The sulfurous smell from above faded away completely, and the dry smell of death lay heavily in the cooling air. The dark crevice didn't widen much as it zigzagged into the darkness. There were small parts on the path that were well smoothed, as if worn by the steady tread of feet for hundreds of years. Mostly, however, the path was uneven and treacherous, and led first down, and then back up through obsidian laced rock. Those that had walked this path before had not seen fit to smooth the natural structures aside from the incidental results of their passing. Yasha frequently had to duck under a low overhang, or wedge herself around narrow, sharp corners, and the path itself occasionally had sudden drop offs of several feet. It made the trek slow and dangerous.
Yasha used the fiercely burning Duty to light her way. Throughout the tainted temple above, the sword had vibrated with a low hum, but as they wound their way deeper and deeper into the cave, the holy sword began a low, never ending warning. The darkness continued to cling to the creviced walls and ceilings, despite Duty's white fire. The shadows moved in a dark counterpoint to the flickering, magical flames and seemed to claw menacingly whenever Yasha looked elsewhere, only to recede when she focused on them. The heaviness of ancient menace in the air seemed to inject a haunting life into the dark movements.
Her memory latched on to other times, when knowing the difference between the real claws and the ones her mind conjured up was a matter of life and death. She could still feel the ones she had failed to see sinking into her flesh, their iciness defying the life within her and drawing her strength away. Every stone, every breath of air, every creature crouched in the shadows had hungered to smother the spark of her life in that dark place, and she felt that same feeling creeping up on her now. Yasha clutched her sword, angry at herself even as a familiar dread caused her heart to hammer in her ears. She had no time to be imagining false dangers, or remembering past horrors. This was not the Shadow Plane, and something horrible and very, very real lie in wait for them at the end of this jagged path.
She dragged herself to a stop, frustrated and ashamed, when Nathyrra warned of an opening to a cavern ahead. She said nothing as the drow slid into the darkness to investigate it. Yasha held Duty close to her leg, ostensibly to limit the amount of light that might seep around the corner, but truly the cool, tingling power of the holy blade gave her comfort even through the armor she wore.
She kept her eyes firmly shut as she struggled to focus once more, abandoning keeping watch to Valen and Deekin. Not only was their vision better in the dark, but she would not have to see the writhing shadows. She flexed her grip on her shield and forced a long breath while she recited the Litany of Virtues in her head. It had kept the threads of her sanity together during her time in the Shadow Plane. Surely it could push away the mere reminder of that fear.
Let the Flame of Hope live in my heart. It is the Song that fills the Silence. It is the Light that drives back the Darkness. I shall keep Hope in my heart, for it will give me strength when my strength fails me.
She made a conscious choice to loosen the muscles of her jaw, and her teeth ached in grateful response. She wondered if it was her imagination that she felt eyes on her, and if it was her companions or otherwise, but kept her eyes closed regardless. She also wondered, for a moment, what they thought of her reaction, but decided it likely wouldn't help to know either way. She shook off such thoughts, and focused on the steady hum of Duty's power, and the lesser but still comforting tingle of the protective spells they had cast earlier that day.
Let the Call of Duty sound in my heart. It is the Shield that forbids Temptation. It is the Sword that severs Fear. I shall keep Duty in my heart, for it will give me Will when my will fails me.
"You should see this."
Yasha jerked and snapped her eyes open when Nathyrra's whispered words interrupted her thoughts, so close that she heard them quite clearly. She frowned at the drow's tense expression then nodded and moved to follow. Nathyrra, however, stood her ground, giving the glowing sword in Yasha's hand a meaningful look.
Yasha felt tension leaping immediately to annoyance. "You want me to see something, no? I cannot see without some light," she hissed.
Nathyrra's eyes briefly flashed red in the dim light, but Yasha already regretted her burst of temper. Snapping at her companions only made things worse. She held her hand up to forestall the drow's words, and slowly slid Duty back into her sheath. For a moment, the blackness was absolute, then she gently pressed on the blade's hilt, pushing it forward until a thumb length of the fiery blade was free. She blinked a few times, as her eyes struggled to find sense in the low light. She saw little more than the colorless and indistinct shapes of her companions against the vague background of the rocky walls, outlined by the haze of the lingering protective magic. Oddly, the lack of light also meant a comparative lack of shadows, and the heavy fear that had gnawed on her nerves lightened a bit. She grimaced at this line of thought, and sighed once more.
"Better?" she asked in resignation.
