Hydras and History

Temple Ruins,Trakar Swamps, 8th April 1655

On hearing that the giants had killed Yassukhir, the surviving warriors of the Fionath started kicking the bodies and hitting them with their primitive weapons. Méabh glanced across to the temple entrance, where the naked borren slave huddled miserably, and remembered his looks of hate as she taunted the giants. "It was his fault," she added. At first face this seemed a little dubious as the poor wretch was clearly incapable of anything much independent, but the lizards were blood-mad and grieving for their shaman. Blades and clubs rose and fell, and the dwarf died once more, never having said a word in his brief second lifetime. Méabh tried to milk this reaction as much as possible, by adding: "The hydra did it too and ate the body," but this didn't have the right effect, as the Fionath looked puzzled and one said, "What's a hydra?"

Gorfang turned to Bog, who readily produced some Boom Boom, but held up the last two flasks and waggled them meaningfully. Gorfang reached for one nonetheless; he was close to death; but Eloy stepped forward and stopped him before he could unseal it. "Try this," he said, holding up a small pot of ointment. Gorfang, a little unsure, doffed his battered helmet and Eloy rubbed the pink slimy stuff into the terrible wounds in the orc's head. He was covered in black blood by the time he'd finished, but the injuries were shrinking and healing as he watched, and Gorfang's eyes were clearing from the pain. He nodded thanks to the human and slid his helmet cautiously back on. Nothing fell off, so he turned his attention to the Fionath.

The lizardmen had suffered grievously in the last twenty-four hours. Between the adventurers and the giants, half the warriors in the tribe were dead or dying. Berretlan the chieftain was alive, though he looked about as battered as Gorfang, to whom he came to talk.

The loss of Yassukhir - who had not yet taken the customary apprentice - was a disaster for the Fionath, and Berretlan was aware of this. However, he knew that without the intervention of the companions, the entire tribe would have been exterminated and he was grateful. Gorfang expanded on Méabh's fiction by suggesting that the shaman had somehow summoned the giants which had killed him. Berretlan sighed, but seemed to accept this as just the sort of thing which Yassukhir would have done, and the matter dropped. Gorfang suggested that the tribe drag the corpses to the edge of the swamp a fair way off and dump them, and Berretlan agreed to arrange this.

The lizard started organizing the primitive medical treatment of the tribe for his wounded, and Gorfang joined the others in returning to the ruins.

Back inside, the five regarded the Crismyrlor and discussed their options. The idea of returning it to Damarus for the benefit of his mysterious 'client' was fast descending the order of preference. For a start, as Eloy pointed out, it was bloody massive, and even with pack lizards was liable to be a tough job to transport that far across country. Secondly, based on the theory that the pyramid was linked to and probably powered by the powerstones below, if they were going to keep it, it was probably going to function best in its' original location. Finally, the usefullness of the Halls of Sight and Hearing was considerable, particularly Sight, and those were anything but portable. So the idea of taking over the ruins as a base was one that appealed a lot.

Of course, the hydra would have to go...

This being the case, it seemed a good idea to put the pyramid back where they'd found it, rather than drag it around with them. Unfortunately, it became apparent that they couldn't remember exactly how it had been placed. After struggling to remember for a while, Méabh had a good idea, and climbed once more onto the chair of Sight. Concentrating, she focussed herself on the moment when she herself had touched the pyramid for the first time. Concentrating on the base of the item, she noted carefully the pattern of golden filligree on the base and how it connected to the altar it rested on.

As she watched, the Méabh in the past reached hesitantly out and placed her hands on the warm green crystal. The pulse of power rolled out, shocking and refreshing the adventurers at the same time, and then flowed away into the rest of the complex. Concentrating, the scrying Méabh followed it, and witnessed the resurrection of the giants from their long-dry bones.

She paused a moment to consider this. No tale, no history, no legend, no dogma of faith, no rumour, ever, had suggested that any magic could bring back the dead. Undeath, sure, that was a known horror, but those doomed to undeath were not returned, at least in any acceptable way. These giants had come alive again. The implications were staggering.

Opening her eyes, she discovered that Gorfang had tied her bootlaces together. Remembering the fish, she grinned.

Descending from the chair, she guided the others in re-aligning the Crismyrlor to its' proper position, and with a faint click it settled into place. Looking closely, Méabh could just see a slight increase in the swirling green light within.

Gorfang summoned Berretlan, and instructed him to have his people collect their dead and bring them into the Rotunda. The lizard chieftain was puzzled, but Gorfang and Méabh's evident excitement transmitted itself to him, and he had it done; nineteen slashed, crushed and dismembered reptillian bodies were gathered and laid out.

It occurred to Eloy that if the Crismyrlor did start raising the dead again, it might bring back the giants again! Seating himself in the chair for the first time, he cast his sight out to the place where the corpses had been left. To his horror, he saw not two but ten giants, similar to the ones they'd just killed, building a boat. With a cry of horror, he sprang from the chair and raced to tell the others. There was a moment of panic before the realization dawned... he had been looking at the past, when giants walked the earth, and not the bodies he was looking for.

Just to be sure, though, he placed himself within sight of the bodies ready for Méabh to attempt the resurrection of the Fionath. Then, with some ceremony, Méabh once again laid her hands on the pyramid and waited expectantly. A wave of energy once more flowed out, and some of the wounds the companions and Berretlan bore eased slightly; but that was all. The lizardman looked disappointed. "Was that it?" he said. "For now," said Méabh mysteriously.

Before moving on, both Gorfang and Méabh took another turn in the Hall of Sight, without going into details as to what they were looking at.

