Author's Note: A warning that there are some grim moments in this chapter.
74 - It is Useless to Resist
"I suggest fire protections first and foremost. Unimaginative spellcasters simply love to throw fire everywhere.' -Sand of Neverwinter
Edwin and Minsc had taken the lead as they stomped their way through the library halls, but when they reached the door to the catacombs the Thayan stopped abruptly. He stood there a moment, pondering the reinforced door.
"Somehow," he eventually muttered, "the creatures seem to come and go freely through this place. And I doubt that they all carry wardstones. My theory is that one of the shapeshifters lurks on the other side, holding back the wards to let them pass. And if so then the creature is likely to be one of the more powerful of the species." Lifting a wardstone of his own, he waved it in front of the door. Mechanisms turned, and it began to creak inwardly. "So be prepared for that."
Rather than stepping forward Edwin just gestured for someone else to take the lead. Most of the group glanced about uncomfortably, but Minsc took the cue, lumbering up and slipping through the doorway the moment that there was room for his bulk. Beyond lay a spiral stairway.
"Yowch!" the Rashemi complained after a few bold steps inside, voice echoing off the stone. "Tis rather dark!"
Imoen obliged with a helpful cantrip, sending a tiny ball of light bobbing ahead of the big guy, and then Minsc went forward and the rest followed, winding their way down. The stone walls were packed in close, the descent long and the turns sharp, but Minsc set a swift pace. He practically hopped along, and the air around them soon cooled significantly.
"I would advise caution…" Edwin muttered from the back.
"Minsc has no time for caution!" He even seemed to speed up a bit at that, though now at least their way was lit by the blue flicker of Xan's sword along with the glow of Imoen's witchlight. Another turn and they came upon an archway, which the Rashemi did not hesitate to pass beneath. Ashura was trying to follow close, and they both jostled each other, stumbling out into a dusty storeroom.
The shelves here were piled high with scrolls and books, and the walls were lined with random little oddities. There were sets of scales, ornate braziers, brass globes depicting the planets and their orbits, and a great deal of little statuettes and paintings, some covered to protect them from dust while others were stacked haphazardly. There were several depictions of the old incarnation of Mystra, along with Bane, Myrkul, and many more dead or forgotten gods.
A long wooden table piled high with books stood in the center of the storage room, and over it hunched a woman dressed in the soft blue of a senior scribe, her back turned. Between the robe, the tangled brown hair that looked to have only once or twice made acquaintance with a comb, and the woman's gaunt, boney frame she was easily recognizable. Phlydia only half-turned her head, giving the newcomers the quickest of glances. A little "Hm," was her only form of greeting.
"'Hm' indeed," Edwin mocked. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for my book," the scribe explained absently, still hovering over the table. "Have you seen it?" She gestured, her back still turned. "It's about yay tall and yay wide, with a yellow cover and grey-black binding."
"What's the title?" Imoen asked, but at the same time Xan cleared his throat, calling their attention to him. He appeared even sterner than usual, and as he glared at the scribe he slowly shook his head.
"Ah. I see that you have that elf with you," Phlydia said, the absentmindedness suddenly gone from her voice. "It has been such a nuisance, ever since the merchant house. Snooping on our private talks." And then, with an eruption of fluttering papers, she leapt up and forward, nimble as a spider, across the entire table.
The instant Phlydia's heel touched the floor she spun fully around, already mid-chant with a hand outstretched. Ashura and Minsc had only just started to dash past the table when fire flared across the woman's palm and streaked out as a blazing ray, aimed squarely at Xan.
The elf leaned and stumbled back in a feeble attempt to avoid the flames, but the ray struck his chest nonetheless, yellow and blue fire flaring up and clashing so brightly that Ashura had to blink and look away. She faced forward and slipped around the obstacles strewn about the room, charging full-bore towards 'Phlydia' and aiming to skewer the imposter with her sword.
But the damned face-shifter was already chanting another spell, her hands out now and pointing at the floor. Ashura had almost reached the creature, Minsc roaring somewhere close by, when all of a sudden the world went white. She lurched forward another step, cold and dampness buffeting her face and her longsword just stabbing through empty air.
Mist. Everywhere she turned there was thick, cloying mist.
"RAAARGH!" There was a whistling sound nearby and on instinct Ashura bent her knees and ducked, something heavy chopping over her head. "Where is the face-stealer!?" Minsc roared through the haze. "Show yourself!"
