With my minion leading, and the party traveling in single file, we slowly advanced through the twisting passageway along a mostly northern path. Several constricted tunnel offshoots occasionally appeared, some with open fissures of their own nearly overflowing with magma near us. We did have to sprint past one tunnel in which most of the floor had given out, allowing enough room for a mid-sized car to plunge through. Thankfully, our route remained obvious as the glow of the cooling lampposts created enough of a difference in our Darkvision to highlight the way.
When we approached the first pillar, the familiar azure glow filled the space around its base, we held back to scout it out first. I had been able to relay enough commands to the undead dwarf so he no longer moved like two steel pans repeatedly smashed together. He still sounded like two pans slamming together with each armored step, but it was more muted like they had been wrapped in plush towels. He was still too much of a liability so we decided further back we would pause if we spotted any of the telltale blue glow of a cooling lamp. Lowki and I would then scout ahead.
Curiously, the first sentry post we snuck up to was unguarded and empty, save for a stool and a chair to indicate someone was normally supposed to be posted there. It was the same for the second and third alcoves. No one was around as the continuous blue glow cooled our exposed skin as we passed by. While refreshing, the tunnel was still as hot as ever. It made no sense to any of us why three sentry posts were abandoned.
“Perhaps they’re getting ready for the final push to Mammoth?” Tallos offered after Lowki and I reported back from the third dwarven no-show. “There would be no need for guards if the entire army was about to be on the move.”
“I mean, maybe, but then why was there a lookout in the first outpost? Why not have him head back to camp along with the rest of them?” Stella responded as she ran a paw through her silky soft hair.
We found an answer to her questions only a few minutes later. The sound of several dwarven voices became evident long before the blue glow of another lamppost marked their position ahead. While Lowki and I moved forward to scout, it was clear the dwarves were engaged in some kind of entertaining activity based on the raucous laughter and chirpy shouts that reverberated in the normally silent tunnels.
With so many dwarves present, and wanting to ensure we were not detected, we quickly retreated to come up with a plan of attack. I had everyone withdraw a good distance back through the tunnels we came from. To help mask our sound, we rested nearby to one of the semi-common roaring magma flows. No longer able to hear the dwarven cheer, we worked through our options and suggestions from the group. Ripley stood guard nearby, only her head and eyes exposed, to ensure nothing approached. There was the chance the happy dwarves would return to their posts.
“I think we found out why three of the sentry alcoves were empty,” I started once we were confident our words wouldn’t carry to the dwarven force. “They’re playing games. I heard dice clattering against wood. They are all hunkered down oblivious of our approach.”
“Best guess,” I continued. “I believe there are at least four, if not five dwarves up ahead. So, let’s work through our options, preferably using my undead minion as bait. He’s expendable. We are not.”
As we worked through several strategies, the best among them a form of the dwarf moving past the group to distract them, my eyes fell upon the undead being. Stella followed my gaze to my minion.
“There’s one problem,” she said with pursed lips. “He’s dead so has no body heat for the sentries to see. They will probably move to immediately attack, spoiling our chances of sneaking up behind them.”
It was a legitimate concern. To Infravision, he would look like a walking corpse, perhaps only buying us a few seconds to get close. Perhaps none. My lips slightly parted as I pondered the inescapable impasse. “He’s dead,” I muttered to myself, speaking through the problem aloud. “So, how do you make a dead body warm?” My eyes moved to the tapered tunnel glowing red from the hidden magma pool.
“You wrap him in a heated blanket,” I continued as I grabbed Stella’s shoulder, holding onto her. My eyes sparkled with excitement.
A devilish grin tugged the corners of her lips as she caught my meaning. “That’s it,” Stella exclaimed, motioning with a paw toward the distant fissure. “Hah, just have the dwarf stand close to the fire. That will warm him right up!”
We quickly finalized the rest of our ruse after I murmured instructions to my dwarven friend to huddle in the glowing niche. He moved close to the flowing magma to spike his temperature, while also being careful to not start burning. As we waited, the dwarf slowly spun around in a circle for optimal heat distribution.
