The Early Chronicles of the Oddlot I: 12. The Dracolich

Author’s Note: This episode of The Oddlot concludes the plot for the first volume of The Chronicles of the Oddlot. Last time, I had promised two more episodes remained. I had originally planned a dream sequence for the twelfth episode, a foreshadowing of Volume II. For various reasons, this will not be presented at this time. However, I do hope to present it in the near future.

As to the future of The Oddlot: Like they say on Facebook, it’s complicated. First and foremost, I’m well-behind where I wanted to be on the fourth book in the Inquisitor Damulis series. Originally, I had planned for The Chronicles of the Oddlot, Volume I to end just as book four was ready to release. With my day job starting back up, I have less time to write. Book four takes priority for what time I have. Second, the Oddlot is based on a weekly D&D group I’m a part of and I found myself taking more notes than actually playing and enjoying myself. That’s not good. I am hopeful to capture the second volume with a little help from my friends. Third, well, third’s the most complicated and personal of all…and perhaps a tale for a different time.

For now, I hope you enjoy the conclusion to volume one of the Oddlot. Thank you for reading.

12: The Dracolich

We woke the next morning with light streaming through the eye sockets of the skull cave. I looked at Enolo and found him staring hard at me.

“Did you dream—” he began.

“Of a desert city,” I finished.

“Wot you think it means?”

“I’m not sure, my large friend, but perhaps the wizard Westendorf will have answer once we return to Ellry.”

“No normal dream, though.”

I nodded. “At least I found out what my new cloak can do.”

I looked the cave over to see if some magic could have linked our dreams. I didn’t see anything, nor did I expect to. Something from within the cave wouldn’t explain how the wizard back in Ellry had been in the dream too.

“What’s all this about a dream?” Nedwyn said, back to her usual chipper self. 2zard had worked until his spells of healing were spent, rested, and began again. Aside from the damage to her leathers, she looked unmarked from the beating she’d taken. “Was it a dream about cats? I love cats! I have this one dream where I’m just covered with kittens. It’s so warm and furry.”

“No,” I said. “It definitely wasn’t about cats.”

“There was an orc though,” Enolo said.

“Oh, I think I’d rather dream about cats, especially kittens. Puppies are all right, too, but I’d rather have kittens. Like, one time in Sharn we rescued a whole bunch. It was really cool!”

“Cool? I thought you said it was warm. You know what, never mind. We shouldn’t linger here.”

The skull cave seemed innocuous enough without the hags vile presence, but it had been a place where’d they crafted their evil spells. Considering a dracolich still inhabited Mordo, we felt it best not to linger.

Mordo seemed himself this morning. As we slogged through the swamp, Enolo walked alongside him, and Tyrael walked behind him. I didn’t like the implications of this. I kept near all of them. If Mordo fell into darkness again, I was sure I could bring him out. I wasn’t about to let the newcomers act rashly, arguments about the greater good be damned. Mordo himself seemed not to notice, though he and Leffe chatted as the warrior carried the maimed dwarf on his back. Neither mentioned their afflictions or ordeals when they thought we could hear, but I suspected that the two could commiserate and help heal each other’s emotional wounds once this was all over.

We returned to Ellry by mid-day, having caught a stroke of luck along the way. The horses hadn’t actually made it home, and we were able to ride most of the way by doubling up, Enolo excluded. This time, not great kerfuffle awaited us, though Hawken Bramblebraid and his daughter Jessa awaited us.

“Good news!” the elder druid said, seeming genuinely happy to see us as we entered the Waltr’s inn. I saw that Bramblebraid shared another trait with the younger druid Dalvin; a small army of tankards had collected on his table. Yet, the elder, like Dalvin, showed little effect. Must be all that clean living and forest air. “I’ve arrived at not just one way to cure the warrior, but four!”

This seemed like news that couldn’t wait, though I had intended for Dalvin and Leffe to be there. The two had gone off to find Carla the healer and see what she could for the amputated dwarf. Tyrael had been pulled aside by Westendorf[AC3] and, while both Enolo and wanted a word with Ellry’s resident wizard, we made our way to the tavern with Mordo, Nedwyn and 2zard. The latter had pulled his cloak tightly about him. We didn’t need a repeat of the town’s reaction to Tyrael.

