Microsoft Zone Archive/Asheron's Lore/The Sclavus

Material retrieved from original Zone caches available at http://web.archive.org.

Original Link (now dead) - http://www.zone.com/asheronscall/ASHEsclavus.asp

The Sclavus

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Murk Dwellers

by Allan Maki, Turbine Entertainment Software

He cursed aloud. Peepers quieted and plopped into murky water, swimming away from the noise. The suction locked his boots deep within the mire, and the more he struggled, it seemed, the more tightly the swamp held his boot.

“All this for Mosswarts!” he yelled, scattering a flock of birds that had gathered at the rim of the swamp. Thick green haze funneled through the steam vents, whose source lay deep beneath the muck. Pockets of gas beneath the black mud opened from time to time, causing the stagnant water to burble and noxious fumes to rise into the air.

Coman was not happy that his teacher, Antius, had made this request of him. He hated the swamp. Like most other Gharu'ndim he enjoyed the arid clime of the desert. Yet he was an apprentice, and that meant doing the menial tasks that your mentor asked of you.

Mire Witches, potent Mosswart spellcasters, had been seen amassing in the Direland swamp a fair distance outside of Wei-Jhou, and Antius was curious as to their intent. He had wanted to attend to the matter himself, but other duties kept him away on Marae Lassel.

Now, as he struggled to free his boot, Coman grew increasingly aware of the dangers about him. This swamp was home to not only Mire Witches, but also a host of Undead, Shadows, Sclavus, Golems and various other sorts of foul creatures. Since the Virindi had somehow sundered the natural order and the habitats of many of the creatures of Dereth, the Direlands had become an even more difficult region to navigate. Removing an ivory orb from his pack, Coman resolved to free his boots from the swamp's grasp. First, however, he needed to enhance his strength and harden his body, in case of assault.

As he began his first incant, his trapped foot slipped through into a pocket of gas. The steam rushed over his leg, traveled up his torso, and scorched his flesh. His cry was swallowed by the sound of the vent jetting its fumes into the air. He fell to the ground in a heap. The ivory orb rolled from his fingers into the murky water where it was swallowed by the darkness. Coman breathed, drawing in water, muck, and air as unconsciousness crashed over him in waves of pain.

__________

Pain, in hot white flashes, ripped him from sleep. Something was peeling the scalded flesh off his face. His left eye would not open and he could not move his hand to the eye to tell what kept it shut. His right eye stung and watered. There was something in it, scraping against the lid and itching the eyeball. He blinked furiously as the pain on his left side continued. He vaguely remembered what happened, preparing to cast a spell and puncturing a steam vent with his foot.

Instinctively he wiggled his toes; something bit into his foot. He winced at first but the pain was more tolerable than the peeling had been. His vision began to clear as he felt a wet-cotton mouth open wide enough to take in his foot entirely. Whispered soft hisses began to rise around him. He was on his back, slightly inverted. The sun was setting.

His arms and legs were strapped to a stone altar with thick leather straps. He had full range of movement with his head but his useless left eye made peripheral vision impossible. He tried to speak and noticed for the first time that he wheezed, a sound like boiling water. His throat felt weighted down, thick with phlegm. He coughed but the blockage would not move.

There was a taste of dirt and rotten eggs in his mouth. Grinding his teeth together he felt bits of sand chipping away at the enamel; he had passed out in the swamp, what had he swallowed?

A burning sensation spread from his foot like acid on his flesh. He looked down and saw a Sclavus, jaws extended lying prone, trying to swallow his leg whole. Its eyes were shut, shielded by a thick membrane. He kicked, twisted, and moaned softly as he tried to free himself from being eaten alive.

The jarring motion within its mouth forced the Sclavus's eyes open. Twin membranes peeled back quickly, sideways, and down as it blinked awake. Jaws opened further and slid off of Coman's foot. His boot was missing and the bare skin was covered in boils, some closed, others oozing fluid.

