The StormWatch Chronicles
As seen through the eyes of Drano Battlehammer
Part 9
Update: 28/04/1998 to drano
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October 7th, 596
My eyes flickered open. . . .
I took a moment to gather my wits and view my surroundings. I'd thought I'd
never see the twinkling stars
above, the pale moon smiling down upon the dew-laden grass, or the familiar
faces of friends earned and
cherished. Yet, there they were, once again. The furry, white face of the Sarr-woman,
Cynesra, cat-eyes
sparkling in the moonlit forest, smiled at me and she said, "Well it's
about time you joined the rest of us.
Trouble's coming."
I snapped instantly awake and looked cautiously about. Not far away were the
forms of my clansman Borax
and friend Delahr, silhouetted against the nighttime canopy of the surrounding
woodland. Off to the right, I
just barely made out the skulking shape of the Elven ranger, Gabriel Wolvestride,
stealthily scouting out
the forest path ahead. Just then, I heard them - Footsteps of our enemies; those
who would bring harm to
the Master.
Gabriel hunkered down in the brush, like a feral animal stalking its prey.
Delahr turned, came over to
Cynesra and I, and said through pus-covered lips, "Drano, are you ready?"
A few teeth fell out at the
hissing words, but before I'd even thought about it, Borax shambled his tall,
lanky form over to us and
waved a cheery hello with his one arm. The rotten flesh shook comically with
the gesture, but the glow in
his eyes, though green, was serious in its intent. I answered Delahr with a
stiff nod, and with bony fingers,
gripped the haft of my weapon. No one would get to the Master. Cynesra, lifted
her hands in preparation of
a spell, and the light of the moon almost shone through the taut skin between
her fingers as they moved in
the spidery language of magic.
Three figures in glinting armor, and brandishing weapons, came around the bend
in the path - two warriors
and a rogue, by the looks of it. One wore leather armor that seemed made from
dragon hide. A crest on his
shield reminded me of someone - it was a silver rose. The other wore a vest
of studded mail emblazoned
with a unicorn head and hammer. He bore a glowing hammer and planted his feet
firmly when he saw us.
The third was a shadowy figure dressed in red and black leathers with an odd-looking
hat. It was then that I
heard Delahr hail them.
"Why do you draw your swords on us, teammates?" the hissing voice said. "Don't you trust us?"
"What's going on here?" asked the one in studded mail.
"Why nothing, Bishop," answered Cynesra in a sticky-sweet, lilting
voice. "Koryon, come here, and drop
your sword. I want to talk to you . . . neeewww!!!"
With that, the two warriors brandished their steel and rushed forward. Borax,
caught by surprise, as usual,
couldn't even wield his pole-arm. Instead, his one hand went into a flurry of
spellfire, chaos spells crackled
in the night like a strange lightning, damaging the one called Koryon before
he went down to a flurry of
blows by the two walking juggernauts. He did not bleed however, and fell with
a sickening, squishy thud to
the forest path.
The rogue attempted to move off into the shadows, presumably to get the drop
on us, but when he arrived
there, he was met by the wolf. Gabriel leapt from his cover, fangs gleaming,
and knocked the rogue --
"Tempus!" the warriors screamed -- to the ground. That was all I had
time to see before a rage welled
within me and Delahr and I ran to meet blades with the fighting-men.
Delahr's eyes shone with an unearthly light, and his toothless smile told of
his joy in the battle. Koryon and
he exchanged blow after blow, each nicking the other, but neither gaining the
advantage. As often as
Koryon's blade bit into the rotted flesh of Delahr's body, Cynesra's spells
healed the withered form. It
looked to be a long fight.
Bishop and I squared off, testing each other's defenses. Long ago, he'd trained
me in the use of the hammer.
Only now, did I have cause to truly appreciate what this man had taught me.
We finally came together, the
two hammers rang against shields in a cacophony of sound. Like a blacksmith's
song of the forge, or a
dented bell choir, we rang blows upon each other repeatedly. The incessant banging
came so hard, so
quickly, it almost seemed as one long sounding of a bell. I'd never seen Bishop
fight better. But his
teaching was his failing, in the end, because he taught me to stand my ground
when pressed. We danced
around each other, hammers singing, until I saw weariness begin to show on his
face. For some reason, I
didn't feel tired. While I saw his blows slowing, showing fatigue, he found
mine to continue at a frenzied
pace. His blows were mightier than mine, but I felt so refreshed -- they seemed
to have little effect on me.
