Gary Gygax - Gord the Rogue 4 = Come Endless Darkness

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Gary Gygax

Come Endless Darkness

Gord the Rogue series, book 4

Publisher: ACE Charter (March 1, 1988)

ISBN: 0441114466

Scanned, formatted and proofed by Dreamcity

Ebook version 1.0

Release Date: November 12, 2004

WITH A DEEP LAUGHTER that was totally an expression of malign

hatred and ineffable wickedness, Tharizdun took the cambion Iuz into his

monstrous right hand and lifted him high.

"Observe the view as your Master sees it," Tharizdun bellowed, still

with a voice brimming with evil mirth. Then the terrible god tossed the

cambion up, caught him again, and squeezed. A piercing shriek came from

Iuz as his bones were splintered, organs ruptured.

Tharizdun's talonlike nails sank deeper into his victim's flesh as he

looked down with satisfaction at his handiwork. Then

the

glowing eyes of

pure purple looked up from the corpse of Iuz clutched in his hand and out

across the chitinous plane. "Now for you, little champion!"

Gord's knees sagged, his spirit quailed. Gord had found some measure

of revenge against the ones who had made his childhood a nightmare of

fear, hunger, and self-disgust. But his reason told him that no additional

evening of the score would ever occur hereafter. He steeled himself.

"If I must go," he said, "then why not go as a wolf rather than a

rabbit?"

Preface

AT ONLY A FEW WEEKS OF AGE, Gord suddenly became an orphan.

He was quite unaware of the fact, of course, but it impacted his life in a

bizarre and cruel fashion. His parents, knowing what threatened them,

had left him in the company of an old friend, a kindly sorcerer. But

instead of being watched and kept in safety for a brief time while his

parents were eluding the murderous evil that pursued them, the infant

became the target of the same deadly force that was visited upon his

father and mother.

Fortunately, many magical protections surrounded the little Gord. He

and the woman who was to be his nursemaid were thus hidden from the

malign ones who hunted them — she magically transformed and disguised

as the crazed and ugly crone known as Leena, and Gord as an ignorant

urchin unaware of his birth and heritage. Together they dwelled in the

crumbling filth and stark poverty of the slums of Greyhawk's Old City.

But then deprivation, sorrow, and cold — perhaps with some

assistance from the evil magics seeking them both — slew the

unfortunate and unsightly woman, Gord's only companion, before the lad

was twelve. Alone thereafter, Gord managed to escape a series of

harrowing challenges, learn the craft of beggary, and even receive some

training as a thief.

That period was in some ways more enjoyable than what he had

previously been through; for one thing, at least he didn't have to worry

any longer about starving. In other ways, it was worse for him than his

earlier life had been. In any event, this time came to an end when

warfare erupted between criminal elements of Greyhawk. Taking this

opportunity for revenge, Gord escaped from his indenture to the cruel

and sadistic murderer Theobald, master of all beggars in the city. After

having seen to Theobald's much-deserved demise, young Gord and his

friend, San, another little beggar lad, ventured forth uncertain if they

would be hunted down and slain by the Thieves Guild as other beggars

had been. Both found refuge among the young students dwelling in the

university area of the city. There too they found a tutor. In time both

boys actually managed to become official students during the day, paying

their own way from the proceeds of what they practiced in the night...

thievery!

Older, more learned, and an apt swordsman, Gord eventually left the

grim City of Hawks behind in order to sail the great lakes and waterways

of Oerth with the Rhennee, the so-called gypsy bargefolk of his world.

During his time with them and their land-loving cousins the Attloi, Gord

learned still more about thieving, acrobatics and gymnastics, life, and

love. Still not much wiser, however, the young adventurer began to rove

here and there throughout the eastern lands. In the bandit city of

Stoink he met a one-eyed troubador named Gellor, with whom he would

later become fast friends. In fact, Gellor was responsible for getting

Gord out of prison after he had immersed himself in an ill-fated love

affair with a beautiful woman named Evaleigh. During this period of his

life Gord also met a number of other brave stalwarts, among them Chert

the iron-thewed hillman and Curley Greenleaf, a half-elven ranger and

druid. The three of them had some desperate adventures indeed. A full-

scale battle, life-and-death duels, and combats with demons were

suddenly the stuff of daily routine for Gord.

