Aef-Grimnir's Trials: Ambushes on the Metal Path
The cave spun around Aef-Grimnir, as the copper bridge formed in front of him. At its end was a a rippling disc of gold, hovering in the air like a curtain dancing in the breeze. The Runefather shouldered his axe, walked along the bridge and plunged through the liquid gold. For a brief moment, he thought he could see an endless river flowing through the aether to then plunge into a waterfall, its waters changing from the colour of quicksilver to that of gold. As quickly as it had come, the vision disappeared to be replaced by a vista of scattered books and fluttering pages, a Pink Horror capering amidst them.
Aef charged forward, by now so used to the splitting of Horrors that he felled the lesser ones as quickly as they emerged from the bubbling remains of their former selves. And amidst the embers of the last ones was left a silver nugget engraved with eldritch runes.
While he studied it and recognised it for a Luckstone, heavy volumes started to fly in his direction, as the walking tome he had left back in the cave reappeared. He started for the creature, but was halted by a well aimed book hitting him square on the face.
As his vision cleared, the walking tome fled, the room around it shifting and running like tallow to form a roaring maelstrom. He was whirled off his feet and spun into the ceiling with terrible force to then plummet straight into the vortex.
The vison of the waterfall came back, but now he was within it, the golden foam at its end pushing him into a familiar room, the alchemical laboratory he had crossed on the shaded trail to the grotlings' cave. Was he going mad or had the Tower brought him back? Then another Pink Horror came cackling in and all questions were replaced by the joy of combat.
As he felled the last Brimstone Horrors, their flames ignited one of the bubbling pots. As the smoke cleared, he stared onto the eyes of a squeaking skaven. Again, for a brief moment, he wondered whether that was the same assassin he had fought at the crystal junction.
There was no answer, just the clashing of blades as the scurrying figure splitted and reformed at every swing of his axe.
More than once his own flames ignited the volatile fluids bubbling all around, and yet the skaven kept coming at him from all directions. As they were circling each other, Aef reached for the Luckstone and snapped it in two. As he did, he felt its energies guiding his axe to finally cut in twain both forms of the Deathrunner.
He moved quickly to reach the next chamber and found himself wading through the pulsating gullet of a daemonic beast, acids sizzling in every footprint. As he closed up a bend in the fleshy corridor, he found his way barred by a tzaangor.
Even more surprised than the Runefather was, the beastman was slow to react and soon its body was melting in puddle of acid sludge. The vapour rasing from it thickened into a scintillating blue and purple fog. It shredded apart as quickly as it had come, but in its wake were left Kairic acolytes who sprang swiftly to the attack.
Their blades fell as they intoned discording syllables of power and from the spilled blood of Aef-Grimnir emerged a Pink Horror.
The Runefather planted his feet and channeled his ur-gold power to knit his wounds, then felled three acolytes.
The others closed upon him while the Pink Horror doused him in blue flames. He dodged the blades and his own fires repulsed the daemonic ones. Then, he felt his mind clouding as the walking tome staggered into the fleshy corridor.
Still, the Runefather managed to kill the acolytes and made for the familiar. As he grabbed it, a blade sunk into his shoulder as the Pink Horror came screaching at him.
His mind now clear, Aef-Grimnir quickly dealt with the duplicating daemon and pushed through the churning corridor, only to find more acolytes and horrors waiting for him in the next chamber.
They stood between two statues, twisted archetypes of warrior and wizard. For all its strangeness, some hint of nobility still clung to the warrior statue, and beneath its approving gaze Aef-Grimnir felt empowered and quickly cut them down.
Then, with a great shriek, a clutch of scuttlings sprang an ambush on him. Vile nets of sticky strands splattered down from above as the grots burst from hiding.
As Aef-Grimnir slaughtered the grotlings, he still felt the gaze of the warrior statue upon him, bringing whispered secrets about the skills and rituals of the Tower's denizens.
Bolstered by that revelation, the Runefather stepped into the next chamber. Blades spun and twisted on every side as a pair of sorcerous adepts duelled atop rotating columns of metal while another amulet fragment hung in the air between them. Cultists on the edge of the arena bellowed encouragement to the combatants, but their eyes turned to Aef-Grimnir.
In a heat blur as his ur-gold blazed, Aef-Grimnir leapt out of the fighting pit, the spinning blades grazing his shoulders but not slowing him. Three acolytes fell in quick succession, while the remaining ones started to intone their dread invocations.
The Runefather parried a blow aimed at his neck and with his reposte he intoned a counter-word left there by the warrior statue. The build up of magical energies heralding the coming of daemons fizzled out as the acolyte fell to the ground.
Shocked by the duardin knowledge, the remaining adept fumbled, missing his trust. Then Aef's axe came down and with it did the amulet fragment, coming to rest in the splattered blood.
"M'lady?" the voices of the Chamonite seacaptain and his first mate startled Laelanyel back from her fugue. Again she had seen Aef-Grimnir, this time triumphant and increadibly close, yet still kept away by sorcerous barriers she could not breach. It had happen many times, once a vision of the Runefather staring at an elderly aelf on a throne of light, once of him falling through a golden waterfall. They had taken her here, to the Chamon shore of the Ur-River and she knew where they were pointing her to. It was on the mouth of every sellsword.
"Yes, gentlemen", the Mistweaver Saih recovered her composure. "Passage for me and my people through the Catarhactes, heading for Iscarion. We pay in gold." At these words, the Fyreslayer at her side tossed a heavy satchel to the first mate.
"Aye, M'lady! We sail at dawn".
The Thief of Wits split consciousness rejoined within his chamber. Everything was nearly in place, but he could indulge himself one more time playing with Aef-Grimnir.
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