Nathyrra seemed to look at her speculatively, though in the low light it was hard to tell. There was no mistaking the brief smile that crossed her lips, however, before the drow silently turned and led the way into the cavern beyond. In the dim light, Yasha could not tell what reaction Deekin and Valen might have had to the brief exchange, aside from the fact that they both seemed ready to follow. She shifted her grip so that she held her partially sheathed sword across her body with her right hand, twisting it a bit so that most of the dim light fell before her. She walked forward carefully, her eyes on the uneven floor before her while her other senses – mundane and arcane – strained to police everything else.
Despite her limited sight, some subtle change in the air movements told her that the narrow passage had given way to a huge cavern, though the oppressive and menacing feel did not waver. Ahead of her, Nathyrra turned and led them on a path that kept tightly against the right-hand wall. Once or twice, Yasha lost sight of her drow guide, but whenever the paladin slowed Nathyrra's soft soled boots would come back into view to guide her on. Behind her, her strained ears picked out Deekin's tread, his boots quick and light against the stone floor. Valen's slightly heavier footsteps sounded a slower counterpoint. She thought, once or twice, another sound slid through the darkness, but she couldn't be sure. The distance seemed interminable, though pacing after her half-seen guide likely made it seem farther than it was. Yasha was beginning to wonder just how much faster the drow moved without her companions, to have made it this distance and back in the time she had scouted ahead, when Nathyrra finally halted their progress.
Great teeth as long as her arms loomed out of the darkness, reflecting the cool white light from Duty's blade dully. Yasha's eyes were eventually able to trace the huge skeletal snout backward into the darkness. Behind a gaping eye cavity larger than her head, the shape of a monstrously large horn graced the reptilian skull. For a heart stopping few seconds, she wondered if they had indeed stumbled upon the lair of something that ate such huge wyrms as a matter of course. Then the less panicked portion of her brain pointed out that the rest of the skeleton was laid out behind the skull to simulate a sleeping drake, and the bones were not gnawed and scattered about. She eyed the skeleton again and wondered what sort of dragon it was.
She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until Deekin answered. "It is…errr…was a red dragon, boss," he said, his voice hushed.
Only glittering eyes were clearly visible of his shadowed form. She pursed her lips and gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know?"
His half seen hand moved to gesture at his head. "The horns," he replied matter-of-factly.
She considered the great skull before her, and tried to imagine amber eyes in the sockets and red scales stretched over its bones. She wasn't sure which vision was more disconcerting, the dead one before her or the living one her mind had conjured up, so went back to considering why it was there in the first place.
"Either a huge and old red dragon died in its sleep," she said slowly, "or this one's bones were set out like this in some sort of…ritual manner."
Valen stepped forward from behind her left shoulder. He held his hand out, briefly, as if feeling something in the air between himself and the great skeleton. "I would suggest the later," he said after a few moments. "There is strong magic here."
Nathyrra nodded in agreement, and Yasha squinted at the remains. The air seemed heavy with malice and magic, but her companions must have greater sensitivity to such raw energies than she to feel any particular source to it. Could it be another of the many bone constructs they had fought before, this one made from a dragon to give it the power to defend their master's lair? If so, why was it laying immobile and not leaping to the attack? She closed her eyes and concentrated, struggling to feel the concentration of magic her companions had confirmed.
"Errr…Yasha." Yasha blinked in frustration as the disembodied voice of the sword at her back splintered her concentration.
"Not now, Enserric," she replied briefly, struggling to focus once more.
"No," Enserric corrected slowly, "Now is absolutely the time."
Then she felt it, the low level warn her nerves had labored under, the drifting sense of Evil and Darkness in the air, had heightened. Her senses sounded an alarm with a sudden shriek, Duty was unsheathed and her body was turning before she consciously recognized the danger behind her. Two of the horrible golems stood menacingly not far away, their bleached hodge-podge of bones reflecting Duty's sudden fiery flare with reluctant brilliance. Behind them, however, towered a shadow. The bone golems had been disgusting and disturbing, made, as they were, from the skeletal remains of many bodies, animated by magic. The huge figure, however, radiated menace and evil, slowly taking form as it moved sinuously closer.
It pulled leathery black skin away from huge teeth in a draconic sneer. Its huge wings spread wide, blotting out the sky.
No. There was no sky. And as the creature advanced, the darkness peeled off of it to reveal bare, glittering bones. The vast wings were skeletal, and blocked nothing. This was no shadow drake from memory and nightmare. This was a dracolich, a flesh and bone dragon that had embraced undeath of its own accord.
This was worse.