After deciding he had taken in quite a sufficiency of that sort of

thing for a time, Gord convinced the barbarian Chert to return to

Greyhawk with him. The pair of them lived a fast and easy life on the

easy pickings of the city. They did have many rich hauls by practicing

their "night arrantry," but eventually Chert could stand the confines of

urban life no longer. He departed, and Gord carried on alone —

undaunted, it seemed. Then another unfortunate experience with another

beautiful woman brought about a change in his life. Gord became wiser

and more cynical. Yet he still sought three things: who he really was,

what had become of his parents, and exactly what meaning his life had.

Both Gellor and Curley Greenleaf had given Gord some inkling of his

purpose in the past, which is what got the young man thinking about such

serious matters in the first place. Possibly unrealized by Gord, both had

also influenced him for the better in other ways. Thus, when Gord

discovered he had an enchanted ring that not only enabled him to change

from man to panther and back as he willed, but also saved him from death

and carried him safely to the domain of the Catlord, he reached a plateau

of maturity. In early adulthood but already with a lifetime of dangers

and experiences behind him. Gord the Rogue was ready to do something

other than thieving his way to vast sums of loot and then spending it on

drinking and carousing.

Rexfelis the Catlord and Basiliv, the mighty worker of spells known as

the Demiurge, combined to convince Gord that he was instrumental in a

quest that was taking place — a quest to recover a terrible relic from a

bygone era. They explained to him that a millennium and more had passed

since Tharizdun, the Darkest of Evil, King of Wickedness, Emperor of all

the Netherplanes, was brought to ruin. The forces of Weal and Nature

had combined to defeat the malign Tharizdun, but slay him they could

not. Instead, they drugged him with a magical sleep from which there was

virtually no awakening, chained him with enchanted powers, and then

walled him in a prison that was in an otherworldly no-space. In this way

Tharizdun was to be exiled until the end of time, a captured and

slumbering incarnation of everything bad in the multiverse.

Unfortunately, even this imprisonment had a price for the jailers. His

foes could not accomplish the binding without unavoidably leaving a means

by which all could be undone. Just as a key can be used to both lock and

unlock, the great artifact that made possible Tharizdun's incarceration

could also be used to free him. The makers of it knew that even the

strongest of magics could not destroy the key, so the relic was divided

into thirds and each part carefully hidden far from the others. Each so-

called Theorpart was a mighty artifact of powerful evil force in itself. If

conjoined, the three portions were the key to the awakening and return

of the dreaded king of evil.

Eventually, one of the forces of evil did locate one of the Theorparts.

The vile society that worshiped evildom and called itself the Scarlet

Brotherhood managed to find the Initial Key, known as the Awakener.

When this occurred, Tharizdun stirred in his lightless cell in no-when and

sent forth thoughts of sleeping evil. This effect empowered the

possessors of the first of the keys to locate the whereabouts of the

second one. In fact, Gord himself had taken part in the force that fought

against the minions of evil to prevent their capture of this second

portion of the ancient relic.

In the course of events, the demons who also sought the thing were

triumphant. Iuz, a part-demon, part-human fiend, managed to gain the

second portion and thus become a terrible force for evil. Yet, this

outcome was not entirely to the detriment of those who opposed

wickedness. Demonkind did not seek to reawaken Tharizdun, for if that

occurred the mighty evil of that being would force them into submission.

If Good sought to conceal the second portion of the terrible relic, at

least the demoniacal possessors who gained it also sought to keep it from

the minions of the hells, who would favor reawakening the slumbering lord

of all darkness. A near stalemate had thus occurred — but now the Final

Key held the balance of power, and It could not be allowed to fall to

either the Brotherhood or the servants of Iuz. Rexfelis and the

Demiurge enlisted Gord to seek out and try to take the last portion of

the relic, thus preserving the balance that would keep Tharizdun

entombed.

