Tarn felt the otherworldly rush of weight and gravity returning to him as Lash’s port translated them out of the magical realm and into the real world. The warm, stale air inside his port suit quickly became chilled, and he did not need to see to know he had returned to the Cairn Plains.
Grabbing the thin cloth with his fingers, he tore at the fabric. It shredded away easily, quickly presenting Tarn with a piercing blue sky, laced with wisps of cloud that floated across the flat, snowy lands of the Cairn Plains.
Looking just as they had left it, the massive tower of the Sword Dungeon still stood before them, gleaming in the cold sunlight as it towered above the landscape. Hundreds of feet high, it was impaled into the earth and snow exactly as Tarn had remembered it. Carved runes of some ancient and forgotten language ran up the blade, ending at a hilt that nearly blotted out the sun.
All that was missing was a doorway, but after months of work Tarn hoped Lash had the answer to that problem.
Or is there even any question? If Yarex can see the future, then the key must work. Why else try to steal it?
Tarn dismissed the thought. He respected Urthin and his people, but the idea that somehow a study of history could lead to a perfect vision of the future was more than he could accept. He believed the key would work because he believed in Lash, and not because of some homicidal fortune teller.
The question was, what would they find inside? The Sword had been in turmoil when he leapt out of its entry three months earlier, the portal sealing shut behind him. The Progenitor’s devices had been removed from the heart, but Sinah’s final attack seemed to have overcharged it, forcing it to create new monsters at an incredible pace.
When they opened the door, would a torrent of monsters just come pouring out?
We’ll know in a minute, he thought. Whatever they found, it was good to feel like he was back on the offensive. After months of reacting to still-bombs, waiting for invasions, and avoiding countless council meeting invitations from Ramad, finally they were back on the board.
“That is … incredible.” Aryo gasped. Mouth hanging open, he gawked at the arcane tower with his neck craned up at a painful angle. Tarn reminded himself that Aryo grew up closer to this place than any of the rest of them, in a small, shattered village about twenty miles to the south.
In stark contrast to Aryo, Jental barely seemed to notice the massive object reaching into the cold blue sky. Instead she took a moment to adjust the pack on her back, stamping her feet impatiently against the cold as if she were late for an appointment.
“It is different than the Axe Dungeon.” Narsol’s brows narrowed, as the wind blew his braided beard over his shoulder. “The ground here was penetrated blade first by the structure. In Ak-Thanon it is the handle of the weapon that has been pushed deep into the jungle, raising a crater a mile wide.”
“Look - what is that there?” Isca shouted suddenly. Her goggles were down over her eyes, enhancing her already improved vision. Tarn squinted, and after a moment he could see what she was pointing at. About a hundred feet or so away a thin silver object had been embedded into the ground.
There was enough snow piled up against it that it had clearly been there a few days. Walking with Isca, Tarn stepped closer to the spear as it shone in the sun, catching the sun’s rays and glistening.
Wait a minute. It wasn’t glistening, the pattern was too perfect.
“Is it… blinking?”
“Yes,” Isca said. “Though it wasn’t a moment ago. It started once we exited the portal. And I can see writing on the side. Runes, they are familiar to me. Not human or Kithikin, but I have seen them before.”
“Tarny?” Bog called from behind them. “What’s with you and your girlfriend?”
“She’s not-“ he stopped, not taking the bait. “Bog, just get everyone back and stay ready. Something about this seems…”
“Shattered Stone!” Isca cried suddenly. “The runes are like Urthin’s writing, I have seen some in Lash’s studies. This must be from-“
Suddenly he and Isca fell into deep shadow as the sun was blotted out. He looked up to see a circular silver object hurtling from the sky towards them.
“Still-bomb!” Tarn shouted, grabbing the surprised Isca by the arm. Pulling her into a run, he scrambled to get them out of the way before the huge boulder fell upon them.
As he felt the first shockwaves connect with his back, he knew he had not completely succeeded. Fortunately, Isca had assisted their run with her wings, lifting them just off the air enough to avoid being completely thrown to their feet.
There was a thunderous crash behind them. As a pair, they tumbled to the ground and rolled onto their backs. Behind Tarn, he could hear the others surprised cries and gasps. Some of them, Narsol at least, had never seen a still-bomb up close.
