Jean Rabe - Downfall

He hadn't quite cut all the way through the snakes that imprisoned his friend when Maldred finished the job by flexing his muscles and tearing the last one from his body. Gasping, the big man's hand shot forward, fingers closing on the constrictor wrapped around Dhamon's waist and squeezing hard. He crushed the creature, ooze seeping out to stain his massive hand.

"It has no bones," Maldred said, as he brushed the dead creatures away and shakily balanced on the branch. "Sorcery was at work, my friend, and I would love to study this if the circumstances were different. Someone of considerable power has animated the vines."

"Aye," Dhamon agreed, motioning toward other branches where ogres were held. "And that someone is making a mess of Donnag's army."

They hurriedly made their way from branch to branch. Staying together, they kept the snakes off each other while liberating the remaining ogres. Those freed in turn worked to release their brethren, the ogres having a much harder time of maneuvering their large bodies on the branches.

Far below, Fiona continued to command the ogres to shift their circle, never staying in the same spot for more than a few moments. No more had been grabbed since she had maneuvered them into a circle formation. The white-skinned ogre stood in the center, weaving his hands in the air. The air shimmered around his fingertips. Then the shimmering spread outward to resemble a cloud of fireflies. The lights danced yellow and pale orange and swarmed around the snakes that continued to drop from the canopy. As the lights grew brighter, the snakes stopped writhing. After several moments, they hung, unmoving, appearing to be nothing more than flower-covered vines amid dissipating lights.

The Solamnic Knight directed the ogres to shift the circle again to accommodate the magical reach of the shaman. Soon they were beneath another myriad of writhing snakes, and again the ogre's fingers began to flutter.

High above, Rig peered through the shadows and watched Dhamon free Maldred and then several ogres. The mariner continued to struggle against the tightening serpents that had pinned him to the shaggybark trunk. His cheeks stung, and he felt the blood running down his face. "Stinking snakes," he spat, as one darted in to snap at his nose. "To the Abyss with Dhamon Grimwulf and all these snakes." He realized Dhamon wouldn't be helping him soon, if ever, and that if he didn't do something quickly to free himself, he'd die. It was getting very difficult to breathe. He nearly managed to escape twice, but each time more snakes came to take the place of those he had cast off.

It seemed hopeless, but Rig concentrated-not on his own situation but instead on the romance budding between Fiona and Maldred. "Won't let him have her," he managed to gasp, as another serpent dropped down threateningly. Opening his mouth wide, his teeth clamped down on the black snake, and he bit hard until it stopped moving. Rig gagged when the acidic gore filled his mouth. He spat it out and continued struggling. "Won't leave her alone with him and Dhamon Grimwulf. Won't, can't… Finally!" he cried, as he slipped a hand free. His fingers immediately fumbled about his waist, closing on one of his numerous dagger pommels, and tugging the blade out. "You're carrion now, you slimy serpents," he hissed, as he viciously slashed through one snake and then another, and then two or three more, heaving the ropelike bodies away as far as he could.

After several minutes, he cut off the last one and sagged against the trunk to catch his breath. He spat repeatedly, trying to get the taste of blood out of his mouth. Then he fumbled at his waist for a waterskin and poured its entire contents down his throat. That seemed to help a little, but his tongue still burned. His dark eyes scanned the leaves above, alert for more snakes.

Spotting three descending on him, he leapt to another branch. The starlight spilled down here, from a gap in the uppermost canopy right above him. Rig glanced up, grateful for even a glimpse of the sky. It had been quite some time since he'd seen the stars. Fiona was right, he used them to "steer by," always had-steering each ship he was on to some new port of call. The mariner contended that he could never get lost, not so long as there were stars to guide him. He felt better, seeing them, felt like he was in the company of old friends-ones who wouldn't change and become thieves and who wouldn't stare wide-eyed at men named Maldred.

"Waitaminute," he hushed. The mariner actually looked at the stars now, not just admired them. Rig climbed a little higher, oblivious to the sounds of battle below. He could see more of the sky from his improved vantage-point, studied a few of the constellations. They were different before the Chaos War-he'd seen plenty of star charts from the time when three moons hung in the sky to know that. And he was acquainted with a grizzled old caravel captain who sailed under those constellations.

But these were the ones he grew up with and had come to consider his friends. He raised a hand, tracing the outline of a dragon's wing. He wanted to study the sky a bit longer, but a loud hiss sent him scampering to the branch below. It was like climbing around the rigging of a ship, not especially difficult to him, though he'd been away from the sea for several months. Too many, he thought.

Below the mariner, Dhamon was cutting his way through a veil of descending serpents and making his way to a low branch. Dhamon leapt to the ground, the marsh absorbing his weight and sending a shower of malodorous water spraying in all directions.

Dhamon heard the hissing again, louder echoing off the thick trees, heard Fiona snapping orders, heard an ogre growl a series of garbled words in response, heard Mal-dred jump to the ground.

Fiona was nearby, and Dhamon and Maldred made their way toward her voice, lashing out at serpent-vines as they went. It seemed like forever before they were back in the clearing the ogres had made. Maldred was quick to join the circle of ogres the Solamnic was expertly directing. Dhamon stayed back, eyes darting about for more snakes, slashing at the ones descending on him.

Dhamon wrinkled his nose, deciding that the blood smelled worse than the healing balm they'd put on him in the hospital in Ironspike. He wouldn't have minded the rain now, to wash some of the odor away. So many serpent-vines had been slain that he was practically tripping on them, and the stench was growing. He gagged as he concentrated on sweeping Wyrmsbane at the serpent-vines that continued to drop, though in decreasing numbers now. There were fewer snakes here simply because he and the ogres had already hacked through most of the vines that had been ensorcelled.

He ignored Maldred's plea for him to join the circle. He certainly didn't want to fight shoulder-to-shoulder with ogres that were swinging so wildly with their weapons that they were liable to hit him in the process. Besides, here, away from the throng of ogres, he could concentrate on keeping himself safe, not having to worry about protecting anyone around him.

There was a thick curtain of snakes at the edge of the camp, where none of the ogres had been fighting, and Dhamon made his way toward it, slicing through a few black serpent-vines as he went. He was careful as he approached, their hissing drowning out the sounds of the ogres in the circle, which was well behind him now.

"What magic birthed you?" he muttered, as he came at the curtain from one end, slicing through several serpents with one swing. "What could have possibly caused all of you to… argh!" A serpent-vine had dropped behind him, needle teeth sinking into his shoulder. The snake started wrapping its body around Dhamon's neck, forcing him to drop Wyrmsbane. His hands shot up to his throat, tugging at the coils. Then suddenly the snake went limp, and he could easily unwrap it.