Such an undertaking seemed worthwhile to Gord. He despised the evil

ones and understood the threat that Tharizdun posed to all not of their

ilk. Agreeing to serve, the young thief set off into the hinterland in

search of the last Theorpart. The trail of clues took him deep into the

Ashen Desert, a veritable sea of dusty death in whose center lay a lost

and burled city. Deep beneath the powdery ash of the desert, created by

a terrible magical war fought at the time of the forging of the relic.

Gord discovered the last portion of the thing, just as he had been told.

But finding it was one thing and keeping it quite another. At the

moment of potential triumph, Gord was deserted by his dark-elf

companion Leda and confronted by the evil-serving dwarf Obmi, the

champion of Iuz. The dwarf left Gord for dead and fled the buried ruins

with the Final Key, thinking that he would soon place it in the hands of his

master. Leda, however, and Gord, too, followed on Obmi's heels. Even as

Leda overcame her counterpart Eclavdra, a truly evil dark elf, so too did

Gord battle Obmi in a fearsome combat to the death.

Finally the young adventurer overcame the wicked dwarf despite the

black powers Obmi commanded. In part Gord's victory was due to his

ability to assume the form of a panther. Then, a demon stood before him

and offered Gord the very artifact he had sought, the prize for which he

and Obmi had fought. Vuron, the alabaster-white lord of the Abyss,

henchman of the demon king Graz'zt, spoke with Gord and explained

much. Eventually Gord came to the only conclusion he could: Graz'zt must

have the Theorpart, for only an evil power could maintain a hold on an

object of such vileness. There was a terrible price to be paid for that

decision, even though it seemed the correct thing to do. Vuron, for

reasons of his own, would not take the key unless Leda also willingly

accompanied him — so all three had to descend into the abyssal

netherplanes. Leda understood this and agreed. Despairing. Gord also

consented. For the third time in his life, he had loved and lost.

Feeling but half-alive, Gord traveled on with his new band of

comrades. Soon they took ship and sailed into the southern seas of Oerik

— the name of the great continent on which is found the City of

Greyhawk. As traders in the wild jungles there, as island explorers, and

as buccaneers too, the young thief and his friends went. They earned

fabulous treasures and gained untold wealth, only to lose it just as readily

in games of chance or mishaps in some exotic city of the many lands of

the southwestern seas. Eventually the pain of Gord's loss became only a

dull ache that upset his quiet moments and disturbed his sleep.

Gord had finally become a full-fledged man, and one with wisdom

beyond his years. Still a daring thief and a willing roisterer, he was no

longer altogether uncertain of himself or what he stood for. Despite

that, he remained ignorant of his background. Who had his parents been?

Why had he been abandoned in the slums? Those questions and others

remained unanswered, and when he thought about them — which was

often — they troubled him.

The saga now continues with Gord aboard a ship in the southern

waters off Oerik. Much is in store, not only for Gord but for those who

share this episode of his life with him....

Chapter 1

THE LEADEN SKY lowering above seemed to press flat the dull

waters of the sea. The lean ship sat upon those waveless waters as does a

little fowl in the center of a great pewter salver, alone, awaiting a certain

fate. The air was as motionless as the water. Heat and oppressive silence

were the vessel's only companions in the middle of that forsaken ocean

desert. No creak of plank, no rattle of rigging, not a splash of wave or

whisper of motion in canvas.

A dark-winged sea bird gently gliding high above the cog saw

scattered bodies littering the ship's weathered decking, their forms as

still as the sails and Gords. The bird croaked raucously, flapped its great

wings, and soared away. Again the vessel was alone, bearing its cargo of

dead upon the dead-gray, becalmed sea. All was quiet, until...

"It is gone."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. It is gone."

