Gary Gygax - City of Hawks

The thing voiced a nearly inaudible scream when the tiny shower hit it. Its evil eyes shut tight, and its great maw snapped open and shut convulsively as it shrieked its pain and agony. There was but a small amount of the liquid, though, just the single splattering. The monster recovered and reshaped itself once more. Now its eyes were more wicked than before, and it relished the way this confrontation would end.

Then, through the intervening space, the silver cylinder flew. The monster saw it and tried to avoid the missile. But, not fully corporeal yet, it was too slow. The silver tube struck the thing squarely in its leering face, and the malign visage contorted in agony at that blow. When it opened its eyes again, only the right one glowed with the evil fire of the nether planes; the left was a blank, black space.

The liquid and the cylinder were gone now. The thin girl stood unmoving. She had no more defenses against the creature. Strong, sinuous arms with taloned fingers reached out. Before she could move to avoid their grasp, or even utter a scream of fear, those fingers were upon her and tearing. A gout of red spurted forth, and the thin girl’s head sailed across the room while her lifeless body toppled to the floor in gory testimony to the rage of the. thing that she had dared to oppose. With fury and disdain, the creature picked up the body and flung it into a dark corner. Then, moving its talons greedily, the monstrous thing turned to where Meleena lay unconscious with the now-silent babe next to her. Despite the pain that continued to assail it, the creature gave voice to glee as its single remaining eye saw the pair. Its long arms stretched forth, ignoring the woman… intent on the child.

“Yeeeraagh!” The cry came from the thing, and it was very substantial this time, for the monster was fully formed now. The rusty-black body was being buffeted, the leathery folds of its gross, misshapen body were torn and rent, its bulk spun and wrenched by unknown forces it could not control or combat. The one-eyed thing tried to react, did its best to fight off the attack and reach the baby, for its ultimate duty was to rend the infant into shreds.

But a spinning circle of bodies kept the thing from its goal. Shapes that moved in blinding speed, forms that were blurred but held weapons that sliced and gashed the thing mercilessly, were always before it. It could not remain still, let alone advance upon its intended victim. The monstrous beast was spun and turned, driven backward, and all the while slashed and torn. In moments the battle, such as it was, was over. The nether-plane thing rotted and decomposed into a slime, which itself vaporized. One burning eyeball rolled, flickered, and went out. Where it had been there was a charred mark on the floor, nothing more.

The awful sounds of the struggle awakened many of the other residents of the area. But even before the first of the neighbors’ lamps were sputtering alight, the two dark-clad men were racing toward the house. They arrived at the door to Meleena’s dwelling, kicked it in, and entered with drawn swords.

“I don’t see no gods-blasted brat!”

“Ain’t even the bitch here,” his companion said, peering under the bed.

“Somebody was here, fer sure,” the other one remarked, noticing and pointing to a pool of blood on the floor.

“The window?”

“Only if they had wings, pal. No couple of wenches could get out that way with a squawling brat in tow.”

They looked blankly at each other. Then they heard sounds from below. “Looks like we’d better take off. We’re already In it deep… What in the hells are we going to report about this?”

“Bugger it! Let’s get moving. It ain’t our fault if the misbegotten daemon they sent screwed things up… or didn’t. All we were supposed to do is watch the entrance and kill ’em if they tried to get out that way.”

Still bantering back and forth, the two men slid over the window sill and away into the darkness. The climb down was easy for them, and the two were already away when the first head poked into the room to discover what the matter was all about. Save for the gory mark and the mutilated body of the girl that was discovered in a dark corner, the mystery had no clues, and those who were interested could only speculate about what had occurred.

The lightless temple, the place where vile and degenerate and wholly evil folk came to pay homage to Nerull, was still and dark that night. Since that condition was usual for the place, no passerby who dared to look would have noticed anything out of the ordinary. But no one passed by anyway-not after dark. This place was shunned by all who walked abroad after nightfall. Even the humans and humanoids who considered themselves among the “faithful” normally stayed well away after sundown, for they were afraid of being sacrificed to the evil deity they professed to venerate.

But every rule has an exception. Tonight there was a stream of traffic to and from the place. Rushlights flickered and cressets flamed deep within the cursed place. In the maze of passageways and rooms below the temple, there was certainly life and light.

Colvetis Pol eyed the two figures who stood before him. “That is the sum total of your report?” The maroon-robed cleric put the question forth as if he were disgusted at having to ask.

“Both apprentice and babe were blasted by the crazy old fart of a mage. Took care of our work, so to speak,” Alburt added with a conspiratorial wink. He didn’t fear this silly priest, and he was intent on letting Colvetis Pol know that.

“And you, Slono Spotless? Have you nothing to add?”

The smaller assassin wasn’t as cocky as his mate. After all, clerics were spell-weavers, too. They had unnatural powers, and their sort was never to be trusted-or taken lightly. Slono wrinkled his brow, thinking hard. “Nope,” he finally said. “Jus’ like Alby tol’ ya, we checked out everything real careful. Only took us a couple of minutes. Wanno was stone dead, that asshole apprentice of his gone to flinders, and the kid blasted too. We buggered outta there quick as ferrets and come right here to tell you.”

“And now we want our coin,” Alburt added to his comrade’s statement. “The job’s all done, and you owe us another fifty orbs.”

“Is that so…?” Colvetis Pol asked, allowing the query to trail off as if it weren’t really a question at all. “You saw the child blasted and came here right away to tell me, is that right?” The words were like little darts aimed at the two assassins.

“Well, we sort-”

“Shut yer yap, Spotty!” Alburt glared at the smaller man, then turned to face the priest with a belligerent expression plainly written on his flat, hard-lined face. “We did as we said, and that’s that. Both the mage and the kid are dead, as contracted for. Now hand over our gold, or else.”

The cleric’s robes rustled as he made a small gesture. An arras covering the far wall swayed, and several men emerged from the area that the hanging screened from view. Alburt and Slono Spotless were shaken at this, for among these arrivals was the master of their guild. “You heard their own words,” the great priest of Nerull said flatly. “Your servants are quite unreliable.”

The chief of all assassins in Greyhawk was pale. His pallor was partly due to rage, partly fear, and the combination was evident to any observer. “I heard, Lord Pol, and I will make amends.”

“Not to me,” the priest said with a sly smile.

The master of killers looked sideways at a cloaked figure beside him, involuntarily moving away from it as he did so. “No, Lord Pol…” he murmured.

Now Alburt was becoming more than uneasy. No longer belligerent, the big assassin was close to panic. “Wait! I was only covering for Spotty. It wuz him who futtered up things, and that’s so. The stupid little bastard blundered right into the geezer’s runes, and-”