Chapter 8
“Ugh… this smell is awful,” August suddenly said, holding a claw up to block his nose as best he could. It was a sickly sweet stink, strong and rancid yet deeper than anything he’d ever smell before.
“The dead are near,” Catherine spoke up. “My ancestral spirits grow restless, their enemy is near.”
He glanced at the wyvern trodding beside him, bearing the women on its back without complaint. “
It sniffed the air and recoiled slightly, nodding its head. “
“
It was so, so easy. Easy to move, easy to step, easy to creep. Every trick, every lesson August had ever received in the art of hunting, of sneaking about in a forest or anywhere else while hunting or even the time he’d been forced to flee insurgents in Afghanistan, Coal knew all of those too, and he did it so easily. It was strange, yet welcome, that in spite of the changes, the reptilian body, this was still familiar. Though his eyes, his nose, his hands, his gait, his height, everything else was different, but this he knew. Coal was better than him, he admitted as much, but he’d chosen this character, molded these skills, because he knew them too. They were part of his own life already. That had made it easier to play the part, to follow the game, to contribute, to enjoy the time he spent with his daughter and their party.
Now it made it easier to walk into great danger, leading four women and an animate plant. He wasn’t certain what gender Sun Shining on Leaves was, if any. Did plants have a gender? Regardless, it should have bewildered him to see all of them listened, know they obeyed, even a massive draconic being obeyed him, followed him, but it didn’t. He didn’t have time. First the granddaughter. Then his own daughter. He could freak out after that. He could-
Fortune perhaps favored August in this moment, for even as his mind at last strayed again onto paths leading to madness and morality, panic and pain, a sound interrupted him. A yowl. Not a howl, nor a roar, no- that was the yowl of a cat in pain. He’d owned several, owned some at home even now.
“Marta!” Franklin hissed, almost leaping off the back of the wyvern, but the others held her back.
August stepped forward cautiously, ghosting ahead to get a look. Before his eyes, around a bend, he saw a large troop of skeletons standing at attention. They were armed with swords and shields, a mismatched collection of the things. Some skeletons were clearly those of lizardfolk, or small reptilian creatures, maybe kobolds? Most were vaguely human shaped skeletons however.
There had to be more than twenty of them. He really didn’t want to count them all exactly. “I say, what manner of foes do we face?” Ssol asked in a whisper, standing beside him. The little leshy had moved very quietly indeed.
August pulled his head back behind cover. “More than twenty.”
“More than a score of foes, eh? Well, should I lead us off with a few bombs?” he asked, holding up some round bottles. They weren’t large. Alchemist bombs, August guessed. He’d used a few himself in the early stages of their home game.
“No, save them. These don’t look stronger than the ones at the town, I’ll smash them,” he explained. “Keep your eyes open and cover me.”
“
“Excellent,” August replied, smiling. He noticed Franklin gulp, while both Mala and Agritus looked excited. Catherine simply rolled her eyes and waved her hand forward. That brought a still broader grin to August’s maw, and he turned, leaping over the stone in a single vault. With a roar, August charged into the skeletons, scattering them hither and yon. His sawtoothed sabers flashed, Fang and Tear blazing with power as they blew apart the weak skeletons in a single blow each, sometimes several with a single swing.
In at most a minute, the women heard his call as he signalled them forward, and the wyvern strode into view, carrying the party. Bones lay scattered everywhere amidst splinters of other bones and weapons and shreds of cloth and armor. “Shall we?” he asked them, indicating the way further in.
“By all the gods…” Franklin started to say, catching her tongue on the right word.
“Marvelous!” Agritus supplied. “You are a paragon of power, Master Coal.”
“It’s- bah, let’s just move on,” he replied, awkward. How could he even begin to explain how cheap it was, this strength? Sure, sure, he’d worked for it, but not the way the women around him had worked hard for their own. Still, he had worked hard for other kinds of strength. But at least it gave him hope he’d find his daughter still.
“What the hell is going on ou- oh nine hells, are you the fucking shitstain’s target?” A creature stood at the narrowest point of the tunnel, which the skeletons had been guarding. It had moved silently enough even Coal’s senses hadn’t noticed it. Coal hadn’t noticed it.
