DDW: Gnarkill

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 5 – The Waterworks]

> Clearly, something was very much at home. Something, perhaps… cooking,
> which would make sense, given Gnarkill’s reputation. And was that..
> humming coming from the distant room? Showing a wisdom and restraint
> that some might have believed she lacked, Laquendi decided that she
> had enough scouting data to be useful, and prudently decided to return
> back to the main group with what she knew.

Finfin certainly agreed with Laquendi’s choice. “Thank you, Team
Leader,” he gravely thanked the silver haired elf. “That is indeed
operational intel that we can use. I for one am willing to proceed on
the assumption that this is Gnarkill, and that he is very much at home.”

Laquendi’s best guess was that once they turned the corner in the
corridor, they would have some two hundred feet of further tunnel before
it opened out into the larger space where Gnarkill’s cookfire, and
presumably Gnarkill himself could be found. This led for a few others to
take the opportunity to cast some “medium term buffs”, including a
Stoneskin that Laurelin cast upon herself. Finfin considered casting the
same protection, not on himself, but upon the Abbot, who also seemed
particularly keen on joining into the up and coming battle. But after
some consultation, both agreed to keep this additional defence saved for
later.

Not to mention, some “short term buffs” that had a considerably shorter
duration. Laurelin cast an “old but classic” defensive Arcane magic, and
suddenly the area around her was filled with seven duplicate images of
herself, all interweaving like a card sharp’s “three hand monty”, grown
large. The Abbot’s contribution was, if anything, even more spectacular.
At the end of a Divine prayer, he grew wings from his shoulders, and
those with any Divine insight might have been able to notice the hint of
a halo about his head. And all could feel the positive effects of being
so close to this Angelic Aspect of a Divine Servant of the Sky King.

“I am suddenly feeling quite under-dressed for the occasion,” mused
Laquendi as she gaped at the splendor of the Abbot’s divine magical aspects.

And after another moment’s coordination, everyone began a steady advance
around the corner towards Gnarkill. There was no expectation of being
able to sneak up on the creature, not with someone in full armor, and
many needing light. Nor was there any real urgency to do so. Unless
Gnarkill was a well studied wizard or priest in addition to being a
tough troll, there was not much he could do with additional preparation
time. Or so everyone hoped.

But that did not mean that the Away Team simply ran forward at full
tilt, screaming their war cries. That might be suitable for certain
Battleragers, but not for the current company. Instead, the team
advanced reasonably carefully, the “spell slingers” invoking additional
short term protective magics as they slowly closed the intervening
distance between themselves and their target. Finfin tossed in a
favourite of his own, chanting briefly to invoke what nearby Arcaninsts
could readily recognize as a simple Shield spell, albeit one that he’d
invoked with unusual alacrity. Ben, meanwhile, chanted a new prayer to
Belmak, and those around him felt an additional surge of divinely
inspired Battle Wisdom.

And ahead… there was no reaction. Seeing no reason to change from a
working strategy, the Away Team continued to close the distance, while
invoking a second round of protective spells. This time, feeling that
they were about to be heard anyways, many casters went for more overt
magics. Ben chanted a prayer that ended in a loud call of “SHA-ZAM!”,
and an upstretched hand appeared to be hit with a Divine Lightning bolt,
while at the end of Laurelin’s Arcane casting, she appeared to burst
into flames. Finfin, too, opted for a somewhat more overt magic,
replicating Laurelin’s “oldie but goldie” as he, too, split into a
collection of 8 interweaving images.. And not to be outdone, Tramma
began reciting an inspirational ditty, her Bardic Magic infusing the
team with courage.

Troll sat enjoying the kitchen lull,
and munched and mumbled an old elf skull
from ear to ear he had gnawed it clear
for elf-meat was hard to come by
done by! gum by!
the waterworks kitchen he ruled as his own
And elf-meat was hard to come by

Jeyshann, too, had decided to add in her own contribution. The Cat
Priestess made a divine prayer of her own, and the Mother of All Cats
responded… by extending her blessing not on Jeyshann, but on Laurelin,
exactly as the Cat Priestess had asked. Laurelin felt better, stronger,
faster, and just simply improved in just about every sense.

And… strangely enough, there was STILL no reaction ahead, though now
many with keen hearing could hear the clattering of pots and pans ahead,
and now even normal eyesight could see the glow of a small fire ahead,
well over a hundred and fifty feet away. By now, the Away Team had cast
as many of the defensive spells as they had planned, and saw no reason
for further delay, lest they run out the duration of some of their
shorter term magics. So they continued their advance, this time not
pausing for any extra spellcasting. However, Tramma’s inspirational poem
continued apace:

Up came Fin with his big lizard sword
Said he to troll "wait, who was that gourd?
For it looks like the skull of my uncle Bregol
As should be lyin in graveyard
Caveyard! Paveyard!
This many a year has Bregol been gone
And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard!

Now, even the lesser eyes could see a cookfire some one hundred feet
distant, its glow illuminating a large cauldron mounted above. And in
the glow of that fire could be seen a troll. Not just any troll, but a
particularly large specimen, standing a full dozen feet in height. And
oddly enough, the troll was incongruously enough wearing a tall, white
chef’s hat.

“A toque!” Tramma exclaimed happily.

“Thank you, Miss KnowItAll,” Lomi sighed beside her old pal. “I feel SO
much better for knowing that.”

The troll, meanwhile, had been humming a little ditty of its own,
sounding something like, “Little elfs, little elfs, how I love little
elves, love to chop and to serve little elves first I cut off their
heads then I pull out the bones..”

