Final Far Wandering [1]

NOTE: This appeared in August of 2002, as my vision of how Krog's story might end, and as a general musing of what happens to old adventurers who outlive their enemies, and their friends. This never 'happened' but it was fun to write.

.....

A doglike creature reared its head in the darkness, four tentacles dangling from just above its mouth. Lowering its head again, the tentacles dug back into the brain of the duergar dwarf's body. They writhed and slithered, trying to get further into the braincase. With a moist crunch, the small corpse's head shattered, and the brain slid out into the creature's waiting mouth.

Gobbling madly at the pale white flesh, it was soon joined by the rest of the pack, drawn psionically to the feast. All but one. The leader of the pack paced, its primitive but sensitive mind scanning for a hidden presence. Sensing a sentient being, it bounded off into the eternal darkness.

It followed the stray thought as a shark would follow a drop of blood.

The pack followed, splitting off through the honeycomb passageways, mentally linked to each other. Working in perfect unison, as one mind, they closed in on their prey. Broadcasting confusion, entrapment and hopelessness, their pack-mind spread out to encircle the newcomer.

A tall, thin figure raised a hand as the leader lept, feeder tentacles reaching.

Thick webbing enfolded the creature, and it fell to the floor.

The others paced at a distance. More webs sprang from an outstretched hand, filling the cavern. The figure walked off, leaving the pack trapped. Waving a hand non-chalantly at them, the ceiling of the cavern began descending.

Pulling her hood back, the drow wizardress watched the creatures race into the webs to escape. The ceiling continued to fall, until only their heads snapped at her from the narrow space left.

Cessarids," she muttered under her breath, as she watched the last of them perish. The illithid were becoming increasingly lax in their control of their hunting beasts. Her face was deeply lined. Once thick, luxurious white hair was now so thin that it floated about her in a frayed nimbus. The weight of six hundred winters weighed heavily upon her, but she was not hunch-backed, as some old women become. As the years had progressed, she had descended lower and lower into the warm earth, so that the heat could ease the growing pain in her joints.

Now, she ascended to the sunlit world again. To visit family.

.....

Under the stars she traveled. When her aging body failed her, her Art did not. Entering into The Weave, she felt the sensation of flower petals being drawn over her closed eyelids. It was impractical to travel so boldly in The Underdark, where it was all too possible to emerge into a wall of solid rock.

Instead she emerged into a green, moonlit field, hundreds of leagues away, and let out a great sigh. Reaching into her cloak, her sharp fingernail sliced at the hem of a hidden pocket.

Her hand withdrew a tiny green leaf, silvered at the edges, overladen with lost memories. Leaning heavily on her staff, she let the leaf guide her.

After a time, she became aware of another walking in the tall grass. A tall, lanky man, emerged from the dark greenery, his dagger held aloft in plain sight. "No harm to you, old mother." Scowling slightly, she returned, "And none to _you_, greenleaf." They walked together, but he eyed her suspiciously.

"Are you here for a blessing of good travel?" he asked. She shook her head. "Where are you headed?" she asked. The young man grinned, and it was a familiar grin. But not quite the same. He shrugged, and maintained his roguish smile.

"I've no idea. That's why I'm here. I'll follow the wind, most likely." A great bloom of leaves rose before them, like a dark-green dawn. The main trunk of the tree rose up like a column, and then branches exploded in every direction. As they approached, the young man reached down to the grass and pulled a stone from the ground.