August shivered in spite of all desire to do anything but. Showing fear in the face of his foe was beyond merely foolish. Yet he felt fear. An enemy, undead, one who could sneak up on him? This, this was-
“Everyone back! This foe is beyond all of you!” he declared loudly, swords still in hand. He leapt forward, bringing a sword down, and the creature actually ducked aside!
“What are you supposed to be? Never seen an iruxi like you, damned lizard!” the creature cursed, claws slashing out at August, but his second blade knocked the claws aside. The two came to stillness, watching each other in wary and equal surprise. “How?” the creature asked, blinking in shock.
Suddenly, a rumbling was heard from deeper into the passage. August retreated, covering himself with his twin weapon defense as he did. The wight took another swipe with its claws, but again the weapon barely deflected the slash. August drew in a breath as two towering shapes, at least twice August’s height, twice Coal’s height, stepped into view of the light sources available to them.
“Tch, you’re one tough customer, no wonder the lustful bandit retreated in shame. Urgh, this might be more complicated than we’d assumed,” the creature muttered aloud. “You people always show up and make headaches for me! Every single time! Just leave us alone!”
What? What the hell kind of reaction was that?
“I didn’t come here for you!” Catherine shouted. “Give me back my Mara, abomination!” Rage clouded her vision now, and August swore he saw a flicker of movement as a ghostly apparition flitted in and out of his sight next to her. “Today only, you get a special deal! Get out of our way and I won’t obliterate you! No wight will bar my path!” she roared.
The wight, flanked by its two giant spawn, stared at her for a full five seconds. Then it laughed. “KAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKA! How rich! Rich! Spare me? Spare us?” it asked mockingly. “I am the guardian of the Maw! There was a time when a threat of that caliber would have worked, but you’re a few hundred years too late for those days, little elf bitch,” it cackled. “I am known as the Dead Barber! I’ll be shaving away your life, and I’ll enjoy giving you orders when I’m done!” It laughed, head tilted to the ceiling as it cackled.
It came to an abrupt halt when it heard the massive form on its left crash to a knee. Six gaping wounds covered its body, each of them jagged instead of fine despite the usual sort of wounds a sword leaves. It looked from the giant wight on its knees to the wyrmblood standing before it. “You don’t get to threaten Catherine,” The wyrmblood hissed. “No one gets to threaten Catherine.” His scales glowed golden instead of black in a sudden rush.
Fire exploded out of his maw, burning down the wounded giant wight and setting the second one alight. Hing, the Dead Barber, was already running down the tunnel. “Damnit! Damnit! Not again! MACK! WE HAVE BAD COMPANY!”
“Catherine! Kill this big thing, the little guy is way worse!” August ordered, charging after the wight as it fled into the tunnel.
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“He wants us to kill an unholy undead giant?” demanded Ser Agritus, gulping back her fear. “It’s a bloody well massive undead and we haven’t got a single holy magic wielder!”
“Shut up and make it work!” Sir Franklin ordered, rushing forward with her own blades drawn. She was still two steps behind Catherine.
The maid waited for no orders but Coal’s, and needed no guidance beyond the storm of resentful dead raging inside her. Her hammer smashed straight into the giant’s kneecap without a moment of hesitation, and the resounding crack told her the blow had done everything she’d hoped.
Yet the giant did not fall. It swung its hand instead, sweeping at her and smashing into her. It drove her back a step as it did so, and she felt life sucked out of her. “Fuck!” she screamed, and then a bolt of energy smashed into the giant creature. Fire blossomed momentarily atop its shoulder, yet it clearly wasn’t enough. Suddenly, a small vial exploded against its foot, and vine-like material covered its leg and rooted it in place, or tried to. It merely lifted its foot and tore the material apart.
“This creature is rather frustrating,” Ssol muttered from the rear. Sir Franklin engaged the creature, having circled behind it while it was focused on Catherine. She slashed with her dual gladius, trying to chop its tendons. She got one good slice in, but her second swing missed by a wide margin.
Yet the move bought a moment to breath for Catherine, and she roared back into the fight. Her hammer flared with a brilliant white light as she smashed it once more into the same knee. This time, she felt something not just crack, but give. Now the giant trembled as it collapsed to the ground, and then its clawed hand swept out, and swiped once more for Catherine. A glimmering ward of force sprang up between her and the wight, narrowly deflecting its massive claw. Catherine didn’t hesitate to bring her hammer down on its crown, at last within reach. Ser Franklin stabbed it in the back of its neck with a Gladius, though the blow was shallow.
