The large skiff from the Necropolis bumped up against the side of The Adventurer IV quietly. Sailors from the mighty ship made sure to toss over several ropes and extended a long gangplank so that the visitors could cross the gap between the hull of the ship and the smaller vessel. Guildmaster Stoutbeard stood near where the gangplank rested, flanked by several high-ranking adventurers on one side, and Lonlin stood on the other with the Captain. Everyone standing in the group was dressed for a formal occasion, buttons shined to perfection though several sailors rolled their eyes at this display. It was not long before heavy footsteps could be heard over the creaking of the ropes and sails above.
The first being to step foot on the ship was a heavily armed and armored woman, charcoal-black skin but golden blonde fur and hair. Twin pinpricks of blue flame framed the sides of her glowing blue eyes, announcing to all that she was of the Elder Hellhound bloodline. She tapped her ornate blackened halberd on the deck, her gaze sweeping the area. The Captain did her best to keep her composure as she and the newcomer locked gazes, their tails immediately began wagging side to side. Grins plastered both their human faces.
“It’s safe, Guildmaster,” the hellhound said over her shoulder, not relaxing as she stood to the side and came to a position of attention.
The very next thing to show itself was a lacy black parasol, being held up by an animated suit of hollow bronze armor, causing several sailors to back away in surprise. It stood to the side, the parasol held lightly in its grasp as a tall pale lady in an elegant purple dress walked aboard.
Her elegantly braided crimson hair streamed behind her back, across both shoulders her hair resembled large stylized drill bits, and she looked around with a satisfied smirk. She graciously accepted the parasol and twirled it over her shoulder as she looked down. She had to, for she towered over everyone present.
“Oh Throgard it’s been far too long,” her soprano voice sang out as she looked down at the dwarf with a gentle smile. Two fangs prominently made themselves apparent.
“That it has, Ravenna,” he replied. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I’m afraid it will be mostly business,” she lamented. Then, she continued on in a regal tone; “The Death Guild would like to hire several teams of your adventurers and delvers to help protect our clerics and liches so that we may put to rest all of the natural undead below us. If there are any pyromancers, their help would be greatly appreciated. It’s a shame the naturals can only be truly put down by complete destruction of the body.”
“Aye, we can do that,” Throgard replied. “Why don’t we head inside? Our cooks have made sure to provide a hearty breakfast feast for everyone.”
“That would be splendid!” Ravenna exclaimed with a genuine smile. The adventurers and sailors nearby looked very uneasy, but soon everyone in the group walked downstairs to the mess hall.
It, like the map room, was spatially enhanced and all the runes along the corners of the walls were glowing strongly. Long tables stretched the length of the room, along with two dozen circular tables scattered along the sides, some with adventurers already chowing down with gusto. The guildmasters and their retinues traveled to a horseshoe shaped table that was in an elevated position off to the side, near the center of the room. As they took their seats, dozens of adventurer parties came in through various entrances and took their seats, along with several dozen individual sailors. Various servants unhurriedly approached the table and started laying out various foodstuffs before all sitting at the table. One servant offered a bottle of Bloodwine to the tall vampire, but she politely turned it down. Half an hour later the Death Guildmaster wiped her lips with a crimson kerchief with a smile, having devoured what by all rights should have fed a family of ten for a whole day.
“My my, it is good to see your guild’s numbers are high, and that your chefs are absolutely fantastic,” Ravenna spoke after she took her seat. “And I see so many of your members are higher in level than the average?”
“Aye, that they are,” Throgard proudly stated. “Figured it’d be best to have most of the adventurers on this ship be of Mithril level or higher, for those who are more combat-focused. Gives the lower ranks somethin’ to work towards.”
“Remind me again what your ranks are, dearie?” She asked politely while batting her eyelashes.
“Certainly!” He boasted. “First-timers all start at Dirt, then work their way up to Clay. Though usually that process is far faster the older an adventurer is when they sign up. Kids stay at Dirt till they’re teens, then they can earn their Clay badge. After that comes Tin, then Copper, then Bronze, Iron, Steel, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Runite, Orichalum, Titanium, Mithril, Cobalt, Chrome, Adamantite, and rarest of all, Starmetal.” He took a breath. “And that’s just for the combat specialists. For our support specialists, like Healers, Leatherworkers, Smiths, Armormongers, and Apothecaries, they’re based on gemstones. Glass, Quartz, Garnet, Amethyst, Azurite, Sapphire, Emerald, Ruby, Corundum, Diamond, Onyx, and finally the rare Dragonstone. Of course, we have adventurers who have ranks in both systems, typically Battlesmiths, Rangers, Bards, Paladins, Artificers, Clerics, and strangely enough Miners. Right now, this ship is open to all pure support specialists above Sapphire ranking. Those who are of Amethyst but also do combat have to be at a minimum of Gold ranking in that respect.” With that, he pulled out a necklace that had a trio of amulets upon it. One of which was his badge of office, the letters I.D.G. prominently displayed in gold. The other two were Adamantite and Ruby.