"Stop swinging!" Ashura shouted. "You nearly-"
Another roar and another whoosh as the greatsword cut through the mist.
"Stop swinging, you bloody idiot!" She tried to back away from the berserker, though it was hard to tell where he was exactly.
There was a flash of white light, brighter than the ambient mist, and as Ashura found herself blinking back spots the moisture swiftly dissipated and faded to reveal bookshelves and stonework once again. Dispel. That was definitely her favorite spell.
To her surprise it seemed to be Xan who had blasted the mists away. He stood where he had been a moment ago, with one hand pointed forward and his moonblade blazing away in the other, no sign of scorch marks or any sort of damage on him. Closer by, Minsc was looking around furtively. He turned towards the nearby passageway, seemed to catch a glimpse of something, and then he took off with a roar, his warcry echoing off the halls.
Ashura took a step forward to follow.
"Wait!" Xan hissed. "There will be traps in the tunnels. And more shapeshifters, most likely."
With a nod, Ashura marched up to the mouth of the hallway. Minsc was already out of sight, though his shouting could still be heard, along with the scrape of steel. "Alright," Ashura growled. "We go in cautious. And under no circumstances do we let ourselves get separated." Further. Ugh! That moron.
"My thoughts exactly," Xan agreed, sidling up to her.
She looked him in the eyes. "You stay back, okay? And do whatever it is that you do to detect those things."
"They are telepathic creatures. And even the more mature ones cannot help…constantly chattering with each other, mind-to-mind. And taunting me as they do. It is most unpleasant to listen to."
"Well whatever-"
"Oh!" Imoen interrupted. "We need a sign! Xan, can you give us a hand-sign when we meet someone that's a fake?" She held out a hand and joined thumb to forefinger, the rest of her fingers pointing up. "Like this maybe? 'D' for doppelganger."
"That looks more like a B," Garrick pointed out.
Huffing, Viconia stepped closer to Xan and stretched her hand towards him, index finger out and cutting through the air. "Just do that," she snapped. "If you detect a doppelganger. It is the drow hand-sign for 'attack.'"
Xan nodded. "That will work."
"Alright then," Ashura snapped impatiently. "We keep Xan safely behind us, we stick together, and move as a group. Come on!" And with that she marched forward and down the darkened hallway. She had gone perhaps three strides when her toe caught on something and she stumbled, lurching forward and sticking her arms out for balance. There was a faint clicking sound somewhere to her right. "Fuck!"
She let herself pitch forward and turned it into a dive, dropping her swords, ripping the tripwire away in the process, and scampering on her hands and feet. Just behind and above she heard –and felt– the crossbow bolt whizz by and strike the opposite side of the tunnel. Righting herself, Ashura turned back to her companions. "Alright. Imoen leads the way."
"Hehe. Yup!"
"Just like Firewine and Ulcaster. And everyone stay close."
Nodding, Imoen scampered up front and bent down, eyes and nose to the floor. Her light-cantrip bobbed along just above her head as she went, shifting in time with her gaze to better illuminate the floor and nearby walls. After a few steps she whispered something to herself and her form flickered, then disappeared from sight. The light kept floating along, however, leading them through the tunnel and giving a general indication of where Imoen walked.
At a chamber that branched out in three separate directions Minsc's trail grew clear. The remains of two bloated, vaguely human figures lay hacked open, red and yellow innards spilled across the floor. Their skin was ashen and flabby and their mouths had rotted away to reveal sharpened teeth. Minsc's handwork obviously: sticky black blood formed large footprints that led away from the fallen creatures and down the left-hand tunnel.
"Ghouls," Edwin observed.
"There shouldn't be undead down here," Imoen said. "The monks go down here sometimes, and they've never said anything 'bout ghasts or ghouls."
"It is a crypt," Edwin countered. "And there are spellcasting shapeshifters about. The one that the big baboon went chasing after: was she a necromancer?"
"Phlydia? Hrm. Sometime she'd help the priests with embalming and stuff, when one of the old monks died. Gah! So not only did that thing gobble up poor Phlydia's brain, but now it's using her magic to raise up the dead monks too? That's a whole extra level of defilement! Phew!"
"Best not to think about it," Xan stated, looking to the far tunnel. "We may wish to see if we can aid the giant fool, or if he is already dead. Likely the later."