“Four?” I said. “That’s unbelievable, considering you didn’t think of one before.”

“I had a lot on my mind,” Bramblebraid said, nodding to his daughter by the window. The girl played happily with a doll, seemingly none the worse for her experience with the hags. “But tell me, did you deal with the hags?”

“Mordo and friends crush,” Mordo said. “Kill nightmare too.”

A ripple of sadness passed over Bramblebraid’s face. He nodded it away with a resolution to his bottom lip.

“Did we do somethin’ wrong, then?” Enolo asked the druid. The sight of the nearly eight foot goliath stuffed into the booth of the tavern reminded me of a time I’d sat at tea with a group of pixies. Enolo, even sitting, felt the need to hunch over.

“You made new friends, of all sizes,” Bramblebraid said, looking first at Enolo then at Nedwyn. His gave finally fell on 2zard, who had tried to remain in the shadows of the tavern. “And types.” His gaze lingered on the warforged as he tried to make sense of him.

“But no,” he continued. “ It had to be done. Weren’t no coming back from it, I knew that. It’s just,” the elder druid’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Remember how I told ya the hags reproduce, by corrupting a woman?”

“I do,” I said. I shot a nervous glance at Jessa and her doll, fearing for what might have happened.

“Jessa’s mom was one of them hags. They grabbed her when I was tending to a forest fire one day, probably started by those vicious horrors to distract me. I tried to get her back, but there’s no comin’ back from the hag-ritual that I know of.”

“Mordo is sorry for druid’s loss, sorry had to crush wife.”

Bramblebraid nodded. We were silent a moment then, letting the druid mourn.

At length he cleared his throat. “At any rate, I figured four ways to stop the dracolich Grixmax from taking over Mordo.

“First, the Mathias tree root grows in a small grove in the forest. When boiled, it produces a fluid that looks like blood. It’s presence within Mordo would drive out the dracolich. Unfortunately, it would probably wipe clear all of Mordo’s thoughts, memories and personality.”

“Next,” I said.

“Second, and I mentioned this one before to you, Ander, is to bring him to a city where they got a grand old temple to one of the goodly gods. You might find a priest there who can cast out the dracolich. Problem with that one is, ain’t no city big enough within a week’s ride, and I don’t reckon Mordo’s got a week.”

“Can bard cast fast walking spell on Mordo again and again?”

“Maybe, Mordo, but I’m not sure I could do it enough to get you there in time.”

“Third,” Bramblebraid continued. “You can kill Mordo.”

“NEXT.”

“I didn’t think you’d like that one. I saved the best for last.”

Bramblebraid looked quite happy with himself, but all I could hear was my molars grinding.

“Well, spit it out man!” Enolo said. This broke Bramblebraid’s mute act.

“Ah, yes. Forgive and old fella for his dramatic pause, but this is a good one. On the mountain side north of here, above where them stinkin’ kobolds live, is an old shrine. I never knew much about it. Wasn’t to any god or goddess I’d ever heard of, but the kobolds have taken an interest. I think the shaman means to use it in a ritual to bring back Grixmax.”

“How in the nine hells is this a good thing, Hawken?” I asked.

“Cuz the shrine originally belonged to the Raven Queen.”

“Yes!” Mordo bellowed. “See! Mordo tell you she exists.”

I admit that I the news surprised me. I had begun to think that the Raven Queen was a product of Mordo’s imagination.

“So, wot we got to do at this shrine?” Enolo asked.

“You’ll need to find a way to remove the kobold’s stink from it first. Chances are, the little buggers have profaned it. Then, make a suitable enough sacrifice on it to summon the Raven Queen herself. If she favors Mordo as much as he thinks she does, she should life the dracolich right out of him.”

Nedwyn had been remarkably quiet through the whole conversation. “A real honest-to-goodness goddess? Really? How cool is that? I bet she’ll have a terrible beauty, you know. Most of the goddesses you hear about in the legends are describe that way. But what does that really mean? How can you be both terrible and beautiful? I figure that maybe’s she’s so pretty, she scares lesser folks, you know, like Ander here.”