Stella mumbled something like, ‘stinky dwarven rotisserie’ but I chose to ignore her. Soon enough, the dwarf would approximate the body heat exuded by all living beings.
The last vital component of our plan fell primarily on Tallos’ shoulders, with me acting as his backup. We all agreed it was imperative none of the sentries could be allowed to use their signal coins, each likely having their own stored away as my minion had. Tallos’ attention would be moving back and forth between foes to ensure none reached a hand to a belt pouch. He would hold his shot until one tried to signal other dwarves.
This meant he wouldn’t be applying damage by way of rapidly shot arrows, so his impact on the battle would be far less than normal. Still, the loss of damage against our enemies was the right choice as Tallos’ role was perhaps the most important. The risk of being exposed to an entire dwarven counterattack took precedence in the upcoming engagement.
The passageway leading to the gambling dwarves bent around at a right angle perhaps twenty or so paces away from their alcove. As my minion walked around the corner, the rest of us waited patiently out of sight. Taking every precaution, we even avoided having Ripley poke her head out because of the slim chance one of the dwarves was not using his Infravision since the tunnel was awash in a gentle red glow. We needed to remain out of sight as my minion walked past the sentries, in case one of them glanced our way out of habit.
The footsteps of my minion grew softer as he got further away. I had instructed him to move as quietly as he could at first, as we didn’t want to catch the attention of the guards too soon. He was also casually carrying his war maul with it resting over a shoulder. When inquiring dwarven shouts called out, I mentally counted to five. That was the allotted time we had predetermined. Hoping it was long enough to avoid a curious glance down our tunnel, spoiling our ambush, we quietly rounded the corner.
My minion was perhaps a half dozen paces beyond the lamppost and was still walking away, all the while ignoring the quad of dwarves barking indecipherable questions at him and trying to catch his attention. As instructed when he was twelve paces beyond the lamp, he turned around, not so much as aggressively moving his massive hammer.
Luck was on our side, as only two of the sentries came out with weapons in their impulsive rush to find out what was wrong with their supposed ally. The closest dwarf to my minion wore a sheathed long sword at his hip and the dwarf in the middle of the pack carried a slung spiked mace. Presently none of the weapons were drawn, so I took it as a good sign.
So far, so good, I thought to myself. The sentries had fallen for our ruse. However, when their words were devolving into clipped and harsh-sounding accusations, the deception was fast fading. My dwarven minion couldn’t speak, not with a crushed larynx and all, though his beard neatly hid that fact.
Ripley, with Lowki low at her side, advanced stealthily toward our foes. Their attention focused solely on the bait, not one dwarf glanced behind them. Hopefully, it was a good indicator of how the eminent battle would play out to the ruin of our adversaries. Tallos, his bow ready to be drawn in an instant, had an arrow notched. For my part, as quietly as I could, I whispered the words to my long unused restless slumber spell. It was only level two but I hoped it would catch at least one, perhaps two, dwarves with its incapacitating supernatural effects. Anything to give us better odds against what was probably a formidable enemy force.
The sentries’ levels ranged between twenty-six and twenty-eight, notably higher than my own. Nothing else in their System descriptions differed from my minion, so it likely meant they were warriors the same as mine. Though, if any of them showed any hint of magical inclinations, that one would suddenly become my sole priority. “You always take down the casters first,” I had advised our group more than once as we deliberated our ambush.
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“We know!” Stella had previously exclaimed, her paws held tight against her hips. “Fine, Xaz. If that happens, he’s your responsibility.”
Targeting the dwarf in the middle of their loose formation, I chanted the necessary arcane syllables as my hands twisted in the air during the long three-second cast time. My dwarf minion was motionless, as instructed, and looked to be waiting. I had gone so far as to instruct him to bob his shoulders every so often to imitate breathing. Sadly, based on the accusatory waving of arms articulating around him, his act wasn’t quite living up to my optimistic expectations. No matter what the sentry did or say, my minion didn’t react though he maintained eye contact with the one yelling at him.
One of the unarmed sentries stepped close, beside his compatriot, before jabbing a finger into my minion’s armored chest. Still, the undead dwarf failed to respond in any meaningful way. His orders had been quite specific after all.
