The cries of a human sounded from behind. More shambling corpses. Cursed and limping with rotten flesh that dangled from the bone. The corpses pulled the human into the abyssal woods, leaving only a bloodied trail. Grouped back to back, the party members hacked and slashed any husks that lurched close enough.
Durge raised his shield to prepare for a wild swing from the monster but a white arcane wall manifested in front of him. A bright glow came from the sea elf’s staff that illuminated the party against the darkness. The mage casted two more barriers before they started sucking air, exhausted and dazed. As the undead orc pressed against the arcane wall, Durge readied a heavy swing that flattened the husk’s head when the barriers fell.
Ryder fought with his arming sword, slashing and piercing at the joints to make them fall and allow Durge or Willis to stomp upon them. They were too close for Ryder to use a bow, but close enough for him to shove arrows into their eye sockets and push them away.
Although always being Ryder’s shield, Durge couldn’t keep his eyes off the starora. His violet skin glistened in the pale light as ichor and dust covered his dark green dress shirt. Durge hastily stepped beside him, joining the cosmic in his duels with the added benefit of feeling the swish of his tail.
The sea elf’s staff flickered before going dark. They fell to the floor while the party continued to defend against the wave of attackers. Ryder counted over 15 before Willis made the decision to retreat toward Fike. But he didn’t have to move far before the loud ka-chunk of Fike’s crossbow echoed in the western woods, along with the nine other companions.
Ryder, Durge, and the other party members watched as they decimated the remaining undead. The exhausted noble boy looked down at the conjuration mage, no breaths pumped the chest, as a bolt stuck from their head.
“Fike killed them,” Ryder said, heaving.
“A misfire, I presume,” Durge muttered, still staring at the starora.
Once clear of any hostiles, the party combed over the fallen corpses, hoping to find gold in tattered pockets or rings on skeletal hands. Fike was fuming as he observed the battlefield, he shouted for Willis to come over.
“How many did you lose?” he said, arming his crossbow.
Willis sighed, “Two, Fike. They ambushed us but we were holding our own.”
“You fail to count for the third you lost,” Fike walked over to the collapsed sea elf.
“I- when did this happen!?”
“I could spot them ready to strike you from a horizon away, they were waiting for the right moment to cut you in half with those barriers,” he nodded toward the rotten husks that lay in a pile of gore.
As Ryder eavesdropped, a swirl of emotions filled his mind and belly. They didn’t even look strong enough to cast another spell. Why Willis of all people? Is Fike lying? Why would he? Why is everyone so content on searching over the corpses? Even fallen companions aren’t safe, I pray they’re using it as an excuse to collect the dog tags as well. Why is Durge so obsessed with cosmics?
“Now tell me, Durge. Do you flirt with every starora that crosses your path,” the cosmic said.
“Only ones that have fallen from the beautiful Cosmos itself.”
The starora shyly laughed, “A charmer and a fighter. Well, consider us aligned.”
A slight rest was had during the morning until midday. The brigade of adventurers slept, scouted, and hunted the wandering corpses. Durge and the starora were off alone together in the dense thickets while Ryder remained in the central camp. He noticed the disdain between Willis and Fike, ever increasing as time went on.
“We’d have already been done with this quest if it wasn’t for you,” Fike grumbled.
Willis scoffed, “You blame me for us being ambushed? There were over 20 of those creeps.”
The party leader let out a heavy sigh, “I don’t blame you. I blame the weaklings you brought on this quest. Tell everyone that we march for another horizon before making camp tonight, orc.”
When the march to Locria began again, Durge swiftly appeared from the shrubs and underbrush, buttoning his pants as he caught up with Ryder. The starora soon followed, wiping away the dirt and sticks that stuck to him.
“Ryder, meet Kalv. Kalv, meet Ryder.”
Ryder nodded, “Greetings.”
