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Common Clay B3Ch5: The Dungeon
🕑 Added 2024-12-03 15:00:02 +0000 UTCThe moment Clay stepped through the archway, he knew something was wrong.
It was like he’d forced himself into a pool of oily filth. Each breath seemed to be clouded with the stench of death. Grey dust floated into the air with every step along the darkened floor, and the howling wind in his mind increased to a continual dull roar against his ethereal senses. Worse, it was as if something had struck out at his Soul directly. He stumbled, and he was not alone; the adventurers seemed just as uncomfortable.
A heartbeat later, his [Gift] explained exactly what had happened.
{Malus received from the Curse of the Legion of the Unliving! All Stats decreased by 2 for 24 hours.}
His eyes widened in shock. Syr Katherine had warned him, but to lose that much of his strength in a single instant…
Before he could say anything, Syr Katherine shook her head. “A [Stat] penalty. Unfortunate.”
“I’d say.” Orn shook his head. “I’ve lost access to most of my [Chants]. My time here might be limited.”
Taylor snorted. “You’re not alone, [Fighter]. Another hour or two and I’ll be slower and weaker than a [Farmer]. Syr Katherine?”
“We continue.” Syr Katherine shook her head. The fingers on her right were clenched around her sword; her left hand was opening and closing, as if trying to grow used to their lessened strength. “Stay alert. The Dungeon will know we are here.”
The others nodded, and Syr Katherine once again took the lead. Clay followed in their wake, his footsteps still stirring the dust below his feet. Somehow, it had all gotten so much worse.
It didn’t take long for Clay to decide that he hated being in this new world.
They had lit torches to illuminate the corridor they started in, but they had left the darkness behind soon enough. The hallway had led them to a door, and when they had opened it, they found themselves in a gigantic field enclosed by stone walls. It looked like a massive courtyard or a prison of some kind, with distant figures patrolling along the walls.
The field was not empty. Instead, with the exception of a handful of grey stone pathways, just about every inch was dominated by a crop of red, waving grain. It was unlike any plant Clay had ever seen. At first glance, the stuff resembled wheat, but looking closer revealed it had some kind of pulsing vine that wrapped around the stalk of the plant and up to the fruit at the top. A smell like rust and copper wafted from the grain at the top of each stalk; the stench covered the whole field like a haze.
There were skeletal workers walking along the rows of plants, carrying sacks full of white dust that they spread among the roots of the plants. Chains clinked softly on their wrists and ankles as they moved. They seemed utterly unconscious of the adventurers, not even glancing in their direction as they trudged between the rows.
Clay watched the nearest of them as it passed by, his spear clenched in his hands. The others seemed much less worried, though they did stay quiet and still while it passed. He opened his mouth to ask a question, and Taylor raised a finger to her lips. Only when the thing had vanished into the crops did she finally speak.
“Many Dungeons have creatures that aren’t hostile. They don’t give any Soul for being destroyed, and interfering with them might alert the other forces of the Dungeon to the fact that we are here.”
He nodded slowly. Then he started to recite the Orison, hoping to confirm what she had said. It completed a moment later, when another of the skeletons meandered by.
[Chained Serf]
[Rank: 0, Type: Undead, Status: Denizen of The Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 0]
[Instincts: Sower]
Clay grimaced. Taylor had been right; a rank zero monster wouldn’t give him anything for killing it. It still felt wrong to just let the creatures wander by, tending their repulsive crops.
He glanced up into the sky of this strange place and felt a shiver of terror work its way through him. There was a sun there, but it was unlike anything Clay had ever seen. The orb was pure blackness, surrounded by a fragile, shimmering halo of white light that hurt to look at. It stained the rest of the sky a pale orange, and there weren’t any signs of clouds to be seen.
Syr Katherine motioned for them to move forward, and Clay stalked forward along one of the stone paths, following in her footsteps. He could see some of the serfs making their dull way through the crops, but none of them seemed to notice the passage of the heroes in their midst.
They reached a doorway in the far wall, and Syr Katherine opened it to reveal another grim corridor. She motioned them through and closed the door behind them. Once again, they made their way through the dark until they reached a new doorway.
This time, it opened to reveal some sort of storeroom. It was piled high with crates and weapons; the scent of the red harvest was thick in the air. They walked through the room, searching for any sign of threat, and then found a new corridor waiting for them.
As they stalked down each hallway, Clay felt the wind howling worse and worse in his mind. It made it hard to sense anything else; even the chained serfs they sometimes encountered seemed invisible to his ethereal warnings. They found another field of red, followed by a room filled with neglected, rusted smithing tools. All of them seemed to be empty, except for the terrible light filtering through the windows from the glowering sky.
