The path ends at a large, closed doorway in the mountain. In front of it is a large pond of which I am immediately, and with good reason, suspicious.
“Alright,” Flynt says, sighing as he stares up at the mostly closed stone door. It's old and looks like it was recently cleared of overgrowth, which was tossed aside. It's not huge, but does look heavy. There are carvings on it, though they seem more decorative than instructive. “Looks like we’re going to have to muscle this one.”
“Let me just try something real fast,” I say, pushing ahead. I stand in front of the door, raise my hands out to the side, and proclaim, “Friend.”
Nothing.
I try again in Qethi-Elvish. Then again in Ancient Elvish. And, for good measure, in Tolkien Elvish just in case.
Still nothing.
They all look at me like I’m insane, which I expected, and is totally fair. I may be.
“Okay, sorry. I just had to try.”
“Is that something that works where you’re from?” Jonas’s tone pitches high with skepticism as he raises an eyebrow at me.
“In some circles. Just ignore me.”
Meg laughs softly. “Probably safest. Tyrus, Flynt, help me out here.”
“Notice how we’re never asked to help with the strong stuff,” Jonas says out of the corner of his mouth as he steps back next to me. “I have noodle arms, but you look like you could be pretty strong.”
I press a finger to my lips. “Shh, Jonas, just appreciate the view.”
He follows my gaze and smirks at the image of our compatriots as they shrug out of their overcoats and scarves, tossing them onto a large boulder before their muscled physiques take their places in such a way as to capitalize on the slight gap between the stone doorway and its ornate frame: Meg and Tyrus pulling from their different levels while Flynt puts his shoulder into it.
“Which one are you looking at?” He keeps his voice low. “Tyrus is mine.”
“I know that. What, I can’t appreciate them both?”
“Ah, I see. You’re complicated.”
“Sometimes. Can you blame me?”
He shrugs. “I’m less complicated.”
“That’s fair.”
“Just because it may be more obvious from outside it…” He keeps his voice soft and out of the hearing range of the others. “Be careful not to lead either of them on for too long, okay? That may get a little too complicated.”
“Really?” I frown at him and he nods. “Okay. Noted. Though I find it hard to believe I’m interesting enough for either of them.”
“There are many ways to describe you, Elf Girl, but uninteresting is not one of them.”
I scoff and knock into him with a shoulder. “That’s not true, but thank you.”
“Any idea which way you’d want to go?”
“There’s a saying where I come from, Jonas. Team booty is bad booty.”
He laughs out loud at that, causing the others to pause.
“What’re you saying to each other?!” Tyrus demands, breathing heavily and pausing to brush sweat from his brow.
“Just some light sexual harassment!” I shout back.
“I don’t know what that means, but it’s making me nervous! Last thing we need is the two of you in cahoots.”
Meg scoffs. “I think we’re a little late for that.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Come on, all hands on deck.”
Jonas and I groan but trudge forward just as we hear the high-pitched snarl.
“Uh oh,” I mutter, glancing back. But it’s not coming from that cursed pond, it’s coming from the other side of it as out of the tree line comes a large fleshy creature wearing torn cloth and a mass of swarming flies. “Shit.”
I shove Jonas out of the way as I pull my bow and loose an arrow before anyone else can even react. I blame my Fellowship-induced paranoia for being at least somewhat on my guard.
The arrow flies true and embeds in the creature’s thigh (5). It should definitely have caused more damage than that, and I find myself leaping and rolling out of the way as it barrels toward me, swiping talon-like fingers at me and getting me across the back of my protective leather vest.
It doesn’t scratch me, but it does throw my roll off balance, causing me to hit the ground harder than expected, which knocks the wind out of me for probably a hit point of [Damage].
It also means it’s harder for me to get my bow back up into shooting position, and I can’t help but shriek as the hand rakes down again, digging into my shoulder and tearing my flesh, shirt, and cloak in one go for a black 8 of [Damage].
A thunder of red energy blasts hard into the creature (25), knocking it over on top of me, and I dodge gnashing teeth and the screaming swarm of flies before rolling to throw it off.
I scramble away from it as fast as I can as I see Meg coming in like a freight train and Flynt rubbing his hands together for another blast if necessary. The creature grabs my leg but I manage to kick it off and Meg distracts it with a heavy sword blow (18). She slices through the boil-ridden flesh, the blade shining in a way I’ve never seen it do before.
