Howl Of The Carrion King

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Chapter 4
“So that’s it, huh? Doesn’t look like much of an attack base to me.” Firon spoke while looking at the building that was situated in front of us, empty-looking and full of unknown promises. The two of us were crouching behind a rock, scouting out the area that lay before the monastery. Most of the walls from the outside seem intact, but a few of the towers have apparently collapsed long ago. I consider quietly to myself that the inside probably doesn’t look much better.

“It’s better than what we have now... only a few wagons and some tents.”

The other man looks grumpy. “Yeah, whatever. If Almah says we use it for the attack against Kelmarane, then we use it for the attack against Kelmarane. I just wish it didn’t look so...”

“Rundown?” I had my own opinions on the place. It could be well defended if attacked, and it was a sizable building. But structurally, the monastery’s age might pose more problems than Almah had hoped for. ”Um... I do have a question. You know anything about Kelmarane? I’ve actually never heard of it.” It was true, as Almah had neglected to inform me in on the details of the town. Most likely thought I didn’t need to know until later.

Firon face is grave. “Yeah, a long time ago the village was one of several in the Brazen Peaks situated around a battle market. It’s a place that attracted merchants, gladiators, actors, musicians, and customers from throughout Katapesh and neighboring Osirion. Then, about twenty years ago… it fell, and the Pactmasters abandoned it to ruin. Rumors of plagues and evil curses abound, but in truth no one knows why the village died. About two years ago, a pack of gnolls inhabited the battle market and claimed Kelmarane as their own. The Pactmasters decided they want the village back, and it’s up to Almah to deliver it to them.” He gives an amused chuckle. “Or in other words, us.”

“I see…” So the village was overrun with gnolls. No wonder Almah had hired Dashki, an expert on the feral half-beast half-men. It would have to take a lot of power to take back a city, and just the two of them and some of Almah’s guards didn’t seem like quite enough.

I find myself eyeing Firon’s weapons, the unorthodox design of the flails piquing my interest. For each flail there are three steel chains, and placed at the end of each length is a dangerous looking spiked sphere. Owning two of the weapons suggested using both at the same time in combat, but it looks like it would take considerable skill in order to just wield one of the triple-flails. The fact that Firon is a cleric furthers my doubts... though Almah had said he could take care of himself.

“Okay Aesur, looks like the coast is clear. We’re going to go into the hole in the wall on the far right, okay? Keep your guard up.” The front of the monastery has two open spaces where we can enter, one more to the left and one more to the right. Rubble and broken pieces of timber obstructs the left gap, so it is a good idea to travel through the right break.

I nod my agreement and the two of us set off at a slow dash to the monastery, wary of our surroundings. But nothing out of the ordinary or threatening is here. As we enter the nave, I notice the scrub brush and a light, patchy carpet of weeds that invade the monastery through the fallen section of the stone wall. We are in a huge hallway littered with bits of debris ranging from tiny rocks to enormous sections of collapsed masonry. Most of the roof above our heads is missing, but the pillars that once held it up still stand in their silent vigil around us.

“Well, isn’t this place creepy looking, eh?” The cleric's statement doesn't provoke a response, words failing me once again. Firon is absorbed in his environment, and starts slowly walking down the hallway. I follow, not wanting to be left behind. I have snuck around in the city of Katapesh and stolen what I needed, so I wasn’t completely new to exploring, but this… this was on a whole other level.

As we reach the end of the hallway, there is a short set of steps that lead down into a cavernous chapel in which congregants probably would have gathered for sermons in happier times. The vibrant red and orange burst of Sarenrae still stands behind a film of dirt along the far wall, overlooking a collapsed altar. Between the stairs and the altar stand dozens of old marble benches, many overturned and even more broken into pieces. A wide walkway bisects the pews, leading directly to the raised altar. Here and there a few clumps of the original red carpet along the walkway hang on against rot and neglect.

Above the center of the chapel, dangling about ten feet from the floor, hangs a cluster of gnolls skulls in various stages of decay. Strung together like a ghoulish candelabra of twine and bone, the boulder-sized ornament hangs from the wooden rafters. Just the sight of the rotting heads causes me to pause in disgust, and Firon does the same.

"Uh, Aesur? ...Why in the hell is there a bundle of heads hanging from the-" Firon doesn't finish his hurried whisper, as his gaze moves upwards along with mine. High up in the chapel's rafters, a layer of interwoven tapestries, tablecloths, and other pieces of cloth forms a cover for the wooden beams much like a wasp papers over its nest. Movement on the surface of the fabric causes me to cringe, small but rapid indents migrating across the makeshift floor.

"Firon. Be careful. I think something's up there." To compliment my words, a tiny little creature dressed in rags climbs out from inside the grisly bunch of skulls, giving an unearthly giggle and showing me the finger. A pugwampi.

The cleric looks furious. "Damn right there's something up there! It's more of those little runts!" Reacting to the man's shouts, the other gremlins above began to poke their faces through the cloth, their little beady eyes widening with surprise... and then excitement. Little, makeshift wooden bows replace where their heads were before, loaded with tiny arrows.