Clay was starting to wonder if they would ever find anything when they reached the next room.
The room was an intersection of hallways, stretching in five different directions. At the center of them, there was an Undead, and Clay could tell at a glance that it was no serf.
It wore a suit of armor that covered it completely and stood about as tall as Orn. The Undead was armed with a giant sword in one hand and an equally large shield in the other. Clay could see dark mist rising from the joints of its armor as it moved, and a bolt of fear swept through him as it turned to face the group of adventurers.
Orn stepped forward, his war hammer clenched in his fist. “I’ll take this one. It seems more my style.”
Syr Katherine frowned at him. “We should strike it together. There’s no point—”
“It’s been years since I’ve had a serious fight, Syr Katherine.” Orn’s voice grew deeper. “The rest of you can continue forward, if you must, but I will take this creature and destroy it.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “So be it. We will only step in if you are put at a disadvantage.”
Orn nodded, and then he stepped forward. The hammer swung easily in his grip as he approached the enemy.
Clay was whispering the Refrain to himself, hoping to get a glimpse of it before Orn destroyed it. After all, there was a chance they would run into more of these things.
When the [Chant] activated, moments later, Clay felt his eyes widen.
[Death Knight]
[Rank: 15, Type: Undead, Status: Noble of the Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 15]
[Instincts: Armor, Resistant, Drainer, Deathmark, Corruptor, Challenger]
It was the strongest monster he had ever seen, and the list of its traits made him wonder if Orn had bitten off more than the Armsman could chew.
Then Orn stepped forward and swung his hammer, harder and faster than Clay had ever seen him move.
The knight brought its shield up, and the impact rang off the stone of the hallways, echoing along the corridors. To Clay’s surprise, the knight actually slid backwards a short distance. He thought he could detect a hint of shock in its posture as it regained its footing.
It roared, the heat of its rage even whispering along Clay’s ethereal senses. A heartbeat later, it lunged at Orn, the gigantic sword flashing out. Orn swatted the blade aside with his replacement hand; the runes of the false gauntlet shone and sparked. Then he punched the knight in the face, knocking it backwards before he struck at its shield a second time.
This time, the knight slammed back into a nearby wall. The stone cracked a little with the impact, and the knight shook itself as it stepped away from the spot. It roared again and then charged, its shield held like a battering ram.
The [Fighter] watched it come. Then he took his hammer in both hands and raised it over his head.
Orn’s hammer fell like a star from heaven. It smashed into the knight’s shield and sent the Undead reeling backwards. The shield itself was bent and half-ruined; Clay thought he could see the arm that had carried it bent in a sickening direction.
Yet the knight was not done. Its gaze snapped back to Orn, and it hissed in hatred. Wisps of dark smoke began to stream into its mouth, under the visor. Clay’s eyes widened as he realized it was coming from Orn. A moment later, the metal of the knight’s arm began to straighten and repair itself; its shield also started to untwist itself.
The Armsman shook his head. He looked from the smoke to the knight and grunted. Clay heard the knight give off a dry laugh, the sound filled with malice and contempt.
Orn stepped forward, and the knight moved to circle him. It was still drawing something from the [Fighter], and it seemed content to keep the distance while it did. When Orn moved to close the gap, it slashed and stabbed at him, obviously hoping to draw things out. Clay started to move forward, to strike at the knight’s back, but Taylor turned and raised an eyebrow at him.
While he paused, Orn finally made a move. The [Fighter] launched himself across the stone floor and swung his hammer in a flat arc. In response, the knight started to guard itself with a shield again, obviously confident that it could stop the man’s attack.
Metal rang on metal again, and the knight staggered backwards. Before it could set itself again, Orn followed after it, striking in the opposite direction. His hammer moved like a rotating weight, smashing from the left and then the right, then the left again. Blow after blow struck the knight, driving it backwards.
It tried to guard itself until the shield was battered into uselessness. When it struck back, Orn smashed the sword from its hand. Then the blows started to get through, smashing into the knight’s shoulder, hip, ribs…
Blow after blow came crushing down, until the knight fell to its knees. It was still draining something from Orn, still trying to repair itself. Yet it had run out of time. Orn raised his hammer in both hands again, his grip tightening on the haft.
Then he brought it down. The knight’s helmet shattered like an egg under a stone. What was left of the knight’s battered form slumped backwards and crumbled.
Orn looked back with a smile. There was sweat sliding down his face, and he was breathing hard, but his features were still lit by an expression of triumph. “There, now. I did not take so long, did I?”
