Keith Strohm - The Tomb of Horrors

So intent was he on tracking down their enemies that he almost didn’t see the scarlet-cloaked figure detach itself from the shadows ofan alleyway. He paused for a moment and watched as the figure approached, padding silently across the cobblestone street. A trickle of unease made its way down Kaerion’s back as the cloaked figure, clearly a man by the rough cut of hisface and the broad bulk of shoulders, stopped and slowly drew off his cloak. Every move seemed deliberate, graceful. Kaerion was reminded at last of a panther he had once seen stalking wild deer while out hunting with his father.

He took another moment to survey his opponent, for clearly the man did not intend to let him pass. The newcomer wore no shirt beneath the scarlet cloak, and in the dim moonlight, Kaerion could see the smooth ripple of sinewy muscles across the well-defined expanse of chest, shoulder, and stomach.

The man carried no weapons, nor looked as if he had any hidden on his person, and yet, he stared quite calmly at the length of steel held expertly in Kaerion’s hand. Loose-fitting scarlet pants flowed like waterwith every deliberate movement, held up by a belt of yellow cloth wrapped around twice and knotted elaborately on the side. The man wore no boot or sandals, but rather slid across the winter-cold ground on heavily calloused feet.

Kaerion was taken aback as the man drew forth his left hand to the center of his chest, perpendicular to the ground, while his thumb and index finger were bent parallel to the body, and sketched a deep bow. Carefully, he raised his own sword in salute, one honorable opponent to another.

Kaerion fell backward as the man crossed the distance between them in a blur and caught him with a knife-edged strike to the shoulder. Kaerion grunted and tried to bring his shield forward, protecting the numbed expanse of his sword arm. His opponent moved faster, spinning on one foot and planting a kick that connected hard with the side of his face.

Pain exploded in his head, and he staggered to the side. The man followed through with another strike, this time square in the throat, and Kaerion felt his entire body go numb as he gasped for breath.

The man simply smiled, casting his pockmarked face into a ghoulish grin, and waited for him to recover. Kaerion took that time to reassess his opponent. Although the assassins poison still flowed in his veins, slowing down reflexes, and fatigue from several different wounds drained what remaining strength he had, he didn’t think he’d be able to match the speed of his opponenteven if he’d been fully rested. The man moved like lightning.

But there were more ways to beat an opponent, Kaerion thought as he launched himself at the smiling figure. He was bleeding from his wounds, but it was draining away the poison, and Kaerion was slowly gaining back some control of his body. His sword whistled as its keen edge cut sidewise in an attempt to lay open the man’s stomach. The smile fell from his opponent’s faceas he was forced to roll out of the way of the attack.

Kaerion followed through as quickly as he could, not wanting to give the unarmed man a chance to regain his footing. A second cut with his sword should have laid open the man’s bowels, but his opponent’s agility savedhim again. Instead of a deathblow, the sword had made a shallow cut on his hip.

Pressing the attack, Kaerion noted with satisfaction that his opponent was giving ground. Soon, he’d have the man backed into an alleyway.With little room to maneuver, the pockmarked man would not be able to dodge the deadly strokes of his blade.

A few more moments, Kaerion thought as his sword wove a net of steel, driving back his opponent.

There!

Kaerion raised his sword, intent on cutting a deadly swathe of steel across the man’s body-

And struck nothing but air.

The monk had run up the side of the nearby wall and used his momentum to launch a flurry of kicks at Kaerion. Each one shot pain through Kaerion’s already battered body. Another kick caught him straight in the chest,and he found himself knocked backward out of the alleyway.

Kaerion rolled gracelessly to his feet, but already he could feel the presence of his opponent, waiting to rain death down upon him. Kaerion knew he was at the last of his strength.

The twang of a bowstring cut through the night, followed by the hiss of arrows. His opponent cast a baleful eye toward the source of that sound, and Kaerion watched in disbelief as his opponent’s hands moved quickerthan his eye could follow, knocking aside the incoming missile. Two more followed soon after, and Kaerion knew that Gerwyth had arrived on the scene. Unbelievably, the pockmarked man deflected two more missiles. The fourth, however, caught him in the shoulder, and he let out a grunt of pain.

In the distance, Kaerion could hear the sounds of the city watch heading toward the embattled inn. His opponent must have heard it too, for he ducked back into the alleyway, safe from the deadly arrows.

“This is far from over,” the man growled at him in a roughvoice. He brought both hands together and began a low-throated chant. The air rippled beside him, shadows within shadows. He cast another hard look at the fallen fighter and then stepped into the moving shadows, disappearing as if he’dstepped through an unseen door.

Kaerion groaned and struggled to his feet. By the time he made it into the alleyway, it was clear that his opponent was gone.

When the upper storey of the Platinum Shield exploded in a burst of flames, Durgoth knew that his henchmen had encountered some difficulties. Just how great these difficulties were didn’t become clear untilhe saw both Sydra and Eltanel fleeing the inn. Rage and frustration at their incompetence ruled him for just a moment. He wanted to strike down their fleeing forms then and there.

Mercifully, the moment passed. Durgoth knew he could deal with their failure later. What concerned him now was the sheer strength of those who unknowingly sought the same thing as he: the Tomb of Acererak. His distraction had been dealt with very effectively. The presence of that other god still shook him deeply, and he marveled at the faith and power of anyone who could wield such holy might. This was no motley collection of treasure-hungry adventurers arrayed against him. Surprised and unprepared, they had still beaten back a carefully planned attack.

Perhaps, Durgoth thought, there may be a way to use such strength. Possibilities began to spin in his mind-plans and plots as cunning andtwisted as the man who created them.

The sound of combat caught his attention, and he looked out from his vantage point in the darkened alley, smiling as he caught sight of Jhagren locked in battle with some sword-wielding brute. At least, Durgoth thought with some satisfaction, he could still count on the monk to succeed at his tasks. Though Jhagren’s opponent looked imposing, blood ran from severaldeep wounds, and it was clear that he was no match for the monk.

Durgoth watched a few moments more. He found himself slightly disappointed when the whistles and alarms of approaching sentinels drew closer. The presence of the elven archer had just made the battle interesting.

“Ah, well,” he whispered to the chill night air. “We shallall meet again. Very soon.”

He faded into the darkness of the alleyway.

“The Scarlet Brotherhood… here ?” Bredeth’s voice,grating at its normal volume, was pitched just short of a shout.

Majandra winced at the harsh tone, but managed to keep her face impassive. It was clear that the night’s events had rattled the youngnoble, and she had no wish to antagonize him further. Dark bruises stood out vividly on the man’s cream-tinted complexion, and several cuts crisscrossed botharms.