First things first. They decided to check the statue in case of more unpleasant surprises that could dwell on the isle, and since it was on the route to the alleged dragon, it seemed all more logical to have a look beforehand. The coast of Reaper's Eye was abundant in shipwrecks and more often than not - their rotting contents. Wood, sometimes even cloth, lay strewn about amidst broken-down barrels and chests, that long-dead pirates once sought to fill with the Mad Source King's treasure. But the statue was something quite different. Withered by sea and weather alike, the likeness of a winged woman was lying sideways, half-submerged in salty water. The sculpture was missing an arm and a better chunk of what seemed to be a feathery headdress. Still, the sheer size of the statue was monumental and raised several questions about how it even got there, to begin with. The rock used to craft the effigy was a gold-laced marble. The precious metal within the snow-white stone glistened in the light of the sun with little sparks, and upon closer inspection, a warmth radiating from the statue could've been felt. They couldn't deduce much more. The cloth-covered eyes of the angel only added to the overall mystery.
To the best of Elane's knowledge, and she had spent her fair share of time walking around Arxian works of art, angelic beings weren't usually portrayed in such a fashion. Even the oldest depiction; the angel of Aleroth's Source Square, sketches of which the noble had seen in books, had little in common. She eventually surmised the piece had to be older or coming from some other part of the world. Fane was similarly clueless.
After a while of prodding and Eternal's hastened sketches, they left Sebille's finding with one last passing glance at the serene face. To Elane's surprise, she thought she saw a golden tear dripping from under the blind, down to the sand under the angel's face, but then again it was probably sunlight reflected by water and illuminating the marble in uneven patterns. Yet an odd warmth lingered over the group, and it would soon prove to be a lifesaver, once they crossed the blizzard's threshold.
What once was a wide, sandy strip diversified with few dunes, was now a frozen desert. The living members of the party weren't equipped to withstand conditions this severe, but what was a raging snowstorm felt to them no different from a spring shower. Amid this icy hell laid a dragon, surrounded by totems made out of bones. Dark energy was cackling with a ghastly choir of swaying chains. It was a powerful necromantic spell, Elane had been told about it once, but never saw it actually performed.
The layer of snow reached the calves of the elves and was up the knees for the Eternal. The wind was blowing left and right in a chaotic manner, and changing directions on a whim. The beast, a great lizard of scales that seemed to be crystal-clear ice, was lying inert in the eye of the storm, chained down to each of the four pillars, and appeared to be either unconscious or asleep. The cold was slowly biting through the veil of warmth that surrounded them, limbs becoming numb, and teeth chattering. Save for Fane, the group couldn't communicate very well, the roar of the wind drowning all other sounds.
Sebille smacked Elane on the back, hard, and pointed her finger to the totem opposite of them, cold determination diluting her pupils. The noble nodded, conveying she understood what the cat-eyed elf was getting on, although she wasn't free of voiceless doubts. Then again, what else was here to do?
Pulling out her sword and swinging it at the giant fetish of bones, she crumbled the first pillar, unleashing an explosion of dark magic and Source that was used to empower it. On the other side of the sleeping dragon, the assassin managed to topple the other one already, and they both moved counterclockwise to get the last two destroyed.
With the bounds broken, the beast awoke, raking the earth with its icy claws. It let out a roar and the storm ceased in a heartbeat. A mere whiff of air didn't disturb the cushion of snow covering the beach. The bound creature shook the last few remaining links of the spell off its back, and its attention turned fully to the strangers that freed it.
"My thanks," the words that originated from the dragon's throat were a pleasant clinking sound, like wind-chimes and cracking ice simultaneously.
The Sourcerers froze in place, surprised to hear the dragon speak.
"My gratitude for your efforts, friends," it continued. "Yet, I am no more free now than I was in those chains. Please, help me find true liberty or sing me to the endless slumber."
Elane treaded gingerly to stand before the dragon's great maw, which was discolored in some places. Patches of skin were shining through the brilliant armor of frost. The ice drake took in the full view of his saviors and his posture relaxed.
"Alas…this is not why you stand before me... Slane called to Lady Death, and yet another face answered the summons. My fate, it seems, is not my own to call."
"Why are you here, of all places?" Elane asked, eyeing the broken posture of the creature. "Were you hurt?"
He let out a sigh laced with icy needles.
"Your assumptions are somewhat true. I have been maimed; purged of my Source by the wickedest of witches, I stand in thrall to her every whim. She has only to command, and my traitorous body complies. My soul is bound to joyless obedience…"
The scaled maw contorted in disgust, upper lip curling as if he was about to spit, but only a low growl came from behind the clenched teeth, a row of even, sharp icicles.