Three things happened at roughly the same time. First, my spell completed. Its mystical energy rippling the air from my outstretched hand. It crossed the intervening distance toward the intended target in an instant. Striking the middle dwarf, an invisible bloom of power pulsed outwards, with him at the epicenter, to impact two additional dwarves. For my limited sight line, it appeared only one of the lookouts was affected. Only the target of my spell faltered a step, though was able to keep his feet under him. The other two had shrugged off the effects without effort.
At the same time, either drawn by a sound from Ripley or Lowki or from the words of my spell, one of the sentries turned towards us. His eyes went wide at seeing the sudden appearance of a hunting cat stalking toward him. I lost sight of that dwarf as Ripley stepped close, though from what I spied, the warrior only had eyes for Lowki and looked to completely overlook the approaching skeleton minion. Ripley’s lack of body heat rang true, even as the dwarf shouted a warning to his friends of the approaching cat.
Simultaneously, the dwarf closest to my minion thrust his hand to the weapon, grabbing the hilt, he began to pull the weapon free. Unfortunately for him, that was one of the triggers my minion had been waiting so patiently for.
“If any of the dwarves unsheathe a weapon, if they strike or attack you in any way,” I had said to my minion back in the tunnels when we formulated our plan. “You will respond immediately and kill them all.”
As if broken by a spell and in one fluid motion, my minion clutched his massive war maul with two hands and slammed it with astounding strength on the sword-wielding dwarf’s head. The dwarf only had enough time to blink in surprise before his skull was caved in. The attack was so brutal, that the single strike had been enough to end his life.
Responding with impressive tactical awareness, the nearby unarmed dwarf, no novice to battle, lunged for the long sword as his friend’s hand went limp. With speed a prize fighter would envy, he claimed it as his own and immediately put it to use against his friend’s killer.
While my minion could match the strength of his once-former friends, a cutting sword was far lighter and much faster than a war maul. As a result, he was having a difficult time avoiding the lightning-fast barrage that was soon riddling his body with long gashes and deep punctures. In a remarkable whirlwind of attacks, my undead minion’s throat was slashed, a lung pierced, and his belly torn open.
Unfortunately for the longsword-wielding veteran, the undead didn’t need to draw breath. They didn’t feel pain. Regardless of his remarkable combat prowess, he was not fighting against a living opponent as he believed he was. The undead could not be mortally wounded.
Forgoing defending himself like any living being would, my dwarf minion traded what amounted to superficial wounds to his undead body to land a powerful horizontal blow. The living dwarf was rocketed away to crash heavily against the unyielding stone of the distant wall. He lay momentarily stunned. The war maul’s special effect, having been triggered, had blasted the air out of his lungs.
Lowki, far more intelligent than a common hunting cat, realized the advantage he had against his narrow-focused opponent. He understood the dwarf, with mace at the ready hand, was not able to see the closing Ripley, as if the skeleton was invisible. To infrared vision, she was. Lowki moved diagonally to the side of the tunnel, causing his foe to turn his body to keep the agile cat in front of him.
It was obvious to the skilled Lowki that the dwarf intended to counterattack with the spiked mace when the cat predictably and inevitably sprang forward. Lowki saw his opponent’s patient defense but didn’t take the bait. His paws landed soundlessly as he slowly circled the dwarf.
Ripley saw it too and knew how to best exploit the dwarf’s obliviousness.
As the dwarf held a low stance, his spiked mace poised to intercede Lowki, he was caught completely unaware as Ripley’s curved sword crashed against his shoulder. Connective tissue was torn asunder as the blade sheered clean through the dwarf’s clavicle and into the warrior’s underlying rib cage. Red blood spurted violently outward, spraying everything in red mist as his lung was perforated. Staggered forward, suddenly coughing up blood, the dwarf momentarily forgot about the displacer beast stalking him. A gurgled cry was all he could do as a quarter-ton panther slammed into him, twin barb tentacles slamming into his back as he was taken to the ground by a mountain of feline fury.
