I’m not fast enough. None of us are. The moment the doors are open wide enough that we can see into the well-lit chamber beyond them, an arrow comes flying out and embeds in Flynt’s leg. A black 10 floats away from the wound. I hadn’t noticed the damage counter on my allies during our goblin or spider battles, but I guess it makes sense that it would exist. Maybe I just wasn’t close enough at the time and, as a black number, it would have been hard to see in the spider cave. Flynt grunts and the strike takes him down to one knee, which results in a second arrow just missing him.
I sight the archer quickly and fire back as fast as I can, but the guy steps aside behind a pillar so my arrow flies past. I grab Flynt by the shoulder and pull him up as best I can, helping him to take cover behind the left door. Jonas crouches in front of Flynt to investigate the wound while Meg looks at me expectantly. Tyrus lies in wait behind the door on the other side.
“Four of them,” I report. “Humanoid from the looks of it, but they’re wearing robes. There’s one archer that I saw.”
“Shit,” she says. “We didn’t do especially well against them last time.”
“If I had to guess, I think they’re initiates,” I say, and when she looks at me weird, I shrug a shoulder. “Their robes look a little different. Less ornate.”
“Alright… any cover?”
“There’s some pillars but I didn’t get a good look, I was too focused on the bad guys and the arrows flying.”
“Okay. Flynt, you up for casting something that can get their attention?”
He grunts and nods as Jonas pulls the arrow out and immediately claps a hand over the wound, muttering arcane words under his breath. “We thinking fire or force?”
“That spell against the spiders would work nicely,” Meg replies. “It’s ally-friendly, isn’t it?”
He nods, rolling his wrists with a quiet popping noise.
“Keira,” Meg says, “cover me if you can. I’m going to try to pool them together so that Flynt can do his work. Jonas, depending on what they’re throwing, I may need some healing. Do you have any distance heals?”
“I know one, but it takes a lot of Essence,” he says. “Try not to need it.”
I reach into my bag and pull out the Essence elixir, handing it to him. “Just in case.”
He hesitates, but then nods, taking it and carefully slipping it into a pouch at his belt.
There’s movement in the other chamber, some shouting in a language that I don’t know, but it’s clearly directed toward us. Meg makes a face at it and signals. I take a deep breath, nock an arrow, then step out of cover.
An arrow just passes my head and I fire back, quickly pulling another just as the first strikes the archer in the torso (6). There are four of them, all wearing white robes with dragon scale motifs. They’re definitely related to the cultists from my first day here, but do look different, so at least that will stand up to scrutiny. One has a bow while two others with swords approach, moving low and ready the same way Meg does as she pops out from cover. The fourth lingers in the background, doing something at what looks like an altar in the far back.
It’s a big chamber, with six columns holding up the ceiling and benches configured into some kind of pew-like set-up. The room itself has large tapestries on the walls, but these seem to have been defaced with long cuts across them and white paint thrown to cover their depictions. There’s white cloth with black embroidery draped over everything.
And there’s bones. Lots of bones. Some are massive while others are more humanoid in size. A few bigger bones gleam black like onyx.
I try not to think about my eerie surroundings as I sight on one of the sword-wielding cultists and loose my arrow. He bats it away with his sword, but it gains Meg enough time to come roaring in undisturbed and strike at him hard, slicing across his chest with a mighty swipe (12). Her first opponent grunts and strikes back, but she meets his sword, forcing it away before countering with another cut across his leg (6).
The second swordsperson comes up behind his companion with a loud roar, and I fire an arrow straight into his chest (8) causing him to falter briefly before he cuts away the shaft and joins the fray against Meg, striking her in the shoulder, her armor helping to blunt the impact (4). The archer continues to snipe at me from behind one of the pews. The arrow skims my arm. I’m feeling pretty lucky, but I’m also terrified. The adrenaline is starting to make my hands shake, which is making it slower to nock arrows and line up shots. I’m trying really hard not to see these people as people, but it’s not as easy a fight as it was against the goblins or the spiders.
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I fire back just as the archer ducks down, and the arrow strikes him right in the throat (15) sprawling him back onto the ground where he lies choking. I can hear the sounds of it over the clashing of swords and I feel my face pale.
Flynt emerges then and thrusts his hands out toward where Meg fights the two sword guys. She’s bleeding from a slash on her arm and across her hip but holds her own, long braid whipping around her as she moves. She carves off a couple of hit points here and there but is largely playing defense right now, buying time for our caster to be able to do his work.