Dust and snow settled in the air around the circular rock, the hissing heat of the stone surface at war with the chilled winds of the Cairn Plains. As Tarn watched a seam begin to form at the center of the rock, his mind processed Isca’s revelation just before the bomb fell.
The silver device was stuck in the ground like a lightning rod. Blinking as they arrived, covered in Stone Shard monk runes. Tarn quickly surmised Yarex had left this here to draw the nearest still-bomb towards it, probably set somehow to detect their arrival. A means to delay him, or worse.
The crack widened, and Tarn waited to see what latest still-spawn would crawl forth. They had seen misshapen wolves, modified birds, strange hybrids like the lobstorpian. One nightmare after another.
Yet what stepped out of the bomb’s shattered core was no monster, but rather a man.
At first, Tarn thought it to be human, but as the figure fully emerged it was clear it was not. Stepping into the sunlight, its skin seemed covered in some sort of bark-like substance. Standing to its full height, it was taller than a human by at least two feet, its limbs long and thin.
Some thirty feet distant, it focused on Tarn with eyes that looked like darkened stones. A misshapen mouth opened, a cried out a shriek of anger. As it did so, an arc of azure lightning leapt from the far-off blade of the sword, connecting with both the still-bomb fragments and Tarn’s gem.
An ethereal voice came through his mind, one he had not heard in three months.
You have returned.
His interface sprung to life. The words appearing inside his thoughts were colored neither green nor red, but rather a blue that matched the electrical energy that erupted from the Sword.
RESOLVE BACKLOG PROCESSING WARNING: GEM AT REDUCED CAPACITY
As Tarn struggled to decipher the meaning of the warnings, a second figure pushed its way out of the sphere, and then a third. They were recovering from the impact, shaking their heads and getting their bearings. But their intent was clear, obvious in the guttural growls they emanated as they sighted Tarn and the others.
Whatever new mysteries the Sword Dungeon was up to, they would have to wait.
“Charge now!” He called to the rest of his team, activating his gem. The still-time would have been created by the creatures within moments anyway, but if he attacked first his team would grab the first pulse of actions. He felt the time-freezing energies of the still issue forth from his gem, merging with the growing field created by the bomb.
INITATIVE BEGUN – ALLIED Team status: Tarn Arisfal / Pulse-shifted Captain) Lv 6 / AP 100 / Status effects: None Isca / Needle Lv 7 / AP 90 / Status effects: Flying [I] Lash / Trickster Lv 6 / AP 70 / Status effects: None Aryo / Zephyr Lv 1 / AP 40 / Status effects: None Narsol / Obelisk Lv 2 / AP 60 / Status effects: None
The interface then shifted for a moment, becoming blurry and then returning to a crisp, clean text. A crimson error flashed among the emerald interface, pulsing painfully in Tarn’s mind.
WARNING: ALLIED INITATIVE CAPACITY EXCEEDED. PROCESSING INSUFFICENT FOR ADDITIONAL PARTICIPANTS.
What?
Whirling around, Tarn could see Bog, Jental, and Urthin standing a bit farther back than the others. A strange gray mist covered their frozen forms, the light from their gems barely visible from within.
They seemed alive and unharmed, but clearly they would not be joining the fight. Whatever ‘capacity exceeded’ meant, they’d have to deal with it after the battle.
Terrific. More mysteries.
“They’re fine!” he shouted at Aryo, selling a confidence he didn’t feel. The young Zephyr was wide-eyed, looking over his shoulder at the rest of the team with the same concern Tarn now forced himself to push aside. “Forget them - we can’t worry about them now!”
He trusted the others, even Narsol, to know how to use their combat experience and compartmentalize. To his credit, the kid nodded and some of the worry drained away from his face. Tarn was worried too, but this wasn’t the time. Keying into his interface, he quickly scanned the strange looking tree-men before them.
Thartark (Modified)
AP: 50
Status effects: [tough hide - innate] [regeneration - innate]
[tough hide] – Can only be damaged by bladed melee weapons
[regeneration] – The Thartark will regain 10 AP at the start of its turn.
Once under the fractures, one can scrye anything.
“Melee only! Get in there with something that can cut!” Tarn called out, remembering the [tough hide] status effect from his fight with the Fallen Angler. Likely that requirement left Lash and Isca little to work with, but he and Aryo used blades. They’d soon see what Narsol brought to the fight.