Kalv responded the same way. Together the three of them awkwardly walked the horizon until setting camp in the late afternoon. Ryder was quieter than usual, not wanting to press Durge’s newfound lover about their origins and life story. Kalv set up his tent next to the duo and gazed at the other companions.
“I know you both have been friends for a while but where’d you two come from? When’d you meet?” Kalv asked.
Durge smirked as he turned to Ryder, “Where’d we grow up, Sir Scholar?”
Ryder knew the true question behind Durge’s ask, whether or not to reveal they were from Locria still teetered in his mind, but he figured that Kalv knowing such information would only open the gateway for pity and sorrow that Durge could use.
“Locria, coincidentally enough. We’ve been friends for over two decades.”
The predictable condolences and apologies came from the starora as he wrapped against Durge’s arm.
“And we’ve yet to have a quarrel large enough to break our companionship… yet anyway.”
Ryder smirked, “I remember you being quite heated after your romance with Bessie severed.”
Durge groaned, “ I was a fool and you were right, okay? Is that what you yearn to hear?”
“Who’s this ‘Bessie?’ A past lover? How long were you two—”
A familiar party member walked over to the joyful camp, the potion-asker in his ragged and stained clothing, now dripping with the ichor from the cursed. “Are you certain you can’t spare any reds, Potion-Giver? I noticed you haven’t used the one in your satchel still.”
“I told you we cannot spare any. There’s plenty of battle we’ve yet to have still.”
“How would you know he didn’t use it yet?” Durge sternly asked.
“I’ve been watching you,” the man said with a hollow expression.
“Why don’t we watch you fuck off. Got it?” Durge said, gripping his mace.
The man left without another word. The three of them breathed the tension out of their system and relaxed around the fire.
“I’d be wary of him, seems to be the one that’d slit us in our sleep,” Durge said.
Kalv rolled his eyes, “Damn potion addicts.”
“I wouldn’t blame him. I’ve been given the moniker ‘Potion-Giver’ after all.”
The full moon of Brightday set and with it the surrounding tales of captured beasts that lurked in the woods, good-for-nothing Glorious adventurers, and insults against the undead went with the wind like embers from a campfire. The 30th of Firth brought an overcast of gray clouds that strangled the blue from the sky. The party’s camps were broken down and a march down the red road began again. More frequent was combat against the corpses, like a wave of destruction Fike ordered everyone to form into a line that destroyed any of the husks.
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On the top of a hill, Durge, Kalv, and Ryder observed the multiple clashes happening in both the forests on either side of the road. The Locrian shores were in the distance, as well as the indistinct shapes of the city and manor.
“What are you maggots doing!? Enjoying the scenery!?” Willis shouted. “Join the fight in the center!”
The trio, shoved and intimidated by the war-hammer-wielding orc riding a steed, sprinted toward the fray. A mass of the husks fell to the middle of the road after being squeezed from the two forest fronts. More and more of the party began joining in the center as the clash continued.
Ryder fell a few steps back and fired with his bow while Kalv and Durge fought head-on. Ryder grew frustrated with his aim, red-fletched arrows stuck to a rotten fur-beast like quills on a porcupine but the beast refused to fall. Fortunately, Kalv dispatched the gnarled beast with a thrown dagger.
When the groups of undead from the east and west banks fell, Willis and Fike joined the battle. The largest encounter so far as 30 husks amassed. Since they were the only one’s on horses, Fike and Willis galloped back and forth, dwindling the cursed swarm one by one. Arcane blasts of fire and arrows rained from the skies.
Ryder tried firing more, but the crowds were too thick and too chaotic. He pulled his sword from his sheathe and joined Durge and Kalv. But when he charged ahead, he saw the questionable acts of his other party members; the dwarf and elf that were feuding days prior were now at each other’s throats. With a quick shove from behind, the elf fell into the mass of undead, his body was slashed and torn, pieces of flesh were ripped from him and while still alive, the dwarf sifted through the elf’s pockets and cut the knot attached to his coin purse.
