5

When the Winged Spectre arrived, we could see where the island’s jungle forest broke and led to the Hellfort’s front gate, a two-wagon width pathway with 20 foot drop to a moat on either side. The moat’s contents writhed in shadow that my eyes could not penetrate.

The Winged Spectre held a black blade at its side with some kind of etching that I could not make sense of in the pre-dawn darkness. Its eyes glowed a cold blue and its bone wings spread out to more than double its six foot height. The wings were more of s symbol that it could fly than actual wings. The strength of these arcane symbols, the wings’ bones held together by silver wire, were enough to hold it aloft, bones from different arms and legs, faded to different shades between ivory, yellow and brown.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

REACTION ROLL

8, INDIFFERENT

“Why have you come to my Hellfort’s island?” the Winged Spectre asked in a voice that was like a winter’s cold wind.

Belum looked at me, terror in their eyes.

When I fell to my knee, so did Belum. I was grateful that Strong, Tough and Not Bad were nowhere to be seen.

“We had been told of treasure but we were clearly misled. We will leave immediately, your Winged Grace,” I said, eyes to the ground, not wanting to see that black sword’s swing if it was indeed coming.

“Winged Grace,” it seemed to purr. “There are cultists hiding on the island. Bring me their child and I will see that you have access to the piles of silver in my fort that have no meaning to me. Once the child is in my claws you can have all the silver you can carry,” it said. The winged spectre started to float away as it said over its shoulder, “Best to get this done quickly, before my crawling dead leave their moat. If I see you again and you are without the child I will treat you as enemies.”

It floated over the Hellfort’s walls, its final words said hanging in the air.