Gromphy paused after descending the first flight of stairs. He was on the ground level now, and a heavy wooden door stood to his right. He recognized the design as the one that was barred from the outside with the graveyard before it. His eyes went to his left and the stairs descending to the lower levels. Dirt was scattered on the steps, creating a clear path from the door to the cellar. The goblin had been told he would be dealing with a death shaman, but necromancy gave him the creeps. He shook off his hesitation and continued down.
The transformation of the décor was stark. A minute ago, Gromphy had been in a luxurious hall filled with beautiful music, wine, and people. Now he moved down a dark passage filled with cobwebs, mossy walls, and bloodstained floors. The stairs emptied into a catacomb-style dungeon path, lit only by torches every 25 feet. His perception spell would last an hour as long as he stayed out of combat, which he planned to avoid at all costs.
Sounds came to his keen ears as he perceived torture victims moaning and crying from behind cage doors. Gromphy stayed in the center of the corridor, away from the slits in the wall where someone or something might try to reach through and grab him. He chanced a look into one of the prison cells and saw a Helpless victim chained to the far wall, unable to do anything other than groan at his condition. The goblin quickened his step.
After a row of a dozen cells, he found a storeroom filled with potions and scrolls. Beyond that was a collection of iron shackles and torture devices. Heat came to him as he turned a corner, and the flickering light of a large fire was visible at the end of the hall. More victims cried out to him as he passed, these more articulate in their pleas, but he shut them out and continued forward.
The shaman was an elf, tall and slender, with black hair and modestly dressed in a gray tunic and pants. His pointed ears had numerous piercings of gold and obsidian, and a heavy medallion with a pentagram symbol hung around his neck. He stood before a stone slab, three feet high, on which a middle-aged woman lay. She was missing most of her left arm, the bone and muscle protruding just below the shoulder in tatters. It looked like a vicious monster had bit it off. Gromphy bet it had been a shark.
The shaman saw Gromphy enter the small chamber lit by four torches, but he ignored him. Instead, he concentrated on the brazier flaming at the foot of the altar, chanting in a guttural language. Gromphy stepped back as a shadowed image emerged from the flames, roughly human in shape but with too many arms. It fluttered as it rose above the prostrate woman. A constant groan was the only sign of life as she rolled her head back and forth.
The summoned demon fell on her in a sudden blur of shadow, and she straightened her remaining limbs, her head stiff and staring at the ceiling. Her mouth was open, and Gromphy’s keen ears heard the hiss of breath leave her as powerful mana raced through the rest of her body. The magic settled at her torn shoulder, and with a crackle of dark energy, her arm slowly reformed.
The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, but the new skin didn’t appear charred or deformed in any way. After several moments, her limb was restored. The dark shadow flew out of her open mouth, paused momentarily as if to regard the vessel it had just occupied, and then fled into the brazier, flames rising to the ceiling as it crossed back to its demonic realm.
The woman sat up, a dazed look in her eye, and while she looked whole, Gromphy sensed a large chunk of her soul missing. She wore a simple gown tied at the waist with leather sandals. Without even looking at her new arm, she turned to the side so her legs hung over the edge and dropped to the floor.
“Return to the beach,” the shaman said. “Resume your duties. Try not to fall off the dock.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice passionless. She walked past Gromphy but turned down a separate passageway not toward the stairs he had descended.
Gromphy’s eyes followed her, wondering how extensive this underground system was. When she was out of sight, he turned back to the shaman and saw the haunted black eyes of the elf staring at him. “I don’t remember you,” he said in a hollow whisper. “What do you need?”
The goblin straightened his vest and suit coat and stood as tall as possible. “Thou cast a healing spell on her?”
The shaman took on a faraway look as if the woman he had just performed on was a distant memory. It took a moment, but recognition registered on his face, and he shook his head. “It was a transference spell,” he clarified. “I transformed a portion of her soul into physical flesh. My servant took a piece for himself as payment. Healing is not possible with the dark arts.”
The goblin nodded. “And thou doth perform this spell often?”
The shaman cocked his head at the odd question, not used to being interrogated. “The shores to the south of the estate are not safe. The waters are teeming with predators. The land is not much safer. My master holds parties. He casts his feeding frenzy spells, and there is much carnage. Usually, the victims are consumed, but occasionally, they are only nibbled on, and he wishes to feed on them again in the future. It is my job to repair them . . . among other things.”
Gromphy nodded and stepped closer to the altar. He found a stool at the base and climbed it to look the shaman in the eyes and reach the top of the stone slab. He went into this vest and produced half a dozen healing potions, setting them down on the flat surface. “With but a draught from one of these, thou couldst restore the most grievous wounds. No need for thy black magic or descending to these lower levels. Stock these about thy master’s grounds, and he wouldst have a buffet that never ran out.”
The shaman cocked his head in interest. Gromphy continued his sales pitch. “And while I hast not partaken in similar cuisine, I know that a soulless meal loses its power. These wouldst restore a victim without impairing their essence.”