Distracted by the writhing elf, Ryder was tackled to the ground. He expected to see the drooling maw of a soulless creature pressing against him but he stared face to face into the hollow eyes of the potion addict. He jammed his fist into Ryder’s jaw until he was knocked dazed and semi-conscious. When the Potion-Giver covered his face from further blows, the man dug through Ryder’s satchel until he found the glistening red vial.
He popped the cork of the diluted health potion and emptied it into his gullet with one swoop. The surrounding husks trampled and engulfed the man, wrenching him off of Ryder and throwing him to the dirt. Although repeatedly skewered, chewed, and torn apart limb by limb, a numbed smile fell upon his fate until his soul entered the stars above.
Durge looked behind him and saw the fallen noble, he lent a hand that Ryder grasped in an instant. “You okay!?”
Ryder stumbled and felt the left side of his face, bruised and bloodied. “I’m okay,” he muttered. He took a few more steps back before collapsing to the road. Durge stood beside him until the last remaining undead were put to a second rest.
Every party member was injured in some way or another, spare for Fike and Willis who avoided the main confrontation. The party leader saw his pitiful followers and allowed for camp to be made until the next morning.
“You still breathing, Rye?” Durge asked, lightly tapping the side of his head.
Ryder groaned as he held his face, “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a mule.”
“Just be lucky you still have all your teeth and flesh, you lucky bastard,” Durge chuckled.
Reluctantly, Durge and Kalv sat Ryder upright against a tree. They set food, water, and a fire near him as they gave him company, hoping he wasn’t concussed. Willis came around again, in his gentle mood that contrasted with his bellowing commands earlier in the day.
“You all living?”
“We’re surviving,” Durge said.
“Good. Fike is going to unveil his plan to the rest of us. Let’s hope this is the end of it all.” The orc returned to the center of the camp and stood next to the grim looking party leader.
“Listen up!” Willis bellowed.
Fike deeply inhaled and exhaled as he gazed at the small groups of members. “We’ve lost seven since we started. An inexcusable and wretched number of lives to lose to such easy foe. I blame two things: leadership, and yourselves. Our fight is not over. We will keep marching and hunting until we reach the beaches of Locria. For those who have quested with me before, seek solace in knowing that you may pick clean the ruins of the treasure port after all are slain. Once complete, we will deposit our findings at Rofaun.”
Willis stepped toward the party leader with a worried and exhausted expression. “Let Locria go, Fike. We’ve done enough to finish this quest, the Guild Hall won’t know how many are left. If you want I’ll lead a small party and—”
The last sound that came from the orc was the iron crossbow bolt that entered through the bottom of his jaw. His body crumpled to the dirt as Fike reloaded another bolt and gazed at the other party members. None of them uttered a word or made a move.
“We will not be weak! We will not cower! We will not fail! I give that damn orc’s share to all of you! Join me to the shores of Locria and slay every damn creature that crosses us!”
Ryder heard the bellowing cheers and the march of footsteps began again in the night. Although conflicted at first, Durge followed in Kalv’s excitement and cheered as well.
“Come on, Rye. Locria awaits,” Durge said.
“Are we looting our own home or slaying our own companions this time?” Ryder asked in a stern voice.
Durge rolled his eyes, “Let’s see our home again,” he smirked.
Charred flags of green and gold flapped in the wind above the manor, in the gloomy day. Almost every building was left to ash while the ones intact were bare of any goods or furniture that was not ruined. Between the fires, looters, storms, and undead, the harbors of Locria were no more. Ryder and Durge walked together while Kalv kept to the main force of party members, swiftly eliminating any husk that wandered through the cobbled streets.
“My eyes can’t see but my mind knows exactly where we are,” Ryder said somberly.
“We’re close to my ranch,” Durge said, swallowing the emotions that gripped his throat. It was hard for both of them to be here. After weeks of burying the memories and forcing each other to move on, fate led them in a circle. Durge’s humble cottage and surrounding fields were blackened with ash. Each step onto the grass crunched and crumbled. White cattle bones spread throughout the field, clean and bare of any flesh or meat.