The bite of the gnats just made it angry. Its claw this time reached for Franklin, and the knight was caught a glancing blow, she went sprawling. Another vial, this time a sickly green, smashed into the creature and smoke began to rise from the giant wight. Yet it still wasn’t finished, somehow. Frustration rose in Catherine’s mind and her vision began to turn scarlet as she swung her hammer at the beast, striking it hard in the stomach. She screamed as she felt the vibrations of impact through her. Though it rocked from the blow, the still towering foe did not fall. One good leg remained, and it was using it to somehow continue kneeling. It swept an arm out at Catherine. She desperately sidestepped in hopes of slipping aside, yet the effort was futile. The arm clipped her even so, setting her to spin about and crash to the ground in a ruffled heap.
“Maid-lady!” Agritus cried out in a voice full of panic as Catherine gripped her hammer tightly to avoid losing it.
She kipped to her feet with a surge of power and rage, howling in fury. "For Daffolid!,” Catherine roared, spinning herself around this time as she swung her hammer in a sweeping blow. The spin added momentum to her hammer she desperately needed. The titan had tried to pry Ser Franklin from its back and was half turned as her hammer came swinging into its stomach with all the furious power Catherine could muster. A rush of energy shot out from within her hammer and through the creature, even hitting its spine as it passed through. Ancestors be praised, Catherine thanked them for their aid as their anger spread harmful energy through the giant.
Fire again blossomed on the creature’s head, and blood splattered as the knight managed at last to land another blow, yet her first swing had deflected off the undead thing’s hide. Catherine felt heat shooting up her body from just below her floating ribs. She grit her teeth yet pain flared up her arm as well, and her grip dropped on her hammer, releasing it from her left hand. She had taken too many blows. This fight had to end swiftly.
“Hold still, Mistress!” Mala seemingly apparated at Catherine’s side, in an instant wrapping a bandage around her mid section and tying it off. “Buy you a little breathing room,” she explained. “Agritus, keep shooting it, gotta keep its attention divided!”
The hobgoblin dashed into the fray, joining battle alongside Catherine and the knight. Franklin’s dual gladius slashed even as the weaponless hobgoblin kicked the monster, doing nothing but catching its attention. “Look to me, creep of giants!” the mad woman called, leaping bodily out of the way as an arm came down at her. The creature was left wide open for Catherine to assault it and she did, swinging twice. Her first swing flew wide as it bent backwards, yet doing so merely gave Ser Franklin an opening to stab into the wight’s head. The creature rumbled and growled. Its massive body twisted and it attempted to smash Ser Franklin as she stabbed it in the neck with her other sword. She had to yank both blades out and dive out of the way, and it still grabbed her foot for a moment, tossing her aside as its grip was poor.
Then fire blossomed in its face as a flask and a wisp of flame both splashed into the head at the same moment. It howled in apparent agony and at last collapsed to the ground, twitching before beginning to break into pieces.
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“Ser!” Agritus called, running to Ser Franklin, who was attempting to rise. She collapsed, her leg bent at an odd angle. “Ser!” Agritus repeated, almost panicked. “Hold on, hold still, I’ve got an emergency potion here somewhere,” she muttered, digging through a pouch of neatly sorted vials attached to her belt. “HAH!” she crowed, yanking a green one off the belt.
Franklin dubiously eyed the potion, but Agritus popped off the stopper and dumped the contents down Franklin’s throat. “Ugh, this flavor- mint?” the woman asked, eyes blinking in surprise.
Agritus knelt, face glowing with pride. “It worked! I wasn’t sure it was going to work!” she chuckled.
“Wait, what did you give me?” Franklin demanded, reaching out to grab her subordinate’s chainshirt.
“Just a healing potion. The experiment was the flavor! I know they work, but I’ve not tried the mint myself yet,” Agritus explained, sounding offended. “I’m not crazy enough to give a person an untested potion!” she protested in wounded pride. “I am not so uncouth a mage! I am not! I may be obsessed with my research, have no care for the average person, disdain normal human interaction, brush off social etiquette when I find it annoying, and enjoy my noble position, but I’m not going to feed a person an untested potion! It could get me thrown out of the potion-maker guild! I could never endanger my guild standing!”
Franklin groaned, then sighed and sat up gingerly. “Fine, fine, very good, Knight-Spear. Your potion worked, and it was somehow minty. Good job.”