“What the fuck is this?” I exclaim, getting far enough away that I can nock an arrow and loose it toward the monster.
The thing smells like death and looks even worse, skin sagging on its bones; it’s mottled and gray where it isn’t a sickening jaundice. The arrow thucks into its stomach (8), sticking out of it but not going as deep as it should given how close I am, but at least I did as much [Damage] to it as it did to me, and I back up as quickly as possible as Meg swings down on it again.
Stolen story; please report.
It blocks her sword with an arm (13) and her sword gets stuck—maybe in its bone? It’s stuck enough that she can’t pull it free immediately, and the creature tugs her forward before roaring at her, thick yellow spittle flying in Meg’s face and soliciting a shout and frantic tug away as a black 15 drifts off her. She falls backward, landing hard on her ass—though at least her sword comes with her.
“It’s an ogre!” Tyrus shouts, and there’s a wiff sound as a dagger comes flying from where he paused several paces back. The dagger embeds up to its hilt in the creature’s chest (15).
It bellows and whines at the impact, looking even worse than it did, but it takes the opportunity to pound down on Meg with both fists. She rolls out of the way of one, but positions just right so that the other makes contact with a sickening crack at her leg, resulting in a black 18 drifting away, and she actually screams.
That’s thirty-three points of [Damage] all told, which would have had me pretty deep in the red. I have no idea how beefy Meg really is—I really should get over it and just look at [Squad Status]—but I'm sure she has better [Defense] than I do, and I know for sure that this thing absolutely cannot get a direct hit on me or it may be game over.
Out of the corner of my eye, Flynt is beginning to chant another spell, but the thing has to almost be out of juice and his energy would be better spent elsewhere; quickly, I pull another arrow and line up my aim. It hits the creature right between the eyes (6), knocking it backward.
It falls, landing partially into the pond, unmoving.
We all hang back where we were, staring at the thing. Meg’s still on the ground, and has pulled herself farther away from it. Tyrus has his other dagger out and aim lined up, ready to throw at a moment’s notice. I do the same with an arrow, pulling one of the explosive ones just in case. Flynt moves forward with purpose, hands pressed together, holding a spell that he can dissipate if not needed. Jonas hangs back, ready for the all clear, but even he has his shortsword at the ready—we haven’t had the chance to get him competent with the crossbow yet, and while he’s not great at the shortsword, pointy end goes this way is a little more intuitive.
I move hesitantly forward and nudge the creature with my foot. I’m prepared for it to leap up at me, we all are, but it stays still, the water of the pond lapping at its stringy hair. The flies buzz around it, and then seem to settle, getting absorbed into its chest. I watch as some begin to poke out of the nostrils and climb in and out of the ears.
“That can’t be normal.”
“It looks plagued,” Tyrus agrees, coming up beside me. “Best not to touch it.” He reaches up and grabs my arm at the elbow, turning it to face him. “That’s going to fester. Jonas should fix this as soon as he’s done with Meg. Last thing we need is either of you turning on us.”
“Excuse me, turning?”
He points to the creature. “That’s a death plague, Keira. You don’t want that lingering inside you.”
“Um, no, can’t say I do. Do you mean like… wait. Tyrus. Is that a zombie? Did I just get swiped by a zombie?” He frowns at me, confused, and I pull myself together enough to rephrase—though my heart pounds in my ear as the wound throbs. “I mean… is that a creature that should have been dead, but because of some kind of easily transmissible infection, was still animated?”
Tyrus blinks. “That’s not entirely accurate, but close enough. But we have a good healer. It’ll be fine.”
“I was swiped by a zombie, Tyrus!”
“And it’ll be fine, Keira! What we need to wonder is why there’s undead in this woods at all. We’re a hundred miles from the Black Lake.”
“There’s a place called the Black Lake?” I ask, slowly, glancing back at Flynt who appears over Tyrus’s head. He bends down to check on Meg, who Jonas is carefully healing, and then stands to come check on me. “That’s not on any of the maps. I’d remember that.”
“Eastern peaks,” Flynt says, “in the range between Ruska and Mornrise. People tend to avoid it.”