Syr Katherine sighed. “Well done, Sir Orn.” She walked into the intersection and examined the branching corridors. “This way. We still have to find the Guardians.”
Clay followed them as they left, but he couldn’t help but glance at the decaying knight as they passed it. How long would it be before he was going to be able to deal with something like that?
They wandered through three more corridors and two more rooms before they found the next challenge.
It was waiting for them in a small tower. A series of statues had been carved into the walls, showing various skeletons in the middle of lifting their arms. Without faces, Clay couldn’t tell if they were meant to be praising something, screaming in horror, or begging, but they left him unsettled.
The figure that stood between all of them wasn’t any better. It was unnervingly slender and shrouded by a thin, tattered robe. Even though it was at least a head taller than Orn, it couldn’t have weighed more than Syr Katherine, even if it still had all its flesh. A staff of carved bone was clutched in its hands, and a dark mask sat over its face.
Part of him wanted to retreat rather than face the thing, but Taylor stepped forward with a much put-upon sigh. “I suppose I shall have to demonstrate my talents now as well. I wouldn’t have our newest peer thinking that the work of an adventurer is all brawn and no thought.”
Orn snorted, but he still moved aside to let Taylor pass. Syr Katherine’s expression was pinched with irritation, but she simply folded her arms as the [Artifactor] strode forward to confront the thing.
A moment whispering the Refrain gave Clay his own perspective on what the scholar was about to face.
[Corrupted Priest]
[Rank: 15, Type: Undead, Status: Noble of the Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 12]
[Instincts: Summoner, Sidereal, Terror, Wraith, Sorcerer, Unmoored]
Taylor approached with a casual air, though Clay thought he could detect hints of magic crawling up along her clothing and staff. She looked up at the looming creature, her expression unworried. “Sir Clay, remember to take into account that some beings are beyond simple weaponry.”
As she spoke, the Undead priest lashed out at her. Its bone white staff struck at Taylor’s head, but the [Artifactor] had already moved in response. Her own staff met the priest’s, and there was a flash of green light. Taylor grimaced and shook her head as it struck out again, blocking it with another swing of her own. The priest reared back and delivered a brutal overhand strike, but Taylor caught it on the middle of her own staff, stopping it cold.
The priest hissed something in a language that made Clay blink and shiver. A quartet of glowing skulls, bone wreathed in green fire, took shape over the priest’s shoulders. Taylor looked up at them, her eyebrows quirking upward in surprise.
Then the skulls darted forward, slamming into Taylor and exploding. Green fire washed across the stone floor, and Clay had to step back as it nearly reached his own feet. Orn stirred slightly, and then subsided as the fire began to fade.
In the center of the burning blaze, utterly unharmed, Taylor was still looking up at the priest. Her skin had turned grey, as if it were made of iron, and it didn’t seem to have a single mark on it. “A [Sigil] can often be used for defense, you know. It can be handy when an enemy relies on magic to do its work.”
Taylor moved, stepping to the side and letting the priest’s staff slide away from her. The priest backpedaled, gliding away from her across the floor, and the [Artifactor] sighed. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that, creature. Hovering above the floor is a neat trick, but it won’t save you.”
The priest hissed again, and a whirling wheel of light coalesced above its head. It hurt to look at, like the Dungeon’s terrible sun, but Taylor ignored it. She stepped forward and swung her staff at the thing’s midsection. This time, it was the priest who blocked, and the chamber lit with green light once again.
A gesture sent the whirling light at Taylor’s head, but the [Artifactor] stepped back and caught it on the end of her staff. She whirled it around and sent it back at the robed figure, accompanied by a derisive snort. The priest shrieked in rage as its own magic struck it, burning away at the fabric that was draped over its frame. Another gesture banished the light and left the creature surrounded by smoke and ash.
It shook itself, obviously regathering its strength, but before it could do anything else, Taylor darted in close. A swing of the staff smashed one of its legs. The priest thrust its own staff back at her, and Taylor simply grabbed it with one hand. She ignored the fire that lashed at her from the pale weapon while she brought back her own staff and brought it down on the thing’s arm with a crack of shattered bone.
The priest shrieked a second time and lost its grip on the staff. Taylor tossed it aside and smashed the creature another handful of times. Each time, there was a snap of shattered bone, and the priest withdrew a little more.
Then, as Taylor drew back for a final strike at its head, the priest looked up—and vanished.
The [Artifactor] paused. “Troublesome.” She sighed again, and her voice took on a familiar, lecturing tone. “At times, a creature of this level can manipulate both time and space. They often use such tricks in desperation, for they carry some risks. For example…”
Taylor spun, her staff suddenly wreathed in crystal. She stabbed it down and into the space over the staff, just as the priest reappeared. It paused, impaled by Taylor’s own staff, and turned slowly to look up at the [Artifactor], who smiled. “If you know where they are going, you can turn the tables on them easily. Like so.”
