School's starting. I'll give you a second to grumble and groan. Go ahead, I'll wait.
Done?Ok.
Now that I'm back in school (technically, tommorow, but I'm among friends, so who cares?) it will take me a little longer to write. You wouldn't want me to fail right? Right?
I busted this one out as a kind of farewell-to-my-summer kind of thing. Enjoy it, I worked hard enough. :)
Witchwolf: Regular reviews are always appreciated. Act now, and recieve a free cookie! Seriously though, thanks for all your comments. I hated the Maker's Island myself, so I was determined to try and spice up the experience a little. I think I did pretty well, don't you think? And hope you enjoy the little peek at Tenari in this chapter, too.
Chapter 13
Valen was right, time was running out.
Alain knew he was inside the mirror, but beyond that, he didn't know much more. He could look into the mirror into the real world, where Valen fought Algaricciragla in vain. Besides the mirror, the area surrounding him was a white nothingness, with no up or down, left or right. Purgatory in the purest sense.
Not empty for long. I'm becoming a part of the beast, being absorbed. There was no pain, but it was torturous all the same, having to watch his spirit being torn from his body with no way to stop it. He could sense a looming presence watching him, becoming more and more obvious with each passing second. Alain guessed it was Algaricciragla's true form, not the pale imitation Valen was fighting. When he was totally absorbed, then the predator would come, to feed on his spirit. Not even the gods could take him to heaven (or hell) if there was no soul to carry.
Valen will win. He has to.
But what if he didn't?
It's only a golem.
But what if you're stuck here for eternity, in this white fog?
He couldn't come up with an answer to this question, so he pushed it away. He had to let go of his self, and believe in Valen. Belief saves lives, not gods. How often we forgot that, Trey had said often. He hoped fervently that his teacher was right.
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The mirror is the door. Valen thought, watching the golem carefully. Ki is the key. Ki, key. Algaricciragla feinted left, then pounced at him its arms spread wide to catch him. Valen ducked low, allowing the construct to sail over his bent form, then shoved a hard elbow into the golem's solar plexus. The golem's momentum didn't even slow, and he hissed through his teeth in pain. His arm felt like it was going to fall off. The creature landed opposite of him, and turned, its eyes narrowed into slits.
He tried to focus, slowly rocking the flail back and forth, almost hypnotically. But his darker self crowded in, replacing thoughts of calm and peace with rage and bloodshed. Alain was calm when he used Ki. Why aren't I? Algaricciragla knocked him headlong with a swift kick, and he skidded to a stop near the mirror. Frustration filled him, and he leapt to his feet, his pain forgotten. His self-control slipped, and he welcomed the beast in his blood. He charged the creature and swung his flail hard, no longer caring about the fact that the golem was immune to his attacks. To his surprise, just before the flail connected, it felt as if some force behind his swing had given it a great push, far more than Valen alone could have mustered.
There was a thundercrack of sound as the flail met Algaricciragla's chest. Instead of rebounding painlessly off its chest, as Valen expected, the golem was knocked backwards, slamming into the ground only a few feet away from the edge of the platform. A shard of its crystalline hide broke off at the impact, ricocheting dangerously close to Valen's head. Algaricciragla got up slowly, looking at Valen with a strange look in its eyes. Valen thought it was fear mingled with respect. Its prey had never struck back before. He looked down at the flail, and to his astonishment he could see the aura infusing it. He could really see it, the spectrum of colors similar to the mirror, only these never faded. This is just like what Alain did.. this is Ki?
There was no time to wonder about it though. Algaricciragla was coming at him again, and now he knew its plan had changed. Before, it had thought to play with him while Alain was drained. Now, it would kill him quickly, before his new abilities could manifest themselves. No matter. He knew what to do.
Valen turned to the mirror, looking at the Alain on the other side, then at Alain on the ground. He groped mentally, trying to recreate the sensation that had filled him previously. But there was nothing. Algaricciragla growled low from behind him, and panic filled him, as the aura around his flail began to fade. The aura itself wasn't dissipating, but his sight was. Then, the revelation struck. He stopped resisting the constant attack on his rational mind by his tiefling blood. He welcomed the darker urges with open arms. It was almost cathartic, like releasing a muscle that has tensed for a long period. Instantly, the flail's aura came back into focus, like he had removed a blindfold from his eyes.
My blood is the ki/key! That's why I've never noticed this power before!
Behind him, he could the clatter of the golem's nails on stone as it leapt into the air. Alain's eyes were staring over his shoulder. Valen ignored it, and swung hard at the mirror.
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Alain saw it all, though he was unable to recall how it all happened later.
Valen's teeth were gritted with exertion as he swung the flail. Alain saw that his aura was now almost completely a swirling red. More alarming was the bestial shadow hovering him like a second skin. It looked like some kind of demon, with a leering mouth filled with sharp crooked teeth and bright green eyes that you could get lost in. Or go mad, more likely.
Further above him was the construct, leaping high into the air to attack him. Alain didn't know how heavy the golem was, but he had no doubts that it could kill Valen just by landing on top of him. The life would be dashed out of him on impact.