Three hours later, the five adventurers stood around a heap of assorted treasure in the Rotunda. This had been gathered from various locations in the complex with the assistance of the scrying chair, and comprised the following:

Having identified the flute, Méabh dropped it back on the pile in disinterest, but Eloy picked it up and tootled a tune on it. Méabh told him it was magical and he resolved to learn to play it properly, convinced it would summon monsters or something else useful. Gorfang appropriated one of the massive gold coins, carefully drilled a hole in it with an eye-gouger, and strung it around his neck. More than six inches across, it was a cross between a medallion and some sort of barbaric pectoral, and it suited him perfectly.

It occurred to Méabh that there was a way to reduce the mystery surrounding the Crismyrlor. Once more seating herself in the Hall of Sight, she located the pyramid on its' plinth and then envisaged it in use by its original owners. The scene flickered, then changed - drastically.

The Hall of Life was recognizable, although the golden decoration around it was fresh and undamaged. The rockfalls were missing, and the room was flooded with light. Most of it originated from the Crismyrlor, blazing with green light on its' plinth. Standing around it were giants. Not just the relatively small giants they had fought in the Fionath village, but bigger ones, varying types. All alike shared a poise, an arrogance of spirit. The few giants found in Alair today were miserable, gangrel creatures, twisted and mutated. These were a high and proud people, mighty and sophisticated - and evil; that much was clear to see in their faces. As Méabh watched, the pyramid was used to mend a grievously wounded giant who was stretchered in and who walked out on his own feet.

Shifting her viewpoint downwards, she saw the hall of the Powerstones, dry-floored, each stone upright and alight, linked and permeated by a delicate and intricate webwork of lines of energy. Golden strips ran up the walls towards the Crismyrlor's resting place.

So far so good. Méabh concentrated, and the vision blurred as she shot forwards in time. Giants flashed through the Hall, engaged in similar pursuits, but their visits became scarcer, especially those of the larger types. Suddenly the image distorted violently. Unsure what she'd seen, she rolled back and went through the moment at normal speed, realizing she was seeing an earthquake. After that the Hall was barely used at all, until finally all that she was seeing were plainly garrison guards, warrior hill giants posted to defend an abandoned outpost.

All of a sudden a red flare flashed through the entire ruins - and most of the giants simply fell down and died. A very few survived, wounded and mutated in some horrendous manner, pouring blood as they crawled away, whether to die or live she couldn't tell.

After this there were no more giants, and the ruins were dark and still for centuries, a silence broken only by more stonefalls in the wake of the earthquake. Finally, she started to see Yassukhir's ancestors arrive. Some propspered from what they found, and many died in agony one way or another.

At no point had anyone ever moved the Crismyrlor from its' plinth.

Returning to her starting point, she scried backwards through time to the day of the pyramid's arrival. She saw the Hall of Life, still part-built, with giants hastily connecting the pyramid to its' contacts. Hastily? Yes, there was no doubt, and viewing their arrival at the site confirmed it; haste, and fear, and a constant alertness for discovery. Discovery by what? There was no telling. Wearied and streaked with sweat, Méabh released the visions and dropped down from the chair to brief her friends.

Gorfang and Eloy stood at the edge of the dark water at the foot of the stairs. On the other side of the stone door lurked the fearsome Hydra; on the floor above, Méabh prepared to unleash a newly mastered spell against it. She'd warned them to stay clear of the water when she did, and both were tense with expectation. They were not disappointed.

With a cry, Méabh released a shattering bolt of lightning through Erilas' staff. The wrist-thick wood clearly had some effect on it, for the blast was far greater than she was expecting. It forked downwards and exploded into the body of the huge multiheaded reptile, blasting chunks of scorched flesh in all directions. Even for Gorfang and Eloy, two rooms away, the noise was considerable, but for the hydra, trapped in a bell-shaped chamber with the detonation it was shattering. All ten of its' eardrums ruptured at once, sending rivulets of green blood down the writhing necks as it craned its head to the Death Hole to see where the pain had come from.

It breathed a wash of fire up through the hole, but Méabh had already moved around and was ready to strike again from another angle. A second bolt crashed down, and a third, and then a thunderous splash! announced the collapse of the monster. Gorfang and Eloy looked at each other: Now! Shoving the stone door aside, they charged into the room, weapons raised, but there was no need. Twitching in the aftershocks as its nervous system spasamed, the hydra was dying. Once it was still, Méabh and Gorfang harvested its teeth. The sorceress had heard many tales of the arts that could be woven with hydra's teeth, and Gorfang fancied a necklace of them; some of them were two inches long.

The ruins were now theirs, but there was clearly some repair work needed. Working together, they attempted to persuade Berretlan that he and his tribe would be much better off if they allied themselves with the adventurers and helped them consolidate their hold on the place. He seemed willing enough - especially after being given one of Eloy's better cheroots - but the idea of bailing water out of things or places was not a familiar one to lizardmen - like boats - and the prospects of a workable result wthout outside specialist help seemed slender.

Méabh took another turn on the Chair and scanned the immediate area in the present. Nothing of interest was to be seen in the direction they had come - although she noted that the range was not sufficient to reach Nasirolan - but in the other direction, she stopped short at the sight that met her eyes. A warband of forty or more tough-looking lizard warriors, big and strong, clearly a picked élite. Leading them was an unmistakable creature, a lizardman warrior half again as tall as the usual seven-foot specimens, packed with muscles, and crimson-scaled from crest to claw.

The Red Lizard!