When one’s eyes adjust to the dim lights of the undercity and lower themselves below the light of the greenhouse, one could better see the details and wildlife of the street level. Fauna and luminescent fungus paint the streets in a calming light. Nature blankets over the stone streets with weeds, moss, and vines growing almost everywhere. Despite that, the sparking life of machinery flickers underneath the smothering growths, with a neon light flickering on every so often in the dark corners of the alleys.

A squirrel with an armadillo-like shell scurries along the ground floor with some food stuffed away in its cheeks, digging at the base of a thick mushroom with its tiny claws. However, its ears flicker to listen behind it, detecting the sound of shuffling and unsteady footsteps. The critter turns its head, spotting a pair of dusty greaves heading right for it.

A skeleton, one that belonged to a dragonborn, a hybrid between humans and dragons. Its draconic skull flickers with an undead light, the flames in its eye sockets locked onto the squirrel and shambling towards it.

The squirrel instantly darts for the undergrowth, curling up and rolling deep behind a thicket of vines and fungi. The skeleton hisses and kneels down to stick an arm into the undergrowth, searching for the rodent.

It doesn’t notice the distant pop of a hard light rifle firing, only to then feel the left side of his jaw and cheekbones break off from a glowing bullet. Devoid of any pain or anger, the skeleton calmly turns its head to see where the bullet came from.

From the same direction, a fist sized ball of fire zips through the center of a holographic sign and crashes into the skeleton’s decayed breastplate. The skeleton stumbles back and trips over the large mushroom the squirrel was digging in earlier, scratching at its chest. Despite not making a dent in its armor, the flames eat at the skeleton’s essence itself, smothering and consuming the undead magics holding its body together.

The undead lets out a shuddering hiss before it begins to decompose, leaving behind only the derelict armor it wore and a pile of bone and ash.

Perched atop an overhead bridge connecting two buildings, the trio of undercity-delvers peer over the edge onto the street below. Kathryne and Sam fire off their weapons and magic, eliminating the few remaining undead that linger in the streets.

Meanwhile, Wolfgang fastens a rope to a weathered pole, preparing to descend to the street level. The holographic sign of a nearby building caught her eye for some potential loot to be found.

Kathryne grins and blows a wisp of smoke from the tip of her finger, having dispatched 3 skeletons with her fire magic.

Before Sam joined the party, she learned from Wolfgang that skeletons had little vitality to their bones, but were resistant to non-bludgeoning weapons like rifles and spears. Energy based spells, like her Fire Dart cantrip, were perfectly suited for picking off a few straggling undead.

Sam releases a sigh, popping open the chamber of his rifle and letting the energy capsule that powers his weapon pop out with a satisfying click. He fetches a spare capsule from his pocket and slides it smoothly into the rifle’s firing chamber. “Hey, slayer?” He addresses Wolfgang. “Is magic more effective against the undead than guns?”

“Hm. If you plan to help take the city from the undead, remember: Swords and slashing are for zombies, maces and hammers for skeletons. Fire spells work well for the most part, but be wary of anything that’s naturally on fire already.”

“... I think that last part is applicable to more than undead.”

“It is.” Wolfgang tests the strength of the anchor, before leaning over the edge and slowly making her way down the knotted rope. “I’ll be quick. Keep the street clear.”

Kathryne responds with a thumbs up, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bridge. Her gaze follows Wolfgang, watching her climb down to street level and duck into the nearby building. Despite its obvious age and a few cracks running up the side of a wall, it still stands well on its own, with a collection of leaves and roots sprawling over the cracks like a mending scar.

The cleric besides her rests his weapon against his side, fiddling with the ring wrapped around his gloved finger. Kathryne’s ring had bestowed one of his own, a gleaming silver band with a glass orb full of holy water in the crown.

Clenching his fist a little tighter, a holographic screen appears, filled with what Kathryne called metatheory. She gave the cleric a quick rundown of everything, but Sam couldn’t retain much, nor did he see much use for it.

“Hey, Sam?”

