Witchwolf: Ah, nice catch. I should have known better about the darkvision thing, but I mostly play humans in Neverwinter Nights, so what can you do? ;) As for the scrolls… Sodalis used to taunt his victims. Potential vampires would be given the scroll and believe they could escape their fate, only to discover that it was too weak. Of course, it loses its effect if no one can read it, so the scroll was written in Common. (And if you still don't believe that… monks can cast lesser restoration in the game, can't they:) And Delion… what can I say? I just write down what the mind dreams up, there's no control there. Will he become a vampire? I'm not telling.
Charlie: Happy (belated) b-day! I purposely leave both Trey and Alain's ages vague, but at the time of Alain's war story, he was in his late teens, which makes his present age somewhere in the early 20's.
Ah, such dedicated reviewers. Brings a tear to my eye.
Enjoy.
Chapter 15
The room was silent as several Drow filed in, each taking a seat around a circular table, crafted out of stone. Among these Drow were the Seer, Matron Myrune, Tebimar, Valen, Imloth, Nathyrra, and several lieutenants, both Mae'vir and followers of Eilistraee. Last of all came Alain. The air was thick with tension, as members of each respective side glared at each other (except for the Seer, who seemed immune to such things). Which side should speak first? Who was dominant here? Wishing to keep the meeting neutral, Alain spoke first, seeing as how he was the only human.
"The leaders of both rebel groups have been called together to discuss our strategy," Alain said, clearing his throat. All Drow eyes on the Mae'vir eyes rotated to him, now making him the focus of their dislike. Ignoring them, Alain continued, "We have received word from our scouts that the army of the Valsharess is less than five days away. Currently, they are awaiting their allies, which will congregate at that spot, before continuing towards us."
"How large is their army?" asked the Mae'vir commander, a swarthy Drow named Harona.
Alain sighed, lowering his eyes to stare at the rough stone surface of the table. "We estimate about five hundred Drow, not including their allies. In total, about eight hundred."
A wave of muttered whispers rolled down the table as the information was processed, digested and calculated. The rebels had about a hundred fifty Drow, armed with weapons and armor of dubious quality. The Valsharess' army was made up of ruthless killers of many races, all equipped with the best armor that could be plundered/bought. Needless to say, the odds weren't in their favor.
When Myrune spoke, all whispers ceased. "Is there any chance of escape?" she asked, and when Alain eyed her, scrutinizing, she added quickly "So that we can regroup, find some more allies?" I'm sure that's what you want. Alain thought. Just trying to save your worthless hide.
"There are no more allies to call, Myrune," the Seer replied serenely. "I am afraid that there will be no more running?" Myrune didn't reply, but there was a look in her eyes Alain didn't like. He knew that, if she was given the opportunity, she would quickly defect during any "regrouping" and damn anyone else.
"There will be no escape," Valen said flatly. "There were escape tunnels installed in the back of Lith My'athar, but they have been destroyed, just this morning. Every tunnel is sealed tight with tons of rock, which was detonated by a few kegs of alchemist fire."
Once more, a ripple of whispers went down the table. "Why would you do such a thing?" demanded Tebimar "Do we not have a choice in the matter?"
Before Alain could reply, Imloth, with a scowl on his face, retorted angrily, "No, you don't have a choice. I know how willing you would be to sell us all out if there was a chance to defect."
Tebimar sputtered, enraged at the commander's nerve. "Why would I entrust my life to a soldier who hasn't won a single battle?"
"Because we are the best chance you have," Valen said silkily. "And if you think you can do a better job leading the troops, by all means, enlighten me."
Tebimar muttered something unintelligible and lowered his eyes quickly. Whatever else he may have been, he was not foolish enough to provoke the tiefling. Word spread quickly of Valen's ferocious temper. As skilled as Tebimar was, his strength was nothing compared to the half-demon's.
"There is no cause a soldier will fight more fiercely for than his life," Valen continued. "By cutting off our escape, our soldiers will be encouraged to fight their hardest- because if they don't, they're dead. There won't be any 'regrouping.'"
No one could deny the logic of Valen's words. All the same, Alain noticed Myrune's eyes narrow. Was she angry at Valen's words, about regrouping? Or is it because she had just lost of her options? I can't believe Trey was fooled by this snake, Alain thought angrily. It was all he could to keep from leaping across the table and throttling her on the spot. Because of her selfishness, she almost caused the death of his teacher.
"So just what is our strategy?" Harona demanded, leaning forward. "All the evidence seems to suggest surrender."
"There can be no surrender," the Seer said implacably, shaking her head. "However, we have concocted a strategy, that may prove effective. Alain, if you please…?"
"Of course, Seer," Alain said, making brief eye contact with Valen. Here was the critical point. "We have several traps set up around the area. Most notably, we plan to make use of the several stalactites of in this area, along with our own tunnels, which leads from the camp into the battlefield. A small amount of firecrackers are placed along the mouth of the tunnel, while the stalactites are wired with alchemist fire."
"What do you plan to do with them?" Tebimar asked, his voice scornful. Alain noticed Myrune watching him closely, almost hungrily. Good.
Valen, at Alain's gesture, began to explain. "The firecrackers will be set off, and the ensuing noise and light will be off to startle the enemy. Our troops will be stationed just out of sight, beneath the tunnel, and burst out in the chaos. At the same time, the kegs of alchemist fire will detonate from above, causing the stalactites to rain down among the enemy."
"And what about after the enemy recovers from that? Our troops will be surrounded and outnumbered," Harona reasoned.