"Yeah," Ashura agreed, and soon Imoen's light went bobbing along and they filed in and followed. It was slow going as always, their invisible scout pausing again and again to inspect irregular marks in the stone or anything else unusual, though the only real trap they encountered was an iron-jawed contraption that Imoen triggered with a tap.
More signs of Minsc's trail lay ahead: the shattered remains of what must have been several reanimated skeletons, and then a torn tripwire a little farther down. As she gritted her teeth and waiting for Imoen to finish examining another set of scuffmarks that would likely turn out to be nothing, Ashura found herself envying the berserker's ability to just blindly charge ahead (and seemingly over all of the traps) and get things done with. Being invulnerable probably helped. Then again the halls had grown eerily silent. Perhaps the big guy had finally blundered into more than he could handle.
Again the tunnels branched, and they turned to follow another trail of splintered bones. A little farther, and they all came to a tense stop when a great "RRRARGH!" echoed off the walls.
Ashura couldn't help but smile, her jangling nerves somehow eased by the warcry. Good. Come on you crazy giant. Hack all the damn things apart for us.
They hastened just a little bit, Imoen's little fairy-light leading them towards the sound and what appeared to be a wider chamber, vaulted and lined with pilasters. Minsc's guttural shouts and the swish-thunk of his sword hacking into something sounded clearly just ahead.
Just short of the entrance they all skidded to a halt, bumping together. "Hold up!" Imoen hissed. "One more hurry-up-and-wait." There was a slight snicking sound near the floor, then a thin filament that had been sliced by an invisible knife sank to the tiles. "There we go. Come on!"
The light zipped ahead and into the larger vault, and Ashura took that as a cue to charge full-bore ahead, a hand on Varscona's hilt.
As soon she cleared the archway a hiss sounded right beside her, accompanied by an ungodly stench. She ducked and rolled aside, the spongy hands of something hulking and grey clapping together where she had just been. Righting herself, Ashura backed away from the ghoul. There were crawling motions all around her though: more of the things, bruised and bloated bodies shambling forward.
Varscona sang as it launched from its sheath, catching the nearest creature in the side with a crack, some ribs shattering along with brittle, flash-frozen skin. The ghoul stumbled several steps and lost its balance, but then Ashura was ducking out of the way of a pawing hand as another tried to blindside her. A duck, a turn, and a full-bodied slash sent that hand –and the forearm attached to it– spinning through the air.
Foul smelling and ferocious as the creatures were, they were bloody slow and clumsy, and in the space of a few frantic moments they had been reduced to heaps of torn and corpulent flesh, scattered across the tiles. Looked like there had been seven all told, though some of the destruction was likely Minsc's handiwork.
The berserker himself was on the far side of the room, leaning over the flailing form of a doppelganger which was flat on its back and firmly impaled. Elongated limbs flopped and stretched in every possible direction, but Minsc just leaned in, grinning a mad grin as the struggles grew weaker. The shifter wasn't wearing the blue robe of the false Phlydia, or anything else for that matter.
Once the creature had grown limp Minsc turned a victorious smile their way. His armor was rent in perhaps a dozen places, the side of his big round face was swollen, there were several bloody cuts leaking from his brow, and the iron jaws of a leg-trap were clamped to one of his calves. Apparently he hadn't zipped over all the traps in quite the way that Ashura had imagined; instead he'd just kept going even after getting snagged.
"I slew the beast!" Minsc proudly exclaimed as they approached. "Well, one of the beasts." And now his voice grew sad, some of the spirit draining from him. Along with the blood. "Boo informs me that this is not…quite…the right…beast…" He slipped down, both knees hitting the floor beside the impaled doppelganger and his body only remaining upright because he kept clinging to the crossguard of his sword.
"I am not healing this idiot," Viconia stated firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "What was done to him here is his own fault."
"Well I'll do what I can," Garrick said with a defiant huff, already moving towards the wounded man.
"Ah, a skald," Minsc greeted him with a weak smile. All of his gusto and fury seemed to have been burned through. "You will…sing Minsc well? And perhaps sing future songs of his deeds?"
"Uh. Let's just get that trap off your leg first." Ashura moved in to help as well, and as Garrick held out his palms and sang over the bleeding spot where the jaws had snapped she worked along with Minsc to pull the device off. It proved easy enough; either the contraption was old and worn or Minsc's struggling had broken most of it.
