The conjurer and her two educatees made it back, only to see a congregation surrounding the newcomers in the middle of the camp. People murmured between themselves, while two voices, which turned out to belong to Fane and Ifan, were jabbing back and forth in a heated argument.
"I am not accusing him of lying, merely stating his calculations are wrong. As expected from a dwarf, really," The undead wearing the face of an elf barked at the gruffy mercenary, making the other's eyebrow twitch.
"I'm only relaying what Beast told us. He said to look at the moon tonight if you have doubts. You should recognize something is off," the other grumbled back.
Elane was busy pushing through the crowd of on-lookers and emerged just by Gareth's side, who watched the exchange with concern etched on his face.
"What is going on? Why are you arguing?" the woman boomed, catching the attention of warring parties.
Ifan appraised her with a mixed look to him, while Fane's head snapped towards her, eyebrows furrowed.
"We got less time than anticipated pal, Beast said the moon skipped two phases," the human explained in a tone that bordered on expiring patience.
Now it was the noble's part to look dumbfounded by the news.
"See? This is ridiculous. The moon never 'skipped phases' back when I walked those lands…in my youth," Fane's intense rebuke lost some of its fire by the last words, almost blowing his cover in the vehement exchange.
"Enough," she swung her hand horizontally, gesturing at the scholar to fall silent. "He was not joking around or some such?"
"How does the moon lose phases anyway?" Someone asked from the crowd.
"Look, I wasn't paying attention to the sky in the recent days, but our dwarven friend was as unnerved by that as you."
"Will they manage the repairs? Or are we putting everything on one card?"
"The Hammer's vessel," Gareth chimed in."Lady Vengeance is not a big ship. It can comfortably hold a small division with the crew, but not Fort's worth of prisoners. It was built for speed, sacrificing the hold's capacity for that."
"Heh, wouldn't suspect you knew so much about ships," Vermil chuckled from the crowd.
"I know my enemy," the Seeker calmly countered.
"They will manage if we lend hands. Delorus already stayed behind to help. I'll be gathering volunteers and venture out again. They asked for supplies, we need to hurry."
"Gratiana has told me about a vault nearby," Fane remembered. "Maybe we could search the rest of the isle."
"We don't have enough time, pal. But while we are demolishing the place, why not, do some reconnaissance? Every little thing helps."
"Splitting again," Lohse rested her hand on her hip and threw her head to the side. "How do we do it?"
Vermil stepped out to announce his readiness, only to be stopped by Ifan's hand on his back.
"I need as many strong people as I can. Ladies, take Fane and scour the westmost coast. If you manage to get anything today, good, if not, we'll be back in two days to assault the port."
"Agreed," Gareth nodded after turning towards his men."Ymmit, take Exter and keep watch over the port and ship, keep your blessed blades about, more undead might show up."
The two in question offered a salute as acknowledgment.
More orders were being shouted, spurring the chaotic idle crowd into equally chaotic action. Elane stretched her limbs and twisted her neck with a crack.
"Back to action, huh…" she mumbled as she wrung her wrists. "Do you know where the vault is, exactly?" The question was targeted at the elf, standing nearby still with that insufferable grimace glued onto his face.
"I can show you…" A female voice called right behind them.
"Gratiana…" Fane breathed, an odd soft note to his tone.
"It is fine. I want to help as much as I can," the masked woman answered with a slight bow of her head.
"Alright then, we depart as soon as you are ready," Elane called to the remaining three, clasping her hands together for emphasis.
The party was mostly ready in a matter of half an hour, and they all were waiting by the eastern exit of the valley. All, save for Lohse, whose bright red locks were yet to show among the otherwise bleak group. They stood idly for ten, twenty minutes more, exchanging odd concerned or riled glances.
"Fine," the noble breathed after the woman's absence passed the point of moderate concern. "I shall check on her."
Squeezing between busy inhabitants of the camp, busy scrapping the place for planks and anything else usable in the ship's repairs, she searched every nook of still untouched structures. She found the enchanter huddled against a wall, hand glowing with magic pressed firmly to her stomach. The redhead spotted Elane, and wobbly rose to her feet.
"A sec, chief. I'll be up and running-"
Her ascend was stopped halfway by a hand pressing her back down, as the elf kneeled next to her.