“That is a lot of ranks,” the hellhound said with raised eyebrows. “In the Death Guild, the only ranks we have are Not A Member, Member, and Undead Member.”
“I take it...” one of the adventurers at the table nearby started.
“Unnatural Undead fall into the latter category,” Ravenna explained. “Most of whom eventually join our guild to enjoy certain protections in other countries. Like, not being hunted down and re-deadened.”
“And the difference between the Unnaturals and the Naturals is?” A younger looking man asked, bearing the emblem of the Scribe’s Guild who was diligently taking notes in between bites of large fluffy waffles.
“Unnatural Undead either have the capacity to create more of themselves as a mortal would, like myself, due to having a soul,” Ravenna started as she speared a strawberry cake with a fork. “Or are raised as undead by a lich, necromancer, divine intervention or sheer willpower. The latter of which tend to be paladins, holy warriors and such. Natural undead have no souls to speak of, though they do still grant experience points when slain, and are typically found after a disaster, natural or otherwise, has happened where nobody was able to consecrate the bodies within a week. They, unlike most Unnaturals, are completely omnicidal, attacking anything that uses mana, whether a creature or an item. As I noticed as we came over, there were a great many advanced Naturals climbing the cliff of the crater, which is an ill omen. If enough Naturals form together, eventually they may create what is known as a Dead Mind, which is a royal pain to deal with. Naturals without a Dead Mind are fairly easy to deal with for they are mindless and search out the nearest source of mana.”
“About how many of them would it take to make a Dead Mind?” Throgard asked quizzically, furiously trying to run the numbers in his head.
“Oh, from what records we do have, it ranges from between two thousand and ten thousand, with one documented case that had close to a hundred thousand, which took the combined efforts of three entire continents and help from the Grand Death Dungeon to kill. Why do you ask?” Ravenna asked sweetly after she finished the strawberry dessert.
“Because if that is the case, we may be dealing with one at the very least. The city had a population of two million before that damned Emperor’s festivities, which likely swelled to double that...” Throgard stated matter-of-factly.
At the mention of those numbers, the Death Guilders jumped out of their seats, which in turn caused a ripple effect throughout the entire mess hall. Adventurers stopped what they were doing and turned to see an elegantly furious vampire matriarch, her eyes glowing blood-red, and the hellhound’s halberd arm was twitching, with said weapon staying where it was by the wall.
“And I’m only just now finding out about this?” Ravenna stated more than asked, her expression furious. “How long have you known?”
“About the swarm below? At sunrise,” Guildmaster Stoutbeard replied warily.
“About how many were below us, before then.”
“Six months ago, we managed to flee before the city was supposedly vapor-URK,” Throgard was cut off as Ravenna easily lifted him up by his beard. Several dwarves in the various parties winced visibly, with some drawing weapons, only staying where they were once the hellhound’s gaze swept their way.
“You didn’t think that would have been something to tell my branch members in this continent at the time?” She yelled in his face, then threw him on his ass with a thud. “We came over as fast as we could upon hearing a week ago that the six branch offices of our guild nearest to Urstem had gone silent under mysterious circumstances. We did not know the scale of the disaster that has taken place on the continent of Ur, but now I must demand, not request, your help in cleaning up this mess, Throgard Stoutbeard.”
All the dwarf in question could do was nod rapidly. The tense air in the room was loudly interrupted by a sudden clanging of a bell. Adventurers in the hall looked around quizzically, but every single sailor ran out of the room after the second ding. The Death Guilders looked around in puzzlement as well.
“Captain! The Necropolis! It’s been overrun! Boarders are in our lower decks!” A sailor yelled out moments later from an open doorway, his uniform unkempt and bloody.
An eye opens in darkness. Then another.
An arm stretches into the void and grasps for the unknown, a dim light that shone in the usual penumbrae of the city.
