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Judas	By : BronxWench Category: +M through R > Neverwinter Nights Views: 438 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights 2 and I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4
She stalked, restless, circling around each of the ritual statues, oblivious to the blood trickling down her arm. Sand rifled through Qara's pack, appropriating scrolls, wands and potions while Elanee, Zhjaeve and Casavir busied themselves healing anyone who needed it.
Bishop moved with casual grace to lean on one of the statues. As she prowled past, he caught her good arm and pulled her to him. She snarled wordlessly and he intercepted her hand as it flashed towards his face.
“Settle down and drink this,” he said sharply. “Save the temper for whatever's going to come through that Hells-spawned portal.”
“Let me go,” she hissed. “Gods take you, Bishop!”
“The gods wouldn't have me,” he replied with a bitter grin. “I didn't think you were as particular, but seems I'm wrong about that too.” He warded off another blow, and pulled her in tighter.
“Unhand her now, Bishop.” Casavir strode over, his eyes narrowed.
“Stay out of this, temple boy, unless you plan on doing something marginally more useful than splattering my brains across her armor.” Bishop tightened his grip, and she gasped. His eyes were locked on hers.
“You're hurting her!” Casavir protested.
“She's hurting herself!” Bishop snarled, desperate. “Open your eyes, paladin. She needs to let it go, whatever she conjured up against Garius. She has to save her strength, wait for the Guardian.”
“Bishop's right,” Ammon said from behind Casavir. “She'll be exhausted and weakened by the time the King of Shadows appears. Either cast something useful, or let Bishop try and reach her. We need her, and the ritual powers she possesses, not to mention the sword.”
Casavir murmured a prayer to Tyr, and held his hands out. A soothing glow enveloped her, and she shuddered, relaxing into Bishop's arms.
“This is not over, Bishop,” Casavir said coldly.
“Feel free to smite me when this is all over, paladin, providing we're both alive.” Bishop cradled her, stroking her glossy hair. “Just breathe, let it go. They're all here, they made it, you finished off Old Boneface.” He held up a flask. “Drink this. You're bleeding.”
“Gods, Bishop.” Her voice broke. “I don't know if I can do this.” She buried her face in his shoulder, shivering as though ice flowed through her veins.
“Do not doubt, Kalach-Cha,” the calm voice of the githzerai cleric urged. “Know that our enemy relies on doubt to weaken us, to cause us to falter.”
“I touched him, Zhjaeve. When I killed Garius, the sword did...something. I felt such emptiness.” Her voice was bleak. “I do not know if I can go there again, and remain whole.”
“Then lean on us,” Casavir said firmly. “My lady, let us be your shield. Let us stand in the way of harm, so that you can strike.”
“Just for the record, paladin, I'm planning on walking out of here alive.” Bishop glared at Casavir. “Suicidal posturing isn't on my list of things to do when confronting ancient Illefarn Guardians.”
“It is our duty to protect her,” Casavir retorted. “You may be more concerned about your own wellbeing, but I would rather–”
“Oh, my!” Grobnar's exclamation cut Casavir off. The gnome was staring intently at the portal, which had begun to glow and stretch alarmingly.
“What in the Hells?” Khelgar took an involuntary step back, and hefted the Hammer of Ironfist. Behind him, Elanee winced and covered her ears, as though the land itself was shrieking in pain.
“Prepare yourselves,” Ammon said harshly. “This is no mere avatar coming through. Can you feel it?”
“Yes,” she murmured, slipping out of Bishop's arms. “Yes, he comes.” She walked slowly towards the portal, her eyes locked on its inky heart, pulled by something she had no hope of naming. The sword remained at her side, forgotten for the moment. For a brief, giddy, horrible instant, Bishop thought she was actually going to step into the portal, and his heart gave a painful lurch. She stopped a short distance away, though, and the ache in his chest eased.
“Do you feel it?” she asked softly. “How odd. I should be afraid, but I'm not, not at all.” She smiled. “This is what I have waited for all my life.”