"Are you hurt?" The noble's eyes were restless in their search of blood or injury that could befell her companion, stare so intense it made the other cheeks redden, even if just barely.
"No, nothing of the sort…" she blurted, moving her hand away to show no damage underneath. "Just, well…"
Lohse chuckled weakly.
"Are you ill? Have you eaten something bad?" Elane was unyielding in her assessment of the situation, leaving the woman no other choice but telling the truth.
"No, no…I got my period earlier than usual…stress or something," she mumbled the last part apologetically, falling quiet as the other woman's brows furrowed in confoundment.
"Oh…oh," the elf's features softened. "I see…"
"Do elves even get periods?" A gauche expression tweaked the pale visage of the bard.
"I do not," Elane shook her head. "But my mother had told me enough. Do you need anything?"
"No, no. I'm fine-" Lohse tried to stand up, only to be forced down once more.
"Listen, if you do not feel in the right shape to go, stay here. We will manage somehow. Gather your strength for the escape. Again, do you need anything?"
"I can fight!" The protest audible in the bard's voice was desperate.
"I know, but there is no need for you to push yourself just yet. Rest."
"You want me to sit here on my backside where everyone is working hard on the escape?"
Elane's head turned towards the commotion.
"I do not see anyone actively bleeding and heaving weights. And frankly, I would rather not see that happen."
The woman's shoulders slumped as she fell back into her sitting position.
"I..I don't want to be useless…" she whispered after a pause.
"You are not useless, you are indisposed ," the elf put an emphasis on the last word, shaking Lohse's shoulder gently. "No one in their right mind will hold this against you."
Elane stood up.
"I will let Vermil and Bahara know, this should be enough to make people leave you alone."
"Thanks, chief," another blush crept up on the woman's face. "Means a lot."
The elf offered her a nod before departing.
"You are welcome."
Disappearing among the bustling crowd, she found the man and lizard in question, and after exchanging a few words, the elf joined the party back, bearing the news of Lohse's unwellness. Sebille seemed content at the fact the woman stayed behind, despite her stubbornness to do otherwise.
"She kept pushing herself beyond reason when the Voidwoken we met turned out to be resistant to blade and bolt," the assassin noted, wavering on the edge of a short cliff.
"Sounds like her," the noble agreed, switching her gaze between the two. "So, are we ready to go?"
The catlike eyes moved to appraise Sebille's company.
"Three elves, my, that's a crowd," Sebille's diamond features elated at the assessment.
"Would you rather I wore another face?" Fane, who was an indisputable target of the remark, asked in his usual, indignant tone.
"You fit in rather well, don't you think, darling?" Vicious side-grin deformed the swirling scar on the woman's cheek, and she turned towards a ladder fashioned out of lianas without another word, climbing down.
The rest followed suit, ending up on another beach that was carved around countless ship cadavers scattered in the waters of the small bay. Gratiana stepped out of the shadows below the cliff. She acknowledged the Sourcerers with a bow of her masked face and pointed across the water, at another end of the arch where another stone wall marked the edge of the sand.
"The vault is right there, but the entrance is guarded from view by an illusion. I will dispel it for you, but that is the best I can do."
"Not that we will need any more help raiding a thousand years old hideout?" Elane inquired, as she kept on walking in the aforementioned direction, the rest following behind.
"I do not know. Vaults and prisons were indistinguishable to the mad Source King. Whatever he keeps inside might be as helpful as it is dangerous."
"Lovely…" Sebille hummed, walking just beside the priestess. "Out of one cell and into another."
"I ask you to keep vigilant…and…"
The four of them stopped just before the face of an impressive cliff, shooting up significantly higher than their hidden valley.
"You might come across ornate jars among the treasures." Gratiana's voice turned gravely somber. "I beg of you, retrieve them and bring them to me."
"Ornate jars…" The assassin repeated, suspicious.
"We will, granted we find any," Elane answered without much thought. "Now, if you could-"
The noble gestured with an open palm towards the stone. Raising her hands, the masked woman began mumbling a litany of words none could understand, and before their very eyes, the facade of the integrity of the wall began fading away in a blue, otherworldly glow.
First, the rough ingress of a cave appeared from under the veiling spell. As the rest faded away, a gargoyle-guarded doorway appeared within the opening. The gate stood wide open. The three moved to glance inside, but the interior was drowned in darkness. Without any prompt, Fane produced a flare, beaming out of his palm in the form of a greenish beam.