"By then, our troops will have pulled back into the tunnels," Alain explained. "If our enemy attempts to follow (and they will) then a second keg of alchemist fire will explode, sealing the tunnel off. We can't hope to win with this plan, but it should significantly reduce their numbers, with little loss of life on our side."
There was silence on the Mae'vir side. Then, rather crossly, Harona said, "Is that all we can do?"
"No, that's part one," replied Alain. "Next, our forces will drop back to the inner gate, leaving our outer gate unprotected."
"Are you mad!" Tebimar exclaimed. "Why should we do that?"
"Still your tongue long enough to find out," Nathyrra said harshly. "Such obvious bait will make the Valsharess wary, and she will hold her troops back, leaving them open to our archers. But when she does break her way into the courtyard, then the next phase will begin."
"What is it? What is your next plan?" Myrune questioned, almost anxiously.
"The outer gate will be detonated from the inside, using explosives. This will cut the Valsharess' army into two: one inside the courtyard, and the rest outside. Once that is done, the second batch of explosives attached to the stalactites above will blow, crushing our enemy beneath them. Then, we will open the second gate and mop up any survivors. In this way, we hope to wipe out at least half of their company."
"And the shattered outer gate creates a barricade against the rest of their army." Valen added.
"Well," Myrune said after a short silence, "I must say that this plan is quite…ingenious." She was almost smiling as she said this, almost gleeful, and Alain could only imagine what she was thinking. "If there is nothing else…" she stood up, ready to leave.
"Of course," the Seer agreed. "We will contact you if there is anything else."
"Please do," Myrune replied, smiling. She exited the room hastily, followed closely by her subjects. After a few moments, the Seer and her company, along with Alain, followed. Both groups left the meeting thinking that they had been in control.
Myrune was quite pleased with the recent turn of events. She had dispatched an emissary to the Valsharess only a few days ago, and now the entire rebel plan had fallen into her lap, a veritable jewel of information that she could dole out as she saw fit. She had absolutely no qualms over her defection; her sense of self-preservation was much stronger than any ties of loyalty. 800 vs. 150? There was no chance at all, and only a fool wouldn't attempt to escape defeat.
Alain left the meeting just as satisfied. Myrune would play her role as a doomed spy extremely well, as long as she attempted contact with the Valsharess. Just about everything she had been told at the meeting was a lie. Valen had told them that the Valsharess' army was closer to five hundred, than eight hundred, probably a little less. There were tunnels beneath the field, but if the opponent chose to enter them, then they would quickly be buried alive, as the tunnels had been dug very recently. It had been Valen's idea to leave the outer gate open to the enemy, his inspiration being Alain's story of Breakwood, but Alain did not know why. Valen had reassured him that there was a reason for leaving the courtyard open though, and Alain trusted him.
I only wonder if Algaricciragla will show himself soon. He's the only help we will have, if he hasn't betrayed us too.
Valen, who had lagged behind to speak with the Seer, caught up with Alain. "The meeting went well," he said evenly.
Alain nodded, glancing around for anyone listening in. "Yes."
"Do you think she'll take the bait? Nathyrra doesn't believe she will."
"I know…it doesn't matter," Alain said, shaking his head. "Either way, she's a doomed spy."
"What makes you think that?"
"If she defects, then she passes on false information, giving us the chance to catch her in the act of betrayal. If the Valsharess chooses to welcome her to their side, we will declare her as the spy, and the Valsharess will kill her for us." Any anger of feelings of revenge that still lingered had by now disappeared. Such thoughts seemed unbecoming of a monk. Ill feeling grows until it consumes us, he thought.
"It's almost funny how things work out," Valen said, musing to himself. Alain looked at him sharply.
"What's funny?"
"If Trey hadn't confronted Myrune, then it's unlikely that we would have ever found out about her deceit until it was too late. So, even though he may be in great danger, he still found a way to help."
Alain didn't find the idea of Trey in trouble too amusing. Still, Valen had a point. His teacher had stepped back from the foreground, had tried to give him room to grow… but even so, he had not abandoned him to the title of 'Savior.' We might have all been murdered in our sleep if not for him, Alain thought.
"Speaking of which," Valen said, lowering his voice. "How is he doing? Can you still sense him?"
Alain closed his eyes, his breathing slowed, and he appeared to be listening to some inner voice. Valen waited patiently, a little fascinated in spite of himself. At last, the monk opened his eyes again.
"Trey is still alive," Alain said quietly, "but in distress. Something is happening, wherever he is."
"Alain," Valen began, locking his steely blue eyes on his, "my offer still stands. There is still time to leave camp to look for him, and return before the Valsharess reaches here."
Alain smiled, but shook his head. He knew how much the tiefling wanted to stay at camp, to try and prepare the best he could for the coming onslaught. Volunteering to leave the camp must have seemed an almost cowardly act. Yet, he would still leave in a second, if only to help him. Valen, you sure have changed. It was hard to determine the exact point when Valen had stopped seeing him as "the monk" and started seeing him as "Alain."
"I appreciate your offer, but again, I will have to decline. I feel that Trey needs us to be here. After all, think of what we have accomplished: we've gained a new ally while discovering a traitor."
Valen wondered. That didn't sound too impressive, and had they really gained a new ally? There were reports of a strange creature to the north of the camp, but if it was Algaricciragla, why wasn't he showing himself? And what if Myrune discovered their true strategy? If you discounted what he and Alain had done, all that Lith My'athar had really gained were two monks. Powerful, strange monks, yes, but still only two. What could two do against an army?