“What is she talking about?” Bishop spun, his dagger in his hand. “Jerro! What does she mean?”
The warlock glared. “Why do you ask me?”
“Two reasons, tattoo-face,” Bishop snarled. “First, you and I have a slightly more intimate acquaintance with evil than the rest of these fools. Second, you faced this thing once before. Did you feel this, some sort of connection, maybe through the sword?”
“I felt only revulsion, a desire to end this creature's existence,” Ammon answered. “He–it–deserves nothing else.”
“No,” she said sharply, turning to face Ammon. She shook her hair back from her face, her eyes cold. “You're wrong, you and all those misguided fools who dwelled in Illefarn.” Her voice hinted at sorrow. “They didn't deserve to be protected. They were weak.”
Turning away from the portal seemed to break the odd spell, and she shivered as her eyes cleared. “Why did I think that? This Guardian is the threat, not the people he was supposed to keep safe.”
Behind her, the portal stretched a final time. From its heart, a lightly armored creature emerged, black as the deepest shadow, slowly unfolding its limbs until it stood erect. Its head towered over the statues, and its empty obsidian eyes scanned the room until they fixed on the Knight-Captain.
“I know why you have come.”
Bishop shuddered. Without conscious volition, he snatched up his longbow and slotted an arrow. From all around him came the rustling of weapons similarly readied. Hells, how do we fight that? he thought, shaken. Should've left when I had the chance. He shook off the thought an instant later, shamed and uncomfortable with it.
“Did you think you would steal into my sanctuary unnoticed?” Its voice was devoid of anything human, cold and pitiless. “Like all those who have tried before, you will be destroyed.”
“I think not,” she spat, her voice laden with menace. “They were weak, and afraid. I am not.” At her side, the sword once again began to flow, power streaming off it. “I know what I must do, and I will not fail.”
Someone gave a sob of relief. Neeshka, Bishop thought, marveling at his ability to focus on the inane rather than the danger that was so very near. Or Sand, maybe. The tiny spark of malice refocused him, and he loosed a feral grin.
“In Tyr's name,” Casavir breathed.
“Don't soil your armor, paladin.” Bishop spared him a swift glance. “Thought you were going to play human shield. Guarding her back, are we?”
Casavir snarled, turning towards the smirking ranger. Neeshka snagged him before he could reach Bishop.
“Smite him later, Cas. First the Guardian, then Bishop, okay?” She winked, but reached up to touch her lucky coin. “Just in case.”
“Would somebody hit something already?” That was Khelgar, and Bishop marveled at the dwarf’s fearlessness.
“Insolent mortal!” The Guardian moved with eerie grace and speed toward the Knight-Captain. In response, she raised the sword and gave a mocking salute.
“This is a spectacularly bad time to remember your manners, my dear,” Sand called out, reaching for two wands from his belt.
“Spread out!” Ammon shouted. “Do not let him concentrate his attack! Use the ritual powers!”
Magic–divine, eldritch and arcane–flared and the room erupted with various dazzling lights. Growls, shouts and curses mingled with the sounds of weapons brought to bear on shadowy flesh that was impossible to rend. With no warning, the Guardian fell, and the room was empty save for the weary companions.
“That was too easy by far,” Khelgar grumbled. “I wasn't even hurting the overgrown bastard.”
“The statues!” Ammon shouted hoarsely.
The five statues had grown dark. Small versions of the Guardian began to materialize at the base of each statue, each manifestation immediately leaping forward to do battle.
“Touch the statues,” Ammon shouted. “You'll be able to use your ritual powers again once you do so.” The Captain nodded and raced forward, activating each power and slapping the statue again before moving on. As Ammon snared groups of avatars in webs of light, she seared them, but for every one that fell, two more emerged.
“There are too many of them,” Casavir cried out. “Try to herd them together!”
As suddenly as the smaller avatars had emerged, they vanished. Shaken, the exhausted group reached for healing potions, dreading what might come next. They did not have long to wait.
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Judas