Celia Hightower hated this forest. It was nothing but tangled underbrush and oppressive shadows cast by the trees. Those same trees, ancient and gnarled, loomed overhead like silent sentinels, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. Every step she took was accompanied by the crunch of dry leaves and the persistent hum of insects, the sound of her boots on the uneven ground punctuating the eerie silence of the woods. Her mage's robe did nothing for the oppressive heat either and she was sweating like a pig.
As she glanced at the other members of her party she couldn’t help wincing. They were a motley crew. She especially disliked Faraun even though he was the only other full-blooded elf among them. The Necromancer’s incessant prattling about the nature of death and his insight into the mysteries of the afterlife grated on her nerves. His black attire and pallid complexion were a stark contrast to her own crimson robes, and his morbid fascination with the undead made him a constant source of unease.
“I don’t see why we’re even bothering with this forsaken place,” Celia grumbled, disliking the whine that crept into her voice but continuing anyway. “Shouldn’t that Seer of yours be able to lead us directly to the Dungeon?”
The pale elf shrugged in response “He is a human after all. If there were any available elf or dwarf Seers I would have brought them. But they are all freelance or belong to other Houses. If we told them about the Dungeon, it wouldn’t be long before word got out. Besides, Tanner is the one who detected the thing in the first place, it seems only fitting that he should be the one to lead us to it”.
Celia looked over at the collared human who led their party through the forest feeling a twinge of disquiet. Her family had never owned human slaves, preferring the use of paid elven servants instead. This wasn’t out of any distaste for slavery in general but rather a general sense of pride and propriety. Using a human slave, even for a mission of this importance, felt... distasteful. But the circumstances demanded pragmatism.
Tanner, the human, moved ahead with the careful steps of someone used to navigating treacherous terrain. His collar, a symbol of his servitude, was not something she liked to look at. She could see the faint glimmer of magical wards embedded in the metal, a reminder of his status and the enchantments that bound him. Celia couldn’t help but think that the human’s presence in their party was a necessary compromise—a stark contrast to the elegance and dignity she valued.
“Are you sure he’s reliable?” Celia asked, her tone clipped as she addressed Faraun. “From what I’ve heard his track record isn’t exactly impressive. Didn’t he fail to find the location of the man who murdered your cousin?”
Faraun’s eyes, deep-set and unreadable, met hers. “Getting the location would have been difficult for any Seer. The description he got was enough for us to begin a search in the nearby towns and villages where my cousin was seen last. We’ll have the murderer soon enough. Tanner might not be of the highest station, but he has skills that proved useful. He was the one who first sensed the Dungeon’s presence. If his senses were accurate enough to find it, they should be accurate enough to guide us.”
“I hope you’re right,” Celia muttered. The last thing they needed was a misstep in this cursed forest. If she failed in her mission, the Hightower Patriarch would not be pleased. He had spent much time and effort cultivating their Houses relationship with Farauns house. When news came of them discovering a newly born Dungeon the Patriarch had been adamant about securing it. This mission was critical not only for the immediate rewards but also for the broader strategic alliance between their Houses.
The forest around them seemed to grow even darker as the sun sank lower in the sky. Shadows lengthened, and the oppressive silence was punctuated only by the rustling of leaves and distant animal cries. Celia’s thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of footsteps on crunching leaves headed their way.
For a moment she tensed, half expecting an attack from some of the native beasts. But it was only Mauvim and Irivan returning from their scouting. The two had ventured off earlier to check for potential threats or any signs of the Dungeon’s location. Mauvim, a burly dwarf with a stern expression, led the way, while Irivan followed close behind.
As Irivan came closer he took off his helmet to wipe the sweat from his brow. Celia couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for the half-breed. He must have been feeling the heat far worse than her in his full plate armor. Most members of House Hightower looked down on Irivan for his heritage. After all, human and dwarf were never meant to breed.
Celia had always secretly admired Irivan's prowess as a warrior. Despite his heritage, he had always proven very capable in a fight. It was how he had risen so high in the House, higher than any other half-breed Celia had ever heard of. It wasn’t really that surprising when you considered his natural gifts. He had the height and grace of an elf mixed with the dense muscle and resilience of a dwarf. It made him a formidable combatant, though it came with its own set of prejudices and challenges.
Celia turned her attention to Mauvim, her mood, which had lightened somewhat upon seeing Irivan, instantly soured. The arrogant priest from the Cult of the Jaguar looked like some kind of savage with spotted his feline pelt and his bone gauntlets. His unkempt beard and fierce demeanor were a far cry from the polished elegance of the Hightower household. Mauvim's relentless dedication to the Bloodlion faith was admirable to some, but his primitive mannerisms often grated on Celia’s refined sensibilities. Why the Patriarch felt the need to form alliances with brutes and corpse botherers she would never understand.
“We encountered a group of Diamondback Slashers up ahead,” Mauvim told them, his voice low and steady. “They’re lizard-like creatures with sharp, curved claws that can slice through armor. We counted at least a dozen of them, and they’re patrolling a section of the forest.”