Agritus beamed in reply, her earlier indignation just seeming to have vanished into thin air along with the potion bottle. Catherine hadn’t even seen her pocket it. “Enough, we’ve got to catch up. Is anyone else hurt?” she inquired hastily.
“This one, the wounds didn’t seal. You, ribs still damaged. Should magic if you expect to keep fighting. Others are just quite fine, I’m thinking. Bodi, would you carry these and follow our master?” Mala indicated both Franklin and Catherine to the massive wyvern, which had not joined the fight, either because it had not understood the orders shouted in common, or , well did it matter?
Agritus smugly clipped a command off in draconic when the wyvern didn’t move. “
“” she informed it as it reached a wingclaw towards her. She held up a hand to emphasize her point. It paused, understanding her simple message, and allowed her to climb up the same arm instead. She caught an orange colored potion. “What flavor is this?”
“Tangerine,” the irritating noblewoman replied with a faked bashful grin. Catherine grunted, pulled the stopper off, and swallowed the potion in one gulp. Agritus’s smile grew wider.
Catherine nearly gagged even as the potion passed beyond her tongue, but resisted. “That, gah.” She felt the potion work, at least enough to seal up her ribs so they were no longer so thoroughly cracked. She could fight. The potion, however, had not tasted like tangerines.
The wyvern waited no longer but strode off, Mala at its head and Agritus found herself walking with the leshy. Catherine glanced at the way the hobgoblin and wyvern, both tamed by Coal- August moved in sync. “Mala, what did you call our new companion?” she asked as they moved after August.
“Bodi. It’s a word for a…” she hesitated, glancing at the wyvern. “Well, basically a type of servant of a god,” she elaborated. “There isn’t a narrow translation in this limited common wording,” she added with a slight degree of disgust.
Sound reached out to them from beyond the limits of their sight. Not the sounds of battle but of a great booming and bashing. A great crash sounded just as they reached a large open space lit with both torches and glowing stones of a sickly green light. Half of a massive pair of doors had been smashed open and the end of a black scaled tail disappeared within as their gazes fell upon it.
“Lord Coal! Wait!” Catherine shouted, but he did not appear to listen, as no one came out from the doorway, but roars and sounds of battle erupted from within. An explosion of flames was followed by a wave of frost, yet neither Coal nor his opponents appeared in the doorway. “Why that frilled lizard masquerading as a man!” Catherine snarled as her vision swirled with angry spirits demanding action. “He’s trying to keep us out of the fighting!” she roared. Catherine sprang off the wyvern’s back in an arching vault and dashed ahead of the rest, hoping to join the chaos.
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August launched into a sprint after the retreating form of the wight. The little creature was surprisingly fast. August’s brain hiccuped as he realized he’d referred to something about the size of his human self as “little.” He’d never seen himself as small, but Coal was massive, not merely tall but long and broad, corded with muscle and sinew covered in scales both soft and subtle and hard like steel. His head should have been very heavy, given the sheer number of jutting spines and spike horns adorning it.
He felt light. He cleared a rock without stumbling, leaping and dashing over every obstacle and yet the wight was staying ahead of him. That thing was absurdly fast. Stopping to pull out a weapon would reduce his speed. The creature was clearly running for something. He just had to keep after it. It couldn’t escape him.
It was dark, but he’d brought light. And as they rounded a corner, torches shone out, illuminating a great empty space before two massive doors. The tunnel continued past them, and he knew his prey was further down the tunnel, not beyond the doors. Yet, something about those doors tugged upon him.
His eyes scanned the traces and even tracks and drag marks on the floor. Drag marks? They’d stopped here. That matched up with a few minutes of times several hours past when their enemy hadn’t moved at all. They were stopped right now too, but that should still put them hours ahead. Why stop here?
The wight banged on the door and it swung open. He swept in even as new enemies came running out. Not wights, but more skeletons instead. Almost moving on automatic, his swords spun and slashed as August’s mind worked through the information available to him thanks to Coal’s skills and feats. They’d taken a number of hostages. At least one knight, probably others. There were no signs of battle here before his arrival. Over two score order members had escaped. No corpses. So what had- of course. Negotiated passage, a familiar course of action, August had encountered it in Afghan.
