A chill breeze cut through the air, whistling through the swaying branches of the conifer trees all around. Heavy clouds of mist and fog rolled across the rocky, mossy hills, lazily drifting over the terrain as they were carried by the wind. Far in the east, the first rays of morning sunlight were cutting through he haze, slowly but surely burning away the chill of the night before.
Tuera exhaled, her breath crystallizing in a cloud before her face, and she couldn't help but laugh. Behind her was the immense stone wall built by the Giant-Kings, and beyond that... blistering desert sands. It was a strange comfort to her, this illogical and wacky landscape which "didn't make sense."
It reminded her of home.
"Tuera!" A voice cried out, echoing through the mist. "Are you coming?" Ioanna had spoken up from her spot in the group of heavily armed mercenaries, all of them itching to get started on the plan.
"In a moment," Tuera replied, turning back to the task she'd been working on before getting distracted by the landscape. "I just wanted to check out something first."
She carefully knelt down in front of a messy tangle of vines, leaves, and flowers growing out of a mossy patch near a still pond, surrounded by mist. She gently cradled one of the blossoms in her hand, and the color was striking; everything north of the wall so far had been dull and muted and grey, and yet the petals of this blossom were a deep, vivid crimson. The color of freshly spilled blood.
It was clear that this was the 'crimson lotus' that the cimmerian, Braga, had spoken of last night, but... something about this plant was... off.
A few people here had mentioned lotus flowers to her before – first Nunu, and then Braga – but this is the first example she'd seen here in the Exiled Lands. However, a lotus flower (at least, as far as she was aware) was an aquatic plant, akin to a lily or a water hyacinth. This tangled mass of thorny vines and spine-covered leaves looked more like a succulent instead. She held one of the thick leaves between her thumb and forefinger, and the meaty texture was instantly recognizable: firm, yet pliable, and clearly filled with fluid, like the leaves of an aloe. Sharp white spines, the color of bone, were growing out of the edges… again, just the sort you'd find on a succulent.
And yet: the many flowers blooming on this plant were exactly the same shape as one would expect from a lotus blossom. On closer inspection, each one had exactly the same number of petals. This was a puzzle she felt compelled to solve. What kind of plant was this, really? Did the locals call it a 'lotus' because they didn't know any better? Or was she entirely wrong, and this actually was related to a lotus in this universe? A mutant offshoot, perhaps? Then again, morphological based phylogeny was rife with these sort of issues, as the mortal ability to quantify and categorize anything in any universe is sketchy at best, and wildly misleading at worst... besides, botany was never one of her strongest fields, anyway. Though, perhaps magic was involved? That last one seemed incredibly likely, especially given her earlier experience in the hut with Nunu, nearly a week ago. There were so many questions buzzing around inside her head, but she currently did not have the time to answer any of them.
"What are you even doing?" Ioanna asked; she had left the group and was now hovering over Tuera's shoulder.
"Collecting alchemical reagents for later," Tuera replied simply, reaching into a leather pouch hanging off her belt and pulling out a small pair of iron shears. As she spoke, she started carefully collecting samples of the plant – the blossom, one of the leaves, a section of one of the vines – and carefully wrapping them, one by one, inside scraps of parchment and placing them back into the pouch. "The crimson lotus here has piqued my interest, and I wish to study it when we return to Sepermeru."
"And..." Ioanna leaned down, squinting her eyes to get a closer look at the rest of the contents inside Tuera's bag. "The scrolls? What are they for?"
Tuera tried, and failed, to hold back a smile. Ioanna was definitely more talented than she gave herself credit for; the girl had homed in on the scrolls Tuera had inscribed the other day almost immediately.
"Just something that I hope will be useful later on," Tuera said, fastening the bag and gently patting Ioanna on the shoulder, leading them both back toward the group. "Now, c'mon. Let's go find us a Giant-King so we can cut his head off."
The group trudged west through the cold, muddy terrain, occasionally shielding their eyes from the morning sun. The closer they got to the jagged mountains in the west, the more and more sparse the trees became, and the scars of an ancient and terrible battle became more and more evident. Even more of the crimson lotus flowers appeared, sprouting out of the soil in patches. It was almost as if they were following a trail of blood.