As they stepped through the doorway, even though all of the walls were collapsed, Durge walked over to his once kitchen. “Let’s see what we have in the pantry.” As he pulled on the handle the blackened door fell to dust and the no remnants of edible food remained. He scoffed and couldn’t help but laugh when he realized he could see the ocean through his bedroom wall.
“Always wanted an ocean view!”
Ryder laughed along with him. He kicked at debris and rubbed his foot along the foundation. “Any more secret stashes?”
“Sadly not. Couldn't risk storing any ill-gotten goods here. Especially when that bastard Tarvihn would suspect me of stealing his supplies and have the guards search my place nearly every damn day.”
“Well… were you?”
“Of course I was! That old croak had no idea how fast I would fence it off though. I hope that bastard is dead and dusted.”
Ryder chuckled, “You mind if we look at the manor?”
“On your befest, Heir to Locria.”
Up marbled steps and past the beautiful white statues imported from Melody, Ryder and Durge walked into the wide-open entrance. Ryder expected to see the body of his mother and her guards in the foyer, but they were gone as if they never existed.
Durge gripped Ryder’s shoulder, “Someone would’ve buried her, Rye. Plenty of commonfolk escaped this place and returned when it calmed.”
Tears fell uncontrollably from the duo’s eyes onto the bloodstained carpet. They took a moment and sat on one of the benches, reliving their best and worst memories of the once great manor. Durge looked up and gazed at the dark clouds above. Soot-covered and rotten, the wood beams caused the majority of the roof to cave in and collapse the second story.
“This skylight is a good addition, Rye. Really opens up the place,” Durge chuckled, wiping his tears away with his sleeve.
Ryder laughed greatly, letting go of his ruined home and acknowledging that only ash and wood remained. He’d forever treasure the memories that were hosted in the manor, even the ones he’d create on this dreary day.
“I’m grateful this place fell before you could bathe and stink up my washroom,” Ryder said, cracking a smile.
“Oh, there’s still time, you posh cunt. Once we’ve made our fortunes from slaying dragons or whatever the fuck, have solace in knowing that your regal washrooms in your future manor will be sullied by I.”
Ryder winced and felt disgusted all over, “Let’s go out and see if our party members need our aid.”
Down marbled steps and across cobbled streets, Ryder and Durge met up with Kalv who was shoving a hefty silver candelabra into his rucksack.
“Oh! You both missed it! Fike says we’ve practically slain them all! We’re just doing a haphazard search for any left, can’t say I’ve seen any so far,” he grinned.
“Where’s Fike now?” Ryder asked with a furrowed brow.
“Center of town by all those fountains, I’ll meet you both there after I’m done searching around.”
Ryder and Durge both scoffed and headed to the central hub of the city. Ruined marketplaces and beloved bakeries passed by, all to ruin by the great fires and pillages. Rotten corpses littered the streets, even more lifeless than before. Fike and five others were near the fountains, organizing loot and resting. The party leader loomed over a body, digging his dagger into the mouth of a seemingly normal-looking corpse. Sounds of cracking and scraping sounded from the maw until Fike plucked a gold tooth from the orc’s body, it shimmered and shined as he held it to the sky.
“I see you two are still alive. Any trouble?” Fike asked.
They both shook their heads.
“Good. We head for Rofaun now. I know you two haven’t been, but I’ll guide you. You two will make a great addition to the Vultures.”
As the words fell from his lips, a blazing green inferno erupted from the dormant fountain. When everyone looked over, a seven-step high ring of flames surrounded the party. The corpses at their feet began to snap back together and rise once again with a fiery green spark in their blackened eye sockets. And as the wall of flames parted, a recognizable woman walked through. Long black hair, tattoos covering the body, and a lust for revenge.