Now the shaman looked even more intrigued. Gromphy saw him greedily eyeing the six bottles and swiftly produced six more. Now the shaman’s eyes got large. After a moment, they grew cautious. “Who are you?”
“I am Gromphy, Master Crafter for Jace Thorne.”
The name meant little to the shaman. “I am Carakon, Soul Binder and Necromancer for Imani Pistri, Apex Hunter of the Nine Seas. I have duties and responsibilities that cannot be interrupted. I have no time for . . .” his voice trailed off as Gromphy popped his trunk onto the floor and produced 12 more healing potions, placing the vials carefully on the now crowded stone slab.
The shaman sighed and shrugged. “What do you need?”
Gromphy smiled, pulled the dress out of his inventory, and laid it away from the bottles at the front of the slab. “This item hath a curse that deals 100 damage to the wearer upon activation. I wish to elevate it to 100 damage each round, unending.”
“That is not a simple request,” Carakon said.
“Tis why I came to the most renowned Soul Binder in the realms. I hath been told nothing exists outside thy ability.”
The elf smirked at the obvious flattery, but it worked anyway. “If you are dealing in fire, I will need a living mana core. Demons cannot be bound to inanimate objects.”
Gromphy nodded and produced the level-one fire drake Esther had captured.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“You have done your research,” the shaman said, gaining respect for his client. He listed several other ingredients, and Gromphy produced them without hesitation. The goblin began to wonder if half the things mentioned were actually required or if the elf was just testing him and possibly replenishing his stores. It didn’t matter; the crafter wouldn’t run out of items any time soon.
“Impressive,” the shaman said after almost a dozen potions, alloys, gemstones, and other unique ingredients cluttered his altar. “But it is still not enough. The crafting skill required is beyond me. Even if I had an hour to prepare, I could not summon the power required . . .”
“I shall do the crafting,” Gromphy said. He did not have the level 50 crystal with him, but he felt confident in generating whatever was required.
The shaman did not have the skills to analyze the goblin’s stats, but he took him at his word for now. “Very well. There is one thing yet that we require. I have a demon in mind for the binding, Ignis Ardeat. He is a demon who enjoys bindings like this and dispels fire without limit. Unlike most of his kind, he does not deal in demon fire but normal mage fire. But even though he is willing to join in this type of union, it still requires the ultimate price.”
“A sacrifice,” Gromphy said, knowing this would be a problem.
“A life,” Carakon clarified. Moans of agony floated down the hall, and before his guest thought about stealing one of his master’s playthings, he clarified further. “A powerful life. It would help if the individual were already attuned to the demonic plane, but it isn’t necessary. Without that benefit, though, you will need someone level 16 or higher. Do you have someone like that in your chest?”
Gromphy did not, but his eyes rose to the ceiling. Roughly 20 feet above them, dozens of powerful beings danced and drank the day away, any of whom would be adequate for the spell they needed. Carakon interpreted his look. “You have the strength to subdue one of my master’s guests?”
Gromphy did not, but Esther did. Hopefully, she was still in a condition to do so. The goblin picked up his trunk and stored it in his inventory. He turned to the shaman. “Thou shalt prepare the spell. I shall return with the sacrifice.”
“As you wish,” Carakon replied.
Gromphy hopped off the stool and injected mana into his locating ring to find Esther. It took a round to activate, and when he felt the magic guiding him, he wasn’t surprised to find it didn’t lead him back the way he had come but in a similar path to the one the woman servant had used. As Gromphy moved deeper into the catacombs, his mind raced with all the possible misadventures Esther could have encountered. He didn’t like what his imagination produced and quickened his pace.
----------------------------------------
Esther woke with a groggy head, and it took her a while to understand why she was waking up at all. She didn’t remember going to sleep. The last thing she remembered was standing on the back deck, enjoying the ocean breeze with Atrax. The man had given her a drink and then . . .
Esther jolted awake and found she was bound tightly to a vertical board with iron shackles on her wrists and ankles. They looked ordinary enough and shouldn’t have been too much for her advanced skill, but they were enchanted with a powerful spell, and she failed the Grapple check. She was now Securely Grappled and considered Helpless. Her body slumped back against the board about 15 degrees from vertical, and she could only look around.
Thomas was bound similarly beside her, still unconscious. She again regretted taking him along but couldn’t worry about that now. If she wanted to save him, she would first have to save herself. They were in a small room built of stone block, very different from the polished marble, wood trim, and stained glass of the banquet hall they had previously occupied. Esther guessed they must be in a separate room of the same house, and when she found a window that looked out onto the sunlit ocean, she confirmed her assumption. From the angle down to the water, they must be in one of the few towers she had seen on the estate when they had arrived.