Celia’s expression tightened. “And?”
Irivan stepped in, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “Diamondback Slashers are territorial and aggressive. They have heightened senses and can detect intruders from a considerable distance. We could attempt to bypass them, but it would be risky. Their patrols are irregular, and trying to slip past could lead to us getting caught in an ambush. Additionally, these creatures are known to attack anything that enters their domain.”
Mauvim added, “Their territory is also riddled with traps and natural hazards designed to deter invaders. If we try to circumvent them, we might end up tangled in their traps or wandering into an even more dangerous part of the forest.”
Celia’s brows furrowed as she weighed their options. “So, our best course of action is to fight them?”
Irivan nodded. “It’s a difficult decision, but yes. Engaging them directly allows us to clear a path and ensures that we’re not caught off guard. Given their numbers and the dangers of avoiding them, it’s better to confront them head-on.”
Celia took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the immediate task at hand. “Very well. What’s our plan?”
Mauvim stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a fierce light. “We’ll need to strike quickly and decisively. I’ll use my faith to provide a protective ward for the group, and then Irivan and I can lead the charge with our strength. Faraun and Celua can provide support from the rear.
Irivan adjusted his armor, preparing for the fight ahead.
“I’ll take the lead. If we can engage them in a narrow area, we can limit their numbers and prevent them from using their claws effectively. The key will be to keep them from flanking us.”
Faraun, who had been silent until now, spoke up. “I’ll begin preparing a spell to weaken their defenses. If we can reduce their combat effectiveness, it will give us a better chance.”
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The party began to move forward, the urgency of their situation pushing them to action. Mauvim began casting his protective wards, a shimmering barrier enveloping them in a faint glow. Irivan readied his massive warhammer, his eyes scanning the surrounding shadows for the telltale signs of the Diamondback Slashers while Celia withdrew a crimson rod from within the folds of her robe.
Faraun chanted softly, his voice weaving through the air as he prepared his spell. Tanner hung near the rear. The human Seers abilities were not exactly useful in combat and he had been instructed in no uncertain terms to stay out of the fighting. Celia tightened her grip on her rod, steeling herself for the battle ahead.
The Slashers made their appearance shortly after, emerging from the dense underbrush with a disturbing grace. Their scales glistened in the waning light, reflecting an iridescent sheen that made them appear even more menacing. Each of the lizard-like creatures stood on their hind legs, their forelimbs ending in razor-sharp claws that curved menacingly. Their eyes, narrow and yellow, tracked every movement of the party with predatory focus.
The leader of the Slashers—a particularly large specimen with a pattern of dark stripes running along its back—hissed and let out a guttural roar. The roar must have been some kind of buff because a red light spread out from the leader to cover the rest of the lizards. The other Slashers responded with a series of harsh, guttural calls, their tails flicking and their claws digging into the ground as they prepared for the fight.
Irivan, his face set in a grim expression, moved to the front of the party. His massive warhammer was raised, ready to strike. “Stay close and follow my lead,” he barked over his shoulder. His eyes locked onto the leader of the Slashers, and he activated his Bullrush Class Skill. Streaking forward in a blur of steel he slammed his hammer into the beast's chest. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, knocking the leader backward and causing a chorus of pained hisses from the surrounding Slashers. By using his hard-earned CP to upgrade his original Charge Skill to Bullrush he was able to inflict damage onto an entire group of foes not just his main target.
Mauvim growled something under his breath before charging forward at the monsters. As he ran his form seemed to shift with an almost liquid fluidity. His body began to twist and change, his muscular mass increasing and his body lengthening. The pelt on his back melded seamlessly with his skin, and his bone gauntlets merged with his hands, transforming into deadly claws that glinted ominously in the dim light. His connection to the Jaguar granted him not only physical prowess but also an almost primal connection with the ferocity of his totemic patron.
With a roar, the dwarf (if he could even be called a dwarf in his current form) engaged the nearest Diamondback Slashers, his claws tearing through their defenses with brutal efficiency. Each ferocious swipe of his claws left blood-streaked gouges in the creatures' scales, and his strikes sent them staggering backward. His movements were a blur of rage and precision, driving the Slashers away from his comrades and forcing them to regroup. Celia restrained a shudder at the sheer savagery of Mauvim’s assault. He was actually tearing at the lizards with his teeth, which had grown longer and sharper. It was one thing to see his prowess in controlled circumstances but witnessing it in the midst of battle—where his feral instincts and primal rage turned him into a whirlwind of destruction—was another entirely. The raw brutality of his attacks was both impressive and unsettling.
She refocused on the fight, her crimson rod pulsing with arcane energy as she prepared for her own attack. The red light emanating from the leader had intensified the Slashers' already formidable combat abilities, and Celia knew they needed to counter this advantage swiftly. With a determined expression, she aimed her rod at a cluster of Slashers that had begun to circle Irivan and Mauvim.
