Whims of Kiraan

“It is not a terribly impressive tower, is it?” Irse commented as the group made their way through the valley. “This god of yours certainly has meager standards.” Ithan had to agree; there was not much to admire about the tower as he inspected it in the distance. From where he stood, it seemed to be just an ordinary tower, built with ordinary bricks, with ordinary stairs leading up to its ordinary entrance.

“One would do well not to judge by appearance,” Apostalite replied. They took a deep breath, then looked at the cleric. “This valley is teeming with magic. Can you not feel it?”

“I feel hungry,” Dhurik grumbled, grasping his stomach. “Who wants some lunch?” he asked as he eyed an elk grazing nearby.

“Mind your companions,” Taer’inar muttered as he glanced at Fenvyre. She seemed to have not been paying attention to Dhurik, opting instead to marvel at the scenery ahead of them. Ithan could not help but enjoy it himself; everything was so full of life here, as if winter never reached this part of the mountains. It made Ithan yearn for springtime to reclaim dominion over this land, so that he might witness the first cherry blossoms bloom. But he was far away from Sol’vara, with no festival to celebrate the return of spring, no grand ceremony to welcome in the new year. At least I have some Aeviri. He figured he may as well share what remained of the bottle, at least with Taer’inar. Of everyone Ithan had met since arriving in Greenreach, Taer’inar was the only one he thought might understand Sol’vara’s traditions.

For Fenvyre’s sake, Taer’inar convinced Dhurik to refrain from hunting the various creatures the group encountered. Instead, they settled on eating some of the rations of food that Taer’inar had prepared before leaving Greenreach. He claimed that, though it may not be much, it would keep up everyone’s strength for a while. Ithan laughed as his friends bemoaned the change in diet; for him, this was still a step up from his days digging through refuse for something to eat.

Unlike their usual routine, the party did not set up camp to eat; Apostalite was insistent that they continue traveling so as to arrive at the tower more expediently. There was no need anyway, since they had nothing to cook nor was anyone weary from travel yet. As Dhurik munched on the remains of his lunch, he suddenly collided with a distracted Fenvyre.

“Watch it!” he bellowed, but his shouting was met with silence. Fenvyre remained motionless, staring off of the trail. There was a fawn watching the group from a distance.

“It’s so cute!” Fenvyre squealed softly. She carefully approached the fawn, but it sprang up and away toward a nearby tree. Fenvyre’s face scrunched as she balled up her fists, and she began to creep toward it again. The fawn watched the dragonkin from behind the tree, its head just barely peeking out. Fenvyre made a strange sound as she walked‍—almost a bleating sound‍—as if she was trying to communicate with the fawn. It worked, evidently, as the fawn squeaked before cautiously stepping out from behind the tree. Fenvyre stopped moving but continued speaking with the fawn. Before long, it had started walking back toward her. Fenvyre put out her hand toward it, and it stepped up and sniffed at it before putting its head beneath her palm.

“By the gods,” Bimpnottin muttered next to Ithan. “She’s a druid.”

“Fenvyre?” Taer’inar asked. “No, that can’t be.”

“She must be,” Bimpnottin said. “Only they could speak with animals with such ease.” Ithan marveled at the dragonkin. It was no wonder she was always trying to befriend any animal she happened across‍—it was in her blood.

“I’m going to stay here with Lili,” Fenvyre called. “She got separated from her parents and she’s waiting for them to come find her.”

“All right,” Taer’inar sighed. “Unit 17, would you mind waiting out here with Fenvyre?”

“Affirmative,” the terran replied. “I will secure the area.” He began scanning the group’s immediate surroundings as Apostalite began walking toward the tower once more.

“Stay safe, you two,” Taer’inar called back to Fenvyre and Unit 17. Fenvyre waved enthusiastically at the group as she danced with Lili. Unit 17 simply nodded.

When the remaining group reached the doors, a strange tingling started in Ithan’s chest. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and he could not tell whether it was anxiety or something else.