"By Desna's stars!" Looks like Firon is feeling the same way I am. His weapons wouldn't be of any use at this range. Even the lone gremlin on the candelabra has his weapon out and is aiming at the two of us.

Before I know what's happening, Firon has grabbed me and shoved the two of us under one of the few intact pews. Light thumps can be heard above us as the sharp projectiles embed themselves into the aging wooden bench.

Fear courses through my veins, icy cold and numbing. I can't think, I can't move, I can't breathe. I've never been backed into a corner like this before. Sure, back when I was a slave I had nowhere to turn in some situations, but I knew they would never kill me. That most definitely isn't the case with the pugwampis.

But a hand grabs my shoulder, and I'm being shaken into reality. "Aesur? Aesur! C'mon, don't freak out on me now!" I don't say anything, still stunned by the events unfolding around us.

Firon sighs, and then reaches into his navy robes. When his hand emerges from behind the folds, it is grasping a silver butterfly. It's wings are decorated with intricately carved stars, along with a moon and a sun. The holy symbol must be very valuable, and I start to get an idea of what he'd planning.

Another volley crashes into the pew right above our heads, and I can make out high pitched, shrill screams. It's not hard to guess what the pugwampis are screaming about, as none of their arrows have hit their intended mark. Yet.

"Graceful Desna, ruler over the night skies and stars above, grant us protection from these foul creatures' assaults." Almost immediately after Firon speaks, black mist begins to seep from his body, from underneath his robes, and from his eyes and mouth as well. The dark cloud envelopes the two of us, then the pew. One by one, little sparks of light burst into existance within the fog mass. I can't help but marvel at the mist's beauty, and my fear begins to seep away.

Moments later, Firon gives a relieved sigh and looks towards me. "We've got some cover now. I can't guarantee that their arrows won't hit us, but at least they don't have a target to shoot at." Almost to emphasize his point, another barrage of small thumps can be heard above our heads. The pew must be looking like a ravaged porcupine by now.

"Okay Aesur, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to summon some help, and create a distraction. That floor the pugwampis made in the rafters doesn't look that strong, and I bet we could tear through it with enough force. After I create the distraction, start shooting your arrows at them, and then if I can I'll help out. Hopefully we'll weaken the layer enough and the pugwampis will fall through." A grin creeps over his face. "To their deaths."

I'm stunned. I can't help it. How can someone create such an elaborate and well-constructed plan under these circumstances? I manage to nod, and Firon chuckles. "Don't worry, we'll make it out of here alright. You've already taken care of one of these beasts before, remember?"

The cleric is talking about the first pugwampi we encountered back in the cacti field. I suppose he's right. "Yes, I remember."

"Great. Alright Aesur, let's do this!" Another volley of arrows crash into the pew above our heads. The pugwampis don't appear to want to come down from their lofty heights, and I can't stop myself from thinking that it's a smart move.

Firon holds his symbol once again, but this time raising his hand up out from under the pew and into the mist. "I call upon your aid once more, Tender of Dreams, and ask of you to provide us with one of your loyal subjects for our cause." It's hard to see, but more of the black mist seeps out from the cleric's outstretched fist, and coalesces into an owl. With a bestial screech, the magically formed animal takes flight until I cannot see it anymore. But... I can hear it, as the pugwampis start up a frightened chorus and the sounds of flesh being rended echoes down through the fog to us.

"Now Aesur!" I scramble out from under the pew alongside Firon, and unstrap my bow. I quickly pull an arrow to the string and aim upwards, everything around me visible now that I am out of the strange black-yet-sparkling mist. I loose the projectile, the sharp point piercing through an elaborate but soiled scarlet tapestry. I aim and release my weapon towards the same spot again, but the arrows don't seem to be breaking through the cloth. So much for 'tearing through with enough force'. I'm reloading my weapon once more when one of the pugwampi's arrows lodges into my flesh, sticking into my shoulder.

I wince, pulling the shaft out of me, but luckily I haven't been hurt too badly. I've gotten worse on hunting expediti
ons. I look up, ready to run through whichever pugwampi had shot me, but take a step back as a rock the size of a watermelon, enshrouded in sparkling black smoke, crashes through the layer of fabric. Turning around in surprise, I see Firon laughing behind me, two other mist-covered rocks floating in front of him. "I told you I would help, didn't I?"

The servant of Desna extends his arms and causes the two other pieces of rubble to careen forwards, smashing through the pugwampis floor. A great ripping, tearing noise echoes throughout the chapel and a large section falls to the floor, along with the strung bundle of gnoll skulls. The disgusting heap lands on the pews with a wet smack, but worse is what follows. What appears to be half a dozen pugwampis fall to the ground, flailing and shrieking as they fly through the dusty air. A series of sickening thuds greets me and Firon, and then silence.

We did it. The two of us went from being completely cornered to successful and relatively unhurt. I expect Firon to be grinning and congratulating our victory when I turn around, but definitely couldn't have guessed the sight that would lay before me.

The triumphant cleric gives a barely audible sigh, eyes slowly rolling back up into his head. Firon's arms fall limply to his sides and then he himself tumbles to the ground, unmoving and as silent as the dead gremlins around us.