So, what could they bargain with? Faint drag marks, towards the door. Feet. People. That’s why the door tugged at him. People had been dragged through those doors. August snarled, the anger rumbling in his throat as he crushed the last of the score of skeletons that had rushed him. Each had taken only one swing.
The door was closing. August rushed it. “HOLD THAT DOOR!” he roared in command, and yet it continued closing. He was going to miss it. It would be too close- without really thinking, August chucked his sword towards the door, the sawtoothed blade spinning. It slid into the gap just as the door closed, and stopped it, the metal of the sword proving superior to the weight of the door. Adamantine blade against- he had no idea what the doors were made of, but they looked golden.
His claws reached out and grasped the crack left by his sword. Using the adamantine blade as leverage, he yanked the door open, only for some force to oppose his action. It became a contest of strength against strength, yet the solitary August had the strength of Coal. A twentieth level character, who had poured all the resources he could into his strength. He did not lose.
Indeed, such was his advantage that with a grinding scream preceding it, the door itself buckled at the hinges, snapping off entirely and falling outward. August rushed within as the door slammed to the ground, roaring out an attention grabbing challenge. The next room was really a tunnel, about a football field in length from goalpost to goalpost. Nothing actually inside but statues, which were coming to life. The wight was dashing down the hall as quick as he could. A single statue had been pulling the door closed through some manner of mechanism. It was still holding the snapped end, doing nothing else. August, with Coal’s senses on his side, grinned.
He dashed. The statues were not statues at all, except the first. Masterful illusions, not real animated statues. Even the one “real” statue was simply a cleverly disguised undead skeleton. Good for dealing with a lot of weaklings, useless against a single irrepressible foe. He ignored them completely as he continued the chase, dashing after the fleeing wight. It was still shouting for someone called Mack. His master?
He’d soon find out. The creature reached the draperies at the other end of the long hall and went right through them. Coal slashed through them as he ran after the thing, and burst into yet another chamber. Two tunnels branched off in uneven directions from here, while a large set of couches, some bad paintings and what looked altogether like- a bar? A bloody bar stood against a wall, adorning the room. The wight had gone left from here. The illusions were behind Coal, turning to follow him, he could hear them, but what of it? Illusions could not hurt him.
Coal pursued the wight, and he saw more signs of dragmarks on part of the floor. The wight was heading in the same direction. Perhaps its master was- a wight with a master? Undead and skilled illusions? “Shit,” August cursed in his annoyance as he realized what was likely ahead. He kept running.
The tunnel had many side branches, alcoves and small rooms filled with things August didn’t look at, because he was still in a mad dash to catch the wight. More illusions covered most of the rooms, disguising them as just more tunnel to the unwary. Some held undead skeletons that were far too slow to react to the speeding wyrmblood.
“MACK! HE’S STILL COMING!” the wight screamed ahead of Coal. This time, there was an answer.
“WHAT IS YOUR DEAL, HING? I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF SOMETHING!” a new voice cut into the space of the tunnels as the wight, Hing, plunged into a room at the end of the tunnel. More drapes instead of doors. “What is wrong with you?” it asked, with less volume, though it was so high-pitched Coal’s ears still picked it up.
“A lizardfolk! He’s stronger than me!” Hing could be heard explaining succinctly. “And he’s right behind me!” he added hurriedly.
“WHAT?” the whiny sounding voice exclaimed, the shock dripping off it so much it echoed through the tunnel.
Coal didn’t go through these drapes. He wanted a look at this thing first. He jumped, latching himself onto the ceiling through sheer grip strength (and broken stalactites) and peeking, concealed, past the curtain.
It was a laboratory. August could describe it no other way. Tanks and jars of specimens lined shelves, tables draped with sheets, with real people strapped to them. Some alive, others not. Not anymore. Some were undead now, he suspected, but he couldn’t see enough to be sure if those movements were just struggle or the more unnatural movements of simple undead. Tools on smaller tables, glowing crystals to provide illumination and a skeleton creature in magnificent, if slightly moldy, robes standing in the center, speaking to the wight. On its head was the ugliest hat August had ever seen. An undead bird, or the skeleton of one, was attached to it, seemingly napping or something similar. Undead didn’t actually nap, he was certain, but it was idle, moving just enough to suggest it was animate, but not actually doing anything. Feathers, a thoroughly worn rim long bereft of most of the lace that had once adorned it. Velvet worn out or scraped away covered it. It was wide-brimmed and a particularly ugly burgundy color that looked almost black in places.