As the leg-trap clinked to the ground another sound reached them, echoing from the next room. "Help! Is someone out there?!"
"Yes! Please!" came another voice. "If you are…if you're real people, then please help us!"
There were wide, curved steps leading up to a broad archway and into the next chamber, buttressed by pillars of what had once been polished marble; now quite dusty. It looked to be the entrance to some sort of grand tomb.
Immediately upon hearing the cry Minsc straightened, shifted, and began to rise unsteadily to his feet. Garrick's healing song faltered and became an exasperated squeak. "Hey! I was in the middle of-"
"Come friends!" Minsc called over the protests, stomping down on the dead doppelganger and yanking his sword free with an ugly squelching sound. Seemed he had found his second wind.
"Careful," Ashura warned. "These things have pretended to be-"
"People cry for assistance! A hero must answer the call!" Minsc was lumbering up the stairs now, bleeding a bit less and still glowing from Garrick's song. Ashura followed, keeping a few steps behind. Hopefully the big guy would take the brunt of any traps that he triggered.
"We need to restrain that wael," Viconia complained. "You. Male. Use that wand of yours on him."
"Uhm…" Garrick just stammered.
The next chamber was indeed a tomb, dominated by a tiered and pillared sarcophagus and lined, floor and ceiling, with great checkered tiles of black and white. A magnificent tomb once, before the layers of dust had set in, though what immediately drew Ashura's attention were the three haggard, naked men who knelt by the far wall.
Her eyes widened with recognition and she found herself in step with Minsc as they went, heart racing along with her feet. Hull, Fuller and Jondalar looked up at them through matted hair and bleary eyes, their ankles and wrists obviously bound behind their backs. "You killed that thing?" Hull asked in a raspy voice. "The shapeshifter guarding this place?"
"Indeed my good man!" Minsc boomed. "But save your strength." Prisoners waiting to be rescued, just like at the end of an adventure tale. And of course Minsc was happy to fill the role of the hero.
Ashura's throat tightened and she slowed. She had not yet sheathed her swords, and frost-mist still wafted up from Varscona's edge. Hull was looking to her, bloodshot eyes full of exhaustion and relief, shoulders rising a bit with labored breaths. Must have been agony, bound up like that for gods knew how long. Maybe worse than hanging from manacles the way she had a day ago. He sure looked like a miserable prisoner. Please. Please gods let this be…
She turned away, looking over her shoulder for the others. They had all filed in now, Garrick and Imoen first, with Viconia hovering just behind them. Xan and Edwin were hanging back, close to the doorway. Ashura's gaze focused on the elf, who was surveying the scene with a grim look on his face, concentrating. Of course he always looked grim. Come on.
"Now let us get you out of these bindings!" Minsc was declaring up ahead. "And get you some water of course."
Frown tightening and almond-eyes narrowing to a sharp glare, Xan raised a hand and Ashura's heart sunk. Don't-
But he did. His fingers cut the air in the exact gesture that Viconia had shown them. Damnit! Ashura's head lowered and her eyes pinched shut. But in near the same instant the scuffing sound behind her had her whirling, reflex and instinct taking over and eyes snapping right back open.
Open in time to witness the three kneeling figures lunge to their feet. In time to see them raise their open hands (they had only been pantomiming at any sort of bonds) in unison and grasp out at Minsc. And in time to watch the familiar faces (Hull…) flow and stretch into blank grey masks, human bodies softening and elongating into those membranous, alien things.
Before Minsc could react all three had pounced upon him, claw-like fingers pawing and grappling. He teetered back beneath the force and the weight, and for the space of perhaps a breath all Ashura did was watch. No rescue. No adventure tale. Just another trap and another desperate fight and…
And then she was rushing the last four strides to the end of the room and twisting her longsword back for a swing, eyes glaring at the spongy back of the nearest grey thing that hung from the Rashemi warrior. He –and the creatures– all bobbed and turned at the last instant, and Ashura's slash gouged a great swath of crackling frost-burn across the back of a different shapeshifter than the one she had aimed at.
Not like it mattered. She'd kill them all.
The thing's head flew back and it let out an undulating cry, limbs loosening enough for Minsc's constant spinning to throw it off. Racing to where the creature hit the tiles, Ashura leaned in and rammed her shortsword through one of its beady little eyes before it could recover.
