Hermera

The 7th of Mounichion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

Arche picked his way down a stairwell, shield up and spear at the ready. They had left the treasure room behind and now wandered the passages still unexplored. Arche took point with Tess holding the Everlit Lantern behind him. Helwan followed next, goat hooves clopping gently against the stone with each step. Cora followed behind, bow at the ready and continuously scanning for threats. Basil brought up the rear, constantly checking behind to make sure no enemies snuck up on them.

Their descent had taken at least twenty minutes. The lighting situation was poor and Arche didn’t want to barrel into a trap like he usually did, so they took their time. They passed landings and branches, but each time Arche ignored them and continued going down. He couldn’t say what made him so certain what he was looking for was at the bottom, but the intangible sense of dread coming from below promised danger. When the stairs finally ended, Arche’s ears popped from the pressure. A large wooden door stood in front of them. Several scratches marred the wood, revealed by the light from the lantern. The door bowed out near the top, as though something inside had tried to bust it open and failed. Arche placed a finger over one of the scratches, feeling how deep it went.

“Was something trying to get out?” he muttered. “Or get in?”

The scratches were thick, five parallel lines repeated at a variety of angles.

“Revenant,” Arche muttered darkly. “It must have chased something inside. Quite a while ago, if I had to guess. Days, at least; these aren’t fresh. Cora, what do you think?”

The half-elf made her way forward to inspect the door.

“I concur. These markings are weeks old.”

“Hm, still doesn’t answer where the revenant went. All right, let’s see what’s behind door number one.”

Arche tried to move the latch but it only rattled in place.

“Shit, it’s locked.”

“Let me have a look at it.” Tess pushed her way to the front.

The Rogue tapped on the lock, her face a mask of focus. She brought out a small leather bundle, unrolling it to reveal a set of lockpicks. Arche blinked in surprise, then shook his head. Tess had been a thief before coming to Myriatos. It stood to reason she would still have her old tools of the trade.

“Done,” Tess said, startling Arche out of his thoughts.

“What, already?”

“It wasn’t a complicated lock. Barely Student-ranked. Really, I expected more out of the dwarves.”

“Huh. Neat.”

Arche lifted the latch and the door swung toward them. He stepped into the room and immediately started coughing, both hands rushing to cover his nose. The scent of rot and decay hung over everything, as though the air itself had turned toxic. The others had similar reactions but Cora had it the worst. The half-elf took one step inside the room and immediately turned to spew her stomach contents against the wall.

Helwan quickly made a complicated hand gesture, contorting his fingers into arcane symbols, before raising an open hand toward the ceiling. A notification appeared.

Meadow Fragrance — Level 36

Air breathed is purified and made fit for consumption. Airborne toxins up to Apprentice Rank are neutralized.

Meadow Fragrance — Level 36: 1:27:02

The rancid smell gave way to a floral scent, as though the room was filled with lilac, lavender, and vanilla. The others let out soft murmurs as they, too, noticed the difference. Cora looked especially grateful, if still a little sick.

Arche squinted his eyes against the darkness as Tess held up the Everlit Lantern, giving them a better view. They were in a sort of feasting hall with long tables arranged haphazardly, surrounded by shattered stone chairs. Ancient remains of food and cloth were covered in thick layers of dirt, dust, and mold. Skeletal bodies of dwarves were scattered throughout the room. Some dressed in faded colors that suggested a more relaxed outfit, while others had died in full armor with weapons clutched, long rusted by years of neglect.

“What is this place?” Arche wondered aloud, his grip tightening around his spear.

“Never mind that, what is that?”

Tess pointed to a huge stone block in the place of honor at the head of the celebrations.

“A sarcophagus?” Arche squinted.

“I don’t like this,” Cora muttered.

“I’m gonna take a closer look,” Arche said.

He made his way across the large room, stepping around tables and corpses until he was in front of the strange stone.

“Helwan, what do you make of these markings?”

The satyr peeked out from behind him and peered at the carvings on the sides of the monolith.

“This isn’t dwarvish, that’s for certain. But there’s more, I’m getting a strong sense of necromancy from this, Arche.”

“Necromancy, huh?” Arche eyed the dozens of corpses all around the room.

“Ambient necromancy,” Helwan continued. “Something very strong has been emitting it.”

“Like the Tridory was?”

“Similar, maybe. I don’t know if this is an object, though.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Wait, you’re saying there might be an actual necromancer here? Like, inside the sarcophagus?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps we should simply leave it alone and get out.” Helwan held his tail in his hands, ears plastered flat against his hair.

“We’ve come this far.” Arche did his best to give a reassuring smile. “If it’s dangerous, then we should remove the threat.”

Helwan didn’t look convinced, but fear gave way to curiosity as something on the stone block distracted him.

“This…oh, wow. This is fascinating! I was right, this isn’t dwarven at all. It’s elvish!”

“What?” Cora was at their side a moment later, scrutinizing the markings.

“Yes, look at it here. It’s an ancient elvish dialect.”

“I...it is, but that doesn’t make sense. Elves don’t entomb their dead,” Cora insisted.

“Maybe these elves did. Are there elves that live underground?” Arche asked.

“No,” Cora said firmly.