Training and long habit took over. She blocked and counter-attacked against the bone golem that attacked her before she could shake the numbed reaction of her mind. She clenched Duty's hilt, willing herself to focus on taking down the golem as quickly as possible. She had known that something terrible had waited in the darkness of this cave. That it was an undead dragon could not make a difference. She would not allow it to. Others depended on her to focus; to live; to win. Deekin, Valen, Nathyrra, the Seer and her followers, and the people of the desolate village at the temple's mouth would all suffer were she to fall to fear now.
Slowly, she took over the automatic parries and thrusts, putting her full will and mind into the fight. She recognized Valen at her side, his crushing blows shattering the construct's bones and splintering its magic. She grimaced, looked away from their foe as it staggered from another of his blows and confirmed her fears.
The great lich was casting spell after spell on itself, and even as she watched, the unmistakable effects of a stone skin spell flared into being. She considered urging Valen to break off and attack the draconic creature, or asking him to hold the golem while she did. But the golem staggered even as the thought crossed her mind, and its magic began to falter.
Somewhere behind her, she heard Deekin break out into song. He hadn't the sweetest voice in the land, for sure, and his song was punctuated by the arcane, lilting calls of his spells. As odd as it all was, his singing about their upcoming doom filled her with a fierce defiance.
Duty bit deeply once more into the golem before her, snapping the final threads of the magic that kept it going. She turned from it as it fell, just in time to see an enchanted bolt from Deekin's crossbow slam into the chest of the other, and Nathyrra's blades land the final blow. Nathyrra staggered as the thing fell, wincing at some unseen wound, but did not look terribly injured. In the edges of the light from Yasha's blade, she saw Deekin's small form, his on-going song of doom hitching only as moment as he pulled another bolt into his crossbow.
Snarling a battle cry, Valen had already leapt from her side and charged the lich. Yasha could not suppress a shudder as she realized the powerful tiefling came not even to the dragon's knees as it reared above him. His first blow rebounded harmlessly, the creature's spell protecting it from harm. Yasha sucked in a deep breath of the soul chilling air, braced herself, then followed his charge, angling to flank the mighty creature.
A bolt whizzed past her, its path true as it sped to the lich's hip, but it also merely impacted against the creature's protective spells. Yasha's charge brought Duty against the creature's spell shields right behind. Duty flared, even brighter than before, its pure light washing away a layer of the circle of spells. She pushed at the fear that clawed at her mind. This was just like the drow she had dueled and just as with the undead master of the golems. They would whittle away its defenses, and it would fall. It had to fall.
She clenched her teeth as it kicked away Valen, sending him careening back against the uneven cavern floor. She had a moment to watch him pull himself off of the rocks woozily, and breathe a sigh of relief that he was still alive. Then the great skeletal thing turned its attention fully to her, its eyes nothing but red pinpricks of light far, far above her head. She raised her shield and drew back Duty defiantly against it.
Gathering magical energies prickled against her skin, even through the protective enchantments she had up. This time, the dragon was not casting a defensive spell. Yasha worked frantically on bringing Duty's magic against the creature's own. She knew Duty's physical strike would do little against the great dragon, but the magic that lay in the blade might do enough damage to distract the undead beast from its spell, or allow the magic or weapons of her companions to do the same. First, though, she had to get through its defenses. Duty flared into bright light and rang clearly with each strike. A layer of protective spells died, then another. Just a little more to go.
Goosebumps raced up her arms, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck try to rise. Then the world was filled with fire and light, and she felt the moment when her own protective magic snapped. She could feel the dragon's spell crawling over her armor, burrowing in to chinks and weak spots and into her skin with claws of fire. Every fiber of her body screamed in agony as the spell burned through her with all of its remaining strength. As suddenly as it started, the spell ended, leaving only echoes of agony. She was fairly pleasantly surprised to hear her heart stutter back into something close to a normal rhythm. She took a moment to savor the steady pounding in her ears before trying to wrench open her eyes.
The world looked strange, beyond just being out of focus. She blinked painfully, and realized that she was lying on her stomach somewhere on the cavern floor. She blurrily saw a wisp of smoke curling up from her arm, just where the gauntlets and the armor met unevenly.
That was likely a bad thing.
The floor trembled beneath her. Then, a strange cry echoed in the cavern. Fumbling with both sword and shield, she pulled herself awkwardly up from the floor, wavering onto her knees. She blinked and rubbed her hands with the back of her smoldering gauntlet, wondering if she was hallucinating.
The dracolich was still up, of course. Now, however, instead of rearing up on its hind legs, it had fallen on to all four feet. It snarled at a small figure before it, its phantom voice able to give meaning to the gesture even without lips to pull from its teeth. There, blocking the undead dragon's path to where she lay was neither Valen nor even Nathyrra, but Deekin, his short sword high as he screamed his strange, high cry once more and charged.
