Silver Peak, page 14
part #2 of Sky Realms Online Series
With his eyes now open, Hall led the way to the top of the landing. He thought about splitting up, sending Jackoby and possibly Sabine up the other side, but decided not to. In MMORPGs, there had never been a reason to split the party. The mechanics just didn’t work that way. And in the old pen and paper RPGs he had played, splitting the party was a sure way to get the Dungeon Master to kill the party.
He picked the stairs to his right as that was the set Pike had flown up. It seemed as good a place to start as any. Moving slowly, they started up to the second floor.
The upper floors were empty. A few rooms, with no furnishings or decorations, just cobwebs and dust. No animal bones. Nothing. The layout of the rooms and tower size prevented any secret compartments to exist, and none of them could sense or find anything magically hidden.
Which is why Hall now found himself standing in front of the entrance doors. He faced the two doors that led underneath the landing, coin in hand. He had decided the door on the left was going to be heads. No reason other than it was the one on the left.
The gold coin was from Essec. It had the tower of Spirehold on one side and the standard of Essec on the other. Each kingdom and race had their own style of coins. Different sizes, shapes, and weights but long ago it had been decided that the value of each was going to be the same. A gold coin from Essec was worth the same as one from the Highborn Confederacy. This made trading easier and a person could end up with a variety for different coins when making deals.
“Call it,” Hall said as he flipped the coin into the air.
Leigh and Jackoby looked at him in confusion. Roxhard glanced at Sabine and made a “all yours” motion to her.
“Tails,” she replied, watching the flight of the coin.
It landed on the ground, flat and shaking. It settled and Hall reached down, picking it up and showing it to the others before placing back in his pouch.
“Tails it is,” he said and pointed at the door to the right of the stairs.
He walked over to the door as the Firbolg Hunter, the one that wasn’t Herkilo, stepped to the side. The Hunter moved away, clear of the door and any potential explosion.
“What’s your name?” Hall asked.
The Hunter looked surprised to be asked, glancing at Jackoby before looking back at Hall.
“Tertion,” he answered.
Hall nodded and grabbed the door handle, Pike flying off his shoulder to wait on the stair railing.
Standing on the hinge side, Hall pulled it open, using the wood of the door as protection.
Nothing happened and he peeked around the door, looking at a landing and a set of stairs that headed down, coming off the landing to the left. He stepped around the door and onto the landing. Letting his eyes adjust, he could see the steps descending and turning into the tower. The walls were smooth stone, the stairs stone. His Limited Night Vision, a Racial Ability for being a Half-Elf, showed nothing out of the ordinary.
But he did hear noises coming from below. A person, male from the sound, talking to himself.
Hall almost laughed but managed to keep it in.
That was why the Necromancer hadn’t heard them. Whoever it was had been beneath and surrounded by tons of stone. No sound would have penetrated.
They still had the element of surprise.
Slowly, one step at a time, he started down.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The stairs were narrow, a chill coming up from below. Hall could feel it through the exposed parts of his armor, almost cold enough to make his breath fog. The voice got louder as he descended. Stopping at the turn, he waited.
Behind him was Roxhard, followed by Sabine and Leigh. Jackoby took up the rear, leaving the other two Firbolgs up top. Hall wasn’t happy with the Firbolg in the rear. This was their land they were fighting to protect it, but Hall knew that he and the others were expendable for this quest. He wasn’t sure if earning the favor of the Firbolgs would be worth this effort. At least in the short term, it wouldn’t be. Long term, there was no way to tell.
It was too late to second guess now. They were in too deep, literally.
Peeking around the corner, Hall saw another fifteen or so stone steps with a light at the bottom. It appeared to be a large room, the voice coming from deeper. Not close to the stairs.
“I am tired,” it said. Or at least that was what Hall thought it said.
Definitely male. The voice was speaking Traders, the central language of Hankarth, but Hall could not place the accent. It sounded like it was moving away from the stairs.
Hugging the wall, Hall took the last couple steps down, pausing before he entered the room.
Square, larger than the tower above, the room was stone, lit by blazing torches set in braziers placed evenly spaced on the walls. Floor, walls, and low ceiling all unmarked and the same stone blocks. There was only one opening on the far side, an arch that led into shadows. There were no furnishings or decorations save a bedroll and a couple blankets in the middle of the room. There was a pile of wood to the side, the remains of a fire near the bedrolls. A couple travel packs were stacked in a pile next to the bedding.
Someone was living down in the tower’s cellar.
And not living well.
Hall could feel the cold and damp, leaching through the stones from the ground. No sun, no ventilation. The air was stale to breathe. Why would anyone choose to be down in the cellar when there was an entire tower?
He got his answer a couple seconds later as a shadow stepped out of the opening at the far end of the room. The shadow became a person as it stepped into the light from the torches. Tall and thin, almost gaunt, dressed in flowing black robes. The figure carried a thick wooden staff topped in what looked to be the skull of a wolf with red jewels in the eye sockets. Pale skin, long blond hair hanging haggard. Sharply pointed ears poked out of the thin hair.
An Elf. One of the Highborn.