“You look unwell,” Irse said suddenly. Ithan shot her a scornful look, which was met with dismissal as she tilted her head up and slowly turned her gaze back to the tower. Ithan, too, returned his attention to the tower as Apostalite began to open the doors. As they opened, Ithan could just barely make out the outlines of figures within the tower. He made ready to summon his glaive, but Apostalite produced a magical light to brighten the chamber. They were only statues.

“Let us be on our way, then!” Apostalite exclaimed, clearly eager to continue their mission, whatever it might be. Ithan had not bothered to ask what the ignan planned to do after they found the tower, but now that he was here, he had to admit he was curious. Surely Kiraan could wait a bit longer. No sooner had that thought crossed his mind than the feeling in his chest intensified. A moment of clarity struck him, and he spun around to his companions just in time to be tackled to the ground by an unknown assailant.

“It’s an ambush!” Taer’inar cried, drawing his weapons and advancing toward Ithan’s attacker. Before he could reach him, though, two large elvenoids leapt into view to block his path, each brandishing a halberd. Their red skin and pointed ears were new to Ithan; he thought that perhaps they were ignans, though he never knew them to be so vicious in nature. As he struggled against the one who attacked him, he caught Bimpnottin and Ian fleeing from another of the creatures while Bimpnottin sent blasts of energy at it. Even Dhurik seemed to be having a difficult time fending off his opponent‍—a larger creature than the others, nearly as tall as Dhurik himself. Apostalite, on the other hand, had run into the tower, and began to close the doors as the ambushers encroached upon the entrance.

“Apostalite!” Taer’inar shouted furiously as the doors closed on the hobgoblins, refusing to open again even as they tried to smash through the stone with their weapons. The one who had attacked Ithan rose from the ground, but kept his boot on Ithan’s head, pressing it hard against the stone.

“Drop your weapons,” he said, “or I’ll crush his skull.” Taer’inar froze, a look of panic in his eyes as they darted frantically between Ithan and the others. With a sigh and a nod, he begrudgingly allowed his swords to fall to the ground. He was immediately restrained by one of the creatures that stood before him.

“Cursed hobgoblins,” he grunted as the creature bound his hands behind his back.

“Make sure they’re tied up nice and tight,” the one on top of Ithan called. “And you two stay here for the ignan!” He lifted his foot off of Ithan’s head and grabbed him by an antler, dragging him to his feet. “We’re taking these ones to the chief,” he grumbled. He tied Ithan’s hands to match his friends. They gathered the group together and began marching them away from the tower, back through the field where they had left Fenvyre and Unit 17.

“Traitorous ignan,” Taer’inar grumbled after a while as they walked. “Dragging us all the way out here just to get us captured by filthy hobgoblins.” He glanced over at Ithan. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” he replied. “Isn’t this where we left Fenvyre and Unit 17?” His heart raced as he glanced around in search of the dragonkin.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Taer’inar said. “As despicable as these creatures are, they don’t kill needlessly.” Ithan hoped not; the thought of such a kind spirit like Fenvyre being killed out here made his gut squirm. Why had she wanted to venture out here in the first place?

“Listen here, elf,” one of the hobgoblins said, “you talk like that to the chief, and he’ll have no problem chopping off your head.”

“My kind of people,” Dhurik chuckled as the group began moving toward the west. They traveled for another hour, finally coming to a small fort near a riverbank. Hobgoblins lined the walls of the fort, spaced out every three feet or so. The walls, made of mud and stone, were roughly twelve feet tall and featured bastions wherever there would have been a corner. Though the walls appeared to have been crudely built, the hobgoblins seemed to be organized well enough to make up for it.

“There has to be treasure here,” Ian whispered to Bimpnottin, who smiled and nodded at the halfling. They were low enough to the ground that the hobgoblin next to them did not hear. The group was brought inside the fort. Their defenses were no weaker from the inside, to Ithan’s dismay. The interior was crammed with hobgoblins in tents and around campfires, all geared in the same armor as the ones who had captured him and his friends. They brought the group to a larger tent near the center of the encampment and led them inside. There, sitting behind a table looking over documents and what appeared to be a map of the area, was a massive hobgoblin wearing plate mail. His face had a scar stretching from just above his right eye to his left cheek.