“I prefer fetchingly masculine,” I said. “And, do I scare people with my beauty?”

“Focus, bard. This not about Ander. This about Mordo,” Mordo said.

“Sorry.”

“Wot happens if we summon this Raven Queen? I mean, will she kill the dracolich for us?”

“Heh-heh. Let’s just say, big fella, that you’ll get a chance to prove yourself as a paladin.”

“Mordo crush dracolich? Epic!”

I sighed.



* * *



We stayed overnight in Ellry, resting our beaten bodies and gathering our strength. The next day we left at dawn with the hopes to arrive while it was still light out. The configuration of our band had changed, though. Whatever Westendorf had told Tyrael, it was enough for the tiefling sorcerer to debate staying behind. I couldn’t imagine what could be more important that dealing with a dracolich, and eventually neither could Tyrael. Still, he looked trouble as he left, and it wasn’t just from the impending doom of the fight ahead of us.

Leffe, of course, would be going nowhere for a while, and his days as an adventurer had ended. The best he could hope for was some enchanted prosthetics someday, though he made a joke about being a sailor with two peg legs.

Enolo, of course was in. His oath against evil compelled him to help us fight the dracolich. Even if it hadn’t, he would have gone along anyway. While his brain may have had a lot in common with the stone of his rocky home, his heart was as big as a mountain.

Privately I went to 2zard and Nedwyn before we left, offering to let them off the hook. This wasn’t their fight and I didn’t want them to feel obliged to help. Nedwyn, though, thought it sounded “cool” and “fun”. I couldn’t read 2zard’s reaction, though his eyes seemed a bit smaller. The “robot” would follow Nedwyn anywhere, though, so once she agreed, so did the warforged.

We gave kobold lair a wide berth and came at the shrine from a pathway Hawken Bramblebraid had told us about. He claimed that the kobolds would have no knowledge of it and from what we could tell, he was right. The “path” might have moved aside for the elder druid, but not for us. Dalvin apologized for not being accomplished enough in the druidly arts to move the vegetation aside for us, but between Mordo and Enolo, we pushed through with little delay.

Ascending the mountainside presented its own obstacles. While we had rested, our bodies were still dealing with the fatigue of so many adventures in such a short amount of time. While we only had to hike and not really climb it, the ascent was steep. The higher we got, the colder then air, but at least we didn’t have to climb to the snowcapped peak; the altar to the Raven Queen sat on a wide shelf lower down. I wondered who would build a shrine all the way up here. The Raven Queen’s followers must have been quite resolute and pious in their day. Also, if they were required to hike a mountain for religious rites every week, it was easy to see how the religion had died out. We knew we were on the right path when we found the upheaved stones of an ancient stairway and moss-covered stone cobbles from a long destroyed wall.

The shrine itself jutted into the sky. Despite the centuries we assumed had passed since the Raven Queen had actively been worshiped in the realms, the full-bodied statue to her stood majestically against the blue-gray sky. Her skin looked to be a deathly pale, though it was hard to tell if that was just the stone. Her dress, though, was inky black and feathery. One shapely arm stretched out, but its fingers were skeletal. A raven sat on the ground next to her feet. In her other hand she held a scythe,

“Oh, so that’s what terrible beauty looks like,” Nedwyn whispered.

“Mordo, what domain does the Raven Queen claim?” I said. My mouth felt very dry.

“Raven Queen is queen of death,” Mordo said.

“That knowledge would have been nice to know,” Dalvin said.

“It explains why she’d consider Mordo her champion,” I said, recalling the bloody swaths he’d cut through enemy hordes.

“Friends no worry. Raven Queen not kill, only teach souls to accept death. Is why Raven Queen hate undead so much. Undead pervert afterlife.”

“Still though,” Dalvin said. “Share that kind of thing.”

I glanced at Enolo, then remembered the failure of an earlier look asked him directly, “Do you sense any evil from the shrine.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s the shrine itself. Look at its base. See them gory bits? I’d bet that the kobolds did that, trying to profane it.”

“Speaking of whom, where are the scaly little monsters?”