"Do not worry," Alain comforted, misinterpreting his friend's mood. "As good as I am, Trey is even better. He is my teacher, after all. I have no doubt that he will return in time."
But deep down, Alain wasn't so sure. Through the Ki-link, he had a vague idea of Trey's location, but nothing definitive. His information was like trying to identify a shadow behind a curtain: he couldn't see the whole picture. One thing he was sure of though: Trey was having problems.
The two split in different directions, each having different duties to attend to: Valen, to look after Imloth's troops in training; Alain, to gauge for any weaknesses in the environment around the camp. Before going to meet the gate captain though, Alain went to the forge, the only place for quality armor and weapons in the camp.
"Rizolvir, how's business?" Alain asked, spotting the weapon smith hunched over the glowing core of his forge. Rizolvir's forge was certainly the most fantastic forge Alain had ever seen. Most smiths used molds and heat to create a blade from molten steel. Rizolvir's forge wasn't used to create weapons, but enhance or enchant them. How that was exactly accomplished, Alain wasn't sure. Long, colorful pipes in twisting shapes protruded from the top of the forge, which released colored smoke at intervals. The forge's operation relied on gold; Rizolvir was an artist as well as a smith, and his commission went directly into his work. Mere metal could not power such a magical device, instead, it was powered by the value of gold to the customer. The flames in a normal forge were often produced by coal. The flames in Rizolvir's forge never went out, and stranger still, anything removed from the fire would cool almost instantly. The only downside was that Alain didn't possess a single weapon which could withstand the heat in that forge.
"No better than usual," said Rizolvir, scowling. "So many wonderful weapons, and no one to buy them! Now, if you want to abandon that hand-to-hand nonsense…"
"No, I think not," Alain said with a grin. Rizolvir commented at least ten times a day on the fact that Alain had no other weapons than his hands. The idea of fighting without a blade was ridiculous to him. "But seeing how your forge has no other use right now… I have a job for you."
"What is it then?" Rizolvir asked, his curiosity piqued.
Alain outlined his plans quietly, hoping that the roar of the flames would hide their voices from any unfriendly listeners. When Alain finished, Rizolvir looked at him doubtfully, scratching his chin.
"What you want requires a lot of gold, my friend. It can be done, but… can you foot the bill?"
Alain responded by pulling off one of his satchels from his belt. It was small, made out of fine silk and utterly unimpressive. The monk turned it upside-down and gave it a few hard shakes. Nothing came out, and Rizolvir smothered a laugh behind one of his hands. Alain ignored him and shook harder. The bag seemed to squeeze together of its own accord, shrinking to the size of a balled fist; then, hundreds of gold coins flowed out of the bag like a tidal wave, far more than what the bag could contain. The coins piled up in a sand dune at Alain's feet.
"Is that enough?" Alain asked innocently, closing the bag and re-attaching it to his belt.
"M-more than enough," Rizolvir managed to say, his eyes bulging. "How did you get so much gold? No, never mind- I don't need to know. When do you need this done?"
"As soon as possible," Alain said crisply. "It's crucial to your survival, so I know I can trust you to move quickly." He turned to leave, but just as the smith began to shovel the coins into the forge, he turned back.
"What is it? Another rush order?" Rizolvir panted, pushing another armful of gold into the furnace.
"No, nothing like that," Alain said sheepishly. He poured a handful of shuriken from his bag, the very last of his supplies. "Could I have a few more of these?"
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Delion's body trembled, as he forced himself to climb to his feet. A fit of violent coughing struck him, and he hunched over, hacking it out of his lungs in shallow, tortured breaths. The inside of his mouth was dry, his tongue was a carpet stuck to the roof of his mouth. Trey gave him his hand, and Delion was relieved to see that he felt no sudden desire to sink his teeth into the monk. At least, not yet.
"I don't understand," Trey said, frustrated. "Why didn't the scroll work? He didn't even bite you! How could…" he trailed off, but Delion knew what he was going to say. How could I be transforming into a vampire?
"He likes doing it like this," Delion replied hoarsely. If only he could have some water! He was so thirsty. "He does this to his victims."
"How do you know that?" Trey demanded, but Delion ignored him. He didn't rightly know that himself, but it was said knowledge came at a terrible price. What more could you pay with, than your life?
"It's not the bite that turns someone into a vampire. It's the forced draining of their life-energy." Ki again, Trey thought. Sodalis has no aura, so it only makes sense that he would steal it.
"Sodalis did this to his victims," Delion repeated, speaking slowly, and with effort. His vision seemed to be dimming; Trey's face was growing slightly fuzzy. No matter. He didn't care to know why. "He would drain them, taunt them with those," he pointed to the scroll Trey was holding, "but of course it didn't matter. In the end, he always turned someone to his faith."
"The spell's too weak, is that it?" Trey said. "We'll just leave the temple and find a cleric. If we remove the spell, then the effects should be reversed before they become permanent."
"No," Delion said adamantly, though his voice trembled a bit. "We can't leave."
"Why not?" Trey nearly shouted. This is beyond my means to heal, and I doubt we'll find anything in this temple to reverse the transformation.
"Because," Delion replied steadily, "if we leave now, then the opportunity to help the Seer will pass."
"I don't understand you," Trey said, but Delion remained silent, knowing that Trey did understand. If they left the temple now, there would be no way to get back inside. Sodalis would return, and not even another Ceremony would get him to open the temple doors. At least, not for a while. But if they didn't leave the temple, then Delion would surely…
Trey cursed bitterly, spitting on the stone floor. Now he truly saw the extent of Sodalis' cruelty. He wants me to destroy my own companion, with my bare hands. Either that, or leave the Temple, and fail in my mission.