"Must... EXTINGUISH.” Fingers close, the light dies. “Why light here. Never was before, but now is. Must send... minions. Range... limited. I hunger. I crave the SHINE... but too far... that is territory of ELDER. Too much effort. Must not die. Must absorb... What day? One hundredth and eighty... What change? What new? I smell... Essence. And if I smell... ALL smell. Secure? No. Dangerous... Let others take it? No. Dangerous too... Maybe.”
Further eyes open, teeth gnash silently as mutilated and mutated limbs flail about. The withered swarm beats arhythmically. Rotten neurons wake up and then link together once again. Many think, many hear.
“You summon?” A phlegmatic voice reverberated through the gray tissues.
“Yes. Me did,” came the nasally reply.
“Query,” several more voices piped in.
“Essence awoken. Ripe. Must consume.” The nasally one replied.
“Why not taken?” The first voice said in a state of shock.
“Dangerous for lone. One arm, cannot. Many, will.”
“Split, yes?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Nails tear, fangs rend, flashes of wrath and ichor. All driven by endless hunger, a typhoon of anger. Courting with oblivion, the strongest shall prevail. Tendrils creep. Always one loser, always one winner.
“Two have been undone by me,” the nasally voice stated, stronger now. “Their flesh is now mine. Will you hear my offer, lesser kin?”
“Truce?” The phlegmatic voice shakily asked.
“Truce, yes. Rewards evenly split amongst us, for the Elder cares little beyond the Crater.”
“I certainly do not, younglings,” a deep phlegmatic baritone reverberated through the link, shuddering all with primal fear. The nasally voice felt the attention of the Elder fully, only it would hear what would come next. “As long as thou stay in thine area, I care little for what thou do. Two sources of delicious Essence lay above thee, one lower than the other. Keep them as thine gift for devouring your peers and becoming a Standard Dead Mind. This has been a most intriguing Brain Storm, but I have tasks that require my attention. Thine only warning, stay away from my prize.”
The links fade, commotion still stirs, but fewer minds are linked in the net. Only a few remain in the cluster.
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“What commands, you?” Lesser Phlegmatic asked timidly of its now stronger brethren.
“I, Goblin, command a siege. A boarding! Create the Bone Harpoons!”
“Yes! Drag them!”
“Essence reward! Prepare meat!”
Meat piles together, fusing as one. Bone slithers, fusing into new shapes. Fog emanates from the joining, manipulated essence killing all sound.
“And this here, little ones, is the navigation room,” said a tall skeleton wearing a very fancy tricorn hat to a group of ten children of various races who were in turn followed by two nuns. He was dressed as a stereotypical pirate lord, with every single golden button polished to perfection.
There was a chorus of oos and ahs from the gathered children as they drank in the sight of the room. The walls were mostly taken up by large floor to ceiling windows, and the areas that were not covered in glass were painted a cheerful blue. One human child broke off from the group and pressed his pudgy face against the window, his eyes wide in awe as he took in the foggy vista below. The captain chuckled as the other children followed suit upon not seeing their fellow be chided by their minders. Several sailors in the room that were able to, smiled happily as they went about their business.
“All the skiffs are ready to go, sir,” a ghostly sailor floated down from the ceiling and saluted the captain. “Are you sure Guildmistress Bloodcrest will want us all ready to go as soon as she returns?”
“Of course, Lewis!” The captain exclaimed, while he gestured subtly at the kids. “We’re here to investigate why our peers haven’t reported in the last few months, so I am certain our Lady Guildmaster will be wanting this dealt with quickly. Next month is her children’s birthday, after all, and she hates missing those!”
At that sentence, all the children looked back at the captain and cheered happily. Any orphan that found their way to the Death Guild usually found themselves adopted by the local branch, following in the footsteps of their Guildmistress, who had over a thousand kids adopted over the years, along with several of her own blood. The group before them currently had no patron, but were happily enrolled in one of the better Death Guild Orphanages.
“Come along now, kids, our next stop is to visit the chapel on the deck below. I am told our local Paladins have something special prepared for you!” The taller of the two nuns clapped her hands as she said this, a pair of tall black horns sticking up out of her black hood while a red spade-tipped tail swung behind her back. The children ran up and made sure every sailor in the room got a hug, then went and followed the two nuns down a staircase at the front of the room.