They weren’t alone. Atrax and Stemenia stood before them, patiently waiting for Esther to wake up. They smiled at her attempts to escape resulting in her lying Helpless against the board. As long as they kept her out of combat mode, she would be like that for many minutes. She couldn’t check her inventory in her current state, but she was willing to bet it was empty. Looking around the room, she saw familiar equipment piled on several tables and assumed the worse. At least they had let her keep her new dress and hadn’t stripped her of everything.
In her quick scan of the room, she found four more occupants: gargoyles. At first, she thought they were statues like she had seen before, but they stood away from the wall, and their bodies swayed gently back and forth as the animated monsters waited for a command. Three were carved into demonic-looking monkeys five feet tall with wings on their backs, while the fourth was a full-grown ape, seven feet tall with four arms and red eyes.
“I’m so glad you could wake up,” Atrax said with a smile. “Now we can get started. I hope your mind has cleared a bit more and your memories have found their proper home.”
Esther only then remembered that new memories had assaulted her before she had been drugged. And her old vampire friend was correct; they had properly seated themselves in her mind, so they no longer drove her crazy. She still wasn’t familiar with the images or ideas they contained, but instead of them swirling around her head like a swarm of bees trying to sting her, they sat calmly, waiting to be explored like picture books on a shelf.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Atrax said. “Where did you come from?”
“Most recently, a stronghold outside of Crestfall. We haven’t given it a name yet. Jace is still working on it.”
The vampire frowned. “Before that,” he clarified.
“Before that, I worked at the Gilded Swan as a premium escort. You never came to visit.”
Atrax slapped her across the face. “I have no intention of killing you. My master wouldn’t allow it.”
Esther suddenly remembered that he had invoked his master to Imani, and the shark-man had been terrified of him. Esther didn’t know who that was, but the fact that this higher being wanted her alive didn’t bring her much comfort.
Atrax saw the fear in her eyes and continued. “I won’t kill you, but I care nothing for this one,” he motioned at Thomas. “Tell me what I want, or he dies, and it won’t be pleasant.”
Esther’s eyes went to the tiefling standing behind the vampire. Stemenia licked her lips, showing off her pointed teeth. Esther looked again at Atrax. She was pretty sure he already knew most of what she could tell him, so she didn’t see the harm in it. Reaching back into her mind, Esther pulled a jewel-encrusted tome off the shelf and slowly opened it.
“I was an angel in the service of Decus Gemma. I was perfect in every way. I was a jewel in his crown. A diamond.” Esther smirked as she finally realized why she had such an affinity for the precious stone. “I was often sent on missions to aid his servants when they found themselves in need. I could fly, and my appearance would dazzle any foe trying to harm one of my master’s followers.”
“And why did you leave there?” Atrax asked.
Esther winced. The memory was there, but it was incomplete and painful. “I was accused of falling in love with a mortal.”
“Did you?”
Esther winced again. “I don’t know. I have so many memories of being with so many people that to pull one out . . .”
“Try harder,” Atrax growled. “Your friend’s life depends on it.”
“I . . . I must have. Decus Gemma rejected me and cast me down to the realms. He couldn’t have been wrong about that. There must have been evidence that I did . . . but I don’t remember.”
The vampire frowned but didn’t push it further, already understanding that her memory was likely incomplete. “You were not alone after you found yourself in this realm.”
Esther shook her head. “No, there were several.”
“How many?”
She screwed up her face trying to remember. “I’m not sure. Not too many.”
“Kai Morte was one of them.”
Esther nodded. “Yes. He was with us. He was a fallen angel too. He had been accused of taking unjust revenge on a mortal.”
“And was he guilty?”
Esther shrugged. “I don’t remember him challenging the claim.”
“And what of the others?” Atrax continued. “What were their names? How many were there?”
Esther mentally scrolled through her memories, looking for anything that would give her a hint at what he was asking, but she found nothing.
Atrax grew impatient. “Tell me what I want to know!”
“I don’t remember. You triggered these memories in me. You need to trigger more!”
He slapped her again. “I’ve been searching for you forever after you were stolen from me. I was so close to getting all of you. I will not be denied again.” He stepped back and looked at the tiefling. “Stemi, you may proceed.”
The demoness smiled as she raised her hands, and mana swirled about her fingertips. Esther tried to pull back, but the board behind her didn’t yield. “What are you going to do? I’m telling you, I don’t know anything else.”
“We shall see,” Stemenia said, walking up to the two shackled individuals. Thomas hadn’t woken up yet, but he jolted upright as the tiefling mage pressed her left hand against his chest and proceeded to suck his soul out. His eyes and mouth opened in a silent scream as his back arched in agony.
“No!” Esther cried. “Stop it!”
Stemenia reached her other hand toward the frantic woman, and Esther couldn’t Dodge out of the way. The tiefling’s fingers splayed over her face, securing her temple and forehead. Power surged into Esther’s mind as the newly placed books on her shelf were ripped down, opened, and all their contents flowed out of her mouth.
She told them everything.