Even still, with the convenient nearby staff, a magnificent piece adorned with a dragon’s head, lying so close by there was only one obvious answer. A lich stood in this room, and given the strength of the wight, a powerful one.
Coal might be able to beat it. It wasn’t impossible to beat it. Of course, if he didn’t know where its phylactery was, he couldn’t actually kill the thing. That would be insanely well hidden, and he was certain not to get the time to find it. The lich would go out to deal with the problem and find- it would find Catherine. He'd have to jump it as it walked under him.
“Where? But if it was right behind you, it would be here,” the lich questioned, striding over and throwing the drape back to reveal that Coal was, indeed, not standing there.
“But he was right there! Both of my giants are dead! Redead!” the wight corrected itself, still appearing panicked.
“Something stronger than you? Fine, let’s go see!” the lich whined, and reached out and gripped the wight by the shoulder. A small door opened, and August felt his heart flutter in a panic. That was Dimension Door! The lich strode right through, doubtless to the entrance!
“FUCK! WAIT!” he shouted, but too late, the lich was through, and even as it looked back towards him the door closed.
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Franklin stood by the torn down door, looking inward. A legion of animate statues stood in their path. Master Coal had gone through them so swiftly they’d been unable to impede him, but there were too many for the six of his companions, even with the wyvern’s help. Poison wouldn’t work on statues or undead, and claws weren’t much better. Neither were swords or fire against statues.
“What precisely would you like us to do, ma’am?” Agritus demanded to know, standing nearby, hands on her hips. She wasn’t addressing Franklin, but the maid, Catherine. Somehow, she’d forged a kinship with the Jotun-ranked warrior despite having met just this day, and he’d placed her in charge. Which he was, Franklin admitted, doubly right to do. As a Wyvern-ranked questor, even had Lord Coal not taken command, she would have had at least as much right to do so as Franklin. In fact, Franklin considered, with Catherine having held her rank for well over a decade now, Lord Coal was triply right in his choice.
It rankled just the same, and it rankled a lot. This whole mess had, well it had just been a mess! She was only alive because of Coal. Had he not been present, she’d be dead. Of course the hob had seemed to indicate they’d only raided Daffolid because of Coal, hadn’t she? Franklin didn’t really know what to think of it, except to be incredibly frustrated. Maybe she should be grateful. She should be grateful, but Marta missing, Mercia dead, the town in flames, all over this random iruxi? What in the nine hells and three heavens was a Jotun-ranked doing here, and a foreigner piled atop the mystery?
“For what reason in the nine hells are you fleshbags dallying on my doorstep? WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DOOR?” a voice cut in, demanding answers of them with a chill so severe it nearly choked Franklin. Fear pressed down upon her from its voice, terror, anger, control, and dread. Dread of the dead.
She turned her gaze to see it and found a thing. Its robes were resplendent even as they rotted away, its gaze a flickering unlight which stole the breath from her lips. Its hands were bones, its face a skull. It was undead, yes, and so powerful its mere presence seemed to choke her. A great undead bird adorned the hat upon its skull, and it gazed about with a fearsome green light.
“We- ack,” Mala tried to choke out an answer to the question, only to choke on her own voice. Franklin felt like she was going to choke to death as well. She desperately wanted to get away, yet her legs absolutely refused to move at all. No one was moving at all, except to collapse on the spot.
“Hmmm, no answer? Too scared? Pathetic. Is this what had you freaked out, Hing?” the creature demanded of the smaller form beside it.
“He’s not here! A huge iruxi! He crushed a giant in a flash and a flurry! His flames could have incinerated me, I’m certain of it. He was- he chased me. He’s inside still,” the smaller one, Hing, gesturing wildly as he spoke, pointed from the battle down the tunnel to the doors and beyond them.
“Well, maybe he is. These will surely know. Come, little flesh things, give me your memories,” the creature spoke. “Persvek wer ominak di wer thurkear, xurwk jilinth sari mitne qanescir ekik, dronilnr ve siofmea!” it intoned, speaking the tongue of the wyvern, and Franklin felt the power in those words. A gamma-grade spell, cast so casually- a bit of information she knew only because she kept looking. She had no clue what it did and not enough control of her own mind in the moment to try and work it out, no matter the clues in front of her.