Perhaps ten minutes later, our shields were practically scrap metal. The dented
shapes were beginning to
twist like warped wood. I saw the light of my eyes reflected in his, and he
saw his doom in mine. He spoke
then, between gasps of air, "Koryon! We are outta here!" But it was
too late. He turned right into the
waiting smile of Gabriel's blood-drenched maw. His toothy grin and the blood
of Tempus on his lips froze
Bishop in his tracks.
Then, the wolf was upon him. He felt the hot, fetid breath on his face as his
old comrade-at-arms engulfed
him. A piercing scream came from Gabriel's throat that was not his own. Then,
with a twist and a
resounding "crack", the body of the stalwart warrior called Bishop
went limp.
I looked quickly about, and saw the fleeing form of Koryon running off into
the night. Cynesra turned to
me with a crooked smile and said, "Now Drano, do it." Obediently,
I reached down and called upon the
forces of chaos to animate the dead form of Bishop, while Cynesra did the same
to Tempus. Then we
shambled off into the darkness in pursuit of our prey. Koryon Greymeir would
not escape to later threaten
the "Master."
Gabriel followed Koryon's scent, and led us to the cave he was holed up in.
We found him inside writing in
a book, some sort of diary, I suppose. After a brief struggle, we overwhelmed
him and made him like the
others.
The Master would have wanted it this way.
Cynesra picked up the book, read a few lines, and with a smirk, added a one
of her own. The she closed the
book and laughed; hideous cackling sounds that rolled through the night and
froze the blood of all living
things, even the forest animals.
* * *
The town lay before us. The Master had sent us here to help his friends. The
Master's friends needed to
reach the safety of a magic circle in order to survive. But minions of this
evil town stood in the way. We
stood, out in the darkness of the field, and watched as many of the Master's
friends tried to make the circle
and failed. They fell horribly to the blades of assorted peoples calling themselves
Trellheim, Westmarch,
Dragonshire and Anvil, as well as others whose names I cannot remember. One
tried to sneak in. Another
tried to cut a path of death to get to the circle. All to no avail. Finally,
the one we were to escort was ready.
We heard the assorted evildoers murmuring to themselves, awaiting the next
one to come so that they could
terrorize him before they rent his body asunder. Rallying calls were made, "Sir
Grimm! Baron Northridge!
Duchess!", they yelled. In a break in the general murmuring, a voice was
heard pealing across the field.
"StormWatch! Eastwyck!!" Delahr's voice rolled across the field like
a trumpet sounding. The silence that
followed was deafening. "Eastwyck, to the Baroness!" shouted Squire
Bailiwick. Someone in the distance
was heard to curse heatedly. "To the Circle!" was Delahr's cry, and
our signal to move. These fiends would
make way for our ward. He would make it through.
We met the evil townsfolk on the field where they stuttered pathetic pleas
for us to "come out of it" and
"wake up." Their pathetic attempts would not fool us! The battle was
soon joined as we unloaded spells on
an already soft opponent.
Some of us met them; swords clashed and spells flew. Others, like myself, tried
a slightly smarter tact. I
wandered from the fray toward the local inn, where I heard a cry of warning.
"Look out! There's Death Knights on the road!" shouted Baron Derek Northridge.
I turned to face the road quickly, jumped next to him, and asked, "Death Knights? Where?"
"There!" he shouted. Then, in cautious tones: "Who are you, anyway?"
I turned and looked at him, no more than a hammer's length away, and stated simply, "StormWatch."
He seemed okay with that, at first, then did a double take. Noting my skeletal
form staggering toward him,
he promptly ran and screamed, "StormWatch?!"
I barreled after him, but was interrupted by a blow to my back, turning, I
gave chase to another warrior. I
ran blindly, raining blows upon all nearby. Then I felt it. The Master's friend
had made it! My job was
done. The last thing I remembered that night was fighting a guardian of this
demonic town, a werewolf. I
heard others call him "Archer", but he had no bow to speak of. Then
all became misty before my eyes, and
I faded. . . .