A blast of energy hurtles toward them, and the two swordsmen are forced up off their feet before being thrown down hard against the floor with horrible cracking noises, little red 12s drifting off their bodies. One of them doesn’t move but the other groans and tries to get back up only to have Meg stab down hard with her sword, which makes a sickening noise somewhere between a crunch and a squish as it embeds deep in his back (15). He doesn’t move again as she pulls it out and flicks the blood off the blade as she storms forward.
I’m definitely going to throw up, but I try to push through it, sighting on the guy at the altar who hasn’t moved since this whole thing started. I pull back my arrow and let it fly—and it bounces off a forcefield that arches around him, the magic flickering a yellowish green color.
Meg, meanwhile, has found the guy dying on the floor from my arrow. A tiny 1 rises up from him periodically, but she shakes her head and stabs downward again (12) to end it—probably with more than a little overkill.
And that’s when I lose my breakfast.
Goblins I can apparently handle. Giant spiders are fine too. Humans, though, not so much.
Flynt touches my shoulder but says nothing before moving forward into the room. I’m vaguely aware of Tyrus following on his heels. Jonas crouches next to me as I spit out bile and whispers, “You okay?”
All I can do is wordlessly nod as I try to resist the urge to dry heave.
“Let down this forcefield and we’ll let you live.” Meg breathes heavily, but her voice is still strong as she speaks, presumably, to the man in front of the altar. There’s no response that I can hear.
I spit out the foul taste in my mouth and force myself to look back into the chamber where my teammates are all approaching the forcefield. The man behind it hasn’t moved.
Slowly, I pick my way through the carnage trying really hard not to look at the dead bodies and blood on the stone floor. I keep my bow at the ready and concentrate instead on making sure I can react if the forcefield drops and the cultist makes a move.
“Flynt, anything you can do?” Meg asks.
“I have a ritual that should dispel it,” Flynt says. “Do we really need to kill him?”
“He’d kill us,” Meg replies. “These are the same guys who killed a dozen people in the city just the other day. I don’t think we should let him go, and I don’t have any means to take him in for legal justice. Do you?”
“No.” He sighs. “I really need to get some rope.”
“You’re already too late,” the cultist behind the forcefield says.
He’s suddenly facing us, having moved at a speed that would make a horror movie ghoul proud. I don’t know how to describe him except that he looks exactly like I’d imagine a crazed cultist to look: gray skin stretched tightly across a gaunt face, his eyes are all white except for small black pupils that shine like coals.
“We know the Stone survives. We will find it first. Then, The Deathless One shall rise again.”
The cultist grins way too wide before letting out a blood curdling scream: his head thrown back, arms out to his sides, mouth open wide, just screaming at the ceiling. White blue flames coast over his body, swirling over him and slicing him into bloodied chunks of ice.
The silence that falls is heavy and dark.
“What the fuck,” Tyrus breathes, the event enough to startle even him into momentary silence as he stares at the remains of the cultist. The magical shield around the altar flickers and disappears as we stand there. “What did we just watch?”
“That was either some kind of mage suicide, or it was a powerful patron making a point,” Meg says. “Neither case is especially good. Anyone know what this Stone is?”
“I think it’s called the Stone of Ylaura,” I reply, trying to keep my stomach still as I stare at the icy, bloody body chunks. I can’t help it, I can’t tear my eyes away; I’ve never seen anything like that, not even in the most gruesome horror films. “I don’t know what it is, but one of the tapestries talks about it. It looks… important.”
“Why do we think Ice Dragon Cultists would want it?” Flynt asks. “What did he mean by: the Deathless One shall rise again?”
Meg scoffs. “What do you think? He thinks that this stone will help them raise Zel’Rosh.”
Jonas frowns “That would not be ideal.”
Meg gives him a look, her lips pressed together to near invisibility. “If Zel’Rosh is reincarnated—or worse, reanimated in some way—it will be downright apocalyptic for Qeth.”
“Why is that?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
“He was a powerful ancient dragon,” Flynt replies. “The only reason he was brought down before was because Zendriel intervened. Without her, we don’t have much of a chance. Even less of one if Zel’Rosh is brought back as undead.”
“Undead dragon,” I repeat.
That feels like we’re in way over our heads. We should have followed the governor’s missing clothing storyline instead. That had to have been a safer option than a quest tree that puts us on a collision course with a possibly undead dragon.
We all seem to be letting this idea sink in, except for Tyrus who stares around the room, tapping at Jonas’s arm as he does so. It takes us a while to follow his sight lines and realize that the skeletal remains scattered throughout the space cover chests and altars that are also adorned with decorative candle holders and other artifacts. The altars, located below each of the large tapestries, seem to also host offering plates that, under all the dust and cobwebs, contain coins and gemstones.
“It’s loot, Jonas,” he says, voice hushed. “Everyone, look: it’s real loot.”