All this seemed to go on in slow motion, as if these were figures in a play, which happened to be underwater. Valen had fought for countless years with his flail, and knew every inch of his weapon like his own body. It was a good swing, hard and true. But not strong enough. The flail would only crack the mirror, not break it. Then Algaricciragla would collide with Valen, killing him and taking his only chance of rescue.
At the same time, a voice whispered in Alain's mind, and he comprehended immediately. Perhaps it was the voice of Trey, from miles away. Perhaps it was Valen, communicating through their Ki-link in ways he did not know possible. It didn't matter. Raw power trembled in him as his hand filled with Ki. He formed the hand into a fist and swung. Both his hand and flail struck the exact same point on the mirror at the same time. A great rush of wind struck him, along with the sound of shattering glass. A small hole the size of his fist was opened up at the point of impact.
Alain was yanked through the hole, and only the rushing blackness of the dark met him.
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The mirror shattered, and for a moment Valen could see through it, into it, into the true mind of Algaricciragla. Then the mirror dissipated into a cloud of white smoke. At the same time, he heard a thud behind him. He wheeled about, his flail at the ready.
Algaricciragla was on the ground in the heap, knocked out of mid-pounce in response to the mirror's destruction. Previously, its hide had been clear, unmarked like an unflawed diamond. Now its body was smoky, darkened with soot and dust Gods knew what else. It got to its feet stiffly, and Valen realized its joints were rusted stiff. Whatever magical properties the mirror had bestowed were gone. To his surprise, the construct spoke in a harsh voice.
"I can't believe it," Algaricciragla said woodenly. "My first wound and my mirror gone in the same day. I suppose I will never see the sky Alsigard told me of."
Recovering from his shock, Valen stepped forward, preparing to finish the job. He saw that he could, too. With his newly-discovered Ki attacks, it would be child-play to smash the construct into tiny pits of gravel. But the golem held up a hand to block him, shaking its head.
"Stop. I will leave you in peace. The spirit of your friend has returned, and my mirror is broken." Valen turned to gaze at Alain's body and saw that it was true. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he could see his chest rise and fall as it had before. He hesitated, before attaching his flail to his belt and turning to the creature.
"Are you the one that tore apart those golems one level above here?" Valen asked. Algaricciragla nodded, his strange hybrid face expressionless. "The I won't kill you, as long as you agree to my condition."
"Speak. Algaricciragla, last and greatest golem of the Maker, is at your command." The golem said heavily. It feared this strange creature, with his flail of light. Would it be banished, or forced to destroy itself, or suffer some worse punishment?
Valen looked at Alain, considering. Then, with a shrug of his broad shoulders
(what the hell)
he began to tell Algaricciragla about the Valsharess.
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When Alain awoke, there was no sign of Algaricciragla or the mirror. Valen was sitting down examining the holes ripped into his armor critically. The young monk patted himself down self-consciously, checking to see if everything was intact. His head was ringing and his left hand throbbed, remembering the hard surface of the mirror. Valen paid him no mind; in fact, he looked determined not to speak first.
"What happened to the golem? Did you…" Alain asked, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. That was one out-of-body experience I can't wait to forget.
"Kill it?" Valen shook his head in a negative, his eyes remaining stubbornly on his armor. Satisfied that it was still usuable, he began the process of putting it back on. There was more to be said, but Alain went straight to the point.
"Don't tell me…"
Valen looked at him steadily, refusing to fidget. Finally he nodded.
Angry words rose in his throat ("How could you enlist something that almost killed us both!") and just as quickly died there. Instead, "How?"
"In exchange for his life, I made him promise to help us against the Valsharess. He didn't even allow me to give him directions. He's been down here a long time," Valen said, replaying the creature's words in his mind. "Plenty of time to explore, he said."
Neither said anything for a few moments, listening to the maddening drip-drip-dripping of water falling from some far-off stalactite. Finally Alain broke the silence with a question, "Valen, why did you let him go?"
"He reminded me of myself," Valen said slowly, looking at the ceiling steadily. "I told you I was a soldier, but I never told you where I fought." He sighed heavily, shifting his breastplate, which had begun to sag to one side. "I fought in the Blood War. You know what that is?"
Alain nodded. He had read about it somewhere before, though he could not recall when. The ancient war between devils and demons, for reasons which no one remembered or cared to know. A battle fought not for land, profit or weapons, only for blood, with soldiers that spawned in a never-ending cycle from various planes. Funny how much war seems to matter lately, and yet it means nothing at all.
"I don't remember it very well. Days melted into each other until the only thing that separated one from the next was the color of your opponent's lifeblood leaking onto the ground. I fought well, but I might as well have been trying to smash the sky instead of the pit fiends. It was hopeless. There was no cause, no meaning, and no use. Not that I realized that at the time. At the time, I didn't care."
"I see," Alain said, digesting Valen's story. "Algaricciragla was living a life similar to yours. Forced to stay in this cave, where his mirror was, killing whatever lives here for no reason other than to pass the time. So you gave him his freedom." Alain noted with some amusement how quickly they had changed from calling Algaricciragla "he" instead of "it."