Suddenly, Jakkad – who had offered to take the lead of their column – came to a halt and waved at the group with a sharp motion of his hand.
"Stop!" he practically hissed. "Get down!"
Everyone grabbed their weapons and looked for cover; from what, none of them knew at first. But it didn't take long for an answer, appearing in the distance out of the mist preceded by a distinctive blue glow. A translucent body, seemingly held together with what few bones and scraps of armor it had worn in life, stumbled out of the fog and into the open field ahead of them. It let out a gurgling moan that seemed to echo and pulse, fading in and out of earshot in the most unnatural way.
"A wight?" Tuera asked, trying to stay quiet. Jakkad didn't answer at first, staring intently at the shambling undead with his one good eye.
"Somethings wrong," he whispered back. "There's only one."
Sure enough, this wight was all on its own. Whats more, Tuera couldn't help but notice that its actions and movements were altogether different from the ones they'd seen in the Giant-King's Capital the other day. The ones in the city had seem focused and driven, moving with purpose and clearly hell-bent on vengeance against the two other skeleton armies. But this one was shambling around like a drunkard after last call. It was shuffling aimlessly in the field in front of them, limply dragging the flickering, glowing sword behind it against the ground, as if it lacked the strength to carry it. And while she couldn't tell for certain, it appeared that this one lacked the Aura of Despair effect accompanying the wights they'd encountered in the Capital.
"Think we can sneak around?" Shevatas asked. "There could be more of them out there. And we still don't know if we can even kill them."
"They're already dead, genius," Jamila shot back with a grin.
"You know what I mean," Shevatas growled with annoyance. "Skeletons we can break, but these... they're like ghosts, aren't they?"
"Tell you what, we'll compromise," Tuera said, standing up from behind the rock she was using as cover. "You guys sneak around, and I'll draw the attention of the wight. If my sword can cleave the fleshless spirit, great!" As if to punctuate her words, she shook out her hand, rolling the cross-guard of the sword around her wrist with a needlessly dramatic flourish. "If not, I'll withdraw and lead it away from the rest of you before circling back around to find you again. Deal?"
She didn't even wait for them to respond before confidently striding out into the open field, making a beeline for the shambling undead.
"Are you sure about this?" Monty squeaked from his spot slung across her back. "What if you're wrong?" He didn't get an answer. An extremely shrill whistle cut through the air like a knife, startling a flock of birds sitting in a nearby tree and sending them flying.
In an instant, the wight jerked upright, as if it were a marionette whose strings had been pulled taut. The two glowing orbs in its eye sockets snapped in the direction of the sound, immediately fixing themselves on Tuera. It roared with an awful, ugly sound of gurgling bile and snapping bone, echoing in unnatural ways that it shouldn't, and the undead lunged towards her.
Tuera, meanwhile, seemed completely unconcerned as this lumbering beast closed the distance across the damp, mossy ground. It reached back with the glowing, flickering sword in hand, telegraphing its every motion with the fumbling lack of coordination so common to undead operating purely on instinct. The sword swung through the air in a wide, clumsy swing, crashing down with immense strength behind the strike... but did not find its mark.
There was a ringing of steel against steel. Tuera had sidestepped the blow and struck the top of the ghostly blade with her own. The tip of the undead weapon became embedded in the soil, and the wight almost seemed confused, grunting and struggling with single-minded ferocity – almost ignoring Tuera completely – as it fruitlessly tried to move the weapon in its hands, now firmly pinned in place.
"Hmm... interesting," Tuera said with a smile, leaning forward to get a better look at this creature's face. "You appear far more corporeal than your see-through skin would suggest, it seems. And if you're solid enough for that... then, perhaps, you're solid enough... for this."
A flash of steel cut upwards, accompanied by the tearing of flesh and snapping of bone. The mostly transparent arm of the wight trying to hold onto the sword was severed at the shoulder, and began to tumble uselessly through the air, leaving trails of glowing blue sparks in its wake. Another slash, and Tuera's sword came back down again, severing the other arm, leaving the wight completely dis-armed.
Tuera's hand shot forward as the undead creature tried to stumble backwards; her fingers wrapped around its neck and she hooked her thumb up under its chin, forcing its jaw shut. The wight's feet left the ground and she held the squirming undead at arms length, a foot off the ground. As it struggled fruitlessly in her grip, she looked down at the severed limbs; the glowing blue flesh was becoming even more transparent, as it began to flake away. Within seconds it disintegrated completely, the cloud of ephemeral dust that used to be chunks of undead flesh carried off by a gust of wind that could not be felt.
