Pools of Darkness - James M Brown [111]
The ranger hauled himself to his feet and checked his saddle, saddlebags, chain mail, and weapons for what seemed like the tenth time since the group had made camp the night before. He wore his polished chain mail, exquisitely crafted by the elves, and the magical cloak that made his form seem to blur, making it difficult for an enemy to strike him. His numerous daggers were sharpened and tucked away in sheaths all over his body. The long bow was packed, and his huge sword hung within easy reach. It would be his most trusted companion in the hours to come.
Miltiades and his ivory steed were ready, as always. The paladin had prepared his armor and sword the night before. Without the need for food or sleep, he now waited calmly as the others checked their gear.
As Miltiades waited, he meditated and prayed to Tyr. He no longer prayed to gain courage, but to show acceptance of his fate. His spirit was growing tired after its lengthy wait for Tyr's call, and he longed for this chance for eternal peace. The undead paladin made one last vow to prove his worth and devotion.
"Tyr," he whispered, bowing his head, "your servant is grateful for this quest. My soul is dedicated to you. Know that I go forth this day to honor your name. I can be victorious only through your guidance, but my failure is my own. Accept the struggles of this humble servant as testimony to his devotion to you." The paladin silently continued his mediation as his companions finished readying themselves.
Evaine and Andoralson inventoried their spell components one final time. The druid chose a patch of grass away from the others, then knelt in prayer to Silvanus. Evaine settled crosslegged on her bedroll and began a ritual of meditation and concentration that would help her focus her magical powers.
Rising from his prayers, Andoralson planted one last ring of magical oak trees, knowing this might be his final chance to leave a mark of good in the world. As he concentrated on the magic, he could sense the other nineteen groves growing tall and strong. The druid would leave a small legacy behind, even if the battle ahead proved to be his last.
Gamaliel was ready for action, tensely pacing the camp in cat form. He started at every rustle of the wind and at every leaf that tumbled into the clearing. His eyes were deeply golden; his pink nose never stopped twitching at the wind. Twice the fur on his tail fluffed out as if a black dragon had swooped into camp.
The cat informed his mistress that he smelled creatures of evil all around them, within a few miles of the perimeter. Both knew they would meet the horrid minions soon enough.
Evaine felt fully prepared, both mentally and physically, for the battle ahead, but she was still wrought with anxiety. Pools of darkness were unpredictable things, and what worked to destroy one might not destroy another. Yet her hatred for the evil waters outweighed her nervousness and stirred her determination.
The sorceress pondered the problem of the pit fiend. She had faced fiends before, but never one of this kind. She knew them to be vastly powerful and resistant to many types of magic. As she loaded her saddlebags, she drew out a slim, silver case containing four large darts wrought from dragon talons. Opening the case, she checked to see that the tip of each was coated with a brown, sticky substance.
"Ren, are you skilled in the use of darts?"
The ranger stopped his pacing long enough to answer. "I've used various types of darts. But when I need a missile weapon, I prefer the bow. Why do you ask?"
"The fiend we're going to face will probably be resistant to magic. I have four darts made from dragon talons. Their tips are harder than tempered steel, and they're coated with a sap that causes paralysis, at least in humans. I'd like you to carry one in case you can get a shot at the fiend. It may weaken the creature and allow my magic to work. If it's paralyzed or even slowed,