Passing the priestess, who in turn seemed engulfed in a prayer, they crossed the threshold of the cave, and soon disappeared past the stone door, that closed shut behind the last adventurer. Elane's sword sprung into her hand without any conscious thought as she jumped back to the mercilessly intact structure.
"A trap…" she growled, forcing her fingers between the narrow gap left between the shut wings, in a fruitless effort.
"Do not give in to panic just yet, those Braccusian ruins usually hide more than you'd expect from them," Fane placated, looking around the scenery.
They were stuck atop a platform suspended above a chasm, filled with bioluminescent plant life and water; deep enough to be considered impassable. The cave stretched beyond the obstacle, hinting that the vault might have actually been hidden deeper. But for now, the three had a puzzle to solve. The elves paced the edge carefully, feeling the rock for any traitorous tampering.
Scanning the bottom, Elane spotted a shimmer in the dark depths below. She leaned down to investigate, then kneeled, squinting. She was just about to let her others know about her finding when the glow soared up and settled right before her face in a blink of an eye. And before she could properly register what was happening, two hollow cavities of a human skull were looking back at her, suspended in the nothingness.
"Oh, I love the gravity doing the work for me. Why not tug on that collar and show me some more of what you got under there, gorgeous."
She heard a man's voice reverberating in her head, simultaneously ejecting her body away from the edge. A silhouette of a human skeleton dressed in a long-abandoned fashion, materialized on the platform with them, hollering and bending over with laughter. A dagger drew a low arch in the air, aimed straight for his head, but it passed right through, betraying the apparition's nature. It was another illusion.
"Now, now," their interlocutor blinked out of sight again, appearing just behind startled Sebille. "Don't get yourself so worked up, honey. What a feast we are having today…" he mumbled, ogling the elven woman, skull hanging improperly low.
A high kick disrupted the projection, but it mended itself right back.
"Told you it's useless," he quipped, disappearing again.
He reappeared once more, one arm wrapped over Fane's shoulder.
"Gods, all eight, I wish I was this old and got so much action. What's your secret? Are you a convicted criminal or something?"
The annoying undead continued his tirade, causing the Eternal himself to glare angrily at him.
"Anyway-"
Swapping positions once more, he materialized between the dumbfounded trio and clasped his hands together, causing the doors to open on their own.
"Here, you're free to go. There's nothing more interesting in here and you've already met me so-"
He bowed low coquettishly with a horrid crack coming from his spine, gesturing towards the wide-opened exit.
The scholar made a sharp turn towards the edge of the outcrop.
"Hey, I know you might be dead but you're certainly not deaf!" the illusion shouted after the agitated Eternal. "There's nothing in there,"
With but a momentary hesitation, the hidden undead crossed the threshold of nothingness, standing suspended in the void, his feet causing a ripple of magic on the concealed surface.
"You consider yourself quite clever, do you not?" He taunted, his elven face sporting a visage of smugness, and his tone fitting none of the praise.
The skeleton straightened his back, gritting his teeth.
"Very well then, come to play."
With that for farewell, the illusion disappeared without a trace, and the two women joined Fane on the hidden bridge across the chasm.
Every movement sent a wave across the area, outlining the boundaries of the passageway with a blue shimmer, but remained perfectly invisible when undisturbed.
"How did you-"
"The spell was Source based," the Eternal answered before the question rang fully. "I sensed the undercurrent. Applied Sourcery was among the things I researched back in my days, and my senses were finely attuned to it. Some have thankfully prevailed, despite my degradation."
Sebille and Elane exchanged intrigued glances.
"I had no idea Source could just be sensed. I thought you needed rituals or spells to even tell."
"To say mortal handling of Source is crude and ungainly would be an understatement," he rebutted.
"I would have never suspected I'm walking alongside two Source Masters," Sebille squinted with an odd glint to her citrine pupils, focusing her stare on the other woman.
Elane pressed her lips into a thin line, realizing what the woman was alluding to.
"I…well I know some things," she shrugged dismissively.
"From where, pray tell?"