She blinked at the scene numbly, and rubbed her eyes once more just to be sure. The spell that coated the dragon's bones in granite had not subsided, but that didn't stop the little kobold from dancing around the thing's feet, his blade flashing in the dim light. The dragon brought its head down low, tilting its head in obvious disbelief. Deekin dared to dance close to the great head, landing a glancing blow on the massive snout. It couldn't have hurt it, not with the stone spell still up, but still it flinched away in surprise. Then it snapped at him, snagged him, and tossed him aside as the kobold's pained and surprised yell shrieked through the air. She watched him crumple to the ground, and her numb disbelief flashed into shocked anger. Without quite remembering getting up, she felt clearly the shocks of pain the vibrated through her as her feet pounded her forward.
She reached for and found the supportive divine power, cool and strengthening, as she ran. Even if she had the training to form it into a powerful enough offensive spell, though, she hadn't the time. She instead savored the feel of the power cooling her burning skin and muscles as it gathered within her, and could only focus on getting to Deekin's side before that great claw crushed the still kobold. Each agonizing step took forever. How could she have been thrown back so far? She threw herself forward, bringing her shield up even as she fell to her knees before her prone friend.
Torm protect us.
The impact crashed through her shield arm, reawakening the pain. Magic thundered around and inside her; the gauntlets' strengthening power, the protective enchantments of her shield and armor, and the raw, divine energy that snapped and curled through the air. The phantom voice of the skeletal creature grew into a frustrated roar. Yasha looked up past the fading glow from her shield to see the powerful clawed hand pulling back, smoke curling from its joints. She looked down at her own still smoldering arm, and smiled grimly as she pulled herself to her feet.
"Serves you right," she said hoarsely. She glanced down at Deekin, and felt tears sting her eyes. There was no time, though. No time.
She charged again, under the raised and smoking arm, and attacked its other forearm. Duty's clear tone rang powerfully as it hit, and a flash of light washed upward, finally peeling away the final stony spell. She didn't wait to watch it as it progressed up the dragon's body, but forced her aching arm to bring Duty to bear again and again. Physically, the blows did little more than chip the massive forearm bone, but that was not her true target. It was the necromantic magic that tied the bones together, working as its muscle and tendon, which shuddered under each impact. Valen re-enter the fray at the opposite hind leg, and she thought she glimpsed Nathyrra flicker in and out of the shadows to strike as well. The thing roared again, its pain echoing throughout the cavern. Yasha thought nothing of defense, letting her shield arm fall to her side as she hammered again and again at the great arm before her.
She felt it when the last of the frayed magic snapped. Above and around her, the great bones ground together and began to fall. She scrambled clear, and was heading for Deekin's side before the first bones had a chance to slam into the ground behind her. She collapsed as she reached him, and Duty clattered to the ground rather unceremoniously as she struggled to free her hands from the gauntlets. Reaching around in the gloom, she searched blindly for a wrist or throat or any point where she could feel for a pulse. She cursed the sound of thundering bones that reverberated in the cavern, struggling to numb her fingers to it while she quested for some sign that the kobold yet lived. It was only when the last of the bones had hit and the cavern had started to descend into silence once more did she feel it; a weak fluttering pulse under the scaly skin.
She grabbed at the chain around her neck, fishing out the worn, wooden amulet from under her armor. Grasping it tightly with her left hand, she pressed her right firmly on his chest.
The spell was not a powerful one, but she felt his pulse grow stronger under her hand, and his chest rose as he took a shuddering breath. Though he otherwise stayed still, she bowed her head gratefully, and murmered a second prayer of thanks.
She looked up to see Valen and Nathyrra standing close by. She could not make out their faces in the dim light, but offered a weak smile to them anyway. "He will live."
Beyond them, faint light that still shone from the jumble of bones that was their adversary. Rocking back on her heels, she sighed. "Well, that wasn't so…."
Abruptly, the light on the bones flared brighter, then began to peel itself free. The ghastly stuff coalesced and swirled above the remains, gathering power and growing brighter with each passing moment. Then a draconic head formed out of the flickering ghost fire, two crimson sparks marking its baleful gaze as it turned towards them. It growled and launched itself up and free of the bones. It circled once, twice, three times, then darted away and disappeared into the darkness. From some distant part of the cavern, a phantom hissing laugh filled the air. Yasha looked from the jumble of bones to the draconic body they had been investigating when the thing had attacked, and an awful explanation for the skeletal body occurred to her.
"…bad," he finished weakly.