She twisted her hands on the staff, and it blazed with sudden violent light. When it faded, the priest had collapsed in a pile of ash that swiftly melted away into the floor. Taylor watched it a few more moments and then huffed. “Well then. Shall we continue?”
Their journey continued down the next hallway and into an open field. This courtyard, unlike the others, appeared to have been left fallow. The tilled grey earth was left barren, and no serfs were tending to the red plants here. Syr Katherine paused at the doorway for a moment, and then motioned for them to head towards another door on the left side of the courtyard. Orn had once again taken point, striding along with a smile still on his face.
The smile vanished when Syr Katherine abruptly spoke in a low, firm voice. “Stop. Do not move.”
Everyone froze in place. The absolute conviction of her order was unmistakable. She continued in a low voice. “Sir Orn, there’s a trap beneath your right foot. It may trigger if you move.”
The Armsman grunted in response. Clay heard Master Taylor sigh behind him. “Are the rest of us caught as well, Syr Katherine?”
“I don’t believe so, but there are more traps. It will be best if you stay still.” Syr Katherine’s voice was cold, and when Clay glanced at her, she was looking around the courtyard, her eyes narrow. “The traps are arranged to inhibit movement. The pattern is clear after a moment, but there are some that appear to have no real trigger. It suggests that the trapper is nearby…”
Her gaze paused on a spot on the battlement of the wall in front of them. “There. Wait here one moment. I will not be long.”
She burst into a run, dodging back and forth around invisible obstacles. Clay turned to look in the same direction that she had been looking, searching for any sign of a threat. Had the [Calculator] been affected by a spell somehow? Perhaps it had been her that had stepped in—
There was a flash, followed quickly by the crack of something splitting the air at high speed. Syr Katherine moved with incredible agility, dodging to the side, and something slammed into the grey dirt where she had been standing. A figure stood up from where it had been crouched on the wall, a ripple of magic falling away from it as it worked the catch on a strange kind of crossbow held in its arms.
Clay recited the Refrain as Syr Katherine closed in on it, watching as it prepared for the next shot.
[Putrid Saboteur]
[Rank: 15, Type: Undead, Status: Noble of the Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 8]
[Instincts: Trapper, Gunner, Invisible, Marksman, Evader, Self-Destruct]
It drew the crossbow to its shoulder again, and a second flash made Clay jerk. He couldn’t even see the shape of the projectile as it sped towards Syr Katherine, but the [Calculator] dodged it with apparent ease. She weaved closer to the wall, still running hard as the saboteur dropped its crossbow and drew out two smaller versions.
His heart leapt into his throat as the [Calculator] abruptly leapt into the air. Syr Katherine jumped higher than he’d ever seen, easily clearing the wall and coming down towards the Undead. In response, the saboteur raised its weapons and fired. He saw a pair of flashes that gave off the same sharp cracks.
Syr Katherine responded immediately, gesturing in front of her as she fell. A rippling shield of air formed in front of her, just in time to divert the speeding projectiles. She landed on the wall unharmed and continued her wild charge, her sword already in her hand.
The saboteur took another two steps back and then made a curious gesture with one hand. Explosions suddenly rocked the wall as it apparently detonated some magical trap; Clay took an involuntary step forward as angry, red fire raged along the battlement.
As if satisfied with its work, the saboteur turned back to the courtyard. It bent to pick up its larger weapon; Clay realized that it meant to attack them from the wall, or force them to step into its traps. Either way, it seemed supremely confident in its victory.
It might still have thought itself the victor when Syr Katherine descended on it from above, having jumped over the blasts. She landed, rolled, and crossed the remaining distance in a single, lightning-fast motion. Her blade flashed as she swung it, and the edge sang with the speed of her strike.
Impossibly, the saboteur still dodged it. The Undead leapt backwards, and the sword’s edge only caught the front of its light armor. Fabric and metal plates were torn away, but the creature still hissed in rage at her.
At least, it did until Syr Katherine leveled a hand at it and unleashed her magic. A sudden lance of ice erupted from her palm, and Clay grinned to see her using the [Charm] on somebody else for once. The saboteur practically bent itself in half evading the spell, leaning so far backwards that Clay could have sworn he heard the spine snap.
It didn’t help the creature evade her next strike, a low cut that caught it in the leg. As the Undead staggered, still reaching for its weapons, Katherine stepped closer in again, and grabbed the monster by the front of its torn armor. There was another flash of magic, and the creature froze in place, now covered in frost.