They stepped into another visible chamber of the cave. The bottom, as well as the top, was dotted with stalagmites and stalactites, with an occasional column made by the merging of the two. A clear path forward has been cut through the stone forest and they proceeded gingerly. The column structures became more and more dominant until they were walking through a perfectly sealed corridor that narrowed to a point of a dead end.
"I struck a nerve, hadn't I?" The scholar spoke out loud to the limestone walls - a material completely foreign to the basalt and sandstone island.
Fane's greenish flare started to seep through the once-solid surroundings as they melted, into a completely another environment, not too far from the invisible bridge they crossed. Their host appeared once more, sitting atop a gigantic ruined pillar that marked the center of the cavern.
"Didn't I tell you to leave?" The jest and sass were now completely absent from the undead's voice.
"Turn around, there is nothing but death beyond that point. Your last chance," the same voice said, but from a completely different direction.
Another image of the man was standing atop a rocky acclivity with a bow, drawn and aimed directly at Sebille. The weapon hissed and the arrow passed the woman's cheek by a mere hair and dug into the muddy soil behind her back. She could feel the guff of air distinctly as it flew by.
"Was it another illusion?" The assassin barked towards their Source-keen companion, her fingers inching for her daggers.
An ugly, twisted smile contorted the Eternal's stolen face. "It seems he ceased being lazy and started weaving his spells differently. I cannot tell."
The noble took to assessing their surroundings quickly, spotting a thin opening in the walls just across them. She raised her sword protectively, stepping between the archer and keeping an eye on the second apparition.
"Make a run for it, we do not have the time to mess around. I will cover you."
"When-" Sebille hissed, but the answer came quicker than expected.
"NOW!" Elane cried, forging a necromantic chain and binding the first illusion in its clutches.
Before the other one had an opportunity to react, the elf tore off a fistful of her hair and cast the bloody component up, summoning a shroud of blackest smoke in its place, that enveloped her and the archer above.
Sebille and Fane were already passing the threshold of another chamber, and the noble followed, sprinting out of the black smoke and after her companions. As she was about to escape to safety, she felt the air around her chill and get sucked upwards, only for an icy monolith to fall down, barely missing her nose and blocking the way out. She banged her free hand against a frozen surface, then turned around to see that a third specter had joined the fray. In blind fury, she slammed her palm against the ice again and screamed at the top of her lungs for the other two to continue forward without her.
On the other side of the dividing slab, Sebille was busy hacking at the obstacle, nicking small bits and pieces but ultimately not making any progress.
"Don't you wield fire magic? Do something!" She ordered the Eternal, tiring from the futile effort.
"I don't have enough firepower to break through. She will be fine, and possibly spare us the headache of that illusionist attention for a moment." He stated indifferently, already turning around to check whatever lay forward.
"You don't care if she dies?" The assassin followed, but her voice was not free of surprise. The negative kind to be precise.
"She has a bigger probability of survival than you and I combined. If she won't find a way through we'll get back to her after the source of illusions is taken care of."
"You two and your weird dynamic…"
Not pleased about the turn of events, the Sourcerers crossed a natural bridge formation suspended under a bustling underground waterfall. The cavern walls began bearing signs of human intervention; the rock has been straightened and chiseled to resemble bricks, an odd column supported the lowering ceiling and lastly, a doorway made out of decayed wood appeared before them. The old hinges creaked violently, and the wings swung open letting them into a proper chamber, with an artificial floor and ceiling. They heard no distinct sound of battle behind, neither were they followed so they stuck to hopeful assumptions for now. The first room of the treasury felt nearly welcoming, with blue magical torches lighting up in response to their presence. All four walls of the square room were tightly barricaded with all kinds of furniture, bearing distinct signs of luxury and faring significantly better than the doorway. Everything inside, be it tables, sofas, and other means of spending one's time in a feeling of comfort were placed in such a way that they directly faced the middle, which was occupied by a marble pedestal, atop which another object of black onyx resided.
In his excitement, the Eternal rushed to the relic, forgetting about everything else in the world, only to see it light up with a distinct, Source-based glow and rearrange its structure.
All gateways, be it in or out of the chamber become obscured by barriers that rose themselves from the floor. Very quickly the two elves become trapped.
Taking a few shaky steps in a mixture of awe and fear, Fane placed himself right between the waking construct and Sebille, already armed and cunning.