"Curious," Tuera said with a grin, adjusting the grip on her sword. "Let's try another experiment." Her thumb loosened, and immediately the wight forced open its jaw, trying to snarl... only to find a sword point wedged between its teeth. The blade thrust forward, straight through the back of its head and out the other side with a sickening crunch of meat and bone.
The undead in Tuera's hands convulsed violently, but not in resistance. It's entire body – what was left of it – shuddered and flickered, and within seconds all of the transparent flesh disintegrated in a single burst, much faster than the arms. All the various pieces of broken bones and scraps of rotten cloth, no longer held in place by the undead magic, all suddenly fell to the ground. All except the lower jaw, which teetered precariously between Tuera's thumb and forefinger for a few seconds before tumbling down to join the rest.
"Not an entirely unexpected outcome," Tuera said, eventually letting her now empty hand fall back to her side. "But it's nice to have it confirmed." A smug grin spread across her face. "Destroy the head, and the magic evaporates." Her expression fell, she let out a single sigh, and then: "Pity."
"Wait, what?" Monty asked, clearly confused. "Why is that a pity?"
Tuera didn't answer at first. She looked down where the ghostly sword had been embedded, only to find that it, too, had vanished. Or, rather, the ghostly parts had vanished: a few shards of broken metal and the ruined, rusted hilt had fallen to the ground, lying next to several fragments of charred bone.
"Because there's a part of me that was expecting... slightly more of a challenge, I suppose. These 'wights' are different from the ones I'm used to, and appear to be little more than zombies, just with extra steps. Then again, for all I know? These 'wights' and the 'wights' we saw in the Capital... they might not even be the same kind of undead. Otherwise, it would have been radiating an Aura of Despair, it stands to reason." She began to smile once more, returning her sword to her hip. "More testing is clearly required. But, for the moment, I'm sure the others will appreciate the news."
As it happened, she didn't need to tell them anything. The group hadn't gotten very far, as they were trying to stay slow and stealthy, and saw everything unfold. And then, moments later, they discovered that Shevatas had also been correct: that lone wight wasn't the only one. Easily half a dozen of the transparent zombies were shuffling towards the noise, hungry for the flesh of the living. But these mindless creatures did not find the hapless, half-starved survivors so common in the Exiled Lands, which made for easy prey. Armed with the knowledge of how to destroy them, the group of well armed killers made quick work of the undead.
And so it went, as the 8 adventurers made their way across this chilly forest, towards the mountains to the west. Every so often, they would come across another small cluster of undead, and dispatch them just as quickly. The skirmishes were so common during their trek, that Samar and Obsun – seemingly by accident – began to compete with one another to see who could vanquish the most. There would be a lightning-flash of steel, cutting through the air with surgical precision to cleanly sever a skull from the rest of it, and Samar would announce a fresh tally to his count, returning his curved blade to its scabbard with a click. Minutes later, there would be a bellowing war cry, followed by the shattering of bone as an undead skull was obliterated by a mighty blow from an axe, and Obsun would tally his count.
All the while, Tuera did her best to hold back laughter as she saw this spectacle unfold. She had seen this exact scenario, this exact competition, this exact argument... just... so, so many times before. She held her tongue and refused to say anything, remaining content to merely watch. She had serious doubts that either of them would appreciate the intricacies of the "strength vs dex build" argument currently playing out in her head like a broken record.
It was a joke that only she could understand in this place and time.
"Oh gods, that's not it, is it?" Ioanna whispered, peering over a ruined stone wall.
"You know full well the answer," Hunter Ophelia hissed back.
During their march the group had discovered a trail through the ancient battlefields, heavily worn down by time but still marked with obvious waystones, which led them higher into the mountains. And this was clearly the end of the road: a large circular door made of the Giant-Kings nighted stone, deeply set into the rock face of the mountain. Far above, on the peak almost directly above the door, they could see a distant marker for the boundary wall. This place certainly fit Braga's description... however, there was a problem.
"How many do you think there are?" Jamila whispered from behind the stone wall, tightly gripping her saber.