"In exchange for one last battle," Valen finished. "And then, the gods grant him luck in whatever future he seeks."
"Hopefully, he'll be more successful in hunting the Valsharess' troops than he was with us."
"Us?" Valen snorted. "If I remember correctly, I wasn't the one lying comatose on the ground, now was I?"
"No," Alain shot back, with a smirk, "You were the one trying to elbow a crystal golem in the chest, if my memory serves."
They stared at each other, determined not blink first. Then they broke into laughter at the same time. It was a strange sound to hear in such a place, but in it the two become friends. He and Trey had formed a Ki-link secured with trust; already he could sense a link developing between himself and Valen. In time, with training, so would Valen.
When their laughter finally tapered off, Valen asked, "In all of my battles, I've never used- Ki, you called it? Do you know why that is?"
"Oh," Alain said, and to Valen's surprise, he chuckled. "That's an easy question. Ki is the energy of your mind, spirit, soul (whatever you prefer). But you've been repressing it this whole time. You're a tiefling, but you're allowing only your human "half" to fight. Your demon "half" never even factored. All this time, you've only harnessed half as much Ki as you can."
"But I have to repress it," Valen said, frustrated. "You don't know how I was before-"
"Doesn't matter," Alain said, cutting him off. "Don't worry about it, we'll talk about it when we get back to the camp."
"The camp? What about Trey? Didn't you say he was in trouble?"
"He was before," Alain replied matter-of-factly. "But not anymore."
"How do you know that? Is Ki really that powerful, and yet so unknown?"
"Yes. No. I don't know!" he cried angrily. "All I know for sure is, if something happens to him, I'll know." It was confusing. He and Trey had fought together for a long time, and been separated more than once. But never was it this bizarre. He didn't dare tell Valen earlier, but there was a lot to this Ki-link that he didn't know about. Could their combined Ki be so powerful? It had to be, he was sure he just wasn't hoping for the best for Trey's safety. He's doing his part. I have to do mine. "For now, we should return to Lith My'athar and prepare our defenses."
"That suits me," Valen said. He was eager to return to the Seer, and make his report. His unspoken fear lurked below his mind, ready to surface: that they would return to the camp only to find it in shambles. He buried it, refusing to entertain the thought. The Seer, Nathyrra, Imloth… all of them were fine. "We've got a long walk back, might as well start now."
"Don't worry about that, I'll handle it." Alain said, thinking of the Relic of the Reaper in his bag. A disconnected image from his dream flashed into his mind: the devil holding the Relic in one scaly palm. Stop it. You're no Seer. Don't let nightmares scare you.
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"Make your report, Jarluk." Tenari ordered tersely from his seat, scrutinizing the latest intelligence reports of Lith My'athar gathered by his scouts. The camp was no fortress, and its positioning was bad: boxed in by high stalagmites with only two gates to protect the doors. It would be costly and ineffective to starve the rebels out in a siege, making a frontal attack the most sensible option. The Valsharess wanted the rebels overwhelmed and wiped out. And what the Valsharess wants, the Valsharess gets.
"Right away, Commander," Jarluk replied in a clipped tone, which he hoped betrayed none of the fear he felt. He straightened the papers he held in his hand nervously, and stood at attention. Tenari had only taken command three weeks ago, and already there a multitude of rumors about him flying about the camp. Some claimed he had the luck of the Devil, as he was saved from execution by the Valsharess' "pet". Others suggested that he had been possessed by Mephistopheles, who had been commissioned by the Valsharess to sniff out any signs of disloyalty. Jarluk heard theses rumors and believed none of them. But he had to admit, there was something about this Drow's eyes… Can I see red in them? Must be my imagination.
"Ahem.." Tenari straightened the reports and leaned back in his chair, studying the sub-lieutenant lazily. "Our scouts report that the rebels camp of Lith My'athar appears to be buckling down for our attack. There is a lot of commotion going on behind the gate, but we have seen no sign of any additional soldiers being moved in. It is possible that they may have reinforcements coming in from the Dark River, but the priestesses doubt this."
Jarluk shifted a set of papers to the front and continued. "Morale is high, and there has been no reports of desertion." Of course. Where else could they run? The Valsharess controls everything. Tenari thought, bored. He could care less about morale, or the plans of the rebels. Just tell me you find that monk, Jarluk. That's all I want to here.
"However," Jarluk said, steeling himself for any outbursts from the commander, "there has been some unusual activity in this region."
"Really?" Tenari asked, eyebrows raised. "What kind of activity?" The army's march towards Lith My'athar had been mysteriously uneventful. It was good to know that his instincts were still sharp.
"An ally of ours, an outpost of illithids near Lith My'athar, has been burned to the ground. Completely decimated." That explains it. The flames must have scared off all but the very big creatures in the area.
"Ah. That is unusual." Unusual, but not disastrous. There were plenty more illithid promised to the Valsharess, after all. "I suppose this has something to do with the rebels, though I can't see how."