Tarn used his first pulse to
Good deal, kid. Get that [accelerated] going.
At the end of his move, Tarn found himself face to face with the center of the three Thartark. Aryo was on his left, Narsol on his right. Isca had gone airborne he was sure, looking to offer support or debuffs. Lash was hanging back to heal.
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Tarn looked at the strange creature, surprised by the level of intelligence that was obvious in its dark eyes, twin pools of coal deep embedded deep inside the tree bark skin. They darted back and forth, as filled with fear as they were rage.
The sight was unsettling. This was no lobster or wolf, some poor animal the Progenitors had modified and perhaps enraged. This was an intelligent being, or at the very least it had been one.
He could see a series of red pustules that ran across the creature’s skin, pulsing as one with stomach turning precision. They looked vaguely like insect bites, and he could see the dark shape of tiny moving legs, burrowed deep within the wounds.
Is that how they are controlled somehow? Do they have – insects within them?
“Try not to kill them,” Tarn said, surprising even himself. “See if we can just subdue.”
“That is an enemy, human.” Narsol grunted with undisguised derision. “Your enemy.”
He’s not wrong, Tarn thought to himself. Even his gem’s interface considered the Thartark an enemy after all. But were they, or were they just another Progenitor victim? Perhaps even a preview of what awaited the people of their world.
Doesn’t matter. As his second pulse started, Tarn had already made up his mind. He would give whatever intelligence might still exist inside this thing a chance.
Tarn selected
Option: Disarm – Reduce damage by 75%. On opponents next pulse, the opponent may not make a melee attack.
Tarn swung his weapon, impacting with the Thartark’s arms. His opponent recoiled, but Tarn doubted it was from the meager 10 AP his attack caused. The red wounds on the creature’s limbs began to throb.
To his right, he was happy to see Aryo had followed his lead. Striking forward with a
Narsol also chose a non-lethal option, but it was harder for Tarn to tell if that was the orc’s intent. Innately the golden pyramid formed around him, which then projected a wall of energy that sent the third Thartark hurtling in the opposite direction.
Tarn had seen the same attack used by Narsol against Yarex’s team at the docks. But this version seemed to have a new angle, as the wall of energy that flew out of the pyramid was covered with a thick covering of what looked like coiled wire, covered in biting metallic hooks.
Repelling field (Melee / Obelisk)
Option: Barbs
The Obelisk may sacrifice 10 AP to add [barbs] to any attack. An opponent with [barbs] cannot be healed until the [barb] is removed. Removal of the [thorn] will cause 10 AP damage, and requires one pulse action.
There is a goal, and there is a cost. Everything else is just details.
It seemed brutal, but it would have the intended effect, the final Thartark was unable to act next turn either and his regeneration would not work. But the direction he had been flown was random. Had he hit an object, he’d have been killed.
Narsol didn’t try to save the Thartark, he just got lucky.
His timer running out, Tarn turned to the disarmed creature before him. Despite his misshapen limbs and bark-like skin, he looked more like a man than ever now, afraid and trembling.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” Tarn said. “If you stop, initiative will end. Do you understand me?”
INITIATIVE SHIFT
As the text in his interface shifted from green to red, the creature looked back at him and narrowed its eyes. Its mouth opened, and it began to speak. Its voice was weak and dry, like an autumn wind running through a barren tree.
“Ke-rept,” it said. “Ka-rept intah ejen.”
Translation in progress: THARTARK ~ REALMSPEAK
“Ke-rept,” it repeated. “Ka-rept in-aaaaaai!” Its words were lost in a scream of pain. The red wounds that covered its body began to burst, sending globs of what looked like a thick green paste into the air. The Thartark writhed in agony, then turned back to Tarn.
All sentience in its eyes was gone, replaced only by a pain-fueled rage. Still shouting incoherently, it thrust its arms into the air. Two long shafts of wood burst forth from its limbs, hurtling through the air like guided arrows.
Rootspears (Ranged / Thartark)
The Thartark may target up to two non-melee opponents within 60 feet. Each opponent target will be struck by a rootspear, doing 10 AP initial damage. The spear will lodge within the target, moving further within at the start of each round and the damage will increment by 10 AP. Duration is 3 rounds.
The spear may not be removed by the target. An ally must remove the spear by taking an action.