A group of corpses suddenly became animated. The five arose and

peered carefully around them. One gave a low whistle, and the remaining

litter of dead forms likewise stirred and began to move about.

"The trick worked, Cap'n, but how long can this game go on?" The man

who rumbled the question was a stockily built old salt, sailing master of

the ship, known to one and all simply as Barrel. He looked expectantly at

the man he had addressed — his boon companion, the vessel's captain,

and in fact leader of all aboard.

Gord was a seasoned traveler, experienced on land and sea, but he

felt more at home swindling some dishonest noble or fighting a fell

monster than trying to outwit whatever unseen powers worked against

the ship now. Without revealing his own uncertainty, the young

adventurer leveled his gray eyes calmly so as to look Barrel squarely in

the face as he replied.

"Sea hags and sirens have failed to waylay us. We weathered the

storm sent next. Now, we've managed to fool that ill-omened bird of evil

into believing all of us have died from thirst. I'd say we have the enemy

on the run, old friend!" Gord turned and looked at the old priest who had

taken ship with them on Keoland's coast. "What say you, good cleric?"

Abbot Pauncefot was forthright and direct. "Oh, we have managed to

fox them well enough," he barked, "but the workings of demons are not

so quickly done. Even if they suppose us all dead, they'll not be through

with us until bones of men and ship lie rotting on the floor of the deep!"

A buzzing of fearful exchanges sprang up among the crewmen at that.

Barrel set his mouth tightly, almost as if In imitation of the thin-lipped

priest. Gord frowned and thought furiously. Could he repair the damage

the cleric's words had done? "Grist for our mill," Gord said with a

jauntiness that he hoped would hearten the men. "They've tossed their

best at us and failed. Whatever else might happen along can be something

to batten on. What with our good abbot's powers, master Dohojar's

magics, and the stout steel of our weapons, no fiend of the netherworld

can harm us now."

"Never tempt demons!" This new admonition from the cleric

countered whatever bolstering of flagging spirits Gord had just managed

to accomplish. Abbot Pauncefot cared not a whit for anything but the

truth... as he saw it. The benisons bestowed by mine own Great Lord are

but petty powers when compared to those of the evil ones who seek to

destroy this vessel and all aboard. It is no fault of Rao that I am too

small to channel more than a trickle of the benefit he could bestow."

"You have seen to our drink and sustenance, good abbot," the homely

Barrel said. "Your prayers and divinations have brought us all through 'til

now...."

The elderly priest squared his thin shoulders and looked grimly at the

men who had gathered close to hear the exchange. Forsaking the

compliment Barrel had just paid him, Pauncefot saw instead an

opportunity to address a higher issue. The abbot spread wide his arms

and spoke loudly for all to hear. "Salvation of the sort I have provided is

temporary. To be truly saved, you must give yourselves unto Him who is

All." Before the priest could say more, growls and mutterings arose from

the crowd.

"We are of the sea," one crewman called. "We trust and believe,

abbot, but there are times and places for—"

"Silence!" Gord shouted. "I am your captain. All of you, quiet!" Then

the small, dark-haired thief turned to the cleric, saying, "It is your good

counsel and great spells we need. Abbot Pauncefot, not preaching. Even

now the evil might be again massing to attack us."

It was as If the cleric had been awaiting just this sort of

opportunity. His face was stern and his voice thundered. "It is not these

men whom the demons and dark forces seek to destroy — no! It is you,

Gord ~ you, the disbeliever. I cannot fathom you, but I think you are not

far removed from those who threaten to carry us all into some watery

hell!"

First the

Sovereign Sea Lion,

Stormeater,

then

Seablade,

and

now

Silver Seeker

— many of those present had been on each of those

ships with Gord. What the priest had just uttered was worse than

blasphemy to them, a blasphemous lot anyway. Dirks suddenly appeared in

clenched fists, and threats flew thick and fast. Perhaps this self-

righteous priest would make an acceptable sacrifice to Brocam the

Sealord! Even the young thief, though he did not give the cleric's words

any credence, felt a surge of hatred and a desire to see the abbot's

blood stain the dun waters around the ship as it lay becalmed.