“Maybe,” Helwan hedged.

Cora shot the satyr a fierce look.

“No true elf would trap themselves underground or entomb their dead. Your rock may have elvish script but it is not elvish.”

Arche looked back and forth between them.

“Can either of you translate? Might help shed some light on this whole thing.”

Helwan shrugged, blowing out his cheeks.

“I can do my best, but…”

“What is it?”

“Well, this part doesn’t make any sense.”

Arche sighed, waving his hand for Helwan to continue. “What does it say?”

“This word here means ‘sentenced’ and this one here means ‘traitor.’ Why would they put those on a sarcophagus? Why would they feast next to it?”

“Keep reading, maybe you’ll find out.”

“This one I think says ‘Lady’ and this one says ‘hidden.’ That’s all I can make out.”

“‘Sentenced traitor lady hidden.’ Well, that sounds completely harmless.”

“Do you always say such nonsense?” Cora snapped.

“It calms my nerves.”

“It riles mine.”

“All right, well…” Arche paused. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

The half-elf scowled and turned away. Arche scanned the room, trying to piece together what had happened.

“Arche, come take a look at this.”

Tess gestured to a dwarf nearby. When he walked over, she pointed at the bones that made up the dwarf’s skeletal neck.

“These bones here have been cracked. Whatever killed this dwarf snapped its neck to do so. It wasn’t clean.”

“Any ideas what did it?”

“Something very strong.”

“The revenant?”

“Maybe. That would explain the gouged armor.”

Arche was about to ask another question when a terrible, scraping noise deafened all conversation. He whipped around to see the sarcophagus vibrate, sending tremors through the stone around them. Helwan fell over in his attempt to back away, sending the Everlit Lantern rolling. Cora jumped onto a table and drew her bow, pointing an arrow at the sarcophagus.

Before Arche could do anything more than stand up, the lid exploded into a shower of stone dust and debris. Arche raised his shield and stepped to the side, interposing himself between Tess and the explosion. Rocks pelted off his shield with metallic plinks and skittered across the stone floor. Arche lowered his shield enough to see a gaunt hand reach out of the sarcophagus and grip the edge.

“Nope. Fuck that!”

Arche jumped into action, racing toward the threat.

The hand turned over and snapped its fingers. Something grabbed Arche’s foot, sending him sprawling. A skeletal hand gripped his boot at the ankle. Arche shouted a warning, more an indeterminable cry than anything else, and kicked out with his other boot, cracking the dwarf’s skull. A second kick broke through the bone and the dwarf went limp.

Arche scrambled to his feet as other dwarves stirred. Dark strands of sickly green energy filled them with a facsimile of life. Another gaunt hand appeared, gripping stone, and from the recess of the sarcophagus rose the dark figure of a woman.

“It has been too long,” the woman said, more to herself than to anyone present.

Her voice was thick and lilted, reminiscent of Lyssa’s but with a heavier accent. The long ears left little doubt that this woman was some type of elf, but there was something wrong about her. Her skin was pallid to the point that it almost glowed and the woman’s dark hair was wispy and loose. She smiled, an expression of victory rather than joy, revealing a mouth full of fangs.

Arche Examined her, already worrying about what he’d see.

Aima

Level: 38

Race: Vampire

Age: ?

Height: ?

Weight: ?

Profession: ?

Trade: ?

Traits: ?

Companions: ?

Adventuring Party: ?

Health: 436 / 1,400

31%

Stamina: 295 / 920

32%

Mana: 1,072 / 1,200

89%

“I have waited so long for fresh meat to come my way.”

“Group up, defensive formation. Basil, to me!”

Aima sniffed, turning her head toward Arche.

“And such interesting meat, at that. You will make a tasty treat.”

Helwan and Cora moved behind Arche as Basil joined his side with his own shield and spear. Aima stepped down onto the floor, black fabric flowing off her body. Once, it must have been incredibly ornate, but time had worn it away until it was little more than rags on the vampire’s desiccated form.

“I don’t know who you are and I don’t care,” Arche called out. “We can do this the easy way or the painful way.”

“Tch,” Aima scoffed. “Men are the same in any form and time. Always so blind to real power. Your blood interests me, child. Your words do not. Subdue them, my darlings.”

The legion of reanimated dwarf corpses lumbered toward them. Arche wasted no time lashing out with his spear, aiming for the head as often as he could, but settling to crush bones whenever a clean shot was too difficult. Sadly, the dwarves gave no experience or any of the other notifications that normally appeared after killing a creature. Why other undead gave experience and these didn’t, he didn’t know, but there was no time to explore that line of questioning.

The dwarves were not terribly effective fighters but there were dozens of them. They surged forward, bony fingers outstretched to clutch and tear. Aima laughed, a loud, manic sound that echoed around the room.

“Hmm.” She tapped a finger against a gaunt cheek. “My dwarves not quite enough? How about my champion? I believe two of you have met him already.”

She raised one hand, palm down. Her fingers twisted and danced in the air as though she were playing an invisible instrument. Lines of spectral green energy formed in front of her. They widened and connected until they formed a solid disc as tall as a person, a portal to some nebulous space.

The revenant stepped out of the magic.