"Radeka's the name, perhaps?" Sebille purred in her bloodlusty tone, strangely gleeful.
The scales on Slane's back bristled like hoarfrost.
"Her!" He roared, his voice alone causing a small snowfall. "The craven woman. I was in love with her once, before I knew of her dark affiliations. She wielded a Purging Wand against me, enslaving me to her will. Now-"
Now the dragon was the one to halt, sniffing the air around like a dog that had caught a scent.
"Radeka…is no more? You…how?"
"Let's just say it was a happy little coincidence," the assassin explained, pulling Radeka's wand from behind her belt.
The light returned to Slane's eyes at the sight, two radiant silver lanterns, reminiscent of a pale moonlight over a winter forest.
"Fate might not be mine to command, but the All-Father spins it in my favor still."
His head lowered, waiting. Sebille extended her palm, holding the purging wand up for Slane to take. With one swift motion, he snatched the accursed artifact and snapped it in two, the Source stored within exploded in a burst of swirling, green light. Scales grew back in bald places, tethered wings spread wide open, and glare returned to his eyes, spilling onto his whole being, filling the markings etched all over his body. The flare intensified until it drowned his entire being with light. The elves squinted, shielding their eyes from the radiance with arms and hands. When the blazing brightness died down, the dragon was gone. In his place stood a lizard, his hide glazed with frost twinkled in the sun. The eyes struck Elane the most, two silvery orbs beaming at her. The same eyes as…
Slane bowed, smiling triumphantly. A few steps behind, Fane was scribbling so intently that his pencil almost caught on fire.
"Slane, the Dragon Knight at your service," he rose a little and bowed again.
A muscle in Elane's jaw twitched at the title, while Sebille squinted in pain, jolts of some ancient memory flashing through her mind. Whose? She had no idea.
"A Dragon…Knight..?" The scarred elf blurted, hoping acknowledgment would ease her flashes. It did not.
"I come from an ancient Draconic creed, shifting between two shapes is our greatest gift. Alas, I am afraid I am the last of my bloodline," Slane reminisced sadly. "Now, how can I be of help? I assume I could give you a ride on my back out of this vile island, but I sense you are not the only ones stranded here…"
"And you are not wrong in your assumptions," the noble validated. "Our main worry is taking the heavily guarded port."
"When?" The lizard's eyes twinkled with battle lust.
"Day after tomorrow, if you are keen on staying a bit."
The Dragon Knight raised his head to the now-clear skies.
"I am no errand boy, and I do not come when called anymore. But…"
He turned his moonlight eyes back to the Sourcerers.
"When you are truly at a loss, when you have no choice but to back down or perish, you will find safety in my shadow. This I promise."
His intense glare moved to settle on Sebille specifically. His jaw did not move, but words reached her nonetheless.
" Sister, in the heart of every slave burns the brightest freedom. That flame can consume you whole, or it can ignite your true purpose. Keep watch… "
"This is an island of many mysteries, of many horrors. I'll learn what I can; perhaps there is some possible reprieve for the souls who still suffer here."
He bowed his head low again, then sprung into the air, changing shape. Winter breeze enveloped the air around him and with powerful swings of his glass-like wings, he was with them no more. The snow under their feet started melting away.
After Slane's departure, they found themselves in a brand new area of the island and made the decision to explore it. Their curiosity paid off when they found a gigantic cavern wedged into the rocky cliffs encircling the beach. Remains of a sizable pirate ship found themselves inside the rocky grave, raising several eyebrows on how it came to rest here. The wreck hid several corpses of unfortunate sailors, who seemed to be enjoying their eternal slumber undisturbed. They ventured forth to the mostly intact quarterdeck that held a captain's cabin. They could tell so from an ornately decorated door, whose craftsmanship was yet to fade from decay. In the doorway lay another skeleton, presumably belonging to the captain of the ship. The room was in a similar state to its owner, save for one thing. In the very back of the room, in a cabinet that has its best days long behind, hung an immaculate set of armor. The vivid green of the coat almost shone among the dusty brown-gray mussiness.
Everything was setting itself to be obvious, but an elaborate trap. But still, the elves moved as if at command, rushing inside.
"Stay out of my way!" The assassin growled as she trampled the captain's spine to squeeze through the doorway.