Syr Katherine shoved it aside, as if she was throwing away a piece of trash. The saboteur toppled from the wall. It shattered when it landed, breaking into a dozen smaller pieces. Then those pieces exploded, shattering what was left still further and scattering sharpened fragments across the nearby area.
Clay watched in appreciation as she let herself down from the wall, moving a lot more slowly this time. She waved to them when her feet were back on the grey dirt. “The traps have dissipated. You are safe to move.”
Orn and Taylor looked at each other, and then at Clay. He shrugged, and they started towards the door again. Clay didn’t know if they were going to face something more difficult than that on this journey, but at the very least, Syr Katherine seemed capable of handling the situation. Her expression was still impatient and strained as they joined her, however, and there was no mistaking the urgency in her voice as she spoke.
“We must hurry. We can’t have much more time before—”
The [Gift] shuddered within him as a brutal impact struck at Clay’s very being. He staggered and saw similar reactions from the adventurers around him.
{Malus Refreshed and Reinforced! All Stats decreased by 4 for 24 hours.}
Clay looked up and saw Syr Katherine go solemn. She looked at the others, and then at him. “Lesson seven, Sir Clay. Do not spend too much time in a Dungeon—or you may never find a way out.”
With that warning in the forefront of his mind, Clay followed them into the next corridor. He was starting to think he had made a severe mistake coming to this place.
Their journey was untroubled for a time as they passed through corridors and fields. No more terrible enemies made an appearance, and none of the serfs appeared to take notice of their passage.
Eventually, they reached another open field, only this time, it was clear that it had been left untilled for a reason. Two small towers had been constructed in the middle of the field, each built around a set of massive wheels with spokes poking out of the sides. A tremendous number of serfs were chained to each protruding spoke, their hands secured to it as they trudged in a continuous circle. Each tower was connected to an axle that extended from it to another building, where there was a continual grinding sound.
Clay felt a numb sense of horror as he watched the creatures continue to power the machine. What kind of place was this? As he watched, one of the serfs abruptly fell. Their body was dragged along by the chains, until the rest of the serfs trampled it under their feet, eventually crushing it into pieces.
For a moment, the dangling chains just continued to hang from the wheel. Then there was a flash of dark light, and the serf reassembled itself to begin its work anew.
Syr Katherine nodded. “A Guardian must be nearby. Otherwise, the serfs would be staying dead.” Her eyes fixed on the building where the axles were turning. “It must be in there. Let’s move.”
The adventurers nodded, and they crept together across the field, sticking to the shadows along the wall. They needn’t have bothered. From what Clay could see, the serfs didn’t seem to care for anything other than their unceasing walk around the tower, and none of them so much as turned their heads to look outside the towers as he and his companions drew close to the building.
It seemed like a fairly unimpressive place, made of blank stone with no windows. The only entry point that Clay could see was a single door made of the same slippery wood they had encountered outside the Dungeon. His ethereal senses did manage to pick up something inside, however, and he paused as they reached the place.
Taylor noticed his hesitation and whispered quietly. “Sir Clay, do you sense something?”
The others looked back at him, and he nodded. “Yeah. There’s definitely something in there. It’s too hard to tell what, though.”
Syr Katherine looked back at the door, her face set in a determined expression. “Then we proceed. Sir Orn, the door if you please.”
Orn nodded and stepped forward, his hammer ready to smash the wood to pieces. He reared back with his weapon… and then paused. With a sudden expression of realization, he reached out and pulled the unlocked door open. Taylor rolled her eyes and walked through, followed by Syr Katherine. Clay was next, as Orn gestured for him to pass through.
Inside, the building appeared to be one single room filled with turning wheels and rumbling machinery. It almost looked like some kind of mill; the air was filled with a fine dust that clogged his nostrils almost immediately. A group of serfs were laboring away alongside the grinding stones and whirling wheels; he watched as one of them dumped a crate of bones into the chute that led into the machinery, while another was carefully filling a sack with the dust that was spilling out of the other end. The entire building was full of sacks, stacked high against the walls as proof of the serfs’ work.
They were not the only ones in the room, however. Standing at the far end of the room, in front of another door that led further into the Dungeon, was a group of Undead.
There was a knight there, its eyes watching the toiling serfs with apparent satisfaction. A saboteur was present as well, its weapon ready to fire as it paced back and forth. A priest loomed over both of the others, its pale staff clutched tightly in its hands and its attention on a staggering serf clutching a full bag of ground dust.