"Perhaps, sir," Jarluk replied crisply, a little relieved that Tenari had not made a fuss. "There are some slavers outside, some of ours, who claim to have seen who the culprit was."
"Bring them in," Tenari ordered, and Jarluk stepped outside the tent. A moment later, he re-entered, followed by three disheveled Drow, who looked almost hungrily around them, taking in the ornate decorations of the tent. Tenari paid them no mind, and Jarluk gave one of the Drow, an unofficial leader, a hard look. The Drow seemed to remember himself, and stopped staring.
"Ah, yes, my lord. My companions and myself had just arrived at Zorvak'mur. We had just captured a good number of Drow rebels just outside Menzoberranzen. We registered them as gladiators, and while I we were wandering around town," Probably wondering where to spend your money first, Tenari thought distastefully. He had no love for slavers. The money might have been good, but dealing in flesh trade went against even his few principles.
"We see this human in a helmet just walking around, not paying attention!" At this, Tenari visibly straightened his chair, instantly alert. Jarluk noticed this and wondered what it meant. The slaver did not pay attention but went on, "So we jump him, and throw him in with the rest of the gladiators. Well, it can't have been much more than an hour later when the same human goes running by like the wind!"
"What did he look like?" Tenari demanded, but the slaver, obviously used to telling stories where his listeners interrupted often, paid him no mind.
"All of the illithids were going mad. Their tentacles were twitching like mad, one even keeled over and started convulsing on the ground! Around then, this hook horror went berserk and swung one of those talons straight at-"
Tenari was up and across in the room in so little time that he didn't even seem to move. His papers weren't even blown off of his desk in his wake. He wrapped his fingers, long but as strong as steel, around the Drow's throat and pulled him close. "When I ask a question, I expect it to be answered? Understand?"
The slaver croaked unintelligibly. Jarluk couldn't blame him; with a hand closing his windpipe, he supposed that he wouldn't be able to do much more. Not that he pitied him, that was just the chance you took when you ignored a superior. How did he move that fast? He surprised me even more than these slavers!
Tenari's wrist tensed, squeezing for a second longer, then he released, wiping his hand against his tunic as if he had touched something disgusting. The slaver sunk to the ground in a quivering heap, both hands clutching his throat. The other slavers watched Tenari with more trepidation than anger.
"One more time," Tenari said, returning to his seat. "What did the human look like?"
"H-he," the slaver rasped, struggling to his feet. "He was bald, dark-skinned… had no weapons..."
Tenari's pulse doubled. There was no question. The slaver had given him a rather basic, but accurate description of the same human that had thwarted him in Undermountain and consequently nearly gotten him executed. Hate is often stupid, sometimes fierce, but nearly always enduring in the Drow world.
After the slavers had been dismissed, Tenari turned to Jarluk. "Where was the human headed?"
"The human was seen departing Zorvak'mur with a group of Drow. As of now, we only have a rough idea of his whereabouts."
Tenari considered. What he really to do was gather a small posse and leave camp immediately to pursue the monk. But he couldn't do that now, not as commander of the army. Not unless he wanted to have his head on a pike outside the Valsharess' gates. As much as his heart cried out for revenge, he had to push on for the rebel camp. Besides, he's obviously working with the rebels. With some luck, I'll meet him on the field and have the pleasure of leading these Drow to victory at the same time.
"Sir, why does this human matter? He's just one human, right?" Jarluk ventured tentatively. Tenari could have laughed aloud. How he could possibly answer that question? That's what I thought too, Jarluk, that exact same thing! What can one human do? How about destroy my chances at a promotion? How about outwitting me not once, but twice? Not so useless after all, especially if that devil wants him dead too.
Instead he said, "the human does matter, Jarluk. He is obviously the one who incited the thralls to revolt and destroyed the outpost, with plenty of help of course. But for the time being, he is not yet important to attract the attention of this army. That will be all, lieutenant."
Jarluk left the tent quickly, feeling one part relieved and two parts unnerved. The commander had lied to him, which by itself was not distressing at all. Generals lied to their troops all the time, after all. Maybe soldiers even needed to be lied to, in order to fight effectively. But the lie, along with the fact of how fast Tenari had moved… well that changed things. Anyone who could stay out of the reach of someone who could move so quickly must be fearsome indeed… but it was still only a human. Still, there was something about that look in his eye when the slaver had mentioned the human…
If Jarluk had the time to ponder that look in Tenari's eyes, perhaps this story might have ended quite differently. But at the moment, a Duergar drill sergeant asked him for some help in dealing with an unruly gang of dwarves, which pushed the thought out of his mind, and when he finally finished with the dwarves, he found he had forgotten it completely.
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Two days after their escape from Zorvak'mur, Trey, Delion, and several Drow returned in arms. With the death of their Overmind, the illithids were caught completely by surprise. The mind-flayers were slaughtered, the outpost destroyed, and the thralls freed. Trey had kept his promise.