[Remove Spear] - Requires both pulse actions.
Yet no one can scrye the intent of the dark god below the waves.
Tarn didn’t need to look to see where the spears went. One flew upwards, piercing Isca and likely sending her to the ground. Tarn did not hear her cry, but the Kithikin was often surprisingly stoic when wounded.
Lash however howled, his shout of pain cutting through the air from behind them.
“No!” Aryo shouted in panic as he whirled around to look “The others – Isca and Lash! They need us and… Oh no – it’s happening again!”
“Steady, boy!” Narsol yelled from Aryo’s left, and the suddenness of his harsh command seemed to reach Aryo. Before them, the trio of injured Thartark shambled forward. Tarn felt a red rage of frustration building inside him. The Progenitors were doing this, forcing these poor things to fight losing battles for them. The loyalty of complete control, that was their ‘modification’.
Now they had to be killed. That was clear, and there was no avoiding it. But it was just another mark on their enemy’s ledger, one more thing for them to answer for.
“Lash and Isca are fine!” Tarn called over, his teeth clenching a bit. “This isn’t what happened to your family, Aryo. Stay focused and think about your next pulse. Best way to help Isca and Lash now is to take these things out.”
Aryo’s Thartark stumbled helplessly to its feet, all actions lost due to the stun. The distant Thartark grunted as it pulled out the [thorns] from Narsol’s attack, then used its second pulse to weakly shamble forward. Tarn watched its painful gait with frustration. It was hurt, dying even. These three had no real chance against them, yet they were being forced to throw themselves to their death.
For nothing.
INITIATIVE SHIFT
“Take them down, then.” Tarn said angrily. “Do it quick, don’t make them suffer any more.”
With his first pulse, Tarn activated
To his right, Narsol made a thrusting motion from within his pyramid. Two golden metallic objects flew forth, slamming into the poor creature that had charged back to him.
Magnetic Blur (Obelisk / Melee)
The Obelisk sends two magnetized cubes to up to two opponents within melee range. The cubes will attach to the target, doing 10 AP damage. If the target attempts to move out of melee range with the Obelisk, they will take an additional 10 AP damage per attached cube.
Orc bones are made of the past, orc muscles are crafted from memory and song. The flesh may decay, but the metal of what it means to be an orc endures.
Some clinical part of Tarn’s mind noted the interesting strategic implications of Narsol’s attack. But the details didn’t matter – the simple damage of the two cubes attaching to the Thartark was enough to send it to the ground, shattered and dead.
There was a sudden, blinding flash of electrical energy from his right, as Aryo began to strike his target. Tarn had thought the young farmer would use his standard melee attack, the remaining Thartark had only a fraction of its health remaining. Yet something had triggered the kid’s rage, and he had chosen to use his most powerful ability.
Discharge (Zephyr / Melee)
Requires: Accelerated
The Zephyr attacks a target in melee range, doing 20 AP times the number of full pulses he has been in the [Accelerated] state.
The Zephyr may not regain [Accelerated] this combat.
Speed didn’t save them, but maybe it can make them matter.
The Thartark Aryo had been fighting was simply shattered as hyper-accelerated fists slammed into him, over and over. The kid’s eyes were barely looking at what he was doing, as he screamed in rage. Tarn’s interface let him know initiative had ended, the battle was over. But if Aryo saw the messages, he gave no sign of it.
“Aryo!” Tarn lunged at him and grabbed onto his shoulder, pulling the kid back. Aryo stumbled to the ground, chest heaving with exertion. His fists dripped with the green blood of the Thartark. Falling backwards, he stared at them in horror.
Tarn reached under Aryo’s arms, pulling him to his feet. The kid’s eyes were almost vacant as he looked up, as if he were seeing something a thousand miles distant, or six weeks prior.
“My family.” He muttered. “They took them all, you know. I saw them torn apart. Right from one of those – still-bombs. They were weird animal-things, like goats with beetle-wings that vomited acid on us. Just … monsters. My sister, Tarn. She melted right in front of me.”
“I know, Aryo.” Tarn had been there, along with Isca, Lash, and Bog. They had arrived within moments of Lash detecting the still-bomb impact. But in those moments, Aryo’s life had been forever set on a new path.