Those three weren’t the only outsiders, however, and the others were what drew Clay’s attention. A group of Undead stood in a small circle, all carrying short, broad blades and tall shields. They were utterly motionless as they stood there, as if frozen in place. Within that circle, carrying a pole with banners hanging from it, was another Undead. It wore armor that was slightly more ornate than the others, and instead of a weapon, it held a trumpet of some kind in its free hand.
Clay was already reciting the Refrain as the others crouched behind the nearest pile of bags. He heard Taylor whispering to Syr Katherine. “Fighting in here will be a disadvantage. Three of them at once, plus the Guardian?”
Syr Katherine spoke calmly. “We have no choice. If a Guardian is here, we need to destroy it. Such opportunities do not come lightly.”
Orn grumbled something under his breath. “I’m not complaining about a fight, but with the Malus…”
“Waiting will only make things worse. Better to commit than to hesitate and lose the chance.”
As they whispered, Clay felt the [Chant] complete. He locked onto the Undead with the banner and blinked as new information filled him.
[Guardian Cruel Centurion (Riders)]
[Rank: 10, Type: Undead, Status: Lord of the Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 3]
[Instincts: Guardian, Creator, Commander, Eternal]
Clay paused. “The one in the back is the Guardian.”
Taylor nodded, her face tense. “You might have surmised that from the fact that the others are protecting it, Sir Clay.”
Orn nudged her. “Don’t mock the young hero. He’s doing his best.”
Instead of answering, Clay shifted his attention to the line in front of the Guardian and began the [Chant] again. A moment later it was done.
[Undying Legionnaire]
[Rank: 0, Type: Undead, Status: Vassal of the Legion of the Unliving]
[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 0]
[Instincts: Puppet, Formation, Sacrificial]
He shifted in place, realizing what the centurion’s likely strategy would be. It would throw the legionnaires into battle as a distraction and stay at the back. All he needed to do would be to push past them, and he’d be able to cut it down.
As he opened his mouth to say so, Syr Katherine and the others apparently finished their whispered argument. She looked at him and nodded. “Sir Clay, support us as we move in. Strike if and when you see an opening, but do not risk yourself.”
Clay blinked. “Syr Katherine, if I can just get to the Guardian—”
“The others will defend it, Sir Clay. With the Malus, we’re all much more vulnerable.” She shook her head. “We move together, and we can destroy them. Now, to arms.”
Before he could argue, she stood up from behind their cover, along with the others. The Undead noticed them immediately, tensing and readying their weapons as the adventurers charged across the room towards them.
He had nearly finished rising to join them when the centurion placed its trumpet to its lipless jaw and somehow blew it.
The note reverberated through the room, echoing and howling off the walls. Clay felt himself cringe before the violence of the thing, and he saw the lights of the Undead’s eyes suddenly flare red. He felt a grim sense of recognition as he realized it had just seized control of the others. However hard the Undead had fought before, they would be much worse now.
His suspicions were confirmed a heartbeat later as Orn, his hammer cocked back and ready to strike, suddenly froze in place. Skeletal hands reached up to clutch at his legs, and across the room, the saboteur gave a hissing laugh as it raised its weapon. There was a flash as it fired, and Orn grunted as the projectile struck sparks from his shoulder.
Syr Katherine responded immediately, leaping across the room in a blur of motion. Unfortunately, the priest lurched forward and blocked her attack, intercepting her sword short of the saboteur. The [Calculator] barely had time to channel her shield in the air before the priest unleashed a green bolt of lightning that hurled her back. Trailing smoke, Syr Katherine rolled back to her feet as the priest stalked in after her.
Master Taylor charged in to help her, but the knight lunged between them. The [Artifactor] swung at it, but the knight swatted the attack aside with terrifying ease. Its return strike bounced off of Taylor’s iron-hard skin, but the [Artifactor] still staggered backwards. The knight followed after, hissing, and black smoke began to leak from Taylor’s body and drift towards it.
Just that quickly, the situation had gone from bad to worse. Clay’s eyes went from the battle of his teachers to the centurion, which was regarding them with baleful hate. If he could kill it, maybe the others would be weakened or disorganized enough for them to win. At the very least, those legionnaires wouldn’t make things worse.
He set aside his spear for the moment and drew out his bow, beginning the [Chant] for the Canticle of Ice as well. By the time he drew the shaft to his cheek, however, the centurion had already seen him. It glared in his direction, the banner still clutched in its hand. The legionnaires surrounding it moved, forming a double line as they marched forward.
Grimacing, Clay loosed. The arrow flew straight and true, easily passing over the heads of the legionnaires defending the Guardian. He’d aimed it well; it flew straight for the spot between its burning eyes.