Grappling and twisting, Minsc managed to rip one of the creatures from his shoulder and hold it out by the throat, then ram it against the nearby wall. Slam – squish! Slam – squish! Dust flew and ichor began to leak and splatter the wall.
Garrick and Viconia had slipped in behind the berserker now. The bard hesitated, rapier out but an unsure look on his face as he watched man and creature move together. The drow did not: she drew her warhammer back and swung with her hips. Electricity arced and there was a great pop and a gout of smoke when the hammerhead struck the creature's side, knocking it off of Minsc. Fingers twitching, the doppelganger lay stunned on its back when it struck the floor, and Viconia took full advantage, hoisting her hammer with both hands and slamming it down to pulp the creature's head.
And that seemed to be that. The thing Minsc held by the throat was limp and floppy, more black ichor than grey flesh now, and it fell to the floor without a twitch when the berserker let go.
A pained gasp sounded behind them and Ashura whirled around. It never ends!
Edwin had scampered further into the tomb, but there in the doorway stood Xan, eyes bulging wide and face contorted in shock. Clawed and bloated hands held him by each shoulder and dug into the fabric of his robes and the flesh beneath, his entire body rigid and beginning to slip backwards. In the dark behind him glimmered the finely pointed teeth and milky eyes of a pair of ghouls, and when Xan tipped back some more they supported him.
Xan's heels dragged on the floor as they pulled him into the shadows, and with a flutter of soiled blue robes a figure dropped from the ceiling and landed between the retreating ghouls and Ashura. It hit the floor as almost a blob of fluttering cloth and formless flesh, then in less than a heartbeat it stretched and stood. It was a faceless thing, stretching out long, spindly fingers, then it wavered and took the form of the fake-Phlydia, a spell already on her lips – all in the time it took Ashura to raise her blades and start to charge, still a good ten paces from the doorway.
Something built and rippled from the tip of Fake Phlydia's finger, then an explosion of green smoke blasted Ashura in the face and stung her eyes. The shock of it made her involuntarily gasp, and that sure turned out to be a mistake. There was a thick, cloying scent and taste to the air, a smell like some of the back alleys of Baldur's Gate where garbage had clotted, soaked and rotting in the runoff from the great river.
She coughed, squeezing watery eyes shut and feeling a wave of nausea roll through, stomach flipping. That thing's still right there. No time to puke.
Ashura forced herself upright, sword ready, and looked through the blur and the green haze. It proved easy enough, and she only had to fight back one more raspy cough, a strange chill seeping in from somewhere that steadied her lungs; the sensation much like what she had first felt when she donned her mother's cloak.
Fake Phlydia was still right there, her form now blazing with what looked to be arcane protections, and when Ashura lurched to close the distance between them and sliced as hard as she could her blade just rebounded off.
The shapeshifter didn't even flinch. Instead it cocked its head. "Didn't you steal my book?" she asked, hands blurring and extending. In an instant they were white as bone and looked to be just as stiff, fingers merged into sharpened points. No more spells: now the creature struck out with its sword-like appendages, and Ashura parried.
A blur of pink and purple scuttled by them both and launched itself at the nearby wall. Imoen had slung her bow over her shoulder, her hands and knees now striking the stone and sticking to it thanks to some enchantment. Quick as a lizard, she scampered up to the arch and then under it, crawling along the ceiling and down the tunnel. "Xan!" Her voice echoed as she zipped out of sight. "Can you hear me!?"
The whistle of an arm-blade forced Ashura to duck. She slipped to the side of the creature as its momentum carried it, retaliating with a stab that broke through its flickering barrier and stained the creature's robe with black blood. The Fake Phlydia backed up, retreating into the hallway, and Ashura pursued with a flurry of blows, carving shallow nicks into its calcified arms.
The thing was swinging two blades, but it was no swordswoman. Arms flapping, it left its body open, and Ashura's slashes and stabs cut through its wavering shielding again and again. Two more shallow slices, and then the creature whirled and ran, full-speed, down the hall.
Blood boiling and swords leading the way, Ashura raced right along and followed, down the corridor and through the branch that the creature took. It was only when they reached the next great fork in the tunnel, and the clattering bones and needlepoint grins of a swarm of ghouls and skeletons burst into view from both branches, that she realized she had been led into a trap.