Of the two Elven races on Hankarth, the Highborn were the most populous but also the most segregated. They considered themselves the most civilized race on the fractured islands, and in many ways, they were. They were also arrogant. Highborn kept to their lands, for the most part, the island of Arundel and their controlled territories. It was rare to see any in the other realms that were not merchants. They thought themselves superior to all the other races but especially their cousins, the Wood Elves.
Where the Highborn lived in cities of breathtaking beauty, tall and thin spires with elegant carvings, the Wood Elves lived in the wilds of the world. Their homes were in the trees, along the plains. They were as wild as the lands they called home. And all Players were Wood Elves, including Half-Elves like Hall. The Highborn had never been a playable race.
This Highborn was young. Hall didn’t know why he thought it; he just knew it was true. It might have been the way the Elf carried himself, the way he talked to himself. The voice sounded young, not haughty like the older Highborn. The race was tall and thin, but this one was more so. He looked like he had not eaten a good meal in days. He looked tired, run down. The black robe was dirty and the closer to the middle of the room the Elf walked, Hall could see that it was ripped and torn.
Everything about the Highborn looked haggard, not at all what Hall was used to seeing from members of the race.
“I found it,” he said as if talking to someone, but Hall could see nothing. “I am sorry it took so long. Please do not be angry.”
The voice sounded tired, worn out. Pitiful. Not like a threat.
Hall felt sorry for the Elf.
He glanced back at the others, motioning for them to wait. Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the room.
“Why are you down here?” he asked, as calm and gentle as he could.
The Highborn’s head shot up, surprised and afraid when he caught sight of Hall. He raised the staff and pointed it toward the Skirmisher. Leaning his spear against the wall, Hall held up his hands, keeping them away from the sword belted at his waist. The ceiling was too low for him to Leap, but he knew he could still Evade most attacks while the others entered the room to confront the Elf. Looking at the Highborn, Hall figured that Roxhard and Jackoby could defeat the Elf with just their Battle Rush abilities.
Skill Gain!
Identify Rank One +.1
Highborn Witch (White)
“Stay back,” the Elf said. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Hall had to fight the urge to attack the Elf. That was what normally was required. It was obvious this Elf had something to do with the Undead plaguing the Firbolg and the quest requirements usually dictated killing the NPC. There had to be more here, Hall thought, as the current quest condition had not been met. It was a reason to not attack, but Hall knew he also didn’t attack because he felt bad for the Elf.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Hall said, silently adding ‘not yet anyway’.
“Who are you? How did you get down here? Where is Yorsif?”
Hall could see the staff quivering, shaking as the Highborn held it. The Elf looked terrified.
“Dead,” Hall answered, taking a chance.
The Lich had been higher Level than Hall, but not that much. Not the most powerful Lich, it still was strong and would have been hard for this Highborn to control. The Undead could only be controlled by someone strong of will and this Highborn was not that.
When Hall said the Lich was dead the Highborn seemed to brighten a bit, back straighter, the tip of the staff lowering.
“Really?” he asked and Hall knew for certain the Highborn would have been considered a teenager by that race. His experience with Roxhard, a youth trapped in an adult body, had taught him to recognize the aspects and mannerisms of youth.
“Yes.”
The Highborn looked over his shoulder at the dark opening. Hall looked past, trying to see if there was something there but all he saw were dark shadows.
“The Craobh?”
“Dead,” Hall answered. “Why are you down here?” he asked again.
“How did you kill them? Just you?” the Elf asked.
“No,” Hall replied. “I have friends.”
He gestured to the stairs and motioned the group to come out. He hoped they would do so with weapons sheathed. Each of them moved out slowly, spreading out and keeping space between them. Jackoby was the last out. He had his hammer still in the harness across his back, but his shield was held protectively in front of him.
Upon seeing them, the Elf Witch’s eyes widened in fear. They darted from one to the other, staff moving with the eyes. He took a step back.
“Why are you sending Undead to attack us?” Jackoby asked, his deep voice soft.
The Firbolg Warden was hesitant, confused. This Highborn was not what he had been expecting.
“What?” the Highborn asked, shocked. The staff lowered, the jeweled wolf’s eyes pointing at the ground. “I did not... I do not know...” He was at a loss for words.
“The Undead, Skeletons and Zombies, have been attacking my home,” Jackoby said. “Our honored ancestors have been pulled from their graves at Fallen Green and wander the forest, finding their way to our homes and our fields.”
“But I did not,” the Elf started to say but stopped, head tilting, eyes clearing in thought. “Fallen Green? Is that the clearing with all the mounds and the huge tree?”
The Elf hung his head, almost crying. His shoulders sagged, the staff drooping.
“Oh no, no, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I did not mean...It was not my fault...He made me...”
“Who? Yorsif?” Leigh asked, her voice soft and soothing.
The Highborn nodded, up and down, crazy and chaotic.
“Yes,” the Elf said. “He needed them. The necrotic energy.” Looking up at them, moving from one to the other, the Elf’s eyes showed desperation. He needed them to understand. “And me. He needed me for the summoning.”