Yet the Guardian just shifted its stance just slightly and rang the bannerpole against the stone floor. A shimmer of distortion rippled through the air, and Clay’s arrow bounced away as if it had struck a solid wall. The centurion’s head tilted to the side; Clay could have sworn the skull leered at him with contempt.
Then the thing raised its trumpet a second time, and a second long note blew through the room.
Clay stepped back, eyes wide, as more legionnaires stepped out of the wall behind the Guardian. His heart hammered in his chest as he realized the things weren’t just appearing from that direction, either. On both sides, and from the wall behind him, more were emerging, their eyes glowing red and their swords drawn.
Desperate for solutions, he completed the Canticle and grimaced as only four spears of ice formed. He sent them hurtling across the room at the legionnaires. Four of them crumpled, their shields pierced and their armor ruined. A heartbeat later, they faded into nothing as blue fire consumed them, and their companions stepped in to fill the gap they had left behind.
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
The centurion, for its part, simply seemed to drink in that blue fire. An unearthly light began to fill its armor, and the flames of its own eyes grew hotter. Clay suddenly felt a growing certainty that he didn’t want to find out what happened if too many of the legionnaires died.
He drew back another arrow and shot a legionnaire as it tried to charge Syr Katherine from behind. It fell, fading as the others had. Orn batted another one away, and attempted to push his way forward, only to be thrown back in a blast of red flame as the saboteur hissed in glee. Taylor was being forced back, and nearly stumbled into another legionnaire before Clay shot that one as well.
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
Clay started the Refrain, hoping to at least keep the legionnaires at bay as he thought up a way out. They needed a distraction. Something that could keep the Undead from coordinating with each other and chasing them as they pulled out. He stowed his bow and grabbed his spear, turning on the three legionnaires that were coming at him from behind. He smashed one of them aside, ducked a slash from another, and then put his spearpoint through the third’s helmet. As he spun away from the third one, he cut down the other two in a wide slash that tore through their armor like it was paper.
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
As he looked back towards the others, he saw Taylor get knocked halfway across the room. She hit the ground and rolled to a stop next to one of the grinding wheels. As she started to get back to her feet, the knight advanced, its sword ready to strike her down.
The Refrain completed, and Clay’s eyes fell on the pile of sacks next to the knight. He didn’t hesitate. Four spears of ice tore across the room and slammed into the sacks, tearing holes in them and flooding the air around the knight with a cloud of dust. It paused, its bulky figure half-lost in the haze, and Clay reached out to grab Taylor by the shoulder. He shouted loud enough to be heard over the chaos of the battle.
“Pull back! Pull back to the doorway!”
Taylor jerked and looked back at him, her mouth open to yell something, but Clay was already moving past her, the Refrain once again on his lips. An idea had grown in his mind as that cloud of dust had engulfed the knight. It had reminded him of a story his father had told him, a warning about a man that had owned a grain mill and had hired an incautious fool amused by fire…
Another explosion forced Orn back, and Clay reacted immediately. He grabbed the nearest bag of powder and hurled it across the room. Even with the Malus affecting him, it flew across the room easily. Clay grinned as he saw the saboteur’s eyes flicker with something like surprise. It pivoted to fire its weapon at the bag, but the powder simply absorbed the shot. When it hit the saboteur, dust flew everywhere, just as Clay had hoped.
Orn was struggling to his feet when Clay stepped up beside him. He motioned to where the knight was now striding out of the haze of dust, and then back to where Taylor was reluctantly falling back. The [Fighter] paused, and then nodded. The knight was still brushing dust away from its eyes when Orn smashed into it with his hammer; its shield crumpled, and the Undead was thrown back into the cloud of dust, which billowed even wider.
As Orn and Taylor headed for the exit, Clay completed the Refrain again. This time, he fired the spears at the priest, who had to pause in its assault on Syr Katherine to deflect them. She glanced back at him, and he yelled to her. “Pull back! I have a plan!”
She paused for a moment, and the centurion sounded out another call on its horn. More legionnaires stepped out from the walls, and Syr Katherine nodded. With another of her terrific leaps, she shot back towards where the others were gathering. The move left the priest a bit baffled; it started to turn towards Clay.
Its face leered at him just in time to be hit with a bag of dust in the face.
Clay started the [Chant] for the Ballad of Air, backpedaling across the floor of the room. As he went, he lashed out with his spear against the bags of dust around him, cutting slits in most of them, tossing others at the advancing Undead. Frustrated legionnaires slashed the bags out of the air. The knight exploded one of them as it tried to smash it aside with its shield; the saboteur shot at him, but missed thanks to the steadily growing cloud of dust. A whirling wheel of light came tearing through the cloud, and Clay just barely managed to dodge it. It carved through part of the nearest grinding wheel instead, leaving a smoking scar on the stone.