'Don't get separated.' Nice bloody job following your own advice, Shura. That was what she thought as the thick, spongey bodies of the ghouls slammed into her, and naked claw-bones clattered in her ear. Then there was no time left for thinking; only twisting and slashing as the stench of death filled her nostrils and she fought desperately to drive it back.
Bump! – Bump! – Bump!
Each hurried step jostled Xan's stiff body against the flagstones, though it did not precisely cause him pain. The supernatural chill that emanated from the ghoul's clenched claws and flowed through his veins had numbed him far too much to feel anything beyond tiny jolts.
Bump! – Bump! – Bump!
Swift and heedless, it dragged him through the dark. This was just like the Cloakwood! The spiders! The poison that had turned muscle to stone and chocked the breath from Xan's lungs. Numb and helpless, carried along to some sort of feeding ground.
Just like the Cloakwood, and just like that damp, oppressive cave not so long ago, where the gleeful orcish madman had leered over his bound and feeble form, dreaming up new torments. That great, all-powerful bulk, leaning over Xan as he lay –limbs splayed and bound, completely exposed and completely helpless– across the bloodstained table.
Unlike the spider's poison the ghoul's touch had not paralyzed his lungs, but now Xan found that he could not breathe. He could not breathe!
Shadows of other shambling beasts were visible in his blurred and jangling vision, halfway lit by the blue-white glow of the moonblade that dragged, useless, against the floor. One creature turned back towards him and its milky eyes shone, teeth glinting as well. It let out a hiss, then looked back down the tunnel ahead.
The undead things were constantly twitching and hissing. He wondered if they were fighting the urge to just throw him down and start tearing into his flesh in a feeding frenzy, the way ghouls are wont to do. The creature that controlled them must be holding them back.
That fact provided Xan with a few spare minutes to live, some objective, distant part of him guessed as he struggled for air. Spare minutes, but only just. No doubt his skull would soon be sliced open, brain and memories devoured by one of the shapeshifters.
Yes it will, a voice hissed in his head, though the doppelganger had hastened down the hall and disappeared, no doubt going to its layer. Mother has evoker, I have necromancer, and soon I shall have enchanter as well. Shame about that slippery eel of a conjuror.
Clever things, these doppelgangers. It seemed useless to res-
Another bump, and this one actually hurt. The ghoul had tugged him over a jagged bit of masonry and scraped his spine getting him across. Ouch! Despite the seeping cold that paralyzed most of his body Xan's face scrunched up in pain, and his arm twitched as well.
Move! I can move! But as he tried to bend his elbow Xan's arm went back to wobbling. Still…the paralysis was not absolute. (Of course it's not), that more detached part of him seemed to observe. (Sufficient will can overcome these things. And the Quessir are especially resilient against holding magic. We are not meant to be caged.)
Not meant, that telepathic voice hissed back, though it seemed more distant somehow. But you are caged easily enough.
So true. He had been caged for so-
Bah! Xan shut his eyes tight and focused on gripping his moonblade firmly.
It is useless to resist.
What would Imoen say to that? Xan wondered, eyes clinched and his hand now twitching. Probably something colorful. 'Seems pretty useful to me, sponge-face!' Something like that. He focused, bearing down, so very tired of being dragged about like this. Tired, too, of being completely useless in the face of mindless creatures like these undead, or telepathic monsters that could resist his enchantments. That was the reason, after all, that Xan had recently adjusted his repertoire of prepared spells. It would be a shame if I were to die before having a chance to try them out.
Suddenly the muscles in his arm clenched and then moved smoothly, and after a deep breath Xan bent his elbow as hard as he could and flicked his blade backwards. An awkward way to stab, perhaps, but between his frustration and the enchantment in the sword there was enough strength there to slice right through the arm of the ghoul that had been dragging him. It screeched, turning to look down at him. Twisting the blade and sawing a bit, he finally made the thing let go, his robe ripping and a great deal of fabric coming off between the creature's claws.
As soon as he hit the floor Xan bolted onto his feet, moonblade raised and lips frantically running through an incantation. The rest of the undead were turning towards him, but as they did his form blurred. They lunged, but awkwardly, eyes darting about in confusion, and Xan twisted as well, dancing away from the groping claws and slashing at one of the outstretched arms.
