempt fails horribly. Wrapping around the metal shaft, the chains of the tri-flail rotate around the scarlet hued hammer, carrying their dangerous load into King Mokknokk's head. The gremlin king speaks a few unrecognizable words, and then drops to the floor. His hammer falls to the ground as well with a clatter, and the red glow dissapates with a hiss.

Both of us don't speak for a time, myself preoccupied with dealing with the pain of the arrows embedded in my flesh. I've never been wounded like this before. There is an actual arrow sticking out of my stomach! My breath quickens, and then Firon's face is in front of mine, his eyes filled with worry. "Hey, Aesur. Aesur? I'm going to take these arrows out, alright?" I dimly feel myself nod through the ever increasing fog.

Gentle hands guide me into a laying position, and I try and force myself not to panic. A sharp pain rips through my leg, and I yell out in agony. I hear a string of words I can't quite make out, and then another burst of pain explodes from my stomach. Suddenly I feel like I'm falling. Falling through the white mist enveloping me, the white mist inside me, inside my mind, and I can't help but scream in terror.

And then the mist around me changes from icy cold to a warm, soothing heat. Its blank shade turns darker until it stops at a midnight black. Tiny winks of light appear all around me, and my mind recognizes safety. I'm safe. The fog clears, and Firon is bending over me, holding his holy symbol. The silver butterfly is covered in a black fog, but it drifts off into the clear air around it before long. "Aesur?! Damn it, you scared me there for a second! You're lucky I was here to heal you, or else you might have ended up like those little bastards over there..." Senses now recovered, I notice no pain coming from where the pugwampis shot me. But there was somethign else that unsettled me. The conviction in Firon's words was unnerving, and suddenly I feel a warm jolt crackle through my newly healed stomach. I don't like where this is going.

Scrambling to my feet, I push Firon away from me and stand up. I notce my bow and quiver to the side, so I pick them up and strap them to my leather armor. Firon's voice sounds wary. "Aesur. Are you okay?"

Nodding quickly, I look up at the cleric. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I, uh, just've never been that hurt before. You know, from the arrows, and, um, all..." What was that I felt? That warm feeling in my torso... it doesn't matter. It's just Firon's healing magic working on my insides. It's not like I... Firon? No, not at all. Besides, he is a man. It's impossible for two men to have feelings for each other. It's just not natural.

The cleric looks skeptical. "Okay, if you say so. Do you want to take a rest?" His eyes are worried, and my stomach falls into the clutches of that warm sensation once agian.

"No... we just better keep going."

Firon. No, not at all.