“What’s all this?” he asked as he scanned the group. “Trespassers?”

“Yes, Chief,” one of the soldiers replied. “We found ‘em sneaking about the mage tower. One of ‘em managed to get inside. An ignan.”

“You’ve got someone stationed outside it, I hope,” the chief said.

“Yes, Chief, but the doors are sealed up tight again.”

“What interest do you have in this tower?” Taer’inar asked, causing both the chief and the soldier to whip their heads in his direction.

“I could ask you the same, elf,” the chief retorted. “What brings you to Zastraria?”

“We’re on an adventure!” Bimpnottin shouted.

“Oh, are you, now?” the chief laughed as stood up and stepped around the table. “Quite the motley crew, aren’t you?” He looked over the group again, stopping at Ithan. His face scrunched as he inspected Ithan more closely. “Never seen one of you before.” He raised his hand up and motioned for Ithan to be brought closer. The soldier holding him pushed him forward onto his knees, and the chief reached out and grabbed his muzzle.

“Leave him alone,” Taer’inar protested.

“For an elf, you’re not too bright,” the chief said. “You’re in no position to be making demands. Now…” He looked back down at Ithan. “What do you want with the mage tower?”

“We didn’t want anything with it,” Taer’inar replied. “It was Apostalite‍—er, the ignan who wanted us to find the tower. They didn’t tell us what they planned to do when they found it.”

“You didn’t ask?” the chief questioned. “Pretty shortsighted for a group of adventurers. I think you’re lying.”

“They abandoned us when your men found us!” Taer’inar shouted. “Ask them! They’ll tell you that the ignan fled into the tower and left us to be captured!”

“A coward, to be sure,” the chief muttered, “but how does that prove you didn’t intend to join them?”

“Chief Advar!” another hobgoblin shouted from behind the group. The chief looked past Ithan with an irritated snarl. “Gnolls to the north! A horde of ‘em, and they’re coming fast!”

“What about the mage tower?” Advar asked.

“Uh… it’s… gone, Chief,” the soldier answered hesitantly. “It crumbled a short while ago. The ignan’s nowhere to be found.” Advar growled again and lowered his gaze back to Ithan.

“Last chance,” the chief spat as he leaned in closer. His breath reeked of decay. “What did the ignan want with the mage tower?” he asked, finally letting go of Ithan’s muzzle.

“I don’t know,” Ithan muttered, trying hard not to gag as he spoke. Advar pulled out a dagger and waved it in front of Ithan’s face before holding it to his throat. His chest tightened as he and the hobgoblin chief glared at each other.

“Stop this!” Taer’inar cried. “He doesn’t know! None of us know! If we did, we would have told you by now! Why would we protect someone who betrayed us?” Advar looked up toward Taer’inar, then back down at Ithan. He lowered the dagger, then pushed Ithan back against the floor.

“Pick him up,” he ordered. “Take them all to the pit.”

“Wait, Chief!” Bimpnottin interjected. “I have a proposal for you!” Advar tilted his head, after a moment of thought, he nodded to the gnome. “As a powerful wizard, I can aid you in dealing with these nasty gnolls! And my subordinates can help, too!”

“You’re volunteering us to fight against a horde of gnolls,” Taer’inar grumbled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“So, what’s your proposal, then?” Advar questioned. “Kill some gnolls and gain your freedom?”

“Exactly!” the gnome replied enthusiastically. “We would need our equipment back, of course!” Advar grinned.

“I like you, gnome. What’s your name?”

“I am Bimpnottin Bafflestone! And these are my minions!”

“All right, Bimpnottin Bafflestone,” Advar said, stepping past Ithan and “you’ve got yourself a deal.” The two shook hands, and the soldiers began removing the shackles from the group.