“Alright, now the kids are gone,” the captain had a more serious tone, and walked over to a window, staring over the crater that was surrounded by fog. “After we parked, I’ve had this feeling of dread that won’t go away. Something’s not right with this city, that fog is not natural.”
“You did always have that knack of knowing when things were getting dangerous, sir,” the ghost replied, floating next to the flamboyant skeleton. “One of the lookouts reported seeing some movement in the dark when a manaflare dropped from the Dungeoneering Guild’s ship. That was just before the Guildmistress left.”
“Movement?” The skeleton turned to the ghost. “Well, this is the capital city of the Ur Empire, so that-”
“Sir, with all due respect, it wasn’t living movement that the lookout saw.” Lewis interrupted, forgetting to lower his voice he said; “Ol’ Hawkeye confirmed that it was undead that swarmed the flare. He also reported that the few bats that are still awake at this time can’t seem to find anything in the fog that’s sprung up, it’s as if it eats all sound. Half the bats haven’t returned, either.”
Growing horror grew upon every single face in the compartment. Just as the captain was about to try and ease things with some reassuring words, a large impact rocked the ship, throwing everyone to the floor. Upon shaky bones, the captain looked out and his jaw accidentally detached, clattering to the floor upon seeing a tall pillar of what appeared to be thousands of vertebrae and femurs mashed together into a tall bone spike that had erupted out from the center of the ship. Steam was billowing out around it, a sign that the main steam pipes that went to the forward two rotors were broken, and several clerics and sailors that were nearby lay on the deck stunned.
The tip of the large spike flowered open into dozens of boney tentacles, which then speared down upon the helpless victims nearby. From the center of the spike emerged the groaning forms of the Natural Undead, some mutated into larger than human stature, but most were still their original form.
The captain picked up his jaw, slammed it home, and drew his sword. Utilizing one of his skills, his voice was heard throughout the ship. “To arms! We’ve been boarded!”
Near the bow of the ship, Timmy the Lich was furiously transcribing notes from an alchemy textbook to his own personal grimoire. Timmy was a young lich, only recently having made his phylactery out of an old half-empty bottle of whiskey that his long dead father once owned, which was currently laying on a velvet pillow nearby. Standing idly at Timmy’s side was his allowed Contracted Unnatural Undead, a former violent criminal who had been allowed the sweet release of death in exchange for the Death Guild to utilize their body for productive purposes.
“Aha! That’s what I was missing, just a teaspoon of dust from a strawberry grown in fire elemental ash, and that’s how an Uncommon health potion gets its signature red glowing look! I’m gonna make mom proud and make enough health potions to make sure even a kid could buy them!” Timmy thrust an emaciated hand in the air in triumph.
He fell off of the stack of books he had been sitting upon and landed shakily on the floor, accidentally bumping into a failed batch of health potions that lay nearby as the ship shuddered violently. The lich fell on his rear, two heavy boxes landing on his legs. Timmy did not feel pain anymore, for which he was grateful, but the boxes were heavier than his tiny body could lift. He used his Command Undead skill to order his Contracted Zombie to help him out. The zombie easily lifted the boxes off of its master and gently set them to the side. Neither of them noticed that a lot of the potions the room was filled with had cracked, and were leaking onto the floor.
“Now what the heck was that?” Timmy said aloud, scratching his chin. “I’m sure we’re flying over anything that could have hit us?”
It was at that moment that he heard moaning of zombies, which confused him even further, for zombies in the Death Guild were always silent, so as not to upset the living where the Guild operated. Moments later he heard the Captain’s voice, and Timmy shrank in fright.
“Protect me!” He said to his zombie, who nodded and picked up a nearby shield and wooden mace.
From down the hall, a cleric in white robes fell over onto his back, holding out his sect’s holy symbol before him, blubbering out prayers to his patron deity. It did nothing to stop the single Natural Undead that fell upon him, tearing out this throat with its rotten teeth and silencing his prayers forever. Timmy’s zombie took two steps out of the doorway, it’s weapon at the ready, and two more Naturals rounded the corner with a groan.
They spotted the zombie, all five of their cataracts-filled eyes locking onto their new target. Timmy frantically looked around himself for something to use to protect himself as the trio charged in unison and attacked Timmy’s zombie. The first Natural got its head staved in with a lucky strike, then the other two reached the zombie and began clawing at it fervently.
The three crashed to the ground, clawing and biting at one another in a furious display of undead tenacity. Timmy racked his brains, thinking of something that could help his zombie win.