"The hell did you do?" She spat out with acid strong enough to melt rock, her cat eyes scanning every odd movement of the being in front of them.
"It's…This is the technology of my people…up to a point. Let me handle it!" He shouted back, honing his Source-senses to top speed.
The figure, bearing a feminine, but still quite angular and bulky visage, was hovering over her marble plinth, inert but her eyes, alongside a few other crevices in her, shimmered in a knowledgeable glow. Scanning them almost.
"I can't believe it still works…" Fane breathed out, the relief and excitement audible in his voice against all reason.
"What does it-" Sebille did not get to finish.
"SOURCE is a scourge, a devil, a misery, a blight, a hex, a curse. And yet, the CURE is.." the construct spoke in a clearly synthesized voice.
Fane covered his eyes with a palm and hollered in three breaths of laughter, then took off and threw aside his mask, greeting the golem with a bare skull.
The elf let her guard down but still kept her eyes warily fixated on the gravity-defying sculpture.
"I'm still waiting for an answer, do you know that?"
"Naturally…" the other forced out despite the uncontrollable chuckle distorting his words. "Heavens above, they took…" amusement overpowered his ability to speak. "And they made it ask riddles…"
"Let me ask something simple since your brain seems fried by the discovery. Can you disarm it?" Reluctantly, the woman let her hands rest on her hips, albeit not yet letting go of her weapons.
The construct repeated the riddle in its unnatural tone, but Fane stopped it mid-sentence with a gesture, it stopped as if it understood.
"Yes, yes..a moment…"
"Take all the time you need," Sebille strolled towards the closest chair, dusting it off before making herself comfortable on the soft velvets. "Maybe Elane will come running if you take enough."
Meanwhile, the scholar pulled out his notebook and pencil and began scribbling the substance of the code down.
"Cure is a hex, a misery, a blight, and a curse." The undead proudly answered out loud.
The automaton bowed her head, and the light faded from her circuits as she once more re-assembled into an unassuming pile of rock. Similarly, the exits become unlocked and the doorway further swung open. Fane snatched his mask back and put on his elven apparel. Throwing a passing glance back and not seeing their companion, or anyone, approaching, Sebille sprung up from her spot.
They passed a pointed arch into another caver, this one devoid of any floor for a change. They were looking down into a misty abyss sprawling from one wall of the sizable chamber to the next, with a stairway collapsed onto itself, marking the far corner.
Swaying her head lazily towards the scholar, the cat-eyed woman cast her companion a look that embodied her tiredness of one and the same ploy.
"Go on, errand boy, run your illusion checks," the silky-smooth voice rang in a less-than suave cod.
"I told you already, have you not? His tricks are far more sophisticated now."
He kicked a loose stone into the dark depths to add weight to his words. It fell into the mist without hitting or exposing, anything on its way down.
"Great," Sebille followed the rock's descent cheerlessly. "The job just got harder."
"Not necessarily."
Fane's palm lit with a flame, first natural and red, next otherworldly and blue-green.
"But you got a countermeasure up your sleeve?"
The scholar flashed her another of his ugly grins, the flame in his palm growing hungrier and more vivid.
"It would be a shame if I did not-"
Having said that, he kneeled down, slamming his-flame engulfed palm onto the ground. The blaze exploded like a wave around them, wisps of ignition devouring the earth and void alike, burning away the illusion with a hiss of magic. As it turned out, the chasm was filled to a brim with ruins, forming a more or less reliable way to the stairs across. But atop the buildings and rubble, the dispel exposed several more silhouettes, blue and shimmering illusions save for one, standing deepest into the cavern. The Eternal stepped confidently onto the cobblestone corridor, staring at the defeated illusionist.
"Where is our companion? Speak or…"
"Or what?" The man interrupted. "Kill me? Please, if it was an option I would have done it centuries ago. Sadly the same couldn't be said about your friend…" The illusionist's voice dripped with resignation, yet there he still stood, hand clutching the grip of an ancient blade.
"You really think we'd trust the words of a chronic prestidigitator?" Sebille chimed in, walking not too far from Fane, keeping an eye on every skeletal face looking down on them.
"It's up to you, I suppose," their host shrugged. "Guess you'll get your answer when you cross to the Hall.