"Far too many," Jakkad grunted, narrowing his one good eye.
The group was taking cover behind some ruined moss-covered stone walls, a fair distance away from the door. And between them and their destination was a massive congregation of the undead. Most of the groups they had run into so far were small and easily manageable; usually 3 or 4 at a time, with the largest cluster they'd seen being the very first they'd run into, with 6.
There were easily several dozen of the shambling undead creatures here, wandering aimlessly around the foggy ruins just outside the tomb entrance. Perhaps even as many as 40 or 50. If one was being generous, the group was outnumbered 5 to 1. None of the assembled group appeared to like those odds.
"Think we can draw them out one at a time?" Shevatas asked quietly. He reached down to pick up a small stone, rolling it around in the palm of his hand with obvious intent.
"Perhaps..." Obsun nodded, hunched over behind a relatively intact section of wall to hide his bulk. "But all it will take is one misstep, and we will all be overwhelmed."
"Why are there even so many here?" Ioanna squeaked, trying her best to stay hidden while still gripping her spear with white-knuckle intensity.
"It's a graveyard," Samar scratched at his beard idly. He motioned with a jerk of his head. "Can't you see the headstones?"
"So? What's the plan?" Jakkad asked, as he turned his good eye in Tuera's direction... and then his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"You'll see," Tuera replied in an almost playful sing-song, as she opened the pouch on her hip and removed one of the scrolls. It was covered in runes and sigils, and appeared to be sealed with wax. "Lucky for us, I came prepared for just such an eventuality." With that, she got up from behind the wall and began calmly walking toward the mass of undead. Everyone assembled seemed stuck with a strange sense of déjà vu.
"Wait, what are – get down! Are you crazy?!" Jamila hissed.
"I think we all know the answer to that," Shevatas grunted out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
Tuera didn't need to whistle, this time. She calmly walked towards the mass of undead, each step more confident than the last, and was noticed by one of them almost immediately. Within seconds, every one of the shrieking wights was converging on her. But Tuera remained unconcerned, as she calmly broke the wax seal on the scroll in her hand. Just as it seemed the closest of them was about to reach her, she tossed the rune-covered parchment into the air, and spoke in a calm, loud, clear voice:
"Death To Undeath!"
The scroll unrolled itself and floated above her outstretched hand as every rune etched on the page lit up brightly. There was a crack of thunder, a bright flash, and the scroll was consumed in flame. Everything moving came to a sudden halt, as a wave of pressure washed over the land like a flood. Runes and circular sigils made of light appeared, suspended in the air around her arm, and Tuera pointed at the wight almost directly in the center of the crowd; the runes immediately shot forward through the air and straight for her target. Plumes of energy rippled through the crowd, cascading away in all directions, and every wight caught in the rapidly expanding blossom of magic – including the one mere feet from her face – seemed to shudder violently.
Another crack echoed through the air, and every undead caught in the magic explosion was blown apart and instantly reduced to ashes. As the flash died down, the ground smoldered and crackled with blue flame, and the outline of a circular sigil the exact size of the blast radius etched itself into the soil and stones. Bright blue sparks and flecks of burning ash swirled around the air, and scant few seconds after she'd spoken the words, the smoke cleared to reveal an empty field strewn with blackened, broken bones.
"I love showing off," Tuera said to herself, laughing quietly with a big grin on her face. She then looked back over her shoulder. "You can all come out now, the coast is clear!"
"What in the seven hells even was that?!" Jamila shouted, practically jumping out of her spot from behind the ruins.
"I knew we were going to be facing undead," Tuera shrugged. "So I inscribed a few scrolls with anti-undead magic, just in case." As if to emphasize the point, she patted the satchel hanging off her hip.
"Why didn't you use any of those before?" Shevatas asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Tuera looked back at him with confusion.
"I only have so much room in this bag, you know," she said, as if the answer was obvious. "The scrolls need to be rolled and sealed with wax, to prevent them from going off accidentally. Even if I had made hundreds – which I didn't – I can only fit so many in here. With a limited number of these on hand, using a spell like that on only three zombies would've been a waste."
"Impressive as that was..." Obsun spoke up, resting his large axe on his shoulder. "... you could have at least left a few for the rest of us. Samar needs to score a few more kills to catch up with me, after all." He bellowed out a laugh, smiling broadly from within his beard.