The Sclavus hissed, looking lost in its surroundings. Its lids blinked open and closed as its head twitched side to side, confused. Coman whimpered and coughed again. The Sclavus reached for a discarded spear then, beside the slab where Coman was tethered. It hissed and moved to his left, just beyond his sight; he twisted his head to see where the thing went. Gone. He could no longer see it.

He heard its hiss and a rattle. The pain kept his fear in check, his wits strained to their limit. There was nothing he could do. He had no reagents, or means of focus that he could feel, and his arms and legs were bound too tightly for him to break free. Breathing was labored and difficult, and so was the steadying of his mind. Silence fell over the area, save for the sound of peepers and steam vents coughing open in the swamp. The Sclavus must have disappeared somewhere behind him.

He surveyed the area of his predicament. It appeared to be a fortress of some kind, constructed in the most ancient Empyrean style. Moss thickly carpeted each of the three walls he could see. Vines twisted from the fetid ground to the crumbling tops of the battlements. There was an arch, too, unmarred by time and lacking gates; it afforded him a view into the swamp. Flanking the arch were two other Sclavus, Sata. They ignored his stirring. Expecting his tormentor would return, he tugged at his bonds, testing them. Each shift sent bolts of agony through his left wrist and ankle. Trapped.

He spat a muddy wad from his mouth and muttered, “This is a fine mess, Coman,” through gritted teeth.

The Aste that had chomped on his foot came back into view, poking him in the ribs with its spear. It hissed as if warning him to be silent. Accepting that he would not break free he took more time to study where he was. To his right he saw a group of Se digging through his backpack. They tore scraps of clothing and studied the gems and jewelry within, fighting over the brightly colored ones. His staves, containing potent magics, were strewn some distance from the group, apparently discarded.

He yelled at them, not thinking of his current situation. A swift blow to the back of the head set his world spinning once again into unconsciousness.

__________

The sun had set and night was settling in. His vision returned and he witnessed a small disturbance at the archway. A Chomu, cloaked in robes that matched the color of its reptilian hood, strode ahead of a band of Sata. It carried a small cauldron that steamed in the cool night air. To his right the Aste were growing lethargic.

The Chomu hissed loudly at them and they stirred, moving toward him in haste. One twitched on its belly, trying to slither. A second went back to its comrade and hoisted it up. The slitherer performed the same confused blink and head twitch that Coman had witnessed on the Aste that tried to consume his foot. The second Aste handed it a sword and, making sure the Sclavus on the ground was watching, stomped its legs. Seconds passed with no response, and the Chomu came into Coman's view. It struck the daft Aste in the head with its staff, as the second crouched and skittered away. Hissing commands, the larger Chomu nudged the Aste into motion. The Aste, still looking confused, moved along. The Chomu turned toward Coman.

The twin moons Alb'arel and Rez'arel were cresting the trees as the Chomu approached. The steaming cauldron gave off a heady scent of fungus and brimstone. Sniffing in a deep breath of air, the Chomu flicked its tongue over Coman's face. He closed his eye in fear and began to tremble. Withdrawing, the Chomu hissed to his entourage.

They carried armfuls of dried wood and built a fire, mechanically, as if this had been an action performed by rote a thousand times before. Disappearing behind him, the Chomu continued to hiss. Soft noises of metal on stone sounded behind Coman, like a knife being sharpened. He swallowed hard, and felt the wedge of mud and filth slide down his gullet. He fought the urge to retch and coughed violently, convulsing with pain as his scalded flesh was torn at the wrist and ankle. Opening his eye after the fit, he saw that the Chomu studied him with a curious interest.

Its lids slid open and shut horizontally as it studied his twitching form. It was. . . curious. Its scales were a muddy brown, and stiff. Deep hollows between each scale made it appear stony, unreal, alive but. . . somehow constructed. It breathed but it had no discernable smell and its breath was not warm. Like the night air it was cool. Coal-black eyes peered at him, with no discernable emotion, cold, automatic. A flame burst where the Aste worked and broke the Chomu's study.