In between the days between their flight from the outpost and their return, Trey learned a great deal about the former gladiators. At first, even after saving his life, Delion had been suspicious of him. However, to Trey's surprise, the tattooed Drow warmed up to him once he heard about the Seer.
"Funny you should mention the Seer," Delion had said. This was after their flight from the illithid. The group had set up a rough kind of camp a few miles away, behind a large grove of giant mushrooms. (The mushrooms smelled like moldy cheese and looked about a thousand years old, but at least they didn't move, which wasn't uncommon, Delion said.) No one was very concerned about an illithid tracking party sent to pursue them; with the death of their leader still on their minds (literally) it would take them some time to get organized. "I was on my way with my men to meet her before we were captured by those slavers. She has a lot of influence among those unwilling to side with the Valsharess. Unfortunately, they aren't many of us."
"Speaking of which, why did you choose not side with her?" Trey asked. They were sitting around a small fire, away from the main group of Drow, who were eating food stolen from the illithid outpost and talking loudly in the Drow tongue.
"Spite, I suppose. It was the same feeling many other Drow experienced at the time. My house, along with a few others, attempted to remove her from power when she first appeared. Of course, the Valsharess, along with her devil, defeat us easily, and we were scattered and destroyed. I don't even know if any of my brothers and sisters are alive… not that that matters, of course." Of course, Trey recalled. Drow weren't too big on family. "I could of have leeched my way into my camp, become a soldier, that type of thing. But at the time, I was too young, too full of anger. I wanted to kill her myself, with my own two hands. Then I met the Seer."
Delion's expression changed, not to one of dumb reverence, but respect and awe nonetheless. "I had never encountered anyone like her- still haven't, in fact. She told me I could hold onto one thing: my hate, or my life. I chose to live. Since then, I've worked hard, staying in the shadows, gathering what allies I could, trying to do as much damage as I can. But it was slow work."
"How did you know so much about Zorvak'mur?"
"Towards the end (of my house, I mean), we became in desperate need of soldiers. Thralls were the next best thing. The illithids sold us their thralls at a bargain price. What we didn't know was that even then, the Valsharess had already seduced them with her promises of power. Halfway through the battle, the thralls turned on us, just as the illithids had told them to do. But during that last month, I learned a lot about the illithids." Delion grimaced in disgust, recalling some old memory. "More than I wanted to, actually."
"How close are the Valsharess' forces?" Trey asked, before cursing his stupidity. He had left the most important question for last.
"Not far now." Delion said, poking the fire with a stick morosely. "Nowhere left to run. The Seer's camp will be wiped out. Don't get me wrong- you did good work back there, with the Overmind! But that was one illithid outpost of many."
Trey buried his face in his hands, thinking furiously. Finally he raised his head and asked, "What do you plan to do now?"
"The plan is to go to Lith My'athar, and do what we can to prepare for the storm. There's not much time for anything more elaborate." Delion looked at the monk curiously, who was staring into the fire as if hypnotized. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." So much time we've wasted! The Valsharess is already here, and as we are now, we won't be able to stop her. "The Valsharess' army is made up of beholders, illithids, and undead, along with Drow, right?"
"Yes. All three groups are centered in this area, and will join her troops when they come through. Why?"
"Which is the closest group?"
"Well, there have been sightings of undead close by here. There's supposedly some kind of unholy church, or cult, or something of that sort. But surely you can't be thinking of going there?" Delion looked stricken.
"You guessed it," Trey resounded grimly. "There's nothing I would like more than to return to the Seer; I have a friend there, as well as business to attend to." Myrune…I wish I could see the look on your face, but it seems I'll miss that pleasure. "They outnumber us. If we can't find a way to prevent the Valsharess' allies from reaching her, then the attack will turn into a massacre."
Now it was the Drow's turn to stare into the fire. He took a long time to answer, but when he did, his eyes were hard. "I can't ask, or order, the others to come with you- they've been through too much already."
Trey nodded in understanding. "I expected as much. Thank you for your aid Delion-"
"Hold on!" Delion interrupted. "You didn't let me finish. I can't order them to follow you, but I can't let you go alone. I'm coming with you. With the undead, it's good to have a partner close by, and who better to watch your back than a former back-stabber? What do you say?"
Trey was struck dumb by his shock, before a large sunny grin, burst on his face, dropping the years off his face like magic. Fate is too kind to me. Who would have known that I would find both opportunity and support in one who should have been my worst enemy? "You're more than welcome," he managed.
"Good," Delion replied, smiling as well. He had little time to smile and less to laugh over the years; precious little. But it was good to know that he was still able to smile, without it feeling unnatural. Damn good, in fact. "But before we leave, we need to take care of those illithids first."
"Of course." Still, Trey couldn't shake a feeling of foreboding. Perhaps he was growing paranoid in his old age, but all this good fortune was making him nervous. The brighter the sunshine, the wetter the rain. Cynical as hell, I know. Sorry Alain. Just a little longer.
Two days after their return to Zorvak'mur, Trey and Delion departed from the much larger company of Drow, after giving them directions to the Seer's camp. Trey also passed along a warning of House Mae'vir's treachery, but did not give them his whereabouts. If the company of rebels were intercepted before they reached the camp, Trey wanted any sensitive information kept to a minimum.