"Delion, you've got to leave. I can handle this on my own, but if you wait too long… The spell's effects will become permanent."
"I won't leave," Delion said firmly. "I can't. I said that I would help you, and I never go back on my word."
"Stop being stubborn. This isn't about your oath, it's about your life!"
Delion squared his jaw, his face set, and crossed his arms. "The more time we waste arguing, the less time we have. Let's do what we have to do, Trey." With that, the Drow turned and left the room without a look back. Trey sighed and followed after him. It wasn't a matter of pride, was it? Typical Drow were shifty sorts, who would shake your hand just as soon as stab you in the back. Delion was anything but ordinary.
He means to follow me, even suffering as he is. His belief in his cause is greater than his own life.
The two descended to the ground floor quickly, but they needn't have worried. If there was anyone else in the Temple, they had either gone to the lower levels or left, and the silence was eerie, but also welcome. The small key Trey had picked up off of Sodalis fit perfectly, and the lower level seemed to be even worse than the upper levels: that creeping sense of evil, that presence seemed to pervade the atmosphere even more so.
"We're not alone," Delion rasped faintly, when Trey commented on the disturbing lack of sound. But when Trey asked him to elaborate, the Drow would say no more. The corners of his eyes were glittering strangely, and Trey wondered if Delion could see something he did not.
The next room was empty, except for a large pit in the center of the room. The darkness was almost complete, and Trey could barely make out his hand in front of his face, much less the bottom of the hole. Delion's vision was better, because of his ultravision, but even he couldn't pierce the impenetrable darkness of the hole. Trey rubbed the magical crystal he kept in his bag, summoning a portable container of light, and peered down into the pit.
"This is obviously the way we must go," Trey noted, tossing a pebble into the dark. After what seemed a long amount of time, he heard the echoing crack as the pebble landed on the floor far below. "But how do we get down?"
"Maybe that rope might help," Delion commented sarcastically. Even in the dark, Trey saw, he did not look at all well. His eyes looked oddly glassy, and his hands shook slightly, as if feeling some change in temperature the rest of his body did not.
"That doesn't make sense…" Trey said, picking up the coil of rope, which lay near the edge of the pit. He hadn't noticed it a second ago. And if the rope was up here, how did anyone at the bottom of the hole get to the top? So many questions, and no one to answer them. But soon, someone will. Just as soon as I can them, Trey thought to himself.
The monk tied a loop of rock securely around a small hook jutting from the edge of the pit, specially made for that purpose, and tossed the rope down into the pit. Delion insisted on going down first, while Trey, hoping that the warrior had the strength remaining to keep a good grip on the rope, followed. They lowered themselves into the darkness for an interminable amount of time, the only sound being the rough scrape of cloth on rope and their harsh breathing. Finally, just when Trey felt he couldn't hold on any longer, his foot touched solid ground.
Oddly enough, the bottom of the pit wasn't cloaked in darkness; large torches with bluish flames hung from the walls at intervals along the room. Before they had any time to look around, a door Trey hadn't noticed opened, and a man wearing strange-looking robes came out. They were similar to his own clothes, and he guessed that the man must be a monk.
Not a man, Trey corrected. There was no aura surrounding the person, which meant another undead. Another vampire. Automatically, Trey glanced at Delion, half-expecting to see the Drow lunge at him with a mouthful of teeth.
No such thing happened. Delion looked a little unsteady on his feet, a little surprised, but that was all.
"A volunteer," the vampire crooned, walking into the light. "A human volunteer, devoted to Vix'thra. Are you ready to show your faith?" It licked its pale lips hungrily, and Trey noticed with some dismay that its eyes hadn't even flicked towards Delion. Does it only see me as prey? Has Delion already crossed over?
Apparently the same thought had crossed Delion's mind. "We've come to destroy this place, and your brotherhood. You would do well to view us as a threat!"
The vampire cocked its head to one side, looking at Delion with a confused expression. "What are you talking about, brother? Wait-who are you!" the vampire cried, growing alarmed.
"Don't call me brother!" Delion snarled, unsheathing his blades and charging the undead. Trey quickly followed after the Drow, pulling a few shuriken from his pocket and launching them at the vampire with his usual speed. Recovering from his shock, the vampire snatched them out of mid-air effortlessly just as Trey or Alain might have done. Just as swiftly, he threw the projectiles at the approaching Drow, who parried them with a few quick movements of his blade.
I forgot. "Be careful, Delion! He's a monk, like me!" Trey cried, but Delion had already engaged the vampire in combat. His bright blades lashed out, aiming for vital points, but were blocked at each turn by the vampire's skilled fingers. Each deadly blow was successfully turned astray. Delion put more force into his blows, growing frustrated at the vampire's cool eyes and grinning face.
"Hah!" he cried triumphantly, as he lopped off the vampire's left hand with a well-aimed swing. The vampire never paused, instead, it swung out with his opposite hand, palm open, driving it into the side of the Drow's head. Delion staggered back, his temple throbbing.
Before the vampire could make good on his counterattack though, Trey leapt in. With only one hand, the vampire was forced back by Trey's furious onslaught of jabs and kicks, giving Delion the time to recover.