Elane let out a guttural hiss and charged, bumping her shoulder into Sebille's without any courtesy. Fane was watching this clash utterly confused. The two women were scrambling through the tilted interior and ruined furniture on the way, only to get to the cabinet at the end. The cat-eyed elf was nimbler, and she negotiated the unfavoured terrain quicker. Elane, however, was quick to prove that strength bested wits by grasping the other woman by her shoulder and throwing her at a nearby wall. The old wood cracked upon the impact.
"Stop it you two! Do you really think violence is-'' The undead tried to reason, but he was forced to duck when an ancient candlestand was flung right over his head.
The noble pried the prize from decaying wooden clutches, and now was staring at it, as if she was looking at her old family portrait. Sebille, who was only slightly fazed by the collision, jolted towards the elf and they both became entangled, trying to pry the armor from the other's hands, not sparing unsavory comments while they held each other in a death grip.
It was now apparent to Fane, who acted as a spectator to this whole ordeal, that something was off with this particular garment. He tried to catch anything with his Source-sensitive senses, but he was out of the spell's hold. And seeing what it did to his companions he figured it would be much wiser to stay away. It was only by a streak of luck he hadn't found himself under the influence as well. Sebille was crushing Elane's throat with her knee, getting the upper hand. The noble's hold on a green hat was weakening, and finally, the assassin tugged it free. When Sebille's hand flung over her head, finally slipping out of the vices, a bolt of flame lit up the chamber, aimed directly at the retrieved headwear. It caught flame like a well-oiled canvas. The fire that ate at the enchanted fabric turned dark and smoked worse than a lump of bad-grade coal. When the heat started licking the assassin's fingertips, she snapped back from her delirium and cast the burning hat away. Then, she winced at the strange pain in her back and realized she had been choking her companion, whose mouth was foaming at this point.
"Are you two okay?"
The Eternal approached the confused women warily. Elane was coughing and wheezing on the grimy floor, while the accursed armor was laying inert beside her. The fabric lost some of its brilliance, the sapphire green dimming in an instant.
"What happened? What warranted…" the noble coughed and spat some blood on the floor. "A knee to my neck?"
"Now it's my turn to say it wasn't intentional," Sebille grumbled, rolling her shoulder blade to see the extent of the injury.
"You two got caught in a particularly nasty spell originating from this set of clothing," he kneeled down to investigate as much as his dulled senses allowed him. "Quite a sophisticated craft. Each part of the armor has a piece of incantation woven in. When they are all close enough, a circuit of magic gets closed and it formulates the desired effect."
"Not to mention time had nothing on this coat. The metal had not faded either," Elane offered her insights, grazing the sturdy fabric with her fingertips.
"That would be thanks to the use of Source in the process. We used this property to make our things last."
"There are an awful lot of Eternal things in here, are there not?" the noble prodded.
The Eternal stood up and dusted off his rags.
"Makes me bear a semblance of respect towards this Braccus fellow, despite his gruesome reputation."
"So to get this straight, the spell is neutralized now?" Sebille asked.
"To the best of my knowledge, yes, the aura will not appear without all components in place," he assessed.
"Jolly good," the cat-eyed elf happily noted, reaching down for ornate silver greaves."If we separate it for good there is even less chance of the magic flaring again."
"Not a bad idea," Elane nodded, picking up the coat and chest piece.
"Help yourself," the assassin nodded at the undead, who was sporting Elane's ruined shirt and next to nothing else.
The magical garments, even if crafted with humans in mind, expanded to fit the elven lithe posture, just like Elane's scale mail shirt before. She turned her back towards her companions and doffed her armor, blindly flinging it at the Eternal. Changing inside a ghost ship and among its crew inside a damp cave was not something she was keen on repeating anytime soon, but their attire finally looked somewhat presentable, especially Fane's. Elane left with the coat, the chest plate, and a new white cotton shirt underneath. Sebille got the captain's belt, heels, and gloves, while the undead, now back to his elven disguise, was graciously supplied with the scale mail shirt and a new pair of pants. On their way back, they also secured a still-sealed barrel of rum, which now rested on the noble's shoulder. All in all, their turbulent expedition proved fruitful.
The three returned back to the camp in rather good humor, even if finding the way back took some meandering. Ifan and his brigade were getting ready to depart for the fort when the elven trio appeared at the other entrance.
The one wolf approached them, trotting from the other side of the camp.
"Good to see you back and unscathed, lasses. And with loot to boot."
"Speak for yourself," Sebille answered back. "Lohse's anywhere around?"
"By the pond, last time I saw her. Who got you?" The mercenary bared his canines in a wry smile.
Sebille only rolled her catlike eyes at the other woman before dropping her bag to Ifan's feet and walking away.
"Infighting? Over what?" His forehead scrunched with a few additional creases.