It was confusing trying to follow the Highborn. The Elf spoke quickly, the thoughts scattered, but Hall had clearly heard the last word. He didn’t like the sound of it. Nothing made sense. The Elf had raised the dead, had to have raised Yorsif the Lich. Was that the summoning? It still didn’t explain why the Highborn was in the cellar.
“What summoning?” Hall asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“I am sorry,” the Elf said, sagging, the staff dropping to the ground. “Please forgive me.” He was openly crying now, great sobs.
Hall glanced at the others, worried now. He grabbed his spear from where it lay against the wall, Jackoby and Roxhard drawing their weapons. Leigh and Sabine moved back, the others stepping in front of them.
The Highborn dropped to the ground, sitting on his knees, arms wrapped tightly around himself. He sagged, moving back and forth as he cried. Hall’s eyes were drawn toward the dark opening. They waited, tense, feeling like something was coming. He felt it, a presence, powerful.
Waves of energy seemed to flow out of the opening. Almost physical as they brushed against Hall. He shivered, involuntarily, not from cold but fear. Nervously, he gripped his spear, seeing the others all reacting the same.
Touch of the Grave
You feel cold, a chill as if someone walked across your grave. Fear grips your heart, making you want to run.
Attack Speed +2 seconds.
Attack Power -2.
Wellness -2.
Hall looked at the debuff and cursed as his Health dropped. What the hell, he thought as his body shivered again. He forced himself to look at the opening as his mind tried to make him cower away.
There was no sound, but Hall saw something large and heavy step out of the shadowed opening. It was tall and broad, wearing leather and bark armor. A Firbolg, covered in black and gray fur and markings. In one hand, it carried a large warhammer, and in the other, a large shield. Both were made of wood. The weapon and armor should have been rotten, molded from the moisture and dampness of the cellar, but they were not because the creature was not real. Not solid. Hall could see the walls beyond through the Firbolg. Blurry and indistinct, tinged by the light blue color the ghostly creature glowed.
Skill Gain!
Identify Rank One +.2
Elite Firbolg Warden Revenant (Purple)
Hall cursed again, hearing the others do the same.
A Revenant. One of the strongest Undead. And this one was Elite.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The creature advanced into the room. Its eyes, small sparks of green in black pits, the only thing that looked solid on it, moved from one to the other. It was measuring, judging.
“Spread out,” Hall ordered. He thought about telling them all to run, but it was too late. The Revenant knew them, saw them. There was no escaping. That was what made the ghostly creatures so dangerous. They would not stop until the target was dead, or they were destroyed. And doing that was not easy.
Revenants were one of the strongest of the various types of Undead. The spirits brought back more than just the physical body. Angry spirits. Vengeful spirits. Magically given powers greater than they had in life.
The creature stopped at the side of the Highborn, ignoring the broken Elf. It opened its mouth and a sound came forth, a moan that reverberated against the walls, bouncing back and forth in the enclosed space. Hall felt it through his bones, every nerve, feeling as if a great weight was settling on his soul.
Elite Firbolg Warden Revenant attacks with Wail of the Soulless.
-5 Health
-5 Energy
You resist stunning effect of Wail of the Soulless
Closing its mouth, the red eyes glinting evilly, the Revenant stalked toward them.
Hall glanced at the others. Leigh and Sabine clutched their heads, the pain from the wail stunning them. Roxhard shook his head, fighting the effects as Jackoby roared and charged.
The large Firbolg ran across the space, too close for Battle Rush, but he used his War Cry ability. The shout seemed to shake the foundations of the room, mortar dust falling to the floor. The Revenant staggered back as the shout slammed into it. Pulling the creature’s Health bar, Hall saw a small fraction disappear. There was a lot left. The Purple coloring of the Revenant’s name told Hall it was considered a Boss-level monster.
Jackoby swung his warhammer. It slammed into the Revenant’s shield, the sound of wood on wood, the ghostly shield as solid as a real one. Pushing out with his foot, kicking the Revenant, Jackoby growled in pain. Cold seemed to creep up his leg, and he had to stagger away from the Undead. The Firbolg Warden limped, and Hall saw frost on his lower leg.
The Revenant swung its warhammer, Jackoby catching it on his shield. There was a bright flash of blue, Jackoby pushed down under the blow. He stepped back, frost spreading across his wooden shield.
Hall circled to the side, watching the Revenant and the Highborn. The Elf was on the ground, crying, sagging, not looking at anything, but Hall didn’t trust that to last. As far as he was concerned, they were facing two enemies. But he didn’t want to draw the Highborn into the fight, content to let the Elf cry. But he would keep an eye on the black-robed Elf.
He sent a mental call out to Pike as he pulled a throwing knife from his bracer. Taking aim, he let it fly across the room. The small blade struck the ghostly blue of the Revenant, sparks erupting on impact. More of the creature’s Health dropped, another fraction. Pulling the javelin from the harness, he let the weapon fly, The Revenant ignored him, concentrating on Jackoby in front of him. The flying spear struck the creature in the shoulder, passing through the body to slam against the stone on the other side. There was a cracking sound as the weapon snapped in half on impact.