Kathryne’s voice lifts Sam’s gaze from his hand to the street, checking for any lingering undead before his eyes rest on the witch. “Yeah?”

“Do you know much about… this?” Kathryne asks, motioning towards the entirety of the undercity. “The civilization that this used to be?”

The cleric ponders the question, taking a seat next to the witch and resting the rifle on his lap.

On the street below, another dragonborn skeleton wanders into view, dragging the remains of a broken weapon behind it. Its gaze searches the alleys and buildings, but it has yet to detect the two.

“I just know what my father told me about fighting for the greenhouse. But..”

Knowledge (History of Arms): 12.

Kathryne’s ring whispers in her mind, like an errant thought while Sam searches his memories for any information.

“I think these ruins are some of the more common ones to be found. It’s the basis for hard-light, and the captain has some armor that was scavenged from those skeletons. Some armor still have half-intact enchantments, but no one in Trudid can restore them.”

“Really?” Kathryne leans forward, squinting slightly in an attempt to discern any runic details on the skeleton’s armor. She could barely make out some writings on the skeleton’s collar, just beyond the reach of clear visibility. "I thought you said that the elves built these ruins. The Myrrhnians?"

"Well, they claim they did, but you never really find any elf skeletons around. Instead, it's always these... dragon people." Sam shrugs. "I guess the dragonborn came after."

The witch conjures a small ball of fire in her free hand, closing an eye and carefully aiming her spell.

Fire dart: 13.

The fire dart easily flies straight and true, crashing into the undead’s sleek breastplate. Its flames quickly consume the unlife hidden in the creature's ribs, forcing the skeleton to its knees before it crumbles to dust, leaving behind its breastplate.

At the same time, Wolfgang steps back out onto the open, watching the dusty remains scatter over the stone street. The wolf woman silently walks over and crouches down over the breastplate, brushing and digging around the pile for anything valuable.

“Can you grab the armor, Wolfgang?” Kathryne calls out from the bridge. “I’d like to study it!”

The slayer grunts in response and picks up the ancient armor and dusts off some ash that had gathered around the collar, scratching some clumps out of the runes.

Perception: 8.

Wolfgang distracts herself slightly by inspecting some of the muck in the carvings. Loose wads of old plant matter are buried in the runic enchantments, which have long been ruined by time. Perhaps the skeleton was entrenched in the undergrowth before something gave it unlife.

However, Wolfgang’s ears can still easily detect the heavy shambling footsteps of a creature rushing towards her from the alleyway, bringing with it the stench of a corpse.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The slayer quickly leaps out of the way of a charging zombie, a massive tiger-like smilodon with rotten flesh barely clinging to its exposed bones. One of its eyes is soggy, wrinkled, and clouded, but the other has fallen off completely, revealing a green ember burning in its eye socket.

Kathryne and Sam jump to their feet when they spot the undead monster. Kathryne reacts a little more quickly, having heard the ring whisper Wolfgang’s perception to her a few moments before the attack.

However, her feet are stuck to the ground, and her hands are slow to move from her neutral casting position. She had practiced casting enough that it would be a matter of muscle memory, but the witch struggles to commit to one. The sudden appearance of the zombie smilodon leaves her struggling to commit to a decision, to commit to the right decision. With so little spells to spare, casting the wrong one would only result in a waste, and they still had to go and kill the wererat.

Sam, however, has a much easier time getting past the shock of a fight. Remembering Wolfgang’s advice earlier, the cleric grips the amulet around his neck and shouting, “Seros! Grant me the weight of order, the will of civilization!”

A coalescence of magic and ethereal energy flashes above the undead, summoning a spectral warhammer that emits a heavenly hum as it flies down and gives a powerful slam to the zombie’s head. Its cloudy eye pops out of its socket and the undead gives a guttural, gurgling growl.

Sam frowns underneath his helmet, continuing his excerpt while the zombie is distracted by the blow. “A gift not of strength, but a gavel upon my soul.”

Wolfgang hisses and turns towards the two, her ears keeping track of her enemy.“It’s slashing for zombies! Ask your god for a sword!”