"Last I checked, you were trailing behind me," Samar gruffly shot back with a scratch of his beard, appearing from behind the barrel-chested giant.
"Enough questions, let's go open up this tomb," Tuera said. With that, she turned on her heel and walked straight for the massive stone disk set in the mountain. The still smoldering rune burned into the soil underfoot by the spell crackled and sparked with every step of her boots.
As she approached the immense stone disk set into the mountainside, many subtle details about its construction became clear. The stone was decorated in a series of concentric runes ringing the edge; they were faint and clearly weathered by time, but still visible, though written in a script she could not decipher.
"Is that a body?" Ioanna's voice snapped Tuera out of her focus. By chance, she cast a glance down as she looked away from the door, and saw a pile of bones lying at the edge of the door, nearly overtaken by weeds and moss. It was roughly in the shape of a human, lying face-down and slumped against the edge of the door. Two details stuck out: a rusted blade was wedged in its back, stuck between a pair of ribs... and a serpent bracelet was still wrapped around the left forearm.
"Mm... oh yeah, he's dead," Monty spoke up, a bit needlessly. "And it's the serious kind of dead, too, where you stay dead."
Without a word, Tuera knelt down to get a closer look. She grabbed the serpent bracelet, still attached to the wrist bones, began to lift... and immediately the bones began to crumble into dust. The bracelet, however, seemed completely unmarred; the gemstone glittered between the brass snake heads as a thin cloud of bone dust diffused around it into nothing. This was a golden opportunity: the chance to study a bracelet not physically attached to anyone. Before the dust swirling in the air had fully cleared, she pocketed the bracelet into her satchel, and made a mental note to run some tests and experiments on it later. It was a slim chance, but it was entirely possible she could glean some insight about the magic, and find another loophole...
"So? How are we going to get in?" Jakkad asked, stepping forward. "Any ideas?"
"This seems familiar..." Shevatas muttered softly to himself, staring at the immense door and rubbing his chin scruff thoughtfully.
"It should," Ioanna replied, causing Shevatas to furrow his brow at her in confusion. "Unless I am much mistaken, that door looks like the entrance to those sewers when you, Tuera, and I found Monty. Don't you remember?" She paused. "I mean, except this one is built into a wall, instead of the floor..."
"That's great. But how do we open it?" Jamila asked, clearly anxious to get started; her fingers were drumming along the hilt of the saber on her hip.
"The door to the sewers required a blood sacrifice, I think..." Ioanna said, worry spreading across her face as she slowly internalized the implication. "Perhaps this one is similar?"
"Hey, Monty?" Tuera asked, turning to the staff on her back quickly. "Can you read the inscription around the door? Maybe it'll give us a clue."
"Oh, absolutely! Just... uh... y'know, hold me up so I can get a better view of what I'm looking at, would ya?" Tuera nodded, pulling Monty out of the sling, and brandishing the staff at the door. A high-pitched whine filled the air, and a pair of blue beams of light spilled out of Monty's eyes, scanning the door and highlighting the weathered runes.
"Ah, yes, that's better. Thanks, doll. Hmm... let's see now..." the snake staff muttered, cleared his throat, and began: "Blood to seal, and blood to hold. Blood to warm the dead and cold. Blood to sign the final pact. Blood to seep between the cracks." As Monty finished his translation, the beams of light disappeared and his eyes returned to their normal red color.
"I'm not sure that helps us," Hunter Ophelia mumbled out with obvious annoyance. "We already figured out it was some kind of blood ritual."
"Okay... so what do we do now?" Jamila asked. "Do we all just start cutting ourselves, painting the door with blood until it opens for one of us?"
"Yeah, I don't think that'll work," Monty said, his voice taking on a strange humor. "See, there's a bit of nuance lost in a direct translation. And based on the inscription, blood from you humans wouldn't work. It's the Priestking's tomb, after all, he wouldn't want just any old peasant cracking it open by accident. Oh no... something like this? It would need demon blood to open. And lucky for us, we have a very convenient supply of the stuff incredibly close at hand!" He started chuckling to himself darkly.