“I came with you because I wanted to kill those monsters, Tarn. Creatures like the ones that took my family. But that – but this –” He looked down at his blood-covered hand. “That wasn’t a monster.”
The pummeled, strange form of the Thartark had already vanished into arcane particles, its life reduced to resolve points and vanishing matter. But whatever being these had been, whatever lives and passions they had possessed, the Progenitors had taken those long ago.
“He was already lost, Aryo.” He gave the kid’s shoulder a squeeze. “Trapped in whatever nightmare he had been turned into. You ended his suffering, freed him. I know it’s not easy but try to look at it that way.”
The kid needed more, it was clear. But there wasn’t time, and thankfully Aryo seemed to know it. Nodding and taking a shuddering breath, he turned and stood towards the sound of approaching boots crunching in the snow. The others were running over, freed now from the gray mist that had enveloped them.
“The old lessons have taught me that humans were weak.” Narsol came to stand next to Tarn and Aryo, with the tower of the Sword dungeon framed behind them. “But I have come to doubt those lessons, those among many. I have fought too many humans, lost too many friends to them. Humans are smart, brave. Even noble in their own way. You are not weak.”
He narrowed his eyes at Tarn.
“But you are … fractured. Too many thoughts, too many worries, too many feelings. The run through you like imperfections after forging. They weaken your resolve, limit your strength.”
“I saw a chance to not murder another Progenitor victim.” Tarn turned away from Aryo, getting close enough to Narsol to count the veins in his eyes. “When that chance was gone, I did what needed to be done. If you can’t understand that, that’s not my problem.”
“You killed them.” Narsol nodded. “But you hesitated. Today that did not cost you. But what about the next time? Are you truly willing to pay any price to defeat your enemy?”
“If you don’t want to be here Narsol – you can stay in the damn snow. I don’t give a piss what you think of me, and I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
“A good leader listens to other opinions. Is that you? I have known you a day. You have the loyalty of your team – of those who impress me.” He cast a look at the approaching Bog, as did Tarn.
Her eyes were narrowed. She was too far to hear them, but he was sure it was obvious things were heated. It would be only a moment until Bog jumped in, and that was something he wanted to avoid.
“Come and find out, Narsol. My team is going into the Sword. I listen to my team, and they listen to me. If you join us, you’re part of that.”
Not giving the orc a chance to respond, he turned to face the rest of the group.
“We were locked out of the fight?” Bog pointed at her gem, jaw clenched with frustration. “I got a message in my mind from the gem - something about not enough capacity.”
“Yeah, I got the same.” Tarn nodded. “I don’t know what it means, either. But the answers are not going to be out here. Lash, what do you need to do with your key?”
Lash fished his hand into the satchel slung over his shoulder, eventually pulling out a small, multi-colored crystal. His tiny green hands barely fit around its pulsing surface. The air around it pulsed, diffusing in shimmering waves as if it were radiating heat. Written in gold lettering across each face of the shard was a different rune.
“Not hard to use,” Lash grinned. “It like any key. Touch door, door open. Lash go do now.”
“Wait, Lash.” Urthin held his hand up. “We should consider for a moment. We know Yarex is coming here. Perhaps Bog’s initial strategy was correct, and we should prepare an ambush. Defeat him now, before he can access the dungeon.”
Tarn opened his mouth to speak, and his mind suddenly went white. There was a single flash, an image being placed inside his mind by a familiar arcane hand. For just a single moment, it was as if he had blinked his eyes into another world.
It showed Tarn a world of water, with a single lush island at its center, thick with trees and vegetation. Lodged into the island was the Sword Dungeon, with several large Progenitors crowded around it. Being led into the sword were tall, thin creatures with bark-like skin – men, women, and smaller children. They entered the Sword as themselves, and then emerged on the other side as monstrosities.
‘Modified’ the gem’s interface had called them. Just as the wolves, and birds, and lobsters had been. Changed by the Progenitors to suit their needs.
This was the fate that awaited all the worlds Dungeons brought the Progenitors to. Isca’s people, and the orcs. Eventually the Realm. They would not just be conquered, they would be harvested. Changed and mutilated.
Every moment here was a moment spent not stopping them.
“To hell with Yarex.” Tarn’s mouth tasted of ash at the thought of it all. Modified people. Human tools.
“Let’s get going,” he headed towards the Sword. “We’ve got work to do again.”