“A nice enough voice,” Jeyshann sighed. “The song, on the other hand, is
about what I’d expect from a troll.”

But its humming tune cut off as the Away Team continued their approach.
“Zoot allures!” the huge troll exclaimed. “Little elves, how I have
missed them!” Scooping up a huge meat cleaver and a mallet, it began to
gleefully run forward to harvest the new addition to its meal.

“Hold here!” Finfin suggested urgently, waving those beside and behind
him to a stop. The elven officer’s intent was immediately clear to those
with a tactical mind, or those trained in intuitively understanding
trajectories, relative motion, and timing. By letting Gnarkill come to
THEM, the Away Team would gain a few minor, but possibly important
advantages. Not least of which was it gained them another opportunity
for any last minute spellcasting.

And now that he’d seen the size of the troll, Finfin decided that he
would take advantage of that opportunity. “Haste coming!” he warned
those around him for reasons that may not have been immediately clear. A
little bit of licorice root appeared from a well worn inner pocket, and
red and yellow lines began to hang in mid air as he chanted an Arcane
formula aloud. The other wizards took this chance for additional magics
as well. However, both Laurelin’s and Laquendi’s choices were offensive
magics. In fact, the *same* offensive magic; both lady elf wizards
unleashed a salvo of Magic Missiles and the onrushing troll. Laurelin’s
left no trail, and launched with a muffled thump. Laquendi’s, however,
had the usual whistling trail and report. All ten slammed into the
troll, and it bellowed ia single word in pain -- "MER!" Or, perhaps, a
close approximation.

Only those with a Tongues spell could understand the scatological
meaning of the odd word. Continuing its onrush, Gnarkill snatched a
cooking knife from its belt and hurled it towards Laquendi. It hated all
elves with equal passion, but particularly those who had launched
visible magics at it. The knife struck home… and bounced off. The
invisible defence provided by the silver haired elf’s protective items
had blocked the blade from penetrating, but the impact had hurt
nonetheless. Laquendi grimaced, well aware that she’d be wearing a
bruise as bad or worse than Laurelin’s from having been rammed twice by
homicidal goats. And quite possibly a hairline crack in a rib... if she
was lucky.

Lomi began sending arrow after arrow towards the creature, while Tramma
resumed her interrupted little poetry jam.

‘My lad,’ said Troll, ‘this bone I stole.
But what be bones that lie in a hole?
Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o’ lead,
Afore I found his headbone.
Skullbone! Nullbone!
He can spare a share for a poor old troll,
For he don’t need his skullbone.’

And a few seconds later, the massive troll crashed into the defenders.
Abbot Benjamin Kenobi, wearing the Angelic Aspect of his Patron, stepped
forward at the last moment to receive the beast’s charge, and the troll
was only too happy to oblige. It knew it really liked the taste of elf.
Angel was a rare treat, and the gourmand wished to know how it tasted.
With a great, two handed chop, the troll brought its meat cleaver down
upon the Holy Man.

Ben easily blocked the mighty blow by interposing his shield between the
cleaver and himself, but the impact left him seeing stars for just a
moment. “I’ve felt worse mosquito bites!” the Abbot sneered.

“Oh yeah,” Gnarkill sneered right back at him. “Your momma was delicious!”

But then the melee line counterattacked. By now, all had seen how
quickly both Finfin and Laurelin could swing their arming swords, one of
the “characteristic” blades of their people. And their speed was
enhanced by Finfin’s just completed Haste spell.

But the Abbot’s new found skill with a blade, courtesy of his Divine
Power spell, and further enhanced by Finfin’s Haste, was simply
something out of legend. Seldom had a sword ever been swung so
skillfully in this part of the world. Finfin’s sword blows might have
cut deeper, and Laurelin’s ability to wield TWO full sized arming swords
was eye opening… but Ben’s enhanced skill with a blade would not have
looked out of place in the best of fencing schools.

Now, the troll positively bellowed in pain, all but masking out Tramma’s
ongoing ditty.

Said Fin: ‘I don’t see why the likes o’ thee
Without axin’ leave should go makin’ free
With the skull or the shin o’ my father’s kin;
So hand the old bone over!
Rover! Trover!
Though dead he be, it belongs to he;
So hand the old bone over!’

And to add injury to injury, more arrows from Lomi, and considerably
more damaging Magic Missiles from the elven ladies, continued to bombard
the creature. Now, the troll looked nearly ready to fall, even as pieces
of it were visibly beginning to crawl together as it began its regeneration.

But as fast as it could regenerate, Ben’s blade was faster, and a moment
later the Abbot renewed his onslaught, and had hacked the troll down.
But sensibly, Ben did not stop, giving the monster an extra thrust
through its body to make certain that it STAYED down. At least for the
time being. Finfin and Laurelin, too, added their own destructive
contributions, even as Tramma continued her ditty.

‘For a couple o’ pins,’ says Troll, and grins,
‘I’ll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.
A bit o’ fresh elf-meat will go down sweet!
I’ll try my teeth on thee now.
Hee now! See now!
I’m tired o’ gnawing old bones and skins;
I’ve a mind to dine on thee now.’

But it was readily apparent that while if left alone, the troll might
eventually be able to reconstitute itself, it would not happen for a
very long time.

“I had one last verse!” Tramma objected.

“Think of it as one of the sacrifices you have to make for your art,”
Lomi suggested archly. “And I don’t think hizzoner the Abbot would have
been willing to have prolonged that fight just so you could finish your
song.”