Chanting an incantation, Celia released a trio of fireballs that arced through the air, each one exploding on impact with a burst of scorching heat. The Slashers caught in the flames screeched and flailed, their scales blistering under the intense heat. The fireball spell carved a fiery path through the ranks of the creatures, forcing them to retreat from the heat and chaos.
Meanwhile, Faraun, standing at the rear, chanted softly as he conjured an orb of sickly green light that hovered over the battlefield. The orb pulsed as it began to drain the life from the Slashers. Celia saw one heavily injured Slasher collapse to the ground as the orb hungrily devoured the last of its health.
Moments later, Celia saw the creature stagger upright and for a moment she thought it had somehow recovered. However, when it immediately attacked the nearest of the remaining Slashers, she realized the orb had not merely drained its life but turned it into an undead puppet, now attacking its former allies with savage intent.
The tide of battle was shifting rapidly. Irivan's warhammer swung with devastating power, each strike reverberating through the clearing and sending the Diamondback Slashers flying. His armor gleamed with an ethereal light, enhanced by Mauvim's protective ward and his own Bulwark Ability. The dwarf's primal claws continued their relentless assault, each swipe a dance of destruction that left a trail of fallen Slashers in his wake.
The battle roared around Celia as she focused on her task. With each fireball she cast, she felt a surge of grim satisfaction as the Slashers shrieked and recoiled from the flames. Her crimson rod felt warm in her hands, a comforting reminder of her own power in the midst of chaos. The Slashers, though fierce and numerous, were faltering under the combined onslaught of the party. The leader was still trying to rally its remaining forces, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the Diamondback Slashers were being overwhelmed.
The monstrous lizard, its scales now singed and its movements sluggish from the damage it had sustained, let out another roar, attempting to rally its forces for one final stand. Its eyes, now blazing with desperation, locked onto Irivan, who was methodically working through the Slashers with grim determination.
Celia seized the moment of disarray. She channeled a powerful surge of energy into her rod and unleashed a torrent of arcane fire. The crackling flames danced through the air, striking multiple Slashers. With a sizzle, several of them collapsed in a smoldering heap.
Mauvim and Irivan seemed to come to an unspoken understanding in the heat of combat because they both simultaneously turned their attention to the alpha lizard.
With renewed focus, they moved toward the leader, their movements synchronized as they aimed to corner the beast. Irivan’s warhammer swung in a wide arc, catching the leader in a brutal strike that sent it staggering. Mauvim, still in his primal, feral form, leaped in with a series of slashing strikes that carved through the leader’s defenses.
Celia, noting the leader’s faltering resistance, decided to provide the finishing blow. With a final incantation, she summoned a large, searing beam of fire that shot out from her rod. The beam struck the leader directly, engulfing it in flames. The creature’s roar of pain and fury echoed through the forest as it writhed and twisted, its form finally collapsing into a smoldering pile of ash.
The remaining Diamondback Slashers, now bereft of their leader, retreated in a panicked frenzy, their once formidable defense breaking down in the face of the party’s relentless assault. The clearing fell into an uneasy silence as the last of the creatures disappeared into the forest.
Celia, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from her brow, surveyed the aftermath. The battle had been fierce, but they had succeeded. As the last echoes of the battle faded into the forest’s oppressive silence, she turned her gaze toward Faraun, who had remained largely aloof during the fight.
"Faraun, I must say, your performance was less than stellar," Celia said, her voice cold and clipped. "You were supposed to be supporting us, but it looked like you were merely standing by while the rest of us took on the brunt of the battle. A bit more involvement might have been appreciated."
The Necromancer looked up from where he was meticulously adjusting his dark attire, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, reflecting the dim light with a morbid glint, met Celia's with an air of disdain. "And what exactly did you expect from me, Celia? A flashy display of necromantic prowess? If you’re dissatisfied with my contribution, perhaps you should consider the limitations of your own strategies rather than place the blame elsewhere."
Celia’s eyes narrowed as her temper flared. "I am well aware of my own capabilities. However, considering that we were counting on every member of this party to pull their weight, I find your lack of action both frustrating and disappointing." She was struggling to keep her voice even and controlled.
Faraun’s expression hardened, his voice dripping with venom. "It’s amusing to hear you lecture me on performance while you yourself are barely more than a glorified fireball thrower. I may not engage in reckless charges, but my contribution is no less critical."
The tension between them crackled like the remnants of the battle's magic. Celia's face flushed with anger, her usual composure slipping. "You’re insufferable, Faraun. Your arrogance is only matched by your incompetence."
Faraun’s smirk widened, his gaze almost pitying. "And your insufferable self-righteousness is only matched by your lack of real understanding. Perhaps if you had a shred of humility, you might realize that not everyone shares your narrow view of effectiveness."
Celia’s eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and determination. As she turned away from Faraun, she muttered furiously under her breath, "You will pay for that, Faraun Aguilar."