“Not this one,” the chief said before Ithan’s shackles could be removed.

“Why not?” Taer’inar questioned. “He’s with us.”

“Insurance,” the chief sneered. Ithan looked quickly over to the elf in panic, but Taer’inar bowed his head as he was escorted out with the rest of his friends. “Hold him here,” he said to the guards as he stepped past to leave. “Make sure he’s properly restrained, then get to your posts.” After he was out of sight, the guards dragged Ithan to the central pillar and bound him to it with rope, tightening it to the point where Ithan could just barely breathe. When they seemed satisfied with their work, they left Ithan there, one of them spitting in his general direction on the way out.

“Godsbane,” he gasped as he wriggled beneath the rope. The guards had been thorough; he was bound tightly enough that he could barely twist his arm around underneath. The rope burned his skin as he struggled. After a few more moments, he gave up, thrusting his head back against the pillar. He could not cast any spells with his hands bound like this; even if he could summon his glaive, it would be difficult if not impossible to maneuver it to cut the ropes. As he contemplated his options, drums began to sound in the distance, beating louder and faster with each passing moment. Then a horn blared from just outside the tent; the chief signaling his troops, no doubt. The drums fell silent, and after a few seconds of silence, the roar of hobgoblin soldiers taking to battle flooded his ears.

Are you having trouble? Kiraan whispered suddenly.

I can handle it. He began writhing beneath the ropes again. I just need… this arm… free… He gritted his teeth as splinters of wood sank deep into his skin. The resulting blood worked to his favor as he was able to more easily slide his arm through his restraints until it was free at last. He grimaced as he looked at his forearm, but only for a moment before summoning his glaive and cutting himself free. See? I can handle myself.

The clock is ticking, Kiraan reminded him. You could have been there by now had you not indulged in your ignan friend’s nonsense.

They’re not my friend. He growled at Apostalite’s betrayal. But the rest of them are. I’m going to help them. The fort was in a state of chaos. The hobgoblins did not seem to notice Ithan as he ran through it in search of his friends. They were too preoccupied with the battle happening just outside of their walls. Where are they? The sky had grown dark in the short time he had been tied up; storm clouds surged from the north, overtaking the peaceful blue sky that he had enjoyed earlier in the day.

Leave them. They left you just as the ignan did.

That wasn’t their choice. He stopped; he was running back toward the entrance that they were brought through to the east. North. They said the gnolls were coming from the north. He turned to head in that direction, stumbling over crumpled tents and smoldering campfires. I’ve still got time; I’ll head straight there once this is over.

I am holding you to that. This is your last warning. Ithan did not like Kiraan’s tone; as soft as his whispers were now, they were laced with promises of the deepest agony. He reached the northern entrance, and there he saw not a field, but a battleground teeming with hobgoblins and gnolls‍—elvenoids with the features of hyenas and the size of minotaurs. Fearsome as they were, they seemed to have met their match with the hobgoblins; bodies fell on both sides in equal shares. Worried about his friends who were amidst the carnage, Ithan bolted through the field, slicing at any gnolls who got in his way. The moments between running and fighting he spent looking for any sign of his companions. As the sky grew ever darker, a flash of light sparked in the corner of his eye. Shortly after, when he had focused his attention there, there was a large explosion in the distance. It had to be Bimpnottin. Ithan picked up speed again toward the fire that now lit up the darkening battleground. He largely ignored the battle around him and raced to the scorched field, dodging around the warring parties as they stained the land with each other’s blood. When he at last reached the smoldering remains of twenty or so gnolls, he searched frantically for the errant gnome.

“Mor’lavan!” he heard Bimpnottin shouting from behind him. He quickly spun around, and he gasped in elation‍—Taer’inar, Irse, and Dhurik were all gathered together with the gnome. Bimpnottin raised a hand and fired a beam of energy toward him. He flinched, but remained unharmed‍—the blast had been aimed at a gnoll just behind him. “The great Bimpnottin shall protect his minions!” Bimpnottin called. With a smirk and a shake of his head, Ithan ran to join his companions.