“He’s not a sword guy!”

“Then save your spells! Don’t cast anything else!” The slayer growls, flipping a hand axe out from underneath her cloak. With the spectral warhammer distracting the zombie, Wolfgang pauses for only a moment, letting out a slow, practiced breath. Shadowy whisps lick at the blade of her axe, dark flames that grow in size when she rushes in to attack.

Shadow Strike: 4.

Wolfgang’s axe skids across an exposed part of the smilodon’s scalp at a bad angle, but the swing itself creates a ghostly inferno that wraps around Wolfgang, transforming the slayer into a humanoid mist. The mist pounces on the undead creature while it’s distracted and leaps for the bridge, dark wisps flaring behind her like a comet.

In an instant, the ghostly flames dissipate with a burst and Wolfgang returns to a corporeal form. Her hands firmly catch the bridge’s ledge, dangling over the battle between the monster and Seros’ spectral warhammer.

Kathryne rushes over to Wolfgang and attempts to help the slayer back onto solid ground, although her contribution wasn’t really needed. The slayer easily hoists herself onto the bridge, looking down and watching the warhammer deliver a final blow before disappearing in a flash of magic.

With the spell’s duration expended, the smilodon lets out a gurgling roar at the three above it, jumping in vain.

“Let’s not waste any more resources on that.” Wolfgang grunts, sliding her hand axe back into its sheath. “I grabbed what I could. We can split the loot later.

“Ah, wait!” Kathryne lightly tugs at Wolfgang’s hip while Sam keeps watch over the zombie. “What was that move you did? The one where you used magic?”

“Shadow Strike.” Wolfgang restrains a small, prideful smile, turning her head and flicking some ethereal whisps off of her shoulder. “From one of the more difficult martial arts to learn.”

“Really?” Kathryne asks, sensing the restrained pride in being able to use such a move. “What makes it so difficult to learn?”

“Careful, Kathy.” Sam interrupts, testing to make sure his helmet was firm on his head. “Leave the slayers to their mildly demonic techniques.”

Kathryne huffs and pushes Sam’s shoulder. “I’m a wizard. I’m supposed to gather all sorts of knowledge.”

“No, he’s got a point. Better to leave some things alone.” The slayer shrugs, putting the breastplate away in her handysack. “Let’s keep going. We can loot more after dealing with the wererat.”

“Slayer, what about the zombie?” Sam eyes the undead underneath the bridge, watching it growl and wave its arms in a vain attempt to attack the group.

“Leave it alone. I’m not getting paid to kill it.”

*****

The ratlings path winds and crosses over many rooftops, safely out of the reach of whatever undead threats wander the streets. A purposeful design by the architects of the city so that every path and walkway connects like a neatly layered maze. There were even hints of a layer below what could be seen, openings into an underground system hidden just out of view.

However, as the party approaches their destination, the wandering groups of undead grow thicker and thicker. They groan and hiss at each other, wandering in the same direction as if by instinct.

At the end of the overhead path, a giant cube of a building is half-buried at the end of the massive, underground cavern. A curtain of withered vines and mushrooms cling to the stone walls, withered by a dark and sickly aura. It gave the impression that what could be seen was just the front of something much grander, but that monument was buried under the tons and tons of earth that made up the cavern wall.

A small horde of undead claw at the base of the complex, throwing their limp arms against the reinforced walls. A few scattered carpets of waist-high spikes trip and impale some of the dragonborn undead clumsy enough to fall onto them, leaving them squirming on their spears.

From a nearby building overlooking the area, the party of three study their surroundings, gauging threats and searching for an alternate path inside. Sam grimaces over the horde of skeletons and zombies, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb on the holy symbol dangling from his neck. “That’s… worrying. Is it possible for the wererat to be a necromancer?”

“I doubt it.” Wolfgang grunts, studying the behavior of the undead. “A necromancer doesn’t need defenses against his own minions… but…” The slayer turns her head towards Kathryne, the resident and supposed expert in magic.