Now, Trey thought, as he jammed the heel of his palm into the undead monk's jaw, exposing its neck. Delion lunged forward, pain forgotten, and swung his blade quickly. Trey could feel the wind from his swipe above his skin, and then the vampire's head was flying, landing with a hollow thump on the floor a few feet away. The gush of blood Trey expected never came. Instead, the vampire's body- even the head- began to rapidly decompose. Its pale skin melted into a jelly-like substance, which smelled terribly like old milk and cow dung. Its gaunt features oozed together like melting wax. Then, the jelly began to evaporate rapidly, heating up into smoke, instead of gas. To their surprise, the white smoke drifted past them like a living thing, under a door at the far end of the room. Delion reached the door first, only to find that it was locked.
"Out of the way," Trey ordered tersely, and when Delion obeyed, the monk took a breath, focusing his Ki in the center of his palm. Then he slammed the flat of his hand against the knob, which made a brittle shattering sound. When he moved away, the all that remained of the doorknob were a few metal shards.
"Quick," Trey said, with a note of urgency, and the two entered the next room. There, standing in front of a large sarcophagus, which was slightly ajar, was the vampire they had just defeated. And yet it was not the vampire. Their opponent had not looked healthy, but at least it resembled a human. What stood before them was the creature's true body, with all illusions and visual tricks cast away. An Elder vampire, one of the most powerful and feared of its kind. One of the very first.
Before, the vampire's features were that of a gaunt-looking young man. Now, his body was oddly twisted and wrinkled, sagging skin hanging off of a skeleton. It bared its fangs, which were yellow and jagged, all wickedly sharp. The undead's eyes were gone, the sockets were a greasy-looking black, with tiny specks of white peeking out like grains of rice: maggots, which squirmed and danced in the air. What use are eyes in this darkness? Trey thought dimly. It has other ways of seeing us.
"Outnumbered…" the vampire hissed, and Delion felt a chill run down his spine at the sound of its voice. Though the undead had no eyes, it seemed to make contact with Delion somehow…it was "looking" right at him. And then, like a malevolent spider that had crept in through some unknown entrance, he could hear the vampire's voice in his mind: Aid me.
A mental command from a creature as strong as a vampire, especially an Elder, compels the victim to obey, and there are few in Toril with the will to resist. And yet, Delion did. His body tensed slightly, ready to spring into action, then- forcibly- he relaxed his muscles. It was an effort. He would not turn on Trey, and he would not perform the deed that would destroy his humanity.
Aid me. the Elder commanded again, imposing its considerable will on Delion's mind. The strain was nearly too great, and the Drow found himself taking a step forward towards Trey with a hand on his blade. Then, with every ounce of mental strength he could gather, he forced himself to still his hand. Trey turned, took one look at Delion's shaking hand and unsteady gaze, and understood what was happening.
"Leave him alone!" Trey cried, leaping forward and unleashing a volley of shuriken. Steel had no effect on so powerful a creature though, and the projectiles thudded harmlessly into the dead flesh of the vampire. All Trey succeeded in doing was getting the Elder's attention, but that was enough. The vampire plucked out a shuriken embedded in its throat and looked at Trey almost distastefully.
Trey wasn't discouraged so easily. He threw a left jab at the vampire to disorient it, then followed up with a foot to the midsection. The Elder didn't even rock back on its heels; and when Trey looked at his knuckles, he saw that it was free of the grime and dirt he had expected to see after touching the Elder. Had he even touched it at all?
"It's beyond your powers to harm me," the vampire rasped, before letting out a croaking laugh that sounded like bones grinding against each other. It flapped a hand at Trey, dismissing him, before looking at Delion again. Leave me alone, so I can get back to work, Trey thought. That's what it's saying. Time for step two.
The monk extended one hand in front of him, palm up, and bent his knees, assuming a defensive posture. He pushed the Ki circulating through his body into that hand, like pushing the sand on a beach into one huge mound. The aura around his palm flared up, signaling the amount of Ki stored there, and he set his feet, lining up with his target. With this much Ki, he could part skin, bone, metal, or stone like wet paper.
Let's see you shrug this off. He charged the Elder, his Ki-charged palm held behind as if it was a heavy weapon. Once again, the Elder didn't move, it was a silent, gruesome sentinel. Just one big target. He swung his hand in a chopping motion, with all of his body behind it, and this time he saw exactly what happened. A half-inch before the vampire's hip, his hand stopped dead. All his forward momentum, all his strength, just stopped cold in a second. Some unseen force was acting as a barrier for the vampire, negative energy perhaps. Whatever it was, it was definitely stronger than him.
"I told you: you can't even touch me," the vampire whispered, and now it's head was far closer than he cared for. A ghost of a breeze blew across his face, but before he could even wonder if he had imagined it, he was pushed back, thrown back from the vampire, crashing into a large wooden crate lined against the wall. The crate was empty, and it splintered, covering him in a pile of wood-shaving and leaving his back feeling raw and burning. He pulled himself a to sitting position, winded.
"This is thirsty work," the Elder cooed, standing over the fallen monk. "I think I'll let your friend open you up before I take my drink." It bared its fangs, and Trey saw that even the vampire's mouth was rotting: its tongue was the dead carcass of an animal, and its teeth were crumbling ruins. Only its incisors were intact, sharp and gleaming.
Aid me! This time the mental command had the force of a rushing minotaur, and the last dregs of Delion's resistance crumbled. He rushed forward, his hands grasping and his mouth wide. His teeth weren't as large as the vampires, Trey saw, but they were enough. Just enough for Delion to damn himself.