Elane tellingly raised the lapel of her coat. "A piece of magical, enchanted alluring fabric," she spat with little enthusiasm.
Mercenary's eyebrows rose again, then dropped in a more serious expression.
"Sounds like an eventful afternoon. Sadly I also have news, bad ones…"
"Magisters?" The undead guessed.
"No. Gratiana. She's dead…well…deader."
"You were attacked? Voidwoken?" Elane was quick to assume the worst, but Ifan shook his head.
"None of that, she just…she fell, and never got back up."
The conversation the noble had with the demon in the depths of Braccus' vault suddenly made much more sense.
"And she was undead," he stressed.
This didn't disturb the elf or the scholar much, contrary to some inhabitants of the camp.
"Anything else?" the woman murmured in grim anticipation.
"Well, yes-" the wolf's claw became glued to the back of his neck, his eyes restless in their search to lay over an item that wasn't the two silhouettes in front of him.
"If there is anything else," the scholar was quick to add. "Tell us. We have painstakingly little time."
"Well, Vermil might have a better…outlook on the situation. Come, let's get it over with before we depart. But…"
He glanced at the sizable barrel the noble was effortlessly shouldering.
"You plan to crack that open, aren't you?"
With cups of chilled, thousand-year-old rum in hand, they headed down to the depression in the middle of the sanctuary that held the small pond. Vermil, Lohse and Sebille, to whose back the bard was now tending, were already gathered on one of the wooden embankments. What appeared to be Gratiana's remains wrapped in linen were lying on the platform on the other side. The rogue was first to notice the pilgrimage approaching and waved at the three.
Ifan reached them first, carrying a bouquet of generously filled mugs and handing them over, as the newcomers settled down on the ground, Fane being the last to catch the drift.
Vermil barely wetted his ebony whiskers, keenly scanning the faces of his companions. All were unnerved and hid it to the best of their ability. He waited until they imbibed a fair amount, turning a deaf ear to Ifan's constant appraisal of the beverage.
"Let me get straight to the point," he finally spoke aloud, hushing any other conversations. "Were you let in on the news?"
Silence fell among the six of them, with only discrete glances exchanged among a few.
"The Godwoken kind," he specified.
Ifan's content expression dropped as if his rum had turned into bitter poison when he saw the two elves and the Eternal nod with some reluctance.
"We indeed have," the noble answered.
Sebille straightened her back, whiffing the air like an intrigued cat.
"That means you too had a run-in with the Seven?"
Lohse shuffled on her knees uncomfortably behind the assassin's back.
"We did," the rogue murmured. "But didn't tell a soul yet. Red collapsed by the same time we did, so we can also count him into the equation"
Sebille's eyes scanned her company with discrete scorn.
"The gods aim for the numbers to win, it seems."
"Should we…let the Seekers know?" Elane suggested in a hushed voice.
No one seemed keen on the idea, the noble included.
"I, for one," The Lone Wolf intruded. "Care little about listening to a god I don't believe in telling me things I don't believe. We need to get out of here first, playing savior can come later."
"I do not like where this is heading," the elf admitted with disdain. "I never asked to be some god's chosen."
"Let's focus on 'now' and 'here'," Vermil suggested, finally taking a hefty gulp of the alcohol.
"To our swift and troubleless escape!" Lohse cheered, raising her mug.
The rest, save for confused Eternal, followed suit, clanking their tin mugs together.
Half an hour has passed in a carefree atmosphere before it was high time for Ifan and most of the men to depart for Joy. From their entourage, only Fane and Elane remained by the waterside, while the rest returned to their tasks.
"I will join Ifan's brigade," she stated after a long silence between them.
He nodded, not even sparing her a glance.
"And you?"
He turned his stolen, dark brown eyes toward her.
"I shall stay here. I need some time to think…Besides, I believe your muscles will be of more use than any assistance I could offer."
"Try not to get on anyone's bad side while I am away," the noble instructed, standing up.
The undead snorted and left this remark with no further comment.
"Going with us, lass?" The mercenary asked after shouldering a few long planks bound together by a strip of fabric.
"Thought I might be of use," the noble tilted her head from side to side.
"Always happy to hand over my share of work," Vermil chimed in, content at the prospect.
Ifan's only response to the man's suggestion was a particularly ugly grin.
"You don't want to stay and have another sniff around the ruins?"
"No," she said, taking the burden off the mercenary's shoulders onto her own."Someone much more apt for the job took interest in them. "
"Care to elaborate?" the man raised one eyebrow at her.
"Of course, we have the entire way to the fort for that."