As if awaiting their cue, the kobold shaman crested a rock cluster across from us. His serpents smile told us that he’d been awaiting our arrival. A line of kobold warriors appeared next to them, looking very confident and not at all kobold like. The shaman waved his arms and staff in the air. His minions charged.

Mordo lost the battle for himself in that moment. Whatever the shaman had prepared for us, it was too much for my friend. He shot into the air, eyes black and body swelled. The ghostly image of wings sprouted from his back, as did the faintest trace of a tail. Talons of ether lashed out at us, missing thank Tyr, but they flashed doom as they reared back for another swipe.

“Mordo,” Dalvin said, his voice choking. I shared his pain, looking at the once fierce warrior held aloft by the eldritch winds of evil.

Then, the empowered kobolds were on us, and we did nothing for a while but fight to survive. I could see Enolo slicing his way through them as he tried to get at Mordo. In the giant paladin’s mind, the greater good would be done, even if that meant an end for Mordo.

I disengaged and made space for myself on the crest of rocks. I sang to Mordo, sang and played, though every instinct told me to put my rapier in my hand and not my lute. I ignored my instincts and focused on reaching the man inside the monster.

Magical attacks crackled around me, giving me a chance to complete my song. 2zard and Tyrael unleashed what they could, molding energy into sharp things to pierce or hard things to smash. Dalvin focused magic on the shaman, keeping the kobold leader on the move and unable to lead the reverse exorcism of the Grixmax. Nedwyn whirled like a miniature dust devil about the battlefield, slicing her scimitars in a precise dance of death. She circled back to 2zard just in time to pry a barehanded kobold off the warforged.

Enolo had made his way to Mordo. My heart sank as his sword slashed out. To my relief, he did not strike Mordo properly, but sliced into the draconic phantasm around him. The paladin must have used magic of his own, for the phantasm shuddered and recoiled. I saw Mordo’s head come around and the darkness in his eyes fade. I played on, willing the inspiration to him to resist Grixmax. I could not tell if separating the two would be the wise thing, but at least if the dracolich left Mordo, we could attack it without risk to my friend.

Nedwyn and 2zard wrestled a kobold on to the shrine. “Hey, gnome!” Nedwyn called to Dalvin. Guessing what she had in mind, he broke his fighting stance and let his firey blade diminish, hurrying to them. The little druid was as close as we had to a priest. He began a druid prayer he knew to hollow the dead.

The dracolich bucked and pulled at Mordo, trying to separate itself. I didn’t understand why, exactly. Other than for sheer hatred and cruelty, killing Mordo would leave it without a living phylactery, and its bones were miles from here.

The kobold shaman didn’t seemed concerned. He implored his dark lord with his arms, beckoning him to come forth. The remaining kobolds whipped into a frenzy and, despite not being the fiercest opponents normally, suddenly seemed to swell with size and power. Worse, the slain stirred, floating upright and lurching forward in the grip of eldritch power.

“Ned!” I yelled. “We’re out of time!”

The halfling gulped. She lifted her dagger then jammed it down into the chest of the kobold. “Hey, Raven Lady! Take this stupid thing’s life and give us back our friend!” It certainly wasn’t the most eloquent prayer.

But it was effective.

The sky itself seemed to split in flash of lightning. A dark spot manifested in the air, growing in size with each split second. Finally, it reached full dilation and out hot the living form of the shrine’s statue.

That was all any of us saw, who had dared to look up at the phenomena. The flash of light had been bad enough, but mortal eyes are not meant to gaze upon the pure divine.

I doubled over, holding my eyes, trying to rub away the darkness that had struck them. I stumbled and lost all sense of friend and enemy. Perhaps the only thing that saved me was that some of the kobolds, too, had looked up and been blinded.

What happened next was related to me afterward. The Raven Queen descended from the heavens and touched the very heart of Mordo. Her champion had surged with renewed life and sense of self. He tore the spirit of the dracolich from him, and dragon emerged in spectral form upon the shelf. The Raven Queen passed her scythe through it, and the specter shuddered and solidified. Then, the goddess shot back into the sky, leaving the fight to her champion and his friends.