He waved his hand in a signal to action, and the apparitions virtually rained down on them. The swords, maces, and spells could have not been real, but none of the Sourcerers were willing to lower their guard to see for themselves. Further back, on a ledge hacked into the wall, an archer loaded his bow silently, aiming for the bigger target among the crowd.
Just as he was about to fire, a scream coming from behind distracted him. He turned around in panic and released the bow, the arrow digging deep into the charging noble's chest. She staggered only for a while, before regaining her footing and sending the illusion tumbling into the void below with one, rage-fueled kick.
She wavered, unable to pull the lifeforce of a defeated specter. Her heart was still beating, frantically even, despite the foreign body lodged through it. Sebille's scream echoed through the hall, bouncing off the uneven walls, but Elane couldn't focus on the meaning, deafened by the pounding of her own heartbeat. Her breathing turned shallow, and her vision blurred with tears from the burning pain searing her ribcage from front to back. The entire cave lit up for a split second, and she saw a flash of the arrow's shaft sticking out of her breast. The wicked, twisted and most probably poisoned tip dented a scale in her mail, becoming jammed. Mustering what remained of her strength and waning consciousness, she broke off the sticking out part, but it helped little, only adding additional waves of pain to her predicament. Her knees gave in, and she tumbled, managing to twist her body enough to fall onto floating stairs leading below instead of the dark nothingness. The steps bruised her face as she was sliding down, her sight dimming with every hit to her head. She blacked out before reaching the bottom.
"….help her. It would be stupid to see her die in a place like this…"
"..would love to, but frankly, I am running on fumes. That spell…"
"So what do you…?"
"Agh…!"
Silver, quarter-lit orbs shot open as the poison all but evaporated from her veins. The noble tried to sit up but was stopped by a bony hand. What she managed to glimpse before, was Sebille, massaging her palm and shooting the undead unsympathetic looks.
Elane was laying not far from the spot where she ended up.
"Is the arrow still in there?" The other woman peered up on their injured comrade, bearing nicks and scratches to her attire herself.
"Yes, that would be what I called a 'secondary issue' beforehand."
"A miracle she's still breathing, then again…" Sebille's attention switched to Elane's arm, one that has been hacked off before, but now bore no signs of any damage, as if nothing ever happened.
"Maybe I could burn away the splinter, or simply-"
The noble propped herself up forcefully, slapping Fane's skeletal hand away, a terrified, frenzied look on her face.
"There…is…no need," she protested, wincing.
Without another word and holding her breath, she brought her palm closer to the wound, and began calling to the blood, be it within or trickling outside, mended tissue pushing out the broken shaft inch by inch. Groaning and growling, she withered the ordeal, and the tip of the broken splinter re-emerged from her flesh. She yanked it free with a dull scream, then fell back on the floor, breathing heavily.
"If you're not actively dying, could you…" Sebille moved her fingers over a gash made by a sword on her upper arm.
Elane, not even bothering to stand up, blindly pressed her own bloodied hand to the injury, invoking the necromantic spell. The elf conveyed her thanks with a wordless nod, before walking away, and leaning against a still-intact wall.
"Do you need help closing the wound?" Fane said, fingers already red like embers.
Not even sparing him a look, Elane called upon the spell again, albeit with visible effort contorting her face, after which she sat up and procured a waterskin out of her travel bag.
"I really hope we're nearing the end of this place," the assassin growled, taking a breather before facing another dose of unknown.
"His power is far from infinite. Dare I observe that he wasted most trying to deter us, rather than hinder," the scholar stood up and dusted off his garb. One, Elane noticed, he ought to soon replace before it crumbles on him.
Nevertheless, Fane's comment left them somewhat more hopeful
Fane's comment left the two somewhat hopeful, and after a few more moments of regaining their composure, all three negotiated the uneven path. The stairs leading out of the chasm were solid just as anything before, so they took on climbing but not without caution.
Finally, they came face to face with the scrooge of their stay in the custody of an ancient vault. The skeleton appraised them with his head oddly crooked. He himself was hanging a foot above the ground, his spine pinned to a gateway with a trident-bladed spear that seemed forged out of earth; the grip flaky and cracked. The blade itself was sunk into solid rock as if it was mere wood.
"So, you've made it…" His greeting bore an undertone of genuine surprise.
"Indeed we have, and you better sing about what is going on in here," Sebille growled, enthusiastically stepping forward.
