Selvara soared high above, her raven form blending seamlessly with the dull gray sky. The cool, damp air brushed through her feathers, and she welcomed the open space as the team left behind the dense canopy of trees. Trying to spot threats in the woods had been nerve-wracking. Here, above the city’s rooftops and winding streets, her keen eyes had a clearer vantage point, and she felt more in control.
The team made their way to the dilapidated temple of Nistrul, a weatherworn structure on the edge of Mulnirsheim.
Selvara scanned the bustling foot traffic below, her sharp gaze noting nothing out of the ordinary. Merchants bartered, children darted through the streets, and weary laborers trudged home. It seemed like any other day. But Selvara knew better. Danger didn’t always announce itself.
Her keen vision caught Ulmenglanz’s distinctive bark-textured form pausing at the temple’s edge, refusing to step onto the cursed grounds. If she’d had lips instead of a beak, Selvara would have smirked. Good for her. The rest of them could handle that dreadful place.
As the others carried the casket inside, Selvara circled wider, keeping watch. Her wings beat steadily as she flew above the temple grounds, scanning for anything unusual. At first, everything seemed calm. Then, the shift came.
Out of nowhere, revenants began emerging from stealth, like shadows slipping free from the cracks of reality. They crept from behind buildings, climbed up from sewer grates, and walked out of alleyways. Selvara’s sharp eyes quickly counted two dozen, and more were undoubtedly lurking. Her heart pounded as she banked sharply to the left, angling for the half-open window she had spotted earlier. The team needed to know, and they needed to know now.
As she approached the window, it slammed shut. Selvara screeched in frustration, her claws scrabbling uselessly at the wooden frame. An unnatural chill spread through the air, and a palpable sense of death and dread radiated outward from the temple as the ritual inside summoned Nistrul’s attention.
“Blast it!” Selvara thought, her claws slipping against the icy surface. Her sharp mind raced for an alternative. She couldn’t let this ambush spring without warning the team.
With one last futile scratch at the window, Selvara wheeled away, her wings slicing through the cold air.
The dryad. Ulmenglanz could open the door, or break it if necessary.
Then, her gaze locked onto a figure that made her stomach drop.
OrcSlayer.
Even from this distance, Selvara could see the dark plate armor, the fiery orange locks, and the cruelly confident grin on his face. He was flanked by two equally imposing figures. One was a woman clad in a scandalous sorceress robe, her staff’s orb catching the morning light in mesmerizing flashes that almost managed to draw and capture her attention. The other was an anubian. His jackal head held high, his hands weaving slow, deliberate arcs of magic that radiated power.
Selvara circled tighter, dipping lower to get a better view of the scene unfolding. OrcSlayer spoke, his voice booming even from this height, though the words were lost to her over the rushing wind. His cronies coordinated their positioning. The time window for escape had already closed. They now surrounded the church in a loose but coordinated formation. Leather armor glinted dully, bows were strung, and daggers flashed.
Panic clawed at her mind, but she pushed it down. Stay focused. Her role was to guard against any further surprises, not to dive headfirst into an unwinnable fight. Still, it was hard to ignore the dread pooling in her chest as she watched the group below.
The sorceress moved, her staff raised high. The orb blazed with light, and Selvara felt a faint tug even from above, as if it were trying to draw her into its hypnotic glow. She blinked rapidly, cawing in defiance, and forced her gaze away. When she looked again, her teammates were leaving the church. Their steps were stiff, unnatural, their faces slack and unresponsive.
Selvara’s keen eyes darted between them and OrcSlayer’s smirking face. The trap had sprung, and her team was caught like marionettes dancing to someone else’s strings.
Her wings beat harder, faster, as she ascended, trying to get a broader view of the situation. They'd survived worse. But how would they do it this time?
Selvara’s heart hammered as she veered away from the temple. She couldn’t get in. She needed help.
There was only one person she could count on now. Trulda. She banked sharply, angling toward the city streets. If anyone could rally reinforcements, it was the no-nonsense barbarian with her Adventurers Guild connections. Selvara streaked through the air as she headed for the Adventurers Guild.
The city below blurred in her peripheral vision as Selvara soared over cobblestone streets and tightly packed rooftops. The cool air whistled through her feathers as she glided above merchants haggling with their usual customers, blissfully unaware of the danger unfolding near the temple. Some were already starting to pack up, since the day was coming to an and. The sun had set and almost disappeared behind the mountains. As soon as it did, it would get dark fast.
Ahead, the Adventurers Guild came into view. A sturdy stone building, its banners fluttering in the crisp breeze. Selvara dove low, skimming just above a startled pack mule tethered outside, before landing deftly on the guild’s wide windowsill. She peered inside, her sharp raven eyes locking onto Trulda, who stood near the quest board, arms crossed in conversation with another adventurer.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Selvara flapped her wings noisily, hopping to the edge of the open window as she cawed with urgency.