My vision cleared and I found myself standing behind the shaman. The kobold must have been similarly blinded, for both of us had stumbled away from where we’d been. His vision also restored, he leveled his staff at the battlefield. Lightning dance around the orb on its end and ozone filled the air. Lute in my left hand, I drew my rapier with my right and ran it through the shaman’s back. He twisted violently, tearing the rapier from my hand, but dropping the staff. I smashed the loot on his head, and he dropped, convulsing on the ground.

With no thought for my blade, for what good would it do now? I grabbed up the shaman’s staff. Lightning still danced around the orb. I pointed it at the spectral dracolich. The lightning lanced out and infused the dracolich, making it more substantial.

“Oh my dear Tyr, what have I done?” I nearly dropped the staff as I watched the after effects, sure that I had made Grixmax more powerful, not less. I had little time to contemplate it. Teeth bit into the leather of my boot. I danced away from the shaman, just as he brought down the point of a crude knife on the spot by foot had been. Lacking a proper weapon and not willing to test the integrity of my lute again, I smashed the prone shaman with his own staff.

Back on the battlefield, Tyrael fired magic into Grixmax. The dracolich screamed its agony and rage, but not for long. Enolo, sword flashing, lay into it with the frightening might of a goliath. 2zard’s energy bolts kept the undead dragon staggered. Dalvin slashed at the tail with his flame blade while Nedwyn used her bow to pelt the dracolich with arrows.

“MORDO. CRUSH.”

The warrior sprang from an outcropping. His maul swung high as he leapt from the rock. It blasted Grixmax in the head and Mordo, with the head, dropped to the ground. Releasing his hammer, Mordo drew forth his sword and hacked through the dracolich’s neck. The others piled on, though I could not tell how necessary their efforts were. When they fell back in exhaustion, the dracolich moved no more.



* * *



“Leffe will be upset with us,” Dalvin said as we sorted through the loot of the fallen. “We didn’t kill the dragon in its lair. No horde of gold.”

“Not much gold at all since we got to Ellry, really,” I said. The others looked at me. “Not that that was my prime motivating factor,” I added, smiling at Mordo.

“Mordo know bard care. Bard too pretty to be bad guy.”

I smirked, not bothering to correct him.

“Friends,” Tyrael said. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we mustn’t believe that we’ve killed the dracolich. We’ve only driven it from this plane of existence, at best.”

“We knew that coming in, Tyrael,” Dalvin said. “But what do you mean ‘at best’?”

“At worse, its soul has found a new phylactery, where it will wait until it can influence the next fool to take it.”

That one stung a bit.

“Hold on, Horns,” I said. “That’s not what Bramblebraid said. He said if we could defeat it, it would be some time before it could manifest in this world again. In fact, he figured on getting some help from King Vargas to track down its phylactery and destroying it once and for good.”

The tiefling dipped his head to acknowledge the point. “Yes, that’s true. But keep in mind that should Grixmax ever return to this world, he’ll want to settle some scores.”

“Tiefling couldn’t just let us enjoy moment, could he?” Mordo said.

“Mordo!” Dalvin said. “That’s very good! You just used a pronoun correctly!”

“Mordo renaissance man.”

Sore, bloodied but finally feeling like a weight had been lifted, we descended the mountain together and made our way back to Ellry.


Epilogue


I looked around at my companions as we sat around the fire in the common room of Waltr’s Inn & Tavern. Leffe, proving his twisted sense of humor, had joined us with Westendorf’s help; the dwarf sported two peg legs. Unable to contain myself, I burst out laughing.

“Wot’s so funny, Ander?” Enolo said. He took up an entire bench to himself, and the tankard in his hand looked like a thimble. His tone showed genuine interest and no defensiveness.

“You. Leffe. Us, all of us,” I said between giggles. “This is the oddest lot of beings I’ve ever seen. A noble half-giant paladin, a human warrior with a speech impediment, a gnome druid, a halfling rogue, whatever the hells 2zard is, Horns over there, a dwarf with two peg legs, a bookish wizard, and me, the face that tells the tales. How in all the realms did this happen?” I fell into a fit of giggling. The others, thankfully not insulted, joined me.

“If it works, it works,” Enolo said, smile wide.

“Here’s to the Oddlot, then,” Westendorf said, offering up his wine glass.

“To the Oddlot,” we said, raising our own drinks.

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