TTT: The Killing Ground

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 AM -- The Waterworks]

> “Till the spring thaw at least,” Lomi quipped.
>
> “What, no eye roll this time,” Tramma queried curiously?
>
> “Mom always warned me about my eyes sticking that way,” the scout
> admitted.
>
> “From what I’ve seen, if it were going to happen,” Jeyshann smirked.
> “It would have by now.”

“Continue forward,” the Abbot commanded. “Prepare for incoming.” The
Away Team followed their leader’s command. The map they were following
had no scale, but their best estimate was that they should now be coming
up towards the end of the passageway, where the Temple of the Troglodyte
would be found.

At what some guessed to be a couple hundred feet away from the tunnel
and the expected Temple, things began to happen very quickly. The Abbot,
leading the charge, was on point, with both Finfin and Laurelin
immediately behind, one on either side. Laquendi, meanwhile, had managed
to close most of the distance her earlier spell had opened up, and was
only a few paces behind the Abbot and the other elves. Respecting the
Cat Priestess’ words, however, both Lomi, Tramma, and Jeyshann herself
were in a group some twenty feet back from the vanguard.

And right in front of the leading edge of the Away Team, a troglodyte
popped out of a little “spider hole” dug into the face of the right hand
wall. “Dhuuuulooookkk!” it yelled, its reptilian eyes blazing with an
unholy fanaticism as it tore open a vest it was wearing over its chest.
All in the front rank winced, but rather than the expected detonation of
a suicide vest, there was instead only a small flash of flame unleashed
on the cultist’s chest. A flame that seemed to do damage whatsoever to
either the cultist or the Away Team. All could easily recognize that a
Continual Flame had just been revealed by the tearaway vest, fully
illuminating the forward element of the Kenobi team in a bright,
flickering light.

The troglodyte cultist did not seem in the least bit disappointed at the
lack of destructive power unleashed by his vest. In fact, there was a
triumphant gleam in its eyes as it resolved itself to Meet Its Maker,
its scaly mouth already beginning to intone a prayer to Kroll. This was
a rendez-vous that the Abbot was fully prepared to support. He barrelled
down on the creature, his sword extended in a brutal thrust. From his
right side, Laurelin, too, joined in her effort to end the “suicide”
troglodyte, as did Laquendi, squeezing herself into a gap so that she,
too, could lend a blade to finishing off the creature. As Tramma would
later summarise,

They stabbed it with their steely swords
And they just COULD kill the beast

Off on the Abbot’s left, however, Finfin was not joining into the free
form slaughter. He was looking about frantically, his eyes adjusting to
the newly added light. He would spend time later cursing at himself for
participating in what he saw as folly. But now, all he needed to know
was that they had been played, allowing the easy targets to entice them
in further – astonishingly without even a moment’s preparation for extra
“buffs” – and now had put themselves right where the troglodytes wished
them to be. This newly lit area was a killing ground, and one that they
had willingly put themselves into.

“STAY BACK!” he bellowed behind him, hoping against hope that whatever
was about to hit them might miss the rearguard… and especially two of
its members that he had promised Mithi that very morning that he would
particularly look out for. Unless he could spot and foil what was about
to be unleashed, of course, be it a sliding wall releasing a lava flow,
a collapsing roof, or massed archery and spellfire. Or worse. But those
best able to spot such surprises were focused on ending the life, if not
the illumination, of the suicide troglodyte, and not looking about for
larger threats.

At the last second, Laquendi too began to recognize the undesirability
of their position. "Suggest we slow our charge, Imam Kenobi," the silver
haired elf warned. But the warning was too late.

A flash of lurid purple some one hundred and fifty feet further down the
corridor suggested the source of what was about to happen. There might
have been some other colours mixed in as well, but anyone with any
Spellcraft at all well knew that particularly for Divine spellcasting, a
purple hue was usually a spell that was particularly repugnant, vile, or
obscene. There was neither time, nor need to further analyze the
signature of the spellcasting to try to predict the spell it was
unleashing, as an instant later a column of flame rained up from the
depths upon the vanguard.