The Drow leapt at him like a feral cat, but Trey was still quicker. When the Drow sprung into the air, to crush him down against the stone, Trey pressed a palm against his chest and released the Ki he had stored there. Delion flew backwards, the wild grace slapped out of him just that quickly. The elder barely noticed; in the time Trey had taken to counter Delion's attack, it was already moving forward. Desperate and fatigued, Trey groped for the first thing he could find on the floor. His fist closed on a dagger-like shape with rough texture, and he stabbed forward, the elder just a few feet away.
The flesh around the stake seemed to liquefy, before Trey recognized it as grains of sand. The vampire let out an unearthly scream, causing their eyes to water, before slowly dissolving into a pile of gray dust on the ground. The stake he was holding had shriveled up into a nub, and he dropped it on the ground quickly.
Delion clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the piercing quality of the scream, then started; like a man who has just awoke from a very vivid dream- or nightmare- suddenly.
"What did I… what did you do?" Delion asked, putting a hand to his mouth. Normal teeth, everything the same size it had been before… or was it? The past was hazy, but the present was even worse.
"I believed," Trey said simply. But it was more than that. The force that had allowed him to use only a piece of wood to kill such a powerful vampire was stronger than any magic. "Ironic that the only thing that could have harmed it was on the floor behind us all along."
"How do you feel? That thing tried to get you to…" Trey trailed off, gesturing to his naked neck instead. Delion got the point. The vampire had dominated him, and forced entry into the mind could be harmful to the victim.
"I'm fine" he lied. Mentally he was fine; his mind didn't feel any differently than before he had entered the Temple. What was more disturbing was that his will had not been strong enough to resist the Elder's urging. Perhaps it was because his condition was worsening. His normally hawk-like sight was now fuzzier, even the light seemed gray, and he saw shadows everywhere. His mouth was parched, like he had lined his throat with a glass of fine powder. But it was not a thirst that water would quench. Not at all. "Let's grab a few more of these stakes," he said, grabbing a few pieces of wood off of the floor.
The two knelt down on the floor, stuffing their bags with as many of the intact stakes as they could. Both looked over their shoulders at intervals. Trey couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them. For Delion, this was not just a feeling, but a certainty: his sight might be going, but somehow, a different sort of vision was improving. The flickering shadows seemed to gain solidity with every second, but maybe that was just his imagination.
"What's this?" Trey asked, his eyes catching a glimmer buried in the remains of the vampire. Thinking it unwholesome to touch the dust with his bare hands, he pushed some of the sand away with a stray piece of plywood. Beneath the sand was a small orb, glowing brightly. Trey plucked it out of the sand gingerly, and hissed between his teeth, almost dropping the ball. It was very hot, like bottled lightning.
"I saw a depression like that back in the other room. Maybe it's a kind of key," Delion said. As they walked back into the room at the base of the pit, he realized that the orb was another kind of irony. Why would creatures of darkness make light their key? It didn't make sense, and maybe that was why they had done it.
The orb fit into the space smoothly, and the door clicked, unlocking automatically. Trey pushed the door open and pulled out the orb again. The torches that had been so abundant in the temple so far were not present in the room beyond; it was as if the lighter of the torches had only gone so far before turning back out of fear. The only light came from a large monolith set in the center of the room, which crackled and buzzed with some strange energy. Delion guessed it was the same energy that was contained within the orb. Directly ahead, and to the east and west, were doors, each with a depression next to it.
The western door had one depression, the eastern, two, and the northern, three. Engraved in the northern door were strange runic symbols similar to those inscribed on the gong outside the Temple.
"My guess is that this is where the answers lie," Trey said, tracing the runes with one finger. "That priest mentioned Vix'thra: maybe this is where he lives?"
Delion nodded. "I can feel him," he said, and Trey looked at him sharply. "He's some kind of god to them. Divine or not, he's definitely a force to be reckoned with."
"Unholy, you mean. Nothing divine could do this," Trey corrected, looking at the runes more closely. When he was satisfied, he looked at Delion again. "Do you know what kind of creature this Vix'thra is?"
As Delion shook his head, he was seized with a pounding pain at the base of his skull. But as he lifted his hands to his head, the pain was gone just as quickly.
"What's wrong?" Trey asked urgently.
"Nothing…" Delion said, resisting the urge to rub the back of his head. His skull ached numbly, as if someone had swung a warhammer at the back of his head. What had happened?
"Don't lie to me, Delion. I might be able to help."
"It's nothing, Trey. Just an itch," Delion lied. But it was far worse than that. The force behind this door was malevolent; it had sensed his taint, and touched him. It feels like my transformation has sped up. No need to tell Trey though: it would only add another worry to a long list, and Delion was determined to show to show that even at his worst, he was not a burden. It will be over soon. Whatever Vix'thra is, we'll beat it.
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX
Cold.
Not extreme cold, but just-cold-enough cold. Cold that saps your health, stealing life and warmth from your body with each passing second, a cold that buries itself into your skin and pops up in a storm of tiny goosebumps. Cold that makes your teeth-chatter and knees shake, clammy cold caressing the back of your neck like the unhappy dead, beckoning you to the Great Beyond. Cold that you can feel in the very pit of your bones, that seems to make your eyes quiver in their sockets like freakish gelatin.
It wasn't the temperature that really bothered Lavoera, though. Nor did the insubstantial spider web of negative energy stretched across her skin, pinning her wings and forcing her into a sitting position. Even the leering faces of the vampiric priests had little effect on her. She was a deva, a celestial being from the Upper Planes, and though she was unused to pain, it did not affect her the same as it might affect a human.