“Command Undead!” He shouted with all his might as a glowing green circle filled with runes sprouted forth in front of his finger, pointing at the Natural that had torn off the zombie’s shield arm.
The Natural stood up and stared straight at Timmy, who continued to feel panic because his spell did not work. It slammed the shield-arm into its left side, where it glued tight and awkwardly bent to put the shield in front of itself, and it pointed with its right arm at the lich. Timmy froze as he felt his mind invaded by an all-consuming hunger, feeling as if a whole tribe of goblins had intruded upon his mind and were pressing down on it.
He did not feel anything as the Naturals grew huge and grotesque as they absorbed the two corpses, and then began tearing into Timmy. With a shriek, his soul was collected in his nearby phylactery, the liquid roiling within violently. One of the Naturals left to go seek out more victims, while the one who had claimed the shield arm of the zombie picked up the phylactery and tilted its head to the side.
In a malice-fuelled move, the Natural slammed the bottle onto the ground. Inside, a small voice could be heard crying and calling out for its mama. Three more slams and the bottle broke, unleashing a torrent of mana as well as igniting the potions that had spilled in the room.
The Necropolis rocked violently along the spear that ran straight through its center, as the port bow propeller suddenly died when an explosion tore out a huge chunk of its supporting structure. Dozens of Naturals were flung overboard, some managing to take screaming sailors and guilders with them. In one particularly unlucky instance, a sailor was swallowed whole by a gaping maw that lay atop one of the Dead Minds.
Throughout the ship, men and women were fighting for their lives. Some attempted to succeed where Timmy had failed, and suffered the same fate.
“We have to evacuate the ship, sir!” First Mate Lewis cried as the Captain slashed a Natural in two, letting the wizard nearby incinerate the pieces.
“Agreed, Mister Lewis!” The Captain exclaimed with a rictus grin. He activated his skill once more, letting his voice ring out throughout the ship; “All hands! All hands! To the skiffs! The ship is lost, evacuate! I repeat, evacuate!”
He turned to his fighters and noticed the children from earlier were running up the stairwell, followed by the nuns, several sailors who were covered in blood. A trio of armored knights walked backwards up the stairs, one with a spear, one with a shield and warhammer, and the last with a greatsword. Each of the trio glowed in holy light, the spear held by a mortal man, the shield by a large mummified orc, and the greatsword by a human skeleton.
Around the main deck, skiffs were beginning to be cast off, filled to capacity with fleeing Guilders and sailors. One by one, the skiffs were loaded up and began powering their way upwards, towards the Dungeoneering Guild’s flagship. Sailors, and undead Guilders, gave their lives so that the mortal members of the guild made it off the ship, prioritizing women and the few children that had not been in the little group behind the Captain.
By some miracle, all but one of the skiffs before the captain managed to make it out safely. The one that did not manage to escape had been impaled in the steam engine by a harpoon of dense bone, causing it to lose power and slowly begin floating downward into the hysterically ravenous horde below.
“Captain, one skiff left!” Lewis cried out from within the navigation room. The fancily-hatted skeleton grunted as he hacked apart another of the attackers.
“You heard him lads, to the skiff!” The captain roared. The Naturals all stopped their attacks suddenly, backing off as more of their kind poured up from the bone spike. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, the guilders hurried through the door into the glass walled room.
“Captain Bones, we will hold them off while you retreat with the remaining souls,” said the human paladin, who cast a light healing spell upon one of the children who was walking with a limp.
“There’s enough space for all of us,” Captain Bones replied, taking stock of all who had made it. “The skiffs can hold twenty, we number eighteen. Counting you, of course Mister Leroy.”
“Thank ye kindly, sir,” Leroy bowed with a flourish. He smiled at the children, and helped the nuns lead them to the back of the room where the last skiff lay. It was deliberately designed as a part of the hull, under the overhang of the poop deck.
Captain Bones stepped down onto the skiff, activating the small steam engine while the two sailors hurriedly unshackled the skiff from the ship. The three paladins had backed up to the doorway as the Naturals stared, waiting for some unknown signal. Then, as one, the naturals all rushed forward, smashing through the glass in the front of the navigation room. In moments the trio were fighting desperately to keep the horde away from the skiff.
The undead orc paladin activated a taunt skill when he noticed several of the Naturals attempting to break the glass beside him, drawing the ire of all of the horde in the room. He pushed his two other fellows behind him through the door, who silently nodded and waited as the Captain and his men finished getting the steam engine up to speed and prepared to launch.