I was not idle as two of the silvern lives were extinguished. My focus never left the stumbling dwarf who was even then recovering his wits as he fought furiously to resist the debilitating effects of my sleep spell. In rapid succession, lesser wyvern sting, ignite bones, arrested affliction and soul leech sank acutely into his body in only four seconds. The words of my separate spells created a litany of arcane verses as I called upon my power to destroy the warrior’s body.
As the dwarf overcame the weakening bout of drowsiness, he struggled as a virulent toxin invaded his body. Placing a hand against the cave wall to support his shaky legs, every bone in his body immolated with devouring intensity. Forced to a knee, his heart trembled in violent spasms. As he clutched his chest, his head thrown back in agony, life-stealing necrosis tore vitality from his withering body. All he could do was scream against the all-consuming pain as my potent afflictions destroyed the edges of his consciousness.
Frostrend in hand, I stalked forward. The icy blue lightning returned to arc across its surface as I allowed the weapon to broadcast its seething rage. Sensing his impending demise, the suffering dwarf steeled his will long enough to ensure his life would not be spent in vain. Reaching a meaty hand towards his belt pouch, he was going to cause these invaders to experience crushing regret when an avalanche of dwarven reinforcements arrived.
A malevolent grin spread across his lips, as his glowing red eyes met his assailant, who was even then treading boldly forward with an impressive double-headed battle axe in his grip. His vindictive desire was stolen as an arrowhead lanced into his hand. Raising the throbbing appendage before his horror-filled eyes, he found the arrow stuck halfway through the middle of his palm. A moment later, the magnificent battle axe condemned the final moments of his life as the weapon crashed into his forehead, hurtling it backward with destructive force.
The final dwarf was far from defeated, however. Heedless to his compatriots dying around him, he regained his feet with his silvern long sword ready to rend undead flesh. The mighty blow from the impressive war maul had hurt, but silvern armor was not to be underestimated. Such was the warrior’s focus that his attention was not diverted from his undead foe when a comrade shouted in mortal pain. Feigning injury, the skilled dwarf leaped forward in a tucked roll as the vicious war maul slammed the stone he had just been occupying. Stone splinters showered away from the impact, but with the weight of such a weapon, it would take several moments to bring the heavy maul back to the ready.
Using the momentum afforded by his roll, the sole surviving dwarf sprung to his feet at his foe’s flank. His keenly-edged sword was already moving fast towards its target. As the minion’s muscles bulged in an attempt to heft the heavy maul from the crater it created, the soft tissue of his neck parted without resistance as silvern steel passed cleanly through. As the minion’s head tumbled away, the undeath energy surging through its body evaporated, sending him toppling to the floor. Lifeless once more, the body would never stir again.
A lull settled across the tight battlefield. One dwarven fighter remained, standing over the headless body of his slain brethren. It was him against a half-elf wearing an unusual mantle the color of blood, an elf sighting an arrow his way, an imposing skeletal warrior barely visible in his sight, and an immense hunting cat whose teeth dripped with lifeblood. The odds against him were unsurmountable, but it mattered little to him. He was a warrior forged in the fire of hundreds of battles.
No one moved for long seconds.
The seasoned fighter knew the enemy force would never allow him to call upon the magic of the signal token in his pocket, so he didn’t bother. This was war, and his sentries were defeated as a result of careful planning and cunning tactics. He held no animosity toward his adversaries. This was the life he chose to live by.
“Live by the blade, die by the blade,” the old warrior expressed without emotion, though no surface dweller could possibly understand his words. The axe-wielding elf tilted his head as if trying to determine his meaning. The veteran knew his fate was sealed. Nothing would change it and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Dying in battle, on your terms, was an honor afforded to few. Raising his silvern blade over his head, he then brought it to his chest as a show of honor before returning to a ready stance.
His destiny awaited him, even as he charged forward against impossible odds. He knew it, his adversaries knew it, but he pressed his attack anyway. His thrusts were expertly placed, his ripostes precisely set as he fought the final battle of his life. His feet moved with practiced ease, always finding the proper place as his enemies moved around him. He gave as much as he received. Blood ran from dozens of wounds. This was his final dance with death. He intended to deliver a masterpiece.
It wasn’t a soundless scream frozen across his lips when his life was finally spent. The old warrior died with a proud grin across his wizened face as eternal darkness took him.