25th Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
The Dungeons of the Slave Lords
The Aerie, The Pomarj
"It's moving away from us," Sitdale announced.
Elrohir frowned and turned around towards the approximate area where he knew the half-elf was located. "Are you sure? It looks like it just disappeared."
"No. It's just gone behind a bend in the tunnel. I can still see a dim illumination," Sitdale's voice came back.
"I was wondering why we didn't seem to be getting any closer to it," Aslan muttered.
"That's not good news." Bigfellow's voice sounded from just behind Elrohir.
The team leader frowned in the darkness. "Why not? Maybe whoever it is is just afraid of us, Argo. You yourself pointed out there are fourteen of us."
"Not likely," his fellow ranger replied. "We're all stumbling along in this tight tunnel in the dark, tripping over each other's feet. He's got a light source. If he wanted to flee, he could easily leave us all, pardon the pun, in the dark."
Elrohir sighed and considered their options while running a hand through his hair. Argo's logic seemed sound, which meant the very real possibility of a trap.
"Start moving again, everybody," he said. "I want that light."
Argo's description of their tactical situation was, if anything, too flattering. The tunnel they were traveling down averaged about ten feet wide, but occasionally narrowed to nearly half that, forcing people to crowd and bunch up together. Elrohir's pre-arranged marching order was already taking a hit, as individuals were forced to move backwards or forwards, or squeeze against a wall to let someone else past. It was, at best, a fluid situation. Already he could hear grumblings and mutterings about this or that person's clumsy feet. It couldn't be helped, though. Elrohir didn't want anyone out of arm's reach of at least one other person until such time as they could get some light of their own.
"I wonder how many days have elapsed?" Talass wondered aloud as they slowly made their way forward.
"Three or four, I'm guessing," came Bigfellow's voice from ahead.
The priestess frowned in the dark. "How could you know that, Argo?"
"I'm guessing by the amount of stubble on my chin," the ranger responded. "Caroline usually starts slapping me around if I let it get to this point. She likes her men clean-shaven."
Talass smiled to herself but said nothing.
"That reminds me, Talass," Thorimund asked the cleric from behind. "It's been a couple of days, at the earliest. Weren't you able to recover all your prayers during this time?"
Talass sighed wearily. "No. They knew I was a priestess, so they kept me awake; never let me sleep more than an hour or so at a time. They would bang a gong, or shout at me." She scowled. "Mordrammo called it his special treatment."
There came a sudden mix of exclamations and complaints from the group as the party was abruptly halted.
"That was it?" Elrohir's voice came from the very front. "That was all they did?"
"All they did?" Talass nearly shouted back angrily. "Wasn't that enough? Do you think that I-"
But a chorus of "Hey!" and "What are you-" erupted front in front of the priestess, and then suddenly Talass felt Elrohir fling himself into her arms and hug her for all he was worth.
Mystified, Talass held on as she felt her husband bury his face in her shoulder.
"It's all right, Elrohir," was all she could think to say. "It's all right."
Elrohir reluctantly pulled away, pulling a deep breath.
"I know, dearest. I know."
Without further comment, the ranger turned around and made his way back towards the front.
The corridor was beginning to snake its way towards the right. Occasionally the light would reappear, and then disappear around another bend.
"The sand on the floor; it's getting thicker," Sir Menn noted from his approximate position behind Aslan. "When we started, I could feel the stone underneath with my toes. I can't, anymore."
"I think these walls are sandstone," Sitdale offered. "At least, they feel like it."
"On a volcanic island? That doesn't make sense," Hengist commented.
"No, it doesn't," the half-elf agreed, before falling silent.
It didn't make sense to Aslan either, and the paladin was about to ask how such a thing might be possible when something slid by his foot.
"Ye gods!" Aslan exclaimed. "What was that?"
No one answered him, because the first three ranks of the party were already experiencing the same sensation.
What felt like small fish or eels swimming through the sand were darting all around them. While unnerving though, the creatures- whatever they were- didn't seem to be immediately harmful.
Elrohir had signaled for a stop when he'd felt the first brush by his ankles. It took a moment for the others to come to a halt, and there was more unavoidable shoving.
We're like a blind inchworm, thought the ranger. Odin help us if we're forced into combat like this. Wish I had my mother's eyes.
Trying to avoid the sensation at his feet, the party leader peered down the corridor. The light seemed to have stopped ahead, as well. Elrohir guessed its distance at anywhere between forty and sixty feet away, but he couldn't even be sure of that estimate.