* * *
I woke to the sounds of fighting and frantic shaking. Cynesra was urging me
to get up. I blinked away the
cobwebs from my eyes and got my hurting body into an upright position. I stared
all around at countless
graves and bodies piled high. Bishop, Sir Victdar, and Koryon formed a wall
flanked on either side by
Delahr, Tatiana, Tempus, and Gabriel. The Baroness and Cynesra were lending
healing powers to
everyone, as all seemed to show wounds of one sort or another. Malice and Squire
Bailiwick fired a barrage
of spells over the heads of the front line as we moved slowly forward.
A seemingly unstoppable juggernaut, the combined forces of StormWatch and Eastwyck
rumbled forward,
unstoppable in our pursuit of an end to the endless battle that was upon us.
I can't remember a more
glorious encounter. I looked behind us at the long swath of destruction we had
made, and marveled at our
prowess. It was then that I saw the light.
A glowing doorway appeared behind us, and through it, I saw the town of Ravenholt.
I shouted to the
others; sweaty, bloodstained faces turned to look at me. Then they saw the door
I pointed to, and a light
sparkled in their eyes. With renewed fervor, we battled our way to the door
and dashed through. As the last
of us emerged on the other side, the door closed and disappeared with a thunderclap.
Around us, were the townspeople of Ravenholt, asking if we were well and if
we had all made it. Suddenly,
like a brick hitting us in the head, we realized the nightmare that had been
forced on us. It was no dream at
all!
We had become undead, through the evil powers of the Lord of Nightmare. He
turned us into his minions
and controlled our very thoughts, making us see things as he wanted us to. We
even attacked our friends
and brought them to him to be converted as well. We had amassed our powers and
sieged the town of
Ravenholt in an attempt to escort a minion of Nikijo's into a magic circle.
Once in the circle, a ritual would
take place to bring the spirit of Nikijo, the Death Knight, back to the world
of the living. There he would
terrorize everyone in an attempt to rule our realm.
Yes, the true horror of what we'd wrought, however unintentionally, finally
set in. I felt disgusted with
myself and lower than a worm. I saw the looks in the faces of my teammates and
knew their thoughts were
the same.
To their credit, though, the people of Ravenholt rallied about us and did not
let us fall into the pit of
depression.
A man named Sir Grimm, a noble of Ravenholt, approached me then. I'd never
before come face-to-face
with this man, and doubted that he even knew my name. I stammered an apology
for causing such
difficulty, even though I was possessed, and begged forgiveness. But he approached
just the same, looked
into my bruised and bloody face, and smiled. A warm, comforting smile that said
no apologies were in
order, here. He said, in no uncertain terms, that I should not feel badly, he
understood what it meant to be
controlled and worse, aware of what evil deeds you were committing.
Then, a tap on my shoulder set me whirling around. My gaze came face-to-face
with the deepest pair of
green eyes I'd ever seen. They stared into my swollen orbs and a voice accompanied
those eyes. Like little
tinkling bells, it sounded, yet it carried with it an aura of power as it asked,
"Do you need healing?" I
blinked away blood, sweat, and grime and found the person to whom the radiant
eyes belonged. Dame
Lillith smiled sweetly and asked, "Where does it hurt?" With a hoarse
chuckle, I replied, "Everywhere."
Then something strange happened. She touched me. Where her fingers passed, the
wounds closed, the
bruises cleared, and the swelling went down. It was the strangest healing power
I've ever encountered.
Nothing at all like the earth spells I cast, it was still effective. I should
ask her if she would teach me this
healing art.
When I felt better, she turned to go and, before I could properly thank her,
a hand turned me around. I
looked down into the eyes of the one called Calico. A perfect example of why
we shouldn't judge a person's
power by their size, the slight woman offered me protective magic, to help me
on my way. After receiving
every imaginable protective spell I can think of, she patted me on the back
and sent me off.
I rejoined the others back at our small cabin for a drink and meal. We sat
for a while, quietly, coming to an
understanding of what had happened. Some apologetic looks were made between
us, but the pressing
silence dragged on. No one wanted to speak the realities of what had happened.
No one wanted to be the
one to bring up the horrors of the past few weeks. No one, that is, except Borax
who said with an impish
smile, "Well . . . what do we do next?"