Delion led the way, being that he was a more experienced traveler in the Underdark, and had a rough idea of where to go. Their trek was surprisingly uneventful. When Trey commented that he had not expected the Underdark wilderness to be so peaceful, (if you ignored the glowing eyes peeking out from the shadows whenever they made camp), Delion explained that the fire from the illithid outpost had scared most of the dangerous predators away.
"Most of them away, anyway. I won't make any promises." Delion grunted, as their way across a outcropping of rock protruding high over an underground river miles below. The path was narrow and filled with small stones, but Delion seemed to have no trouble. Trey was much slower in crossing.
"Of course." I guess fire has the same effect on predators, both above ground and below. "Speaking of which, how do you plan on fighting them off?"
"Speak for yourself, monk!" Delion laughed as he reached the other side of the precipice. He patted two small sheaths hanging at his belt for emphasis. "I picked these up on our way out of the cell. I feel much safer holding these than I would unarmed, like you. Now, keep quiet! Voices can carry a very long way from up here."
Trey looked at them doubtfully. It took a great amount of skill to fight with such small blades. He hoped Delion was as good as he thought he was them. Then again, after being trained to use a dagger, a weapon of choice for many Drow, could short swords be much of a stretch?
After a week, they at last found a sign of some sort of habitation : a small sign, labeled Drearing Deep: All Welcome! There was a small brownish stain splashed on the faded wood, across the "m" in "welcome". Delion took a closer look, and pronounced the stain as dried blood. Blood, which meant…
"Vampires, I guess." Delion sighed heavily, still looking at the stain, which seemed like a grim paradox.
"I don't have too much experience with vampires," Trey said, believing it was best to be honest. After all, the more you know about your enemy, the less you had to prepare.
"No one does, really. Most of the things you've heard about vampires are true: they suck blood, they don't age, they keep their true forms in coffins. But when talk turns to their destruction… that's when the conversation uses less fact and more speculation. The most commonly known tenet is that belief kills a vampire, not holy water, or stakes or fire.
"Belief?" Trey was confused. "What do you mean?"
"Let me explain it this way. An atheist faced with a vampire, and armed with a bottle of holy water, doesn't stand a chance. But at the same time, a cleric with the same weapon is not guaranteed to win either. It's the size of their belief that matters. If I believe you can kill them with water, and you believe you can kill them with fire, then any vampire who faces us has both to fear. But if the vampire can shake that belief-"
"Then we lose the power we hold over it," Trey finished. Delion's explanation rung true to him, even though he hadn't yet seen evidence of a vampire. Who was to say a clove of garlic was powerless against such creatures of the night? It was all in who you asked. "But you've never fought one?"
Delion shook his head. "Have you?"
"No. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Vampires can't cross running water," Delion replied, and the two shared a laugh before continuing into the cave. The pathway was lined with phosphorescent lichens, until the reached the mouth of the entrance. Here the cavern opened up, showing them people of many races, not undead, walking about in safety. There were short, but quaint buildings constructed out of stone. In a valley, fishermen milled about an underground river, in the process of bringing in their catch. At first glance, here was the picture of a typical community: surviving the elements, avoiding predators, making the best of life with the help of their neighbors. But something was wrong. Trey could see it in their auras. A woman passing by stole a glance at him, noticed him looking, and quickly looked back at her feet. Her aura was a pinched, faded gray mixed with flickers of yellow.
"Everything seems right… except the people," Delion murmured. No kind words were exchanged among the passerby, and no one seemed to meet another's eye.
"Do bats usually grow to that size down here?" Trey asked, pointing at a large, low-flying bat overhead.
"Not if they're sticking to the usual diet of bugs and fruit," Delion replied quietly. "Maybe they're getting something else in their diet…" He trailed off, but the same thought flashed in both of their minds: like blood.
"Welcome, welcome!" a cheerful voice chirped from below them. Both males flinched visibly, reaching for a weapon, but the voice spoke up again before either had a chance. "Down here, fellows!"
The voice belonged to a small, roly-poly rock-gnome who introduced himself as Cordigan, the "unofficial" spokesman of Drearing Deep. Trey didn't know how he had allowed the gnome to sneak up on him (then again, maybe we nearly tripped over him, he amended) or how much he had overheard. More importantly, he had mistaken Cordigan's tone for good cheer instead of recognizing what it truly was: fear thinly veiled with good cheer. The rock-gnome's eyes had a disconcerting habit of flicking rapidly from Delion to Trey to Delion again, making eye contact briefly before jumping to their surroundings.
"It's good we found you then, Cordigan. We needed to speak with someone in charge." Trey said, ignoring how the gnome seemed to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet.
"Who, me? In charge? Ohhh, no, no sir, not me. I'm not your man, Dan!" Cordigan giggled absurdly, his black eyes scanning the ceiling rapidly.