“Where’s Ian?” he asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

“He ran off when the fighting started,” Taer’inar replied. “Considering how many dead there are, I don’t blame him.”

“Chicken,” Dhurik grunted.

“What is our plan?” Irse asked. She looked down at Ithan’s bloodied arm and shifted her stance. “Let me see that.” Ithan recoiled, but she stepped toward him. “It will get infected.” Hesitantly, Ithan held his glaive in his other hand and allowed the cleric to hold his arm, and she started casting a spell on it. The magic covered his arm in a warm light, and the splinters and rope burn began to vanish.

“Thanks,” he said. When she was done, he lowered his glaive to hold it in both hands. “Now let’s get out of here.”

“Are you kidding?” Dhurik scoffed. “I’m having too much fun; we can’t leave now!”

“I concur!” Bimpnottin added. “I am a man of my word, after all! We must assist Chief Advar in eradicating these invaders!” He fired another ray of light into the nearby crowd, striking a gnoll in the head. “Look at that! I’d call that a ten out of ten!”

“I would give it an eight,” Irse commented. “You missed the center of the forehead.” Bimpnottin threw his hands up in frustration.

“I’m still not particularly fond of these creatures,” Taer’inar said, “but if we are to pass through this territory again, it would help to have allies.” Ithan frowned at the elf’s response, but he understood. It seemed he would not be able to convince any of them so easily to leave while there was a battle to fight. They were not cowards like Apostalite or Ian. And neither was he.

“All right,” he said finally, “Let’s regroup when the fighting’s done.” They exchanged well wishes and words of encouragement, then scattered to rejoin the hobgoblins in fighting the gnolls. Dhurik mowed down a cluster of the hyena-like creatures to his left before he joined in the bloodshed. At first, Ithan fought as if he were in the arena, only disarming and maiming his opponents. But he was not in the arena anymore. There are no rules here. Don’t just disarm. Kill… or be killed. The next attack he made against a large gnoll was a thrust of his glaive into its chest. It crumpled to the ground as he pulled the glaive back to him. A flash of recollection made him falter momentarily, causing him to nearly be mauled by another gnoll. This isn’t the same. They’re not your friends. They’re not even would-be friends. With newfound resolve, he raised his left hand up to his new attacker and cast a spell, causing fire to erupt from his hand and incinerate the gnoll. He turned to his next opponent‍—a particularly large gnoll, perhaps nine feet tall‍—and braced himself for the creature’s assault. Instead of attacking him, though, the gnoll stood in place, watching him, before it started to speak.

“You smell like O’kinou,” it growled. The words did not match the movements of the gnoll’s mouth. “Why you fight gnolls? Gnolls and O’kinou friends. Fight together.”

“O’kinou?” Something about that word intrigued him. Before he could inquire further, however, Taer’inar swooped in from his right and cut down the gnoll, severing its head from its body as he passed through, the faint humming of his swords just barely reaching Ithan’s ears over the sounds of the battle around them.

“You all right?” the elf questioned. Ithan shook his head as he came out of his trance. “That one looked like it was ready to eat you whole.”

“I’d have cut it to pieces from the inside,” Ithan laughed. “We were just having a bit of a staring contest.”

“In the middle of a war zone,” Taer’inar chided. “Try to take this a little more seriously.” He ran off to the north to assist a group of hobgoblins, leaving Ithan to deal with a few more gnolls to the west. Flickers of light flashed all around the battlefield as he fought, and just once thunder rumbled further west of him. The bodies continued to pile up all around him, giving him little confidence that the hobgoblins would survive this incursion at all.

“Begone, you beasts!” Bimpnottin’s voice called from nearby as a flash of greenish-yellow light appeared behind him. “You cannot hope to best a wizard of my caliber!” the gnome laughed as Ithan turned toward him. More lights streaked across the field as Bimpnottin cast spells like a madman atop the corpse of a larger gnoll. Perhaps we have a chance after all. The hobgoblins’ forces were dwindling, but so too were the gnolls’, especially with the speed that his companions were dispatching them.