“Get in lads! It’s time to-” The Captain yelled as the ship suddenly lurched. One of the Naturals had hit a lever to the two rear propellers, causing them to speed up and tilt the whole ship forward along the fulcrum that was the Spike. A terrible groaning sound could be heard, one that any sailor fears.
“Go!” The orc yelled to his brothers, activating a skill that made a holy shield dome erupt around him, pushing everything away as he planted himself on the deck. The naturals that hit the shield lost their attacking bits in holy fire, meanwhile the two paladins were nearly thrown off the ship and into the skiff. “My story ends here, yours has yet to see its climax!”
The human and skeleton paladins both said a quick prayer to the God of Death that they swore themselves to, and jumped into the skiff, which rocked slightly. The little airship dipped low, and with a burst of speed, managed to escape the Necropolis just as the strain on the ship grew too much, and split in the middle along where the Spike had impaled it.
They could only watch in shock as the front half of the ship crashed down in the fog, unknown to them killing a Lesser Dead Mind. The rear half, still under power, lurched forward and piledrived itself down into the fog below, the orc on board fighting to take as many with him as his shield failed. Soon, the rear half landed in a mighty explosion, clearing the fog below and heavily damaging what used to be the Dungeoneering Guild Hall, exposing the large dungeon entrance below and disrupting the horde for several hundred feet around.
The sailors breathed a sigh of relief, while the children quietly cried. Captain Bones removed his hat and held it to his chest in silent farewell, as well as prayer, as he gazed upon the wreckage of what used to be his ship. The two paladins knelt down, facing the wreckage and recited prayers to safeguard the souls of those who died upon the ship.
The steam engine sputtered, causing the Captain and his last two sailors to look at it in alarm. The firebox’s door flew open and a heavily burnt Natural crawled out, exposing a massive hole in the back of said firebox. It did not get more than a few inches from the door before it was incinerated by the human paladin using a Holy Smite.
“Captain, I don’t mean to alarm you, but uh... we’re losing altitude,” the first sailor stated quietly enough so the children would not overhear. Captain Bones nodded and turned to the helm, silently praying for a miracle as his hands tightened their grip around the exposed spokes of the skiff’s wheel.
Slowly, he felt a physical nudging, his gaze following the direction to a large hole in the clearing of the horde below. The nudging became a firm grip of finality upon his shoulder as every single person on board the skiff stared at him in awe. The paladins were fervently praying even harder as they gazed upon what was beside the Captain as he nodded.
“Everyone, secure yourselves. What I am about to do is incredibly dangerous, but I have a feeling it will turn out alright. Paladin Igor, if you could prepare a shield around our bow?” Captain Bones explained as the feeling at his shoulder faded.
“For you, blessed by the Reaper, aye sir,” the human replied firmly. He turned to the children with a smile, and knelt down before them. As the skiff began rapidly losing altitude due to the Captain’s maneuvers, a golden shield formed around the front.
The horde below began circling, following the skiff’s wide circular movements, eagerly awaiting a fresh meal. Five long minutes later, during which they began hearing cannonfire from the remaining ship above as well as spotting an even larger Spike which had not managed to penetrate the World Tree planking of the ship, but had branched out along the keel to attempt a capture.
“Hang on everyone!” Captain Bones yelled out as the skiff angled steeply and began accelerating even harder towards the ground. The horde had turned into a veritable whirlpool of bodies running in circles, with the dungeon entrance at the center, mostly clear of undead. Two more spirals, and the skiff shot directly through the entrance of the dungeon.
It slammed into the wall, directing itself down in a spiral. Everyone felt a sudden shift as they appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, flying forwards through a hallway, the shield in front of the skiff winking out as it smashed into the fully packed hallway and continued rocketing forward. Smashing through a rock barrier, the skiff slid to a sudden stop after crashing through a doorway and impacting a glowing blue tower.
Captain Bones looked up to see the blue glow turn off, and the barrels of a massive weapon aimed squarely at his face. His gaze traveled further, following a blue arm that led to the massive form of a being in armor, he guessed it was an orc by the size.
His gaze slowly turned as he heard clicks from around the skiff, noticing a half dozen humanoids in black armor pointing weapons at him and the occupants of the wreck. He raised his hands non-threateningly.
“Please, help us!” He said tearfully.