Delion gaped at him, confused. "But you just said-"
"Weelll, being a spokesman is a fairly powerless position, y'see. You don't want to come to me for a decision. Apparently, I've been told I have too short an attention span for that kind of thing." Cordigan's eyes rolled comically, as if he found those views amusing. His shoulder shrugged in a Whatcha gonna do? expression.
"Well, who should we talk to then?" Delion asked, exasperated. Maybe I should have drawn my blades when I had the chance.
Cordigan's easy smile and laughing eyes disappeared, making him appear uncharacteristically solemn, and somehow smaller. "The real authority only appears when it's time for a Ceremony. And a Ceremony only happens when the gong before the temple is rung."
"Temple?" Trey asked, more to himself than Cordigan. His mind jumped back to what Delion had said concerning a church and made the connection.
"Ceremony?" Delion questioned, ignoring Trey. "What do you mean?"
But Cordigan would say no more. The two walked on through the town, still taking everything in. A Duergar female with a bad leg and a runny nose hocked her goods without much enthusiasm; business must be bad. Groups of people huddled around fires outside, their faces dirty and their eyes dead. Those eyes reminded Delion of the look in a thrall's eyes in Zorvak'mur. To Trey, it stirred up memories of the restless dead. And everywhere they saw those bats, watching them almost like sentinels.
At last, they saw the gong Cordigan had told them about, sitting unobtrusively in the middle of the road at the bottom of a small hill. The temple loomed over it like a suspicious parent, giving them the impression that they were being watched. Delion kneeled in front of the gong, studying it curiously.
"There are runes here," he said, running his fingers over the engravings in the brass gong. "But I can't read them. Why is that?"
"What's wrong?"
"There are only Drow, svirfneblin, and human here. I can understand all those languages. So why is this gong written in a completely different language?" Something is definitely off here. Which came first, the people or this town?
Trey shook his head. "We already know what it does, anyhow. According to Cordigan, we ring this, a "Ceremony" occurs, and we get some direction on where we can find those undead."
"I don't know…" Delion said doubtfully. He was remembering the look in the rock-gnome's eyes, when he had spoken of the gong, and the Temple. There had been fear in his eyes, no doubt about that, but also… a kind of ruthless determination, the look a man gets before he does something he knows will be unpleasant but is also necessary.
"Too late for 'I don't know's'…" Trey replied simply. He picked up a small, straight stick and rapped it against the surface of the gong. Although he hadn't hit the brass particularly hard, the sound seemed to resound upon itself, growing louder and echoing off the cavern walls. The town was perfectly still for a moment, as the sound faded into nothingness, then began to stir with activity. From higher up, coming from the Temple, Delion could hear the sound of a door opening.
"I think you got their attention," Delion whispered, standing up and stepping away from the gong, which was still vibrating. The two allowed themselves to fade into the crowd, unwilling to be identified as the ringers of the gong. They would not have been hard to find, being the only ones who were dressed in something other than simple clothing (Delion wore chainmail, while Trey's shaved head stood out amongst the crowd.) The villagers paid them no mind. Trey didn't need to look at their auras to see that they were stricken with fear. Everyone's eyes were riveted on the strange-looking man flanked by two guards who had descended from the temple.
Not a man at all, Trey thought, distressed. He may look like one, but this one has no aura, and that pretty much settles things, doesn't it?
Delion could have laughed aloud. That rock-gnome knew exactly what we were here for, didn't he? Damned if he didn't set this up anyhow!
The man standing in the center of the crowd was a true vampire, centuries of age and his true features cleverly disguised with illusionary magic. Nonetheless, no amount of magic could conceal the man's pallid skin and sickly pallor. Black, greasy-looking hair hung from his scalp. His glittering eyes seemed to take everything in. You cannot keep secrets from me, those eyes seemed to say. Sooner or later, everything comes to me. His clothes were much finer than those of the villagers, and by the markings on the staff he carried, Delion placed him as some sort of priest. If that's a priest, I can't wait to see their god…
"The gong has sounded. A Ceremony has been called for." The man cried, and several people seemed to flinch; whether at the sound of his voice or "Ceremony", Trey did not know. Where's that accent from, anyway? I don't recognize it.
"Once more, Vix'thra turns his ancient gaze upon us," the priest intoned, beginning a slow, circling path on the outskirts of the path, so that he could look into the faces of the villagers. Not a single eye met his. "For centuries, Vix'thra has given us his followers food, clothing and protection in return for one thing: belief!"
"Belief, hah!" a frightened old man behind Trey muttered. "Except the 'believer' never comes back!"
"I believe I hear one of our own volunteering for a change!" the priest said brightly, looking over in Trey's direction. His hearing was extremely sharp. His eyes passed over Trey's face, seemed to pause there, before passing on. "Well? Speak up, there's no need to be shy!"
The old man behind Trey cowered, trying to hide behind him. He's too old. He doesn't need this, a voice that sounded like Alain's said. Do something! Impulsively, the monk raised his hand in the air.
"Ah!" the priest said, sounding positively delighted, his dark eyes lighting up. "A new face! Come forward, come forward…" the crowd of people parted, almost afraid to touch him. Trey walked into the center, quickly scanning the crowd for Delion, who was looking at him incredulously.