More and more dust filled the room, and Clay grinned as he finally completed the Ballad. He reached out with tendrils of wind and stirred the cloud even further, sweeping it into a dust storm that only grew as he added more powder to the mix. He couldn’t even see the Undead now, aside from the indistinct figures of some of the closest legionnaires. The air was growing so thick with dust that he could barely see the doorway where the adventurers were standing. Above the cloud, however, he could still hear the centurion’s horn, calling more and more Undead to battle.
As Clay reached the door, he spent one final bit of focus hurling another blade-savaged pile of dust bags into the air. More dust billowed into the room, filling it from top to bottom. He ran for the door, releasing the [Chant] as he went. Instead, he grabbed his bow and an arrow, and began the [Chant] of the Spontaneous Spark.
Clay stumbled out of the mill and out into the open air, still coughing the final words of the [Chant] out. Orn made as if to shut the door, but he stopped the [Fighter] and dragged him further from the building. Taylor opened her mouth to demand an explanation, and then her eyes bugged out as he finished the minor [Chant] and set the arrow alight.
He turned and drew back the arrow. His voice was rough as he spoke. “For Pellsglade.”
Then he loosed it. The arrow flew straight into the expanding dust cloud, a flaming beacon of destruction. For a moment, it seemed as if nothing had happened.
There was a flicker of flame inside the cloud. It grew into a single swelling explosion in half a heartbeat. Flames roared through the open doorway; more shot through the openings where the axles were still turning. The ground shook as the blast struck with full force; he saw the stone of the building crack, and the tiles of the roof seemed to lift slightly as smoke burst from the fractures there. Its impact knocked Clay to one knee as the heat and wind of it rushed past, but he ignored it and started the [Chant] of the Drums of the Earth.
A flood of notifications followed the blast, one that was gratifyingly long.
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Chained Serf slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
{Undying Legionnaire slain!}
He was partway through when Syr Katherine grabbed his shoulder. “Sir Clay, we should retreat. The enemy…”
She paused as he glanced at her, and then Clay turned his attention back to the building. Its foundations were already cracked; one of the axles had shattered and leaned against the stone instead of standing apart. The Undead inside had to be staggered, and all of their minions had just been blasted to bits. They wouldn’t be moving quickly, if they were moving at all, and if he caught them just right…
He rose to his feet and poured everything he had into the [Chant], concentrating it into the area just below the mill itself. It completed just as the knight appeared in the doorway, staggering to a halt just inside the frame. The Undead’s armor was battered and burnt; trails of fire were still burning along the joints. Only one of its eyes was glowing red, and it fixed on him.
It was too late. The [Chant] struck the building, and Clay knew it had worked before the knight had the chance to take its first step. Cracks caused by the explosion widened in an instant; the mortar between the stones fountained out in a rain of dust and pebbles. A heartbeat later, the rest of the mill came down in an avalanche of grey rock. The knight disappeared beneath it, still lunging for the opening as the mill collapsed.
{Putrid Saboteur slain! Soul increases by 150}
{Corrupted Priest slain! Soul increases by 150}
{Commoner reaches Level 13!}
{Maximum level for all Stats is now 28!}
{Experience gained (Follower: Gain 20% bonus when being led by a higher-level hero.)}
{Experience gained (Dungeoneer: Gain 10% bonus to all skills when inside a Dungeon.)}
{Achievement Unlocked! Commander: Gain 10% bonus to all skills when leading a group of heroes. Allied heroes gain a 20% bonus to all skills.}
Clay stood staring at the piled rubble. He hadn’t seen a notification for the centurion, which meant that the Guardian had probably escaped the mill before he collapsed it. Yet he also hadn’t seen one for the knight either, and it had been right next to the door. How had it—
His thoughts cut off as the rubble shifted and the giant fist shot out of it, grasping at the air. Clay jerked back out of sheer reflex. Then his eyes narrowed, and he sprinted forward, his spear clutched tightly in his hand as he mounted the pile.
He found the thing still half buried under the rock, its maddened red eye glowing with malice. Its gaze locked onto him, and for half a heartbeat, he felt himself freeze under the sheer hatred in its gaze. Dark smoke began to leak from Clay, and he felt a wave of fatigue wash over him.
Then he stabbed it right in the face, punching his spear straight through the visor. He hit it again and again, until the flailing gauntlet went limp and the weakness went away.
{Death Knight slain! Soul increases by 150}
Exhausted, he looked back at the others, who were all staring at him in something approaching shock. “So. Should we head back now?”