No, the thing that was really wearing on the mind was the fact that her mission was surely a failure. Why was she here? Her superiors had sent her not to some lovely plain on a bright summer day, or to the frigid, yet peaceful hills of the Silver Marches. She had not been sent to the surface at all; instead, she had found herself in the dark, miles below the surface. But even that could not puncture her nearly unstoppable optimism. Sure, she was a messenger who didn't know where to deliver her message, and she was utterly alone on the Material Plane, but what did that matter?
This was supposed to be fun, she thought morosely, reflecting on her capture, which seemed to have happened decades ago. She had sensed there was something wrong almost immediately on her arrival in Drearing's Deep. The little village was deserted, and the temple on the hill had given off a palpable aura of evil. Naturally, she had entered the temple, and had been set upon by vampires almost at once. They came like moths to candlelight, and in the end there had been too many. She had felled many with her mace, but one had snuck up behind her and struck her down, a cowardly, slinking move only worthy of vampires. When she regained consciousness, she had found herself trapped.
Her knees trembled, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the wave of exhaustion which washed over her, a sudden but not unknown sensation that had struck her since her imprisonment. What am I going to do? she thought for the hundredth time, and a few tears trickled down her cheek, obscuring her vision. How am I-
She stopped in mid-thought, listening hard. Yes! There were approaching footsteps coming towards her, and she nearly swooned at the sound. The footsteps grew louder and quicker. They must be in a hurry.
She raised her head, strengthened by the knowledge that, if today was her day to die, she would not do it like this. "If you're going to kill me, then do it quickly!" she spat, her green eyes blazing despite her tears. "I won't…" she began, but then she blinked and stopped in mid-sentence. Instead of the pale faces she expected to see, she saw instead two males, one human, one Drow.
The Drow was clearly unwell; she could catch the stink of his sickness even in her weakened state. He had been infected, tainted by the vampires; their disease was practically crawling all over his skin. Despite the obvious pain he must be suffering, there was still a gleam of defiance in his eye, an obvious sign of his resistance against his ailment. And, surprisingly, she saw no evil intention in his heart. But I thought Drow were supposed to be evil? I guess this one is an exception.
The human was healthy, except for a few scrapes and bruises around his upper chest. Obviously he had had better luck than his companion in fending off the vampires. In his right hand he clutched a glowing orb, which he placed in a small bag on his belt as they approached her prison. Goodness, pure and intense, shone from the depths of his heart, and Lavoera wondered how someone like him had fallen into the company of Drow. But all that was secondary.
"Free me!" Lavoera cried, struggling into a sitting position. This wasn't easy, as the cords of energy tightened painfully at the smallest movement, but somehow she managed. A few feathers fluttered free from her already tattered-looking wings.
The two stared at her; the human with speculation, the Drow with naked suspicion. Their surprise wasn't uncalled for. After running into crazed undead around every corner, finding a beautiful (if unnaturally pale) celestial being kneeling on the ground was hardly expected. Finally, the human asked, "How?"
"There's a rod- blood red- that slides into that slot on the machine," Lavoera explained, pointing at the strange-looking apparatus just outside of the web of energy. She remembered when she had first been captured, how the vampires had activated the machine, and then took the rod out, before first informing her that it was the cut-off switch. Typical of vampires, to tease and taunt their victims without mercy. "If you can find it, it will release this cage."
"You can't be serious!" the Drow exclaimed, his eyes narrowed. "This is another trap, Trey. Why would these abominations want to hold a… a…"
"A deva," Lavoera said quietly, ignoring the spasm of pain pulsing out from her tortured wings. "My name is Lavoera, and I was captured by them."
"My friend has a point, Lavoera," Trey said evenly. "If you are who you say you are, why were you captured? Why is a deva on the Material Plane?"
"I was sent to deliver a message," Lavoera said, though it was painful to admit. She would never be able to complete her mission now; there was a time limit she had to keep. If she couldn't deliver the message in one hour… "These awful vampires are draining me of blood… using it to create bone golems."
"So that's why you're so pale," Trey said, exchanging a glance with his companion. The Drow's expression had changed from suspicion to surprise quicker than a greased pig. Was it something she had said? "What do you think, Delion? Is she clear?"
"I don't know about that," Delion said slowly. "But if her story is true… Trey, that's where the Valsharess is getting their undead troops from! Bone golems are formidable, and hard to create, but with the blood of a deva…"
"By freeing her, we can stop the Valsharess from getting any more reinforcements," Trey prompted. Lavoera understood little of their exchange, but at the words "freeing her," her eyes lit up, and she looked at Delion expectantly. Delion looked at her and nodded, then he pulled a large, gray-black rod from one of his pockets. A blood-red ruby was encrusted in the handle, which glimmered strangely, resembling a lifelike version of a blood vessel. The key didn't seem to be made of iron or bronze, it looked more like bone.
"Like this?" Delion asked as he inserted the rod into an opening on the machine. The device, which had been humming steadily previously, now sputtered and backfired as if in pain. The crimson strands of energy flickered for a few moments, and Lavoera felt the painful binds around her body loosen slightly. Then the energy stabilized, and the cords regained their ruthless grip.
"Twist it to the left," Lavoera ordered, and as Delion obeyed, there was a great whooshing sound, like that of air escaping from a balloon quickly. The cage of negative energy flickered wildly before disappearing completely. Lavoera let out a wordless cry of pure joy as she leapt to her feet, her pain forgotten. The color seemed to return to her face almost at once, a great bloom of color in her cheeks. Her wings, one of which had been horribly twisted, shifted like some sort of snake, and both men could clearly hear the sounds of her bones reforming.