A couple more defensive swings and then he wriggled safely away, finding space to back up. The hall before him was lined with sharpened teeth: five creatures at least, and though their clumsy grasping had missed him thanks to the blurring spell they could still tell his general location.
The pack of ghouls rushed forward, claws high, jaws open.
But as Xan had backed away he had begun another spell, and now he sang out the last lilting phrase. Suddenly the surging ghouls seemed to hang, suspended in mid-pounce. They floated along like ghosts, dust moats suspended all around, and Xan dashed four precise steps back from them, pointing his burning blade before him and taking a side-stance the way he had been taught.
One of the creatures pushed forward faster than the rest – though it still seemed to be lumbering thanks to Xan's haste-enhanced senses. He bent his knees and drove his moonblade through its outstretched arm, slicing open flesh and knocking the creature a bit to the side, and then Xan slipped out of its way, slashing again and again and opening gashes that revealed gleaming bone. The ghoul crashed to the floor and rolled.
The next ghoul came close to colliding with him, but he managed to wriggle aside, and again he slashed, showering the floor with black blood. Against human opponents the blows he had delivered would have been incapacitating, but the creatures were not slowed.
Taking advantage of his speed, Xan zipped between the next two, rushing to the other side of the tunnel and backing against the wall as he began to chant more draconic words, one hand grasping the wrist of the other, and before the ghouls could fully swerve and rush him again he felt his limbs swell with magically enhanced strength. He raised his sword in both hands now, dodging aside as one of the creatures surged forward with a raking claw, and when he sliced down this time the ghoul's entire arm went flying. The creature looked down at the empty space and the seeping blood, and then Xan's next slash took off its head.
All at once the remaining ghasts and ghouls were on him, and Xan used all of his speed to slither and then hop away. One more quick incantation, and a wave of arcane energy tingled across Xan's skin, forming a second layer, hard as stone.
With the final enhancing spell in place, he aimed his sword, bent his knees, and rather than retreating he charged.
Hastened and strengthened so, his moonblade hacked through bone and limbs, ribcages flying open and heads breaking apart. Within moments the five reanimated corpses were just hunks of decayed meat spread across the floor, not even twitching.
Shaking some blood from his sword, Xan took a few hasted steps down the hall. The enhancement spells would wear off soon and there were more-
He stopped himself, taking a breath and looking about at his surroundings. There had been enough sword-swinging as it was. Best not to push it. And blindly charging forward was what had gotten them into this predicament in the first place. Best to be cautious. An invisibility spell next.
Still, Xan couldn't help but survey the wreckage he had created one more time. Xan the Bladesinger. Shar-Teel would be proud.
Wherever Ashura turned there were grasping claws and sharpened, clicking bones. No time to think or plan – she spun and she wheeled and she slashed, shouldering the heavy body of a ghoul aside when it tried to pin her down, then kicking the feet out from beneath another. Her swords cut air and sinew – her elbows, knees and pommels bashed at anything that pushed in close, breaths deep and desperate and drawing in the stink of the things; struggling not to choke.
A whirl, and she was face to face with a hulking ghast, its cracked and bleeding gums stretching right before her face. A reeling motion and she was out of snapping distance, Varscona arcing down. It struck the bald crown of the creature's head and split its skull.
Something collided with her back and on instinct Ashura let herself lurch forward and took a few steps, trying to create some distance before she spun around to face the next ghoul. Before she could swing, however, an arrow whistled in, striking the creature's neck with a sizzle and a burst of smoking liquid that spread from the wound. The creature's sallow flesh began to melt and fall away, and soon its head was hanging halfway off its shoulders, then it crumpled at Ashura's feet.
And then there was nothing more to fight. Piles of shattered bone and rotting flesh lay strewn across the tunnel floor, smoke rising from arrows imbedded in the backs of several ghouls. Imoen was hanging upside-down from the ceiling nearby, her bow in hand, an arrow knocked, and her spell keeping her feet attached to the roof of the passageway.
"Fire arrows would'a been even better against those things," Imoen mused, "but acid's all I got left."
"Thanks for the help," Ashura replied.
"Wait. So how do I know it's really you?"
Ashura rolled her eyes. "When you were ten you decided to surprise your older sister by baking a cake for her birthday, but you couldn't find the-"
"Alright, alright!" Imoen interrupted. "Don't need to tell the whole embarrassing story." A pause. "And of course you can be sure that it's me 'cause-"
"I know it's you."