The witch peers through the lens of a magical hand sign, a sigil overlaid over her fingers. A sickly green weave of magical threads linger and sway in the air like underwater weeds, flowing out from something within the wererat’s building. Waves of the necrotic presence wash as far as her spell can detect.

“Looks like something’s exuding a lot of necrotic energy. It might be what’s creating the undead.”

“So there is a necromancer?” Sam asks, quickly confirming the state of his rifle.

Kathryne thinks of her studies and experiences identifying enchanted items. If some items are designed to absorb ambient magic so that they can recharge uses, is it possible to have it ‘leak’ if it spends too much time being idle?

Knowledge (Arcane): 2.

No clear answer appears in Kathryne’s head. There’s a strong intuition that the magical force is coming from some sort of artifact or enchanted item, but she lacks the knowledge to deduce the exact nature of the item in question.

The witch groans. While she would’ve rather had a clear idea come to mind or a moment of clarity, it certainly helps to feel sound in something. “More like a necrotic artifact, like a haunted staff or something. I can’t say much more with confidence, since I don’t know a whole lot about necromancy.”

“Good. Necromancy is a vile practice.”

Kathryne gives a quiet, sidelong glance to Sam.

I mean. I guess, but Sam is being weirdly judgy today. There are some useful things about necromancy. A raised skeleton could take hits for teammates, or necrotic energy could weaken bosses enough for a party to have an easier time.

No… There’s probably a good reason to be wary. Even in Wrathfinder, necromancy usually came with a moral cost. It didn’t affect the players, but it often did for the characters they played. I should probably do more research.

Kathryne groans when she adds another entry to her ‘Research Later’ list, starting to feel a little overwhelmed at the sheer amount of subjects. However, while she muses about making a priority list, some new movement catches her eye.

A window on the second floor of the building opens up, tiny hands parting a small curtain of leaves and vines. Two rat-like heads pop out and scan the horde below.

“Is that the ratlings?” Sam asks, preemptively shouldering his rifle and peering through the iron sights. “They might be lookouts. Should I snipe them from here?”

“Better not.” Wolfgang’s pupils narrow with the presence of her quarry, watching their heads disappear from view. “You’d only alert the rest.”

“How many do you think there are?”

A moment later, the ratlings reappear in the window, this time resting the edge of a crate on the window. Tiny rat hands tilt the box over the window and a brown sludge waterfalls out and pours onto the horde below.

Kathryne reflexively gags, turning her head away from the disgusting sight of excrement splashing onto the undead horde. Sam grimaces and mutters a prayer to himself, pausing only when the ratlings follow up with some fire, burning a few weaker undead to ashes.

The witch turns to the slayer to ask something, only to find Wolfgang staring at the display.

Is… Is she studying the poop?

Survival (Tracking): 17.

Ew.

“A pack size of 7 or 8, including the wererat. They’ve only been here a week or two.” Wolfgang motions towards some old stains and streaks on the ground and walls. When the ratlings throw out another crate of poop, she continues, “Pack of 15 then. Their limbs are proportional, so they’re likely naturally born ratlings with a brood mother.”

Kathryne listens as much as she can, although she avoids looking at the second wave of ratling feces. “You really low-balled the bounty for the hunt, huh? 50 gold and a machine?”

“Hm.” Wolfgang pulls out a thick book from her handysack, one bound in well-worn leather and parchment. Flipping it open, the slayer flies past pages of handwritten entries and lands on a rough sketch of a giant, diseased rat.

“To give birth to ratlings, a brood mother must be a cursed beast. Expect a cursed bite and some cooperative magic when its brood is nearby.”

Kathryne rests her head on Wolfgang’s shoulder to better read the bestiary, noticing that it was all in Wolfgang’s handwriting. “Oooh~ Did you write this book yourself?”

“Hm. I copied the entries from other bestiaries, but it made sure I read everything at least once.” Wolfgang replies, closing the book and storing it away again.

“Wait, can I read some more?”

“Another time. For now, check your gear and cast whatever spells will last a while. We’ll go in from the second floor.”