Trulda turned at the sound, her dark eyes narrowing in recognition. “Selvara?” she muttered, immediately catching on to the bird’s distress. She excused herself from the conversation and strode toward the window.
“What’s wrong, girl?” Trulda’s voice dropped to a low, serious tone as she leaned closer to the frantic raven.
Selvara hopped back and forth, wings flapping wildly, before taking off and circling tightly above the guild courtyard. She flew in the direction of the temple, then darted back to the guild, cawing loudly as she landed again.
Trulda’s jaw tightened. “Trouble,” she muttered. Without hesitation, she grabbed her lute-club from its resting spot by the door. Turning, she shouted into the guild hall, “Indri, I’m stepping out for a bit. Cover for me if anyone asks!”
Indri waved dismissively from her seat at the front desk, her attention fixed on her paperwork. “Sure thing!” she called back.
Trulda strode into the bustling street, her sharp gaze fixed on Selvara. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Selvara checked for prying ears, then hurriedly spoke. “They ambushed the others at the temple. I don’t know how they found us. Maybe someone followed the wagon. They’re using some kind of mind-control spell and are marching them toward the woods.”
Trulda’s expression darkened. “Of course, it had to happen during workdays, when every adventurer I trust is offline. How in hell did they muster so many noobs during work hours? A bloody horde of NEETs, probably.”
Selvara flapped her wings anxiously. “Can’t you just issue a quest to save them?”
Trulda shook her head grimly. “Sure, but who would I give it to? Half the people here would sell the info to the Brotherhood for a quick reward. They’ve built a reputation for paying generously to protect their operations.”
Selvara didn’t wait for a plan. With a powerful beat of her wings, she launched herself into the air, racing back toward the temple. Below her, Trulda followed, her powerful strides cutting through the crowded streets like an avalanche. Selvara remembered her mentioning her Swift-Strider feat. The one all steppe-barbarians had to choose and which doubled walking and running speed.
Hold on, guys, Selvara thought, flapping harder. Help is coming. But it won’t be enough. Even Trulda, fierce as she was, couldn’t stand alone against two dozen Brotherhood thieves, OrcSlayer, and his elite team.
The faint mental voice of Malvorik echoed in her mind, startling her mid-flight.
“How are you speaking to me?” she asked, her thoughts racing. “I’m outside the dungeon.”
It was a clear sign of how worried he was that he didn't go into detail about his new magical experiment.
Selvara quickly explained, her mental voice sharp with frustration. “The Brotherhood’s got them. Trulda and I are trying to free them before they leave the city outskirts. There are at least two dozen thieves, a dark paladin, and two spellcasters. I don’t know how to stop them!”
Malvorik suggested.
“No!” Selvara’s thought was sharp. “Dungeon monsters can’t leave the dungeon. You’d be declared a rogue dungeon. They’d issue an elimination quest against you before sunset.”
Malvorik countered.
“They’re unique chimeras. Everyone would notice there’s something wrong with new monster species just appearing inside the city limits. You mustn’t risk it.”
Selvara faltered mid-flight, her mind torn between hope and fear. “I… I don’t know. Trulda and I can’t hold them alone.”
Selvara hesitated for a fraction of a second longer, then steeled herself. “All right. But make sure none of them get caught. No one can trace this back to you.”
With renewed determination, Selvara pushed forward, her wings cutting through the air like blades. Below, Trulda’s powerful strides carried her closer to the unfolding battle. "Hold on, everyone," Selvara thought fiercely. "Help is coming."
* * *
A group of dungeon monsters raced through the dim corridors of the dungeon. The buzzing of their wings and the trampling of their tiny feet echoing from the walls. Malvorik had ordered them to run as soon as he’d detected Selvara’s distress. The glowing-commanderfly led the way, followed closely by the first Besp-Queen, a Shrill-Rat, and the ratpig, which was already out of breath and barely managed a tired “Nöff, Nöff.”
A lurking strangler galloped from a nearby corridor on all four, carrying a backpack. He gestured them to stop and put bowls on the floor which he filled with potions.
More lurkers approached, wielding an assortment of weapons.
A small white creature came bounding up the tunnel, racing with feline grace. Its thick white fur resisted getting dirty and still shone in the light of the glowing crystals in the ceiling.
The feline chimera purred in defiance.
Fluffle glanced meaningfully at the ratpig.
The ratpig let out a very insulted “Nöff!”.
Ignoring the protests, Fluffle tackled the ratpig away from its bowl and lapped up the potion. Then, with feline grace, it darted ahead, leading the charge toward the portal.
The ratpig looked confused until the Lurker got out another potion and filled the bowl again.
The chimeras sprinted up the corridor to the portal exit without responding.