The skeleton's skull sunk as if wondering whether the Sourcerers were able to see the spear piercing his nonexistent gut.
"I'm cursed, you know. Bloody Braccus bound me here to protect his vault. He has my soul in a jar, inside the room he made me guard. I can't leave without it. Can't die. Can do bloody nothing."
Elane sighed in defeat, reaching for the spear's hilt.
"You're kidding now, aren't you, Ravenloft?" the other elf scolded, seeing her companion's intention plain as day.
"Can we cross with him stuck in the doorway anyway?" The noble queried.
"You cannot," the man in question was quick to explain.
With a vexed gesture, Sebille bid her continue. Grasping the spear with both hands, Elane pulled, involving every muscle possible she had to do so. The weapon didn't budge.
She groaned, before stepping closer and locking one foot against the stone to try once more.
"What…in the Void…did you do…to deserve such a fate?" She heaved, flexing her muscles and feeling the blade slowly but surely slide out.
"The worst thing imaginable to the bastard. Told him I'm done and going home," the undead answered truthfully or at least sounding bitter enough to pass as sincere.
With another tug, the vices let go, and the elf jumped back, weapon in hand. The spear began buzzing, and the petrified surface faded to dust revealing onyx material underneath. In a mere second, the thing stopped looking ancient.
"I'm grateful, I really am. They used to call me Trompdoy, long ago."
Following the illusionist's words, the panel of stone divided itself into bars, not unlike Eternal designs, and it began retreating into the floor and ceiling.
Flares lit up inside the vault, and they were nearly blinded by the shimmer of gold inside. They stepped inside a greedy man's paradise, with flooring made out of golden coins. Among the radiant sea, few snow-white marble pedestals marked the chamber's rough dimensions. Paintings and sculptures were piling upon each other, too much to take in everything at once. Trompdoy made their predicament all the easier, that he led them to his Soul Jar, one among several, that simply laid on the coin-littered floor.
"So, to set you free for good this time…" Elane raised a brow at the anxious undead.
"Break the jar," he begged, voice and mandible trembling in emotion. "Please…"
Getting a second opinion from her companions, the elf saw no opposition to the idea, and so she picked up the ornately bound piece of gold and glass. Seeing this, the illusionist dropped to his knees, lacing his fingerbones together as if for prayer.
"Thank-"
Smashing the thing to smithereens against the edge of a nearby marble pedestal, the lifeforce trapped inside released with a blast of power, and the remains of the unlucky protector of the vault dropped to the ground, no longer bound together on this paddle of tears. Torture ended.
Walking around what was walkable in the crammed chamber, Sebille kicked up a few coins and caught them mid-flight. She was tossing them between her fingers with a furrowed brow.
"That's…plenty."
"Indeed."
Elane kneeled down to investigate, even biting down on one.
"This is an old currency, no one would accept it anymore. But the purity seems high, still can fetch a good sum, if we find a buyer."
"Count on a nobleman's daughter to appraise the goods," Sebille shot the other with a thoroughly amused grin.
Abashed, the noble blinked away, pretending to focus her attention otherwise.
"While you assess valueless metal-" Fane began his usual complaining, but unusually did not get to finish it, as something caught his attention.
He moved through a pile of gold, showing the mound aside as much as he could, then toppling over a sizable portrait of a brown-haired woman, accompanied by a white cat. Behind the painting stood a human-sized sculpture out of malachite, carefully encrusted in gold. Long horns meandering around a crowned head like snakes, bat-like ears, golden eyes, and a crevice in the forehead - but not sitting empty this time. Recognition hit Fane like a floodwave; this was the Amadia he remembered, down to the chitin claw-like growths that adorned the tips of her fingers.
Her eyes, fashioned out of pearlescent dark crystal, seemed to move and follow him as he investigated the statue. But when a mere thought of taking a step back crossed his mind, the figure came to life, reaching for his skull and leaning in close. He tried to scream, but in a split second, there was nothing but the lustrous glow of the gem in her forehead and cold fog.
Sebille and Elane saw the ordeal unfold in the corner of their vision and dropped the treasure hunting to pry the scholar from the statue's grasp. One after the other fell into the same trap, their sight lured into the goddess' forehead, and the sinister glint it housed.
The treasury drowned in mist.