"How?"
"That magic climbing spell of yours. Saw you cast it, and you're still under the effect."
"Oh. True." Approaching a nearby wall, Imoen shifted from upside-down to vertical, walking down a little bit and then hopping to the floor. "Whew. Now that's a head-rush." She frowned down at the fallen undead. "I couldn't find Xan."
Ashura gestured with her swords. "Let's keep looking then." Nothing to do but that. Keep moving. No way out but through. All the tunnels looked the same though, and she had gotten pretty turned around in the fight. She picked a branch at random, starting forward.
"Elves can resist ghoul-touches right?" Imoen was whispering beside her. "I read that somewhere. Hopefully he snapped out of it. Fought 'em."
"Yeah." Ashura doubted that of course. The enchanter's magic had proved incredibly powerful much of the time, but he was next to useless against things that had no minds. And he was so frail: those stick-like arms, the sunken eyes that had never quite recovered from the ordeal they had rescued him from, the fear and paralyzing panic she sometimes spotted creeping across his face when things went south. "We'll find him." One way or another. A shame. Xan probably wouldn't believe it if she told him, but she rather liked the dour little fellow.
Up ahead the tunnel curled, and a doorway led into what appeared to be a side chamber. There was a rank and musty smell emanating from that doorway, and as she approached Ashura readied her weapons. More undead. There were always more.
Silent and cautious, they turned the corner.
Ashura's jaw dropped the moment she entered the room, and her arms slackened, swords drooping before her. Her mouth opened to form words, but nothing came, and beside her Imoen let out a pained gasp. Numb, she stepped forward, into the tomb.
It was a wide and vaulted chamber, the far walls lined with countless little crypts that were filled with ancient, dusty bones. But there were fresh corpses too. So very many – well over a dozen, at least. They were strewn haphazardly across the floor like garbage, their clothes stolen and their limbs splayed out, some of them bloody and others bruised about the neck, eyes open and staring out at nothing. And every face was familiar.
"Don't look…" Ashura finally managed to say, after an eternity. But they couldn't turn away. They couldn't. Imoen dropped to her knees and let out a choked sob.
There would be no adventure-story rescue. No happy ending. No homecoming, after this.
From the doorway behind them a voice spoke; familiar, sad, and almost kindly. "This is all your doing, I'm afraid."
There. There. In perfect pitch.
The Revealer of the Young stepped into the tomb, dressed in the robes of a monk and the face of an elderly man conjured from the mind of the taller, thinner female primate. A form of significance. Of reverence. "Father" she called him in her memories. And the choice of form drew out the intended effect: The Revealer could feel wave after wave of horror and despair wafting off the creatures.
Cruel, perhaps, but manipulating the minds of its prey had often proved the most effective tactic, over The Revealer's long lifespan. And prey that had lost all hope was easy prey indeed. "What did you expect," The Revealer asked in the mimicked voice, "would happen when you entered this place, Bhaalspawn? You know what you bring, wherever you step. Just as your presence brought about my death…"
Beside the revealer another figure stepped into the chamber, short and round. The Eldest of its children, currently wearing the form of the shorter primate's father. "…and ya brought about mine as well." The Eldest shook its head sadly. "What were ya thinkin'?" it asked. "Bringin' all of yer curses and yer fights to these hallowed halls?"
The tactic seemed to be working. The shorter human was sobbing uncontrollably, her bow now sitting forgotten on the floor. Yet the taller human…
…it stepped away from the pile of corpses and pointed with its swords.
"My child," The Revealer began, attempting a soothing tone, but the primate cut it off.
"I'm no child of yours!" it shouted, surging forward now, and the waves of emotion that wafted from it now tasted nothing like horror or despair. It was something The Revealer had never felt before, and for which it had no name. Something tumultuous and scalding.
"Die!" the primate snarled, its longsword raised high and emanating icy mist.
Quick as it could The Revealer shifted to the form of the Rashemi witch, flinging its fingers out and imitating the thoughts, words and motions of one of her spells: a blast of enchantment meant to paralyze.
But that blast simply rolled over the human with no effect, and now it was charging, its eyes glowing with the golden light of a furnace. It was then that The Revealer realized that it may have just made a terrible mistake.