"Move ahead," he ordered. "Very, very, carefully."
"I am so damn thirsty," Zantac's voice sounded from someone in the group's center, "if we kill something, I'm drinking its blood."
"Trouble is, those somethings usually have the same idea about you," retorted Unru.
"Yeah? Well, I've still got some offensive spells I can cast just fine," snorted the Willip wizard. "In fact, I could-"
"Quiet!" interrupted Elrohir from ahead, once again signaling for a stop.
The ranger peered ahead, straining with his ears as much as with his eyes.
"There's a fair amount of sand shifting just ahead, Aslan," Elrohir reported. "Do you think-"
And that was as far as he got before he was attacked.
For all the world it felt to Elrohir like a giant boulder had slammed directly into his face, but it was accompanied by a stinging abrasion, like he was suddenly standing in the midst of a desert sandstorm. Even as he staggered backwards in agony, blood spurting from his nose and slamming into Argo Bigfellow behind him- knocking both of them off their feet- the ranger's instincts were telling him that somehow, the sand itself had attacked him.
"The light!" shouted Aslan. "It's coming back at us!"
As the illumination swiftly approached, Elrohir finally saw his first scene since he had awoken.
And as so frequently seemed to be the case, it wasn't a good one.
Lying sprawled on his back with Argo underneath him didn't afford Elrohir the best view. It also didn't help that his eyes kept wanting to squint shut from the pain of what was very possibly a broken nose, but the party leader could still make out Aslan and Sir Menn stamping with their feet at a pile of sand in front of them.
Pseudopods of sand were extending from the pile and attacking them. Elrohir could see Aslan was already bleeding down his left side, particles of sand still embedded in his skin.
"At least we've got light now!" Sir Menn yelled. The knight kept trying to stomp on a harder lump of sand beneath him that he guessed to be part of the creature's body, but it kept slipping away from under his foot.
"We don't want it!" Argo suddenly shouted so close to Elrohir's ears that his fellow ranger winced from the noise.
"That's not a lantern!" yelled Bigfellow. "It's a will 'o wisp!"
"Watch it!"
"You watch it! Give me room!"
Cursing and yelling at each other; as well as pretty much slamming Unru face-first into the tunnel wall as they shoved past, Cygnus and Zantac peered around a bend in the tunnel to view the combat before them. Elrohir and Argo were helping each other to their feet now, and with Aslan and Sir Menn already engaged there was no room to further advance.
"Let's missile it!" shouted Zantac. "We've each got one! I'll go first- you follow up if need be!"
"We don't know what that thing is!" Cygnus shouted back. "It might take a dozen missiles and not drop! I'll try sleep first! You keep an eye on the wisp!"
"How are you going to cast that? You don't have your component pouch with you, Strawbrain, and sleep requires-"
Zantac stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth falling open before he glanced down at his feet.
"That's right, oh corpulent one!" Cygnus yelled as he swooped down and grabbed a handful of sand. The Aardian mage's arm was already going through the prescribed motions as he flung the sand forward, his gestures matching the arcane syllables flowing from his lips.
Aslan had just flung his arm in front of his face to try and block another blow when the pseudopod in front of him abruptly toppled over like a sand castle collapsing from the raising tide.
"It requires sand," Cygnus smirked to his fellow mage.
Zantac was just thinking up a retort when the will 'o wisp winked out, and they were all plunged into blackness again.
The last two minutes or so had been rather chaotic. It had not been until Tojo had been brought up from the rear that the party felt confident that the sandling; as Unru had christened it, for lack of a better word, had been slain. Despite the darkness, the samurai's hands had dug swiftly though the sand until he found what felt like a slowly pulsing ball of wet sand. He squeezed this until it popped, sending trickles of some liquid through his fingers. The creature did not stir after that.
"What exactly is a will 'o wisp?" Nesco wanted to know.
"I'm surprised you haven't encountered one before," Argo answered. "They're malevolent creatures found mostly in swamps that feed off the fear of dying creatures. They often lure unknowing travelers to their doom in quicksand or other hazards, and then lurk around to feed off their essences. They can deliver a powerful electric shock and they're all but impossible to hit, but they're not likely to stand and fight. If they turn off their glow, you can't see them, and I'm guessing that's what this one did."
"It fled, then?" queried Sir Menn. "Do you think it might return and try to ambush us?"