"How did you do that?" Trey asked, making a face and wondering if he really wanted to know the answer.
"I'm a hospitaler," Lavoera replied cheerfully. Her face looked completely different than how it had been a few minutes ago. Her pain and exhaustion had utterly dissipated, and her beauty, whether divine or otherwise, was obvious. It was a little intimidating. "Bone fractures and blood mean nothing to someone of my training."
"What's a hospitaler?" Delion asked, dumbfounded.
"It doesn't matter," Trey cut in. A thought had struck him without warning, and he decided to follow a hunch. "Lavoera, what was the message you were supposed to deliver?"
"Oh…" Lavoera sighed, her eyes downcast. "I was supposed to tell the man from the sands that his actions are being guided by an evil hand. But I suppose I'll never find him now. My mission is a complete failure. Stupid Lavoera!" she berated herself.
The man from the sands…sounds like me, doesn't it? Trey thought. But that was ridiculous. There were thousands of "men from the sand" (which could only mean the Anarouch) just like him. Plus, that prophecy could be interpreted in a number of ways.
But she's not talking to thousands of men. She's talking to you, she found you. It was impossible not to heed that cold, logical voice in the depths of his mind, the voice that believed in fate, in Ki… that there were no coincidences. But even if the prophecy was true, who was the evil here?
I'll think about it later. For now, there were more important things to consider. This deva was some kind of cleric, so maybe… "Lavoera, my friend is sick. Do you think you can heal him?"
Lavoera brightened instantly, a large sunny smile lighting up her face. "Of course, I can cast a restoration spell in my sleep!"
Delion stepped up to her, feeling both apprehensive and relieved. He only hoped that the deva was as skilled as she claimed to be. It was hard to trust someone who seemed so… innocent. The deva closed her eyes, murmuring the incantations softly in some strange language that made his ears tingle. But as she placed a hand on his neck, the same sudden pain that had affected him before struck again. His head felt as if it was about to split, and he cried out in pain, slapping a hand to the back of his head. Lavoera cried out at the same time, quickly removing her hand from the Drow's chest.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Trey asked frantically, looking around for some unseen enemy. Lavoera looked genuinely confused, but Delion had a different expression on his face. Was it…recognition?
"Something blocked my spell!" Lavoera cried, befuddled. She held up her hand as proof, and they saw that there was a black scorch-mark on the base of her palm, where she had touched Delion. She waved her hand, and the burn was gone, healed instantly. "That's never happened before, I swear!"
"Calm yourself, it wasn't your fault," Delion said quickly, for it looked like Lavoera would burst into tears any second. He looked at Trey, who was watching him closely. "I had the same feeling as when we stood before that door… Vix'thra must have blocked the spell."
"Oh, so now you tell the truth…" Trey said evenly. When Delion didn't reply, he went on, "Even if we leave now, there won't be time to prevent your transformation before we get outside. So…"
"Right," Delion said with a nod. "We have to defeat Vix'thra first."
"We can't do anything. Remember what happened to you with the first vampire?"
"Yes… so?"
"So what do you think will happen when you come face to face with that vampire's god?" Trey cried, a little exasperated. "You won't be able to help yourself- you'll turn against me the second we go in there!"
"What would you have me do!" Delion shouted back. "Let you go in there by yourself? You couldn't even touch that Elder back there!"
"Excuse me…" Lavoera said timidly, interrupting them. Delion and Trey, who had been glaring at each other fiercely, turned their gaze on her.
"What!"
"Um," Lavoera said, cringing a little at the sound of their voices. "Who's Vix'thra?"
The look on her face and the unexpected question doused their anger immediately, and the two men burst into laughter at the same time. Lavoera joined them with the uncertain hesitancy that comes when one does not understand the joke. When they finally calmed down, Trey quickly told her about Vix'thra, the cult, and their purpose there.
"So you two are here to stop the vampires from massing an army, which will join with this Valsharess person, who is marching on your base camp?"
"Yes, that pretty much sums it up," Delion replied.
Lavoera was quiet for a moment, obviously in deep thought. Then, she smiled, saying, "Sounds like fun! Can I help?"
"…Fun?" Delion asked.
"…Help?" Trey said.
The two looked at each other again, thought about laughing, and decided not to. The deva hadn't meant to be funny, it was just… how she was. But her offer gave Delion an idea.
"Actually, Lavoera, that's a good idea," Delion said, ignoring Trey's dumbfounded look. "We have just one more enemy to fight before we're finished here, and I think that with your help, we might have a chance."
"Yeah!" Lavoera cried happily. "I'll smite any undead I find! Only…" her face fell, "I don't have my weapon, my specially made mace."
"You mean this?" Trey asked, pulling out a heavy mace from his bag of holding. The mace had a golden head, and strange flowing words inscribed along the handle. "We found this in one of the chests around here."
"My weapon!" Lavoera exclaimed joyfully, taking the mace from him and giving it an experimental swing. How much of a fighter can she be? Delion wondered. She seems so childish. But at any rate, at least she'll be an energetic warrior.
"This solves everything," Delion said quietly to Trey. The deva was marching around in circles, swinging her mace at imaginary foes. "She can go in my stead. This way, you get an ally, and I don't have to worry about being dominated."
"Yes," Trey responded gravely. "But we have a new problem."
"What's that?"
"The way she swings that mace, she's got a better chance of beating me than Vix'thra."
"Don't be so sarcastic. She isn't…that bad." Delion said, as Lavoera tripped over a stray skull and fell flat on her face. "I think."