Microsoft Zone Archive/Player Chronicles/Close Encounter
Original Link (now dead) - http://classic.zone.msn.com/asheronscall/ASHEcloseencounter.asp
Close Encounter
Berserker hummed tunelessly to himself as he strode up the stairs of one of Fort Tethana's outlying towers, his sack of loot slung over one shoulder. He knew that the local militia would have locked the gates by now, but Berserker had a way around that problem. Halfway up the narrow stairs he turned and walked out onto the little balcony running along the structure's outer wall. He looked thoughtfully at a similar walkway on one of the guard towers in the fort, stepped back, turned, and hurled himself across the intervening space.
Berserker's humorless grin of triumph swiftly twisted into a curse; he had overshot the platform! He landed lightly in the midst of a couple of young neophytes who had come to the Direlands to hone their skills against such creatures as Silver Rats, Drudges, and the Tumeroks that patrolled the highlands further out. The youngsters scurried back, astonished to find themselves face to face with a shadowy figure that had bounded over the walls and was even now glaring at them with eyes that shone with a hellish light, its searchlight gaze painting whatever it focused on in shades of deep crimson. One of them, a willowy Sho girl, shrieked in terror:
“It's a Shadow!”
“It's an Olthoi!” her dark-skinned companion volunteered, bringing around his staff. It was a good wizarding staff, covered from tip to tip with weird carvings that seemed to shift under one's gaze.
They paused and stared at one another.
“It's a monster!” they concurred.
The young Gharun'dim hurriedly shoved his staff at the apparition and screamed some words of power: “Zojak Quareth!”
The nearly invisible force kicked up a wake of dust as it hurtled toward Berserker, who growled in frustration. Even though fellow adventurers could not slay him due to Asheron's magic, a shock wave to the face hurt nonetheless. All thoughts of protesting this sudden ill-treatment vanished as he lunged forward, smashing his armored fist into the wave in a swift right hook. The spell, its material equilibrium upset, rebounded and described a lazy arc into the night sky, its invisible passage betrayed when it took a couple of stones out of the tavern's chimney.
The neophyte was momentarily rendered speechless, his mouth working like that of a landed fish. Then, the words he was seeking rose to his lips.
“Run!”
But his cohort did not hear him. Overwhelmed by the “monster's” power, she had backed away until she came to a corner into the wall. Finding herself trapped, she sank to the ground, pleading incoherently as tears ran down her face. The boy made a valiant attempt to move her, but she refused to budge as Berserker closed the gap between them, moving quickly despite the apparent laziness of his long, powerful strides.
Seeing that he would have to make a Heroic Last Stand, the sandy-robed mageling turned swiftly, raising his staff to confront the apparition.
“Fear not, Mai! He won't get past me.” He shook his staff menacingly. “Halt, or I'll make you really sorry!” Berserker continued his wordless advance. “Then you leave me little choice! Feel the wrath of my ancestors, demon!” He swept the staff around, aiming to knock the fuming adventurer's head off.
The strike was a good one, dead on target as it hissed through the still air. It connected solidly with Berserker's palm, and violet ribbons of electricity coruscated down his arm as he enfolded the staff in a grip made steel by adrenaline and outrage.
He wrenched it from its wielder's hands as he, still striding swiftly forward, gripped the terrified lad by the collar of his apprentice's robe and heaved him roughly against the wall. As the boy struggled feebly, Berserker adjusted his grip on the staff and rapped the luckless novice sharply on the forehead with it, provoking a hollow “clonk.”
His fearsome helmet gave Berserker's words a hideous, sonorous quality as though several voices were speaking just out of sync with one another.
“Enough already!”
Both youngsters abruptly ceased their caterwauling and stared open-mouthed at him. The lords of the netherworld were usually more eloquent in their speech, and a local monster, from the accounts of their patrons, would have devoured their smoking corpses by now. And here they were, being admonished by six feet two inches of roaring darkness for being “trigger-happy little beetle-brains.” Then it finally dawned on them. Mai was the first to dare to speak.
“Er. . . excuse me?” She quavered, cringing as Berserker's fearsome gaze swept over her. There was a moment of pregnant silence until she realized he was waiting for her to continue. “Er, excuse me, but are you, in fact, that is to say, err. . .”
Berserker snorted impatiently. “Come on, lass, out with it!”
Stung by his tone, she continued. “Are you human?” She shrank back a little, awaiting the barrage of demonic fury she was sure would envelop her. When none was forthcoming, she peered up at him. “Well? Are you or aren't you?”
Berserker chuckled, leaning the staff against a wall so that he could remove his Olthoi helmet. As the hideous black mask rose, there stood revealed the features of an irritated, but not unattractive, male Aluvian with dark, shoulder-length hair.
“As human as you or captain intelligence here, I'd wager.” There was an audible sigh of relief from both youngsters as he chuckled, but he silently amended his statement: Well, nearly as human, anyway. “So, what are you two little terrors doing out so late?”
“Well, sir, we just arrived an hour or so ago. We were looking for a supplier of magical paraphernalia, although we have yet to locate one's shop.”
Berserker looked at the young man in his upraised fist as though he had forgotten he was there, then shrugged and turned back to the girl.
“Oh, terribly sorry about all that. Reflex action, you see? Now, what were you saying, Mai?”
She repeated herself.
“Hm. . . looking for ammunition, eh? Well, you'll find precious little of that within these walls. The Archmage Zasha bint Jaidka lives outside on the plain, and she charges an arm and a leg for her wares. Not a sterling conversationalist, either.” At this point his expression hardened a bit. “But that's beside the point. If your friend's spell was any measure of the extent of either of you kids' powers, then you'll be doing a lot of time studying the local lifestone. It takes more than a minor War spell to stop an Ash Gromnie, and you'll find that you can't run from the creatures around here. I've seen one Silver Rat kill six inexperienced adventurers in about as many seconds, and they were all running their legs off.”
They stared in horror at him.
“And people live out here?” Mai shrieked. Her companion gurgled angrily.
“Well, that's of little consequence now. I'd say the best thing for you kids to do is to leave as soon as possible. There's a portal just outside the gates that leads to a hilltop not far from the town of Glenden Wood. There are a lot of indigenous monsters about, so try and travel with a group.” He shifted his gaze to the Gharun'dim. “Understand?”
The apprentice wizard tried to nod even though Berserker's fist was directly under his chin. “Yegg,” he managed.
“Good! Then it's settled, no harm done.” He set the boy down and helped Mai to her feet. “You run along, then. Let me know if you need any help before you set out.”
Berserker retrieved his satchel and rummaged around, finally withdrawing a box of fine Holtburg cigars. He lit one with a nearby torch and blew a smoke ring, watching the two unfortunates as they hurried away. Then he sighed.
“What a night.”
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