Twisting its head to view the fire, it stepped away from him once again. Coman watched the flames lick the night sky, and marveled at the way the Sclavus fell into a rigid form, kneeling between the fire and the raised dais where he was bound. Fear swelled in him when the Chomu returned to view carrying the steaming cauldron in one hand, and a sinister knife in the other. He screamed.

“Help! Please, anyone help!” Death was nothing more than a drain on the body, but this would not be an ordinary death. This was a rite. He knew little about the Sclavus. He had encountered them in his earlier days as an adventurer in swamps but had never seen this behavior.

The Chomu moved to the front. The others took up positions in a wedge, perfectly symmetrical. The Sata flanked the Chomu, who took a position off center, leaving space for another. Behind the Sata, the Aste and the Se all knelt, their hooded reptilian heads bowed.

The Chomu raised its hands--Coman raised his screaming voice. He looked to the sky where Alb'arel and Rez'arel were coming to their respective apexes.

Then there was silence, broken only by his panting and the roar of the fire. The Chomu knelt and held the cauldron and knife in outstretched hands.

He looked down and saw the twin gutters slanting down along the slab. As if to drain away any amount of. . . fluid.

“Help!”

__________

The twin moons began their descent. The fire withered into cooling embers. The smallest Sclavus began to lay their fish-pale bellies flat to the ground, slithering toward the dwindling flames before falling finally still. Coman had watched the others hold their position tirelessly, waiting. Whatever they waited for did not arrive.

He was hoarse from crying for help. Now he stared into the dying night sky and pleaded once more.

The Chomu lifted its head and released the cauldron and knife. The cauldron tipped and spilled pale fungi and dark liquid across the mud. The knife landed blade down in the moist earth. Coman heard it too, a sound of footsteps, human footsteps. The Chomu moved quickly, tried to stir its entourage. Lethargically, the Aste and Sata stirred and moved with the Chomu. The Se remained unmoving. Some left their weapons on the ground.

Beyond the dying embers of the fire, Coman saw two warriors protected by heavy plate mail cross beneath the arch. They shredded the Sclavus ranks and fell upon the Chomu with relentless blows of sword and axe. When the Chomu finally fell Coman looked into its coal-black eyes.

They looked lost, betrayed, as though they had been abandoned. He had watched those eyes for hours, waiting in silence, for what? The lids drew shut as Coman was freed. He thanked the warriors and collected his scattered items. He then called upon the magics of the heart to mend his body.

“Savage lot, those Sclavus,” one of his rescuers stated.

He offered a nod, staring into the corner of the fortress where one Aste lay coiled.

“Indeed.” He said. “I am in your debt, gentlemen. More than you know.” His saviors picked through the remains of the Sclavus, collecting rewards and treasures. He offered to summon a portal to Qal'abar for them. They accepted. Telling them he would be along shortly, he uttered, “Roiga Thiloi” and the portal swirled into existence.

With the men gone, he cautiously approached the Aste. It hissed a warning and fanned its hood open, curling its head back as if prepared to strike. Joints prevented it from attaining the shape of a pure coil, but it had tried. As he approached it shifted its head side to side as it tracked his movements. Its tongue licked the air, keeping his scent.

“Total regression. . . ” he remarked as he witnessed the Sclavus trying to wriggle beneath a crack in the wall. “. . . amazing.” Backing away from the creature he pulled a staff free and returned to the Lifestone in Cragstone.

Antius would scold him for failing to determine the reasons behind the Mosswarts' recent motivations, but the information he had gleaned about the Sclavus would prove invaluable.

The Sclavus is not a natural monster, but rather a magical crossbreed of serpent and humanoid. It is rumored that they were created ages ago by a degenerate Empyrean cult, in a failed attempt to construct a servant race. Four different subraces exist, ranging in size from four to seven feet tall. Sclavi fight viciously with swords and spears, and are also powerful spellcasters. Swamps, ruins, and deep dungeons are their homes. Deadly to Lethal, depending on subrace