"You are new," the priest commented, looking at him hungrily. Trey tried to not to shiver under his gaze. Aren't vampires kind of… sensual or something like that? They have a taste for our flesh, and not just our blood. An amused (smaller) part of his mind laughed at his discomfort rather unkindly. Rape is kind of a minor consequence here, Trey. Focus.
"My name is Sodalis," the priest said, bowing almost mockingly to him. "Do you know you are our first volunteer in…" he put a hand on his chin, pretending to think, then shrugged. "Never!" He nodded towards the guards, who grunted and flanked Trey. So I can't run.
"Take him to the temple, I will be there shortly," Sodalis muttered, before turning to the crowd. "The Ceremony has ended. Please return to your homes. Praise Vix'thra, whose mighty power proves everlasting!"
The crowd began to disperse quite quickly, like condemned men who had barely escaped their punishment. Damn it, Trey! Delion cursed mentally. As Sodalis walked up the slope towards the temple, Delion squeezed his way out of the crowd and followed him.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
The door closed with a resounding clang. Sodalis stopped a moment longer to lock the double doors, before turning to regard Trey with a chilling smile. Both guards shifted next to him, putting a hand on the sheath of their swords. Not one of your best plans, Alain said inside his head, and Trey could almost see the grin on his face.
"Who are you?" Sodalis asked, almost casually.
"M-my name is Alain," Trey said quickly, hoping he had injected the right amount of nervousness into his voice. When the guard behind clouted him on the back of his head with his sword hilt, dropping him to his knees, he knew he had not.
"Don't mock me," Sodalis warned icily. "You are no former slave, and you do not belong here!"
"Actually, you're wrong," Trey grunted, rubbing the welt on his head gingerly. "I am a former slave. In fact, I was almost enslaved again quite recently."
The guard raised his sword, lining up for another blow, but Sodalis stopped with a raised hand. He bent down until his eyes were level with Trey's. His eyes were like black stones shining against a backdrop of unnaturally smooth skin. "You are a spy. Where are you from?"
Lith My'athar. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, and he realized that the creature was trying to hypnotize him. He tore away from the gaze of those eyes and forced himself to look at the ground. "Ok, you win. I'm actually a traveling scroll salesman. Would you like to purchase a Darkness spell?"
The guard kicked him in the ribs with one booted foot, and Trey bent over, gasping for air. Sodalis tutted sympathetically, standing up. "I do so hate it when they resist. Look up, human."
Trey inclined his eyes, staring up at Sodalis. I hope he doesn't spit on you or something, Alain commented wryly from the back of his mind. You might catch whatever he's got. But Sodalis didn't spit. He opened his mouth, and Trey saw that razor-sharp incisors had replaced his previously dull teeth. When he closed his mouth to speak, his accent was decidedly more pronounced.
"You hoff come searching for undeath, yes? You hoff found it then, in me." Sodalis leered at him gruesomely, causing a burst of goosebumps to break out on the back of his neck despite himself. "Strip him and bring him to my quarters."
Sodalis turned his back on them and went upstairs, closing the door behind him. The temple guards lifted Trey to his feet roughly, pushing him against one of the stone pillars. Both glared at him, blood-red eyes shining through their black helmets.
"You heard the man," one guard said gruffly. "Strip." He put a hand on his sword, as if waiting for Trey to argue. Time to cut the act. Trey exhaled slowly, gathering his Ki and preparing for a charge. But before he could move a muscle, utter darkness fell over him. He threw himself hard to his right, hearing the two guards grunt at the same time, and thinking Have I gone blind?
Quite abruptly, his blindness left him as he straightened up from his roll. It was bizarre. A globe of darkness surrounded the area where he had just been standing. The darkness was so complete that he flinched when Delion emerged from the blackness a few seconds later, his eyes gleaming. The Drow winked at Trey and snapped his fingers, extinguishing the darkness and revealing the guards sprawled on the floor with three-inch gashes in their throats.
"How did you get in?" Trey asked, rubbing his head again to disguise his surprise.
"Just slipped in behind Sodalis. Surprised you didn't notice me," Delion smirked as he stooped to wipe his blades clean on the back of one the guards' tunic.
"I was a little busy," Trey replied dryly. The two surveyed the temple slowly. Trey couldn't see how anyone would come into this place willingly, past or present. Thick cobwebs lined the corners, and the ground had about an inch of visible dust. The walls appeared to have runes written across them, the same that had been on the gong. There was absolute quiet, save a mysterious thump in the next room, behind a closed door. Delion imagined a tomb, filled with the restless dead, knock-knock-knocking on the surface of the stone and shivered. Suddenly shadows began to shift in every dark corner.
"Let's go pay Sodalis a visit," Delion said, trying to hide his discomfort. "This place is des'tai."
"Hmm?" Trey grunted, looking closely at a pictograph on the wall which displayed a man appearing to have his skin peeled off an inch at a time.
"Not good. Stop staring at the walls, and come on!"