Before Ithan had a chance himself to return to combat, the distant sound of drums began to echo through the field. The gnolls closest to Ithan stopped their attacks and began to head north toward the drums.

“They’re retreating!” a hobgoblin announced. Not long after, the horns sounded again just as they had before the battle began. The remaining hobgoblins did what they could to take down the fleeing gnolls, but they were more concerned with tending to their wounded comrades. Instead of chasing down the gnolls that had run from him, Ithan assisted in bringing one of the hobgoblins back to the fort. The gnolls vacated the field rather quickly, leaving their own injured behind to be finished off by the surviving hobgoblins.

By the time Ithan arrived inside the fort to bring the injured hobgoblin to receive medical attention, his companions had already gathered there to assist. Irse was treating the severely wounded with healing magic, while Bimpnottin and Taer’inar aided in bandaging more minor injuries.

“You!” Advar bellowed as he trudged across the encampment toward the group. He grabbed one of Ithan’s antlers and pulled upward, lifting him to the point where his hooves barely touched the ground. “How did you get out?!” He shook with rage, saliva spewing out of his mouth as he shouted.

“Does it matter?” Taer’inar yelled back. “He fought against the gnolls just as we did.” The chief held his ground, still glaring at Ithan as he held him in place. “We could have just left you to fend for yourselves, but we kept our word. We helped you achieve victory here.” Advar snarled at the elf, but reluctantly let go of Ithan and stomped away.

“I’m getting tired of people doing that,” Ithan growled as he rubbed the sore spot on his head.

“I suppose it comes with the antlers,” Taer’inar joked as he patted Ithan on the shoulder.

“I don’t see Dhurik getting dragged around by his horns.”

“He’s two feet taller than you and more than twice your weight,” Taer’inar replied.

“Fair enough.” Ithan dropped his hand and looked out across the horizon. The sky had darkened, the storm clouds rolling through the fields to the north. They seemed to linger there, rather than move naturally with the wind. “I wonder where they came from.”

“Advar said there’s a witch up there,” Taer’inar said. “She said if she caught anyone trying to enter the mage tower, she’d obliterate his troops.” Ithan looked around at the bodies scattered across the landscape.

“She made good on her promise,” he muttered.

“They lost a good number of men, sure,” Taer’inar mused, “but not nearly as many as they could have.” He pulled at his lower lip as he watched the storm. “I don’t think she expected them to have help.”

“Chief!” a hobgoblin called suddenly. Ithan looked in the direction of the call to find the soldier pointing at something to the north. Concerned that a second wave of gnolls was approaching, Ithan prepared once more for battle. But the soldier was only pointing at a crow flying toward the fort. It was holding something in its talons; from here it looked to be a scrap of paper. The crow descended slowly from the sky, coming to rest on the ground next to Advar. The hobgoblin chief took the paper from its talons, and with a caw, it flew away.

“What does it say?” Taer’inar asked.

“’Consider this a warning,’” Advar read. He crumpled up the scroll and tossed it to the ground. “Cursed witch. She’s toying with us.” He turned toward the group and stood up straight. “A deal’s a deal, Bimpnottin Bafflestone,” he said. “You’re all free to go.”

“Actually, Chief,” Bimpnottin replied, “we are a tad weary from the day’s battle. Would you permit us to rest with your troops before we go on our way?”

“Do what you want, just don’t go starting any more trouble.” Advar took his leave, heading back to his tent with a few of his soldiers.

“Quite the eventful day,” Taer’inar commented as Advar disappeared into the tent. “Lucky they brought us here instead of killing us at the tower.”

“Lucky indeed,” Ithan mused. Perhaps, somehow, Apostalite had survived the mage tower’s collapse. Despite the trouble the ignan had caused here, he hoped to meet them again someday.