“Gee, I wonder why.”
“Mostly because there’s a lot of pestilence and undead walking around.” Tyrus moves toward the ogre, then pulls his dagger away from it. He wipes the oozy blood away on some moss on the pond banks.
“That was sarcasm. The name alone is ominous. I’m surprised anyone would go around it at all.”
Flynt frowns as he inspects my bicep, moving aside the fabric to get a good look at the wound itself. I can’t really bring myself to take too close an examination of it myself, but it stings and already feels hot. Flynt’s expression more or less says it all, his nose wrinkled and lips bit inward. Only the slightest degree of white lower tusk is visible—not that they’re ever acutely obvious, but they’re even more hidden when he’s concerned or self-conscious.
“It’s usually only necromancers and dark wizards who even try to approach it.” He glances back toward the cave. “I was going to save my Essence, but I should just blast that door. At least give us a defensible spot.”
Meg groans. “Don’t do that.” She’s on her back in the dirt, staring up at the sky, cleaning monster slime off her face with a cloth while Jonas focuses on her leg, now. “We might need that door. I’ll be up in a second. That just hurt like a…” Her voice trails off and she winces as Jonas touches the wound.
“It looks like it still does,” Flynt says, sympathetically.
I sit on a boulder to wait my turn, staring over at the ogre. I’m used to monsters decomposing quickly, but this is especially quick; it looks like it’s dissolving in on itself, being eaten from the inside out. I keep watching until it’s finally my turn and Jonas crouches in front of me, rubbing his hands together.
“I may need to recover a little after this,” he mutters. “Meg took a big hit, and I’m running low.”
“We get into that cave,” Meg says, standing and stretching her leg, “and then we can take a breather. But if there’s undead walking around, I want to get in there sooner rather than later.”
“Okay, let’s do it,” Tyrus says, and Flynt nods, giving me a thin-lipped glance before they go together toward the door, Meg walking a little stiffly after them.
“It should have taken more damage than that,” I mutter, my attention drawn again to the ogre. “My arrows were barely doing anything to it.”
“Undead can be like that,” Jonas mutters, his voice low.
As he heals me, he watches the creature warily, his attention clearly divided. He is more uncomfortable than any of us, and it has to be because he knows the origin of his powers, right? I wonder if he can do something like that—create or command undead. I wonder if he’s ever been to the Black Lake. Cheerful, easy-going, cinnamon roll Jonas. The necromancer.
“They don’t feel pain the way living creatures do, so they seem almost immune to some types of damage. You need something magical to really have the type of stopping power necessary to bring them down for good.”
“Is Tyrus’s dagger magical?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him. Meg’s sword is. Flynt’s spell certainly was. One of your special arrows would probably have worked.”
I nod and he finishes his work, though remains there for a moment, hand on my knee to steady himself.
“You okay?” I ask.
He smiles at me and nods, though he looks a little ashen. “Sit and get your bearings. Shout if anything else comes out of the trees. I’m going to go make sure Meg doesn’t hurt herself again.” He eyes the ogre corpse hesitantly. “Don’t get too close to it, okay?”
I nod and watch him jog off toward the others and I sigh, getting a strong whiff of death from the creature a couple yards away from me. It’s really decomposing now, which I guess is probably a good thing—though it’s doing it directly into the pond, which is going to do some damage to what I’m sure is a drinking well. We should have pulled it out.
Standing, I venture a little closer to it, hesitating briefly before reaching forward and brushing my fingertips over its leg.
> [Would you like to loot: Undead Ogre?]
Finally. Yes, Computer. Yes I would.
My [Inventory] comes up. Amidst the long list of items already in there, at the very end I see listed:
> [Coin of animation, silver, rare]
[Coin of animation]? I glance toward the others. I should go help. I need to pull my weight more and I know it.
But, seeing them otherwise occupied, I open my bag and reach in to take the object out. It’s very much a coin in the way I would know it, about the size of a half dollar, and as the description says, it looks to be made of silver. Stamped on one side is a rose with a tangle of brambles around the edge of it. It feels weirdly familiar, but I can’t think of from where off the top of my head. Something I read.
I tuck it back in as I hear a celebratory whoop behind me, then I hurry up toward the cave where the stone door has been successfully shoved away.