“Fear, terror, so why did you come here? Seeking a cat? Maybe it’s the one we took? Door was already destroyed- well you’re no use,” it muttered, staring down at Franklin. It reached a skeletal hand out to her. Instinct at last kicked in and she attacked, striking at the skeleton with both blades. It did not even try to evade as her blades sliced at its arm. It did not need to. Her blades did nothing to it.
Ignoring her resistance, it picked her up. She felt something course through her and every muscle in her body froze all at once. Even with her eyes wide open and desperate to blink, she couldn’t. She could only stare in horror as it lifted her whole body with a single hand and threw her.
Franklin felt herself impact the wall. She could hear the distinct crack as something inside broke at the impact. Pain blossomed across the whole of her body.
“No.” a voice broke into the quiet. “I won’t, won't let you,” someone hissed out, though it lacked the anger of even a few minutes before, when they had felled the giant. Had it been minutes? Franklin felt herself desperate to laugh at how her mind twisted about to avoid focus on the fear and pain as the thrice-proud quester bitch of a maid stood up when all the rest couldn’t even move. She was beautiful, and Franklin was captivated.
Franklin couldn’t actually see the undead monster anymore, she’d fallen in a position from which only Mala and the maid were visible. The woman was leveraging herself up on the haft of her maul, barely making her feet by pushing the maul’s head into the stone of the cavern floor. She was shaking and shivering. “I won’t allow, you-”
“Allow? Hing, this one is more interesting. What do you make of her?” the caster undead sounded supremely confident, sharing banal chatter with its minion as it apparently inspected them.
The other still sounded afraid. “Maweater, he’s going to come back out.”
“Well, we can just use these things as hostages if he’s so strong. He might even make a good test subject, this one too,” it mused. “Really Hing, I don’t get why you’re so spooked. It’s just one iruxi. Even if he’s strong enough to hurt you, and I note he didn’t, he’ll never get through both of us.” Maweater scoffed inspite of his friend’s terror.
Hing made no reply Franklin could hear. “Oh! Hing! They have a wyvern! I’ve wanted one ever since the last one broke!” It sounded excited.
Suddenly, in a rush of wind, the wyvern dashed into view, seemingly trying to snatch up the only two women in its path as it made a rush for safety. At least, as it passed the maid and the hob disappeared.
“Oh, it’s running,” the Maweater dispassionately noted. “SCREENIKGULBALAGUJLITH,” it spat in a horrifying sound. Franklin felt as if her ears would bleed from the sound alone. Black tentacles erupted from the ground and ceiling, blocking off the passage and grasping at the wyvern. It slammed into them, twisting as though to turn about, but seemed to fail.
It let loose a piercing cry which left Franklin’s ears ringing and her mind further rattled. Yet her eyes still saw as the maid suddenly reappeared, seemingly having worked herself past the disabling effects of the fear as she charged the Maweater. Her maul swung as she screamed a battlecry in elvish, and it slammed home against the Maweater, which did not even attempt to dodge.
“Is that it?” it asked, looking down as the hammer delivered its full impact, bouncing back slightly from the recoil of impact, yet the Maweater did not seem hurt. “Well, this is disappointing. Maybe you won’t make a good test subject…” it mused, completely unthreatened.
Franklin knew they were doomed, then. They were all going to die. This was her death. Fool of a knight, dead in the Maw. She should have known. It was the Maw. It ate everyone who entered. Well, she was in the stomach now. If she could have laughed, she would have. Mind a blank behind the madness of repeated “This is my death” thoughts, she was broken. Then a mist shrouded the area. “Scatter!” Agritus called out. Seconds later, a fireball blossomed on the spot where the lich stood, momentarily scattering the mist. The lich, however, looked entirely unburned from the flames.
“Little bitch!” it cursed, turning in a circle as it tried to spot the plucky wizardess interfering in its domination. A sphere popped into existence around the lich for a moment, before the creature casually shattered it with a touch. “ARE YOU SERIOUS? These little tricks from a weak little fleshbag will go NOWHERE!” it shrieked in rage.
Catherine appeared at the edge of the mist, just within Franklin’s line of sight. She immediately crumpled when she was struck from behind by the wight. “I’d stop now, little mage. We have the rest. You can save a little pain if you give up, else we just kill one now so Ma, ah, MAWeater doesn’t have to be so angry. He’s not nice when he’s angry,” the wight called out. If Franklin could have cried, she would have.