This is the next attack of the enemy, Gord Ze-haab! Listen, friends,

bold sailors and shipmates all!"

This voice of reason came from Dohojar, the only man among them all

who seemed unaffected by rage. The dark man native to far-off Changar

was a spell-worker, an aspiring mage, but despite his uniqueness one of

the group nonetheless. His magic was of the West, his inner powers thus

slightly different from what the others were used to, and he sensed the

black force that lay unseen upon

Silver Seeker

as a dark octopus

surrounds a mollusk it is about to devour. "Think now," Dohojar continued

when all ears were turned to him. "Would you harm the one who has given

us our lives this past fortnight? And you, holy man — do you really dare

to condemn this one who champions the fight against all evil?"

Dohojar's admonition contained sufficient accuracy to give everyone

pause. The old abbot started a chant to counteract malign sendings, while

the Changa used his own spell-working art to ward off dark magical

forces being visited upon them. Gord, Barrel, and the two dozen crewmen

stood sheepishly by. It was humiliating to realize that the enemy had

almost managed to bring another of its attacks to fruition so insidiously

that none but the perceptive little Changa had noticed. "Use whatever

rituals and talismans you have to assist our comrades." Gord told the

officers of

Silver Seeker.

"And tell your men the same," he added in a

hushed voice as the priest and the mage continued their work.

"I cannot make the magic leave," Dohojar finally said with a gasp.

"Nor can I do more than force the evil of it but a little way from us,"

Abbot Pauncefot said slowly. "Yet that may be enough for the time if we

are carefully on guard. To know the presence of the enemy is to be armed

against attacks."

"Well and good, stout friends." the burly Barrel said. "I still have the

problem of being dead in the water, and the Azure Sea is no place to be

becalmed in for long!"

The old cleric prayed and gave the crew his blessings against the

black anger sent upon them by the forces of the netherworld. Then

Pauncefot retired to his tiny cabin to meditate. "What now, cap'n?"

Barrel asked. He was grim faced, for the sun was near the horizon. Soon

it would vanish to the west, and then they would be pinned to the flat sea

with the darkness surrounding them. "In the dark, our powers will wane,

and those of evil grow — and not even a sliver of a moon to lend us

strength."

Gord motioned for Barrel and Dohojar to come to his side, and then

he addressed the full assemblage of crewmen. "We must hold moot now. I

need your counsel. Unless a strong course of action can be determined, I

will have to accept the abbot's advice."

"What do you mean, Zehaab?" Dohojar looked at his comrade with

true puzzlement, for he had heard nothing from the priest that he could

interpret as advice to Gord. "The man said nothing but the ugly things

put into his head by demonshine!"

"Not quite, Dohojar, not quite. The enemy doesn't care a jot for the

life of anyone aboard

Silver Seeker

but for me. That much of what the

abbot said was pure truth. Somehow, those vile ones who seek me have

managed to succeed. If I get away from the ship, then it... and all of

you... will be safe."

"You have no proof of that, lad," Barrel said, neglecting for once to

address Gord by his official title — an office conferred by Barrel,

Dohojar, and the rest by vote during the time when they sailed aboard

the

Sovereign Sea Lion

more than a year ago. Since then most of their

original band had left for home or some personal quest, but the new

members who had Joined were of like mind. Gord, once beggar-boy, then

thief and swordsman, now buccaneer, was their leader. "I say we lower

our boats and row us the hells out of this demon-made calm!"

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GaryGygaxComeEndlessDarknessGordtheRogueseries,book4Publisher:ACECharter(March1,1988)ISBN:0441114466Scanned,formattedandproofedbyDreamcityEbookversion1.0ReleaseDate:November12,2004WITHADEEPLAUGHTERthatwastotallyanexpressionofmalignhatredandineffablewickedness,TharizduntookthecambionIuzintohismonstro...

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