Finfin flung an arm over his face, trying to protect his eyes from the
worst of the blast while making every effort not to breathe in the
flames. But as bad as the wash of fire about him was, worse was that
this Flame Strike seemed equally fueled by pure… Evil, as much as by
fire. His skin burned from the fire, but his very soul recoiled from the
vile, malignant touch of the coequal component of this blast.

Fortunately, partly from his reflexes, and perhaps partly from a
powerful Permanent protective abjuration he had placed around himself,
he managed to escape the worst of the flames. As too did the rest of the
vanguard, something for which he would be thankful. All were singed, in
some cases badly, but all had survived.

And Finfin was even MORE thankful that as potent as a Flame Strike
Divine, or in this case Infernal prayer might be, the destructive volume
it provided was less than a more mundane Fireball. One of those,
particularly if carefully targeted for a ground burst, would likely have
consumed the entire Away Team, and not just its leading elements. That
the pillar of fire merged with pure hate completely eradicated any of
the remains of the thoroughly stabbed suicide cultist was, on balance,
of no importance. The troglodyte cultist might have even agreed, since
he had willingly sacrificed himself to enable the magical assault.

“I’ll get the Resist Fire!” Jeyshann announced from the rearguard.

And at the front, Finfin nodded and made an announcement of his own.
“Haste, incoming!” Laquendi and Laurelin, too, readied spells of their
own, but currently had no available targets.

Back at the rearguard, however, Lomi’s experienced eyes could observe
something that the others had missed. The tall scout could make out
another lurid purple glow, some hundred or more feet away. Unlike the
elves, Lomi was no master of magical theory, but she knew enough to
assess that the trogs were up to SOMETHING magical. And whatever THEY
wanted, SHE did not. So a target had just volunteered itself.

Unknown to the Away Team, and the front entrance to the Temple, an
underpriest reporting directly to Dhulokk himself was contentedly
reading from one of his Boss’ scrolls. He truly loved his job. The loyal
cultist ahead had performed his last act in this life; the underpriest
would make a point of lighting a candle in the deceased cultist’s
honour. And reading that Flame Strike a moment ago to anoint the
intruders was an act of pure joy. And this second Flame Strike now being
read off of the scroll would be the proverbial icing on the cake. And
should any of these accursed interlopers somehow close the distance, he
had a rank of loyal minions arrayed in front of him, eager to give their
lives to The Cause.

He winced as an arrow skipped nearby. More feeble minds than his own
might have found that a distraction from his holy duty with the scroll,
but not THIS underpriest. He then blinked, staring dumbly down at an
arrow protruding from his chest. Raising his gaze back to the purple
glowing text, he barely registered a hole in his Boss’ scroll that had
not been there a moment before. This was an irrelevant distraction; he
simply HAD to keep the magic flowing, lest a catastrophic mishap result
in the spell prematurely detonating. But an instant later, the scroll
dropped from his numb fingers as a second arrow embedded into his chest.
Now, the underpriest had a far more urgent problem – he had to keep the
blood in. Hopefully someone else would handle the now ominously sizzling
scroll that had landed at his feet, and was starting to roll down the
corridor.

The Troglodyte Temple, fortunately, excelled at teamwork. A fellow
underpriest dove on the rolling scroll. Whether the helper’s intent was
to stifle the malfunctioning scroll, somehow complete the interrupted
spell, or simply to hurl it away would be forever unknown. A new pillar
of Flame and Hate roared upwards from an Infernal Region, not upon the
hated intruders, but upon the pair of underpriests and their loyal
minions. And when the fire cleared, all that was left of the troglodytes
in front of the Temple were sickening burning corpses. By some perverse
quirk of fate, the scroll was not consumed in the conflagration and
fluttered smouldering beside the outstretched bones of the troglodyte
underpriest’s arm.

“Wow,” Lomi marvelled. “Did not see THAT coming. Makes me feel bad about
whining about that arrow in the ceiling.”

“I think the men! owe you a beer,” Jeyshann smirked, then looked down
the tunnel at the burning corpses, and shook her head. “Make that a bar
tab - a BIG one.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Lomi agreed cheerily.