"Can't say," Bigfellow admitted. "We'll know if it happens."
"Comforting thought," came Unru's voice. "Still, I doubt it could dish out nearly as much damage as Stick and Stack here. You two want to watch where you're going next time? My forehead still hurts something awful."
"Stop complaining, Unru," Elrohir growled. "I've got you beat, I'm sure."
"Not anymore," Aslan's voice suddenly spoke from beside him. Elrohir was about to ask what the paladin meant when he felt a finger touch his nose, and the sharp pain there suddenly vanished, leaving only a dull ache.
The group leader gingerly felt his nose before responding.
"Thank you, Aslan, but you shouldn't have done that. It wasn't that serious, and I know you have only your paladin's grace available for healing. Save it for when we really need it."
"You're the best fighter among us, Elrohir- with the possible exception of Tojo under present circumstances. The longer you stay alive, the less likely anyone else will need that kind of healing."
"So I'm the front line of defense, eh?" the ranger asked, hoping his friend could hear the smile in his voice.
Apparently Argo could, at least.
"What else are for leaders for?" he quipped.
"What are you doing?" Cygnus asked the unseen Zantac besides him.
I still have a sleep spell," his fellow mage answered, "but I don't intend to walk around carrying a lump of sand in my hand for who-knows-how-long. I'm putting it in my pouch."
"What pouch?" Cygnus asked, frowning.
Zantac sighed heavily. "The one I'm making."
A disturbing thought came suddenly to Cygnus.
"Zantac," he suddenly asked. "Did you just take off your loincloth?"
There was a pause before the reply came.
"Aren't you the one who always says you work with what you got? What are you going to do if you find several pieces of moss or, pray-to-Boccob, a piece of usable quartz?"
Cygnus reflected silently on Zantac's words while trying not to visualize what was going on next to him.
Then he shrugged and began to unwrap his own loincloth as well.
"Oh, great," Thorimund muttered as he, Sitdale and Unru followed suit.
"Just remember," the illusionist reminded everyone, "Aslan was way off the mark."
"I'm sure glad I'm not a wizard," Sir Menn's voice carried a palpable relief.
"Do you know how to use a sap?" Elrohir asked suddenly.
The knight sucked in his breath with a gasp.
"You can't be serious."
"Get naked, get sand, fill up and shut up," the party leader commanded. "That applies to our entire male contingent here."
There was no sound for a while but that of heavy sighs, cloth being manipulated, and sand being picked up.
"When we get home and tell them what happened," Hengist's voice cut through the dark, "everybody leave this part out."
The party continued to slowly move down the tunnel, but Elrohir, after some reflection, had ordered some changes. Tojo, who was as nearly dangerous unarmed as armed, now walked up in front beside Sitdale, who along with the samurai sported the best senses in the group.
The group was still on edge. The sand beneath their feet was still fairly thick, and occasionally several of the small eel-like sand creatures dashed by;Cygnus had postulated they might be the sandling's young, but nothing rose up to attack them.
"What's this?" Sitdale suddenly asked, stopping and bending down.
"What?" Elrohir asked impatiently after several seconds had passed with no further word from the half-elf.
"Riches beyond compare, Elrohir," Sitdale responded. "Here."
Elrohir felt the hilt of a small blade being shoved into his hands.
The ranger turned it over and ran his fingers over the dagger. It was heavily rusted and even more heavily corroded by sand- he'd be lucky if it didn't snap off at the hilt at the first hit- but it still felt comforting in his hand. Sitdale had been right. Riches beyond compare.
"Here, Aslan," Elrohir heard Sitdale continue.
There was a pause.
"A human skull?" Aslan's voice queried, but not without a smile they could all hear. "Sitdale, you shouldn't have."
"I've been told I'm the generous type," the half-elf quipped. "You'll probably only get one throw with that- make it count."
"What, nothing for the rest of us?" Argo asked petulantly.
"Sorry. That seems to be it."
"I keep hearing you have a sharp wit, Bigfellow," Unru chuckled. "Use that."
"Well, if you're looking for a long weapon-"
"Move on, people!" Elrohir announced, more loudly than he would have liked.
The tunnel narrowed, and then ended perhaps a hundred feet or so further on.
All traces of levity vanished from Elrohir's mind.
Time wasted, he thought. Time wasted we don't have.
"Turn around, everyone," the ranger sighed. "We're going back."