Most of the assembled group didn't understand why he was laughing. They all began looking and muttering to one another in confusion, none of them getting the 'joke'... except Tuera. She did her best to maintain her composure and, at least outwardly, possessed a face made of stone. But inside she was seething.
Tuera had been debating with herself about the pros and cons of revealing the truth to the others, trying to figure out how to engineer the opportune moment, so the truth could be revealed on her terms. She'd even adjusted her calculations after telling Jakkad the truth the other day, and he hadn't believed her. But now, despite all that internal agonizing and silent frustration... the choice was no longer hers to make.
This was very annoying.
"... you're really gonna do me dirty like this, huh?" Tuera growled angrily under her breath at the staff in her hand. Monty's eyes glistened with mischief from inside his silvery snake head.
"I suppose that all depends on you," Monty replied back, his voice betraying a smile despite his frozen features. "How badly do you want to get in that tomb?"
Tuera breathed out a truly foul curse, just loud enough so that only Monty could hear; the bracelet around her wrist shimmered brightly, and Monty began to laugh at her impotent rage. She returned the staff to the sling on her back, and leaned down to produce a small dagger from a hidden sheath stuck in her left boot.
"Hey... Ioanna?" Tuera said, turning to the girl after regaining her composure. "Do you remember when we first met? You asked me if I was a demon, and I said no?" Ioanna started to look concerned, especially when Tuera calmly placed the dagger's blade against the open palm of her right hand. Everyone else grew quiet, their attention focused on the two women.
"Wh- well... yes, of course I remember," Ioanna said, clearly in denial about what was about to happen. "What does-"
"I'm really sorry about this," Tuera said with a heavy sigh, wrapping her fingers around the blade. "But that... wasn't... entirely accurate."
Tuera quickly pulled the blade free from her fist, slicing her hand open with a horrible sound of sizzling metal. In a single motion, she turned around, tossed the dagger aside, and shoved her hand against the massive stone door before the wound had a chance to close. Suddenly, Tuera's arm seized up, and she instinctively grabbed at her wrist at the same moment her knees gave out. She grimaced loudly through gritted teeth and collapsed, yet her hand remained firmly attached to the door, as every vein in her arm distended to unnaturally large sizes.
"Tuera!" Ioanna cried out, in the split second this took place. She tried to rush to her side, but Shevatas stepped in her way, holding out his arm to stop her and pointing at the dagger lying on the ground, his eyes wide with shock. She looked down to where he was pointing, and gasped when she saw the metal blade turning itself into liquid, throwing out sparks and sheets of green steam as it boiled and bubbled into nothing.
Rivulets of blood were leaking out in all directions from underneath Tuera's hand, crawling their way across the vertical surface of the stone; unlike the rapidly disintegrating blade next to her, the stone seemed unaffected by the acidic nature of her alien blood. Her hand remained fixed in place by unknown means while she groaned and grunted in pain, her whole body shaking and convulsing from the strain, all while more and more blood was drawn out by the enchantment of the door. The faded and weathered runes ringing the outer edge of the circular door filled themselves with the crimson liquid, glowing brightly from within... and just as the runes filled completely, Tuera was released.
"Augh!" she blurted out as the door unexpectedly let her go, and she was thrown several feet backwards, falling on her behind. The ground beneath the assembled group shook, as the bloody runes on the door began to pulse with an alien light... and then the blood began to disappear, absorbed into the stone itself. Chunks of dust and stone fell from the outer edges of the mountainside door as the ground shook once more. With a hideous groan, the immense stone disk began to roll out of the way, revealing a pitch black tunnel descending deep into the earth.
Silence hung heavy over the group, and many of them were unsure of what to look at: the newly opened entrance to the underground, spilling out a heavy carpet of fog as the ancient air mingled with that on the surface... or the woman slowly picking herself up. Tuera pushed off against the ground with her still bloody hand, and immediately the soil started to boil and bubble, belching out a puff of yellowish-green smoke from between her fingers.
"O-okay..." Tuera said after getting back on her feet, clearly out of breath. She grimaced loudly, and held up her right hand to the group – the wound on which had almost fully healed already. "I know... I'm sure that you all have... questions. And I promise, I will answer them. But... first things first." She unsheathed the sword on her hip and turned back to the tomb's entrance.
"We still have a job to do. Let's go get that artefact."