by K. T. Hanna
It was lucky for Murmur that Sinister couldn’t read her thoughts.
The second room was exactly the opposite of the first. Pitch black from the moment they trod into it, it resembled a room of nightmares. The silver lights they carried did their very best to illuminate it, but was difficult to shine through what felt like a blanket of evil. Cutting through it was going to take a lot more than just the power of positive thinking.
This time when the door slammed shut behind them, the swirling in the middle of the room began to take on a form. Dark as it was, they could see the tendrils of faint light that made up the monster as it swirled into form.
It reminded Murmur of sketches she’d seen of banshees. Their long and tattered hair, black or white, or any color in-between, their crazed eyes and claw like fingers. This one floated within a vast set of dimly azure lit skirts, like the electricity that kept her alive fed through to her from it.
There was beauty surrounding her, like a melancholy memory of times gone past, of better moments. Just while Murmur was watching, and trying to gauge when they’d attack and how they could do it, the banshee opened her mouth and screamed.
The sound whirled through Murmur’s head, threatening to rip out her thoughts, to tear out her mind. She clamped down on the shield she kept around herself as well as her friends almost instinctively. And it still wasn’t enough to block out the sound. It was far more than just a mental shrill.
Finally, the sound came to an end, and the banshee moved toward them, floating, slowly, clawed fingers outstretched toward them. Murmur could feel the disorientation that struck her, that kept her slightly off balance, and knew the others were experiencing it too. Despite everything else, they were susceptible to anything that affected the ear drums, and while Murmur had been able to protect their actual minds, their physical attributes were another story.
Off balance, Devlish couldn’t block the first attack fully when it came, and it sliced into his side, puncturing through the armor. He screamed out wordlessly. The disorientation wasn’t even a true debuff—there was no icon to remove, nothing they could do to cure it.
What good was an upgraded Arcane Cure when it couldn’t cure shit?
While they healed Devlish up successfully, it took far too long for him to regain his equilibrium and be able to parry attacks. The banshee didn’t use too many melee attacks either. She struck out with her claws, she grabbed onto people with tendrils of power that seemed to simply drain life out of them, the lines pulsing with each throb of suction.
Murmur couldn’t figure out how best to kill her. There weren’t any joints on this spectral being to hone in on, and since she was largely incorporeal it seemed that only magic attacks would work against her despite the fact that her own physical attacks were quite potent.
Stuns wouldn’t work, which was a shame since they’d become her go to recently.
“Think Murmur, think,” she muttered to herself.
She could see the frustration welling not only in herself, but in Beastial, Dansyn, Rashlyn...all of the melee fighters. None of their physical attacks could connect. She frowned. “Mellow, do you have anything magical they could tip their weapons with? Like some sort of arcane magical spark or what have you?”
Mellow frowned, splitting their concentration. After a few moments, they reached into their cauldron, their hand visible through the smoke that made it, and suddenly a vial appeared in their hand. They tossed one to each of the melee, calling out their names first. Each time reaching into the cauldron and coming out with another vial. “That’s about all I can do. It might help.”
“Thanks.” Murmur hoped that if the weapons were magically imbued, that they might have a chance of actually doing damage to their target instead of laughably cutting through nothing.
It seemed to work, though not to the extent Murmur had hoped it would. Still, every bit counted. If only the banshee’s health would plummet quicker. And then she noticed it. Much smaller than she was used to, and not even a guaranteed solution, Murmur noticed the banshee casting.
She threw Mind Bolt at it, interrupting the cast, and preventing further casts for a few more seconds. The banshee’s head whirled around, her gaze coming to rest on Murmur, and then she opened her mouth, sharp white teeth grinning down at the enchanter.
Murmur gulped. The pure hatred leaking out of the specter was unnerving enough, but that it was directed solely at her, it terrified her right down to the bones. No matter what Devlish did, the damned banshee wouldn’t take her eyes off Murmur. Sure, she attacked the others, but she didn’t focus on them. It was like she knew exactly where everyone was at any given moment.
Of course, considering the blackness surrounding them all was likely an extension of herself…
Murmur kicked herself mentally. She should have thought of it before. They were all standing inside the banshee’s circle of influence. She glanced at the torch she held in her hands, slowly being smothered by dark, and then she looked at all of her friends. They were spread out at decent intervals, each of them showing their consternation in their own way.
Whatever that fire being had been before, it had given itself to them, entrusted its power to them in order to break whatever curse beset this place. While she wasn’t clear on all of the lore, she was clear on this. They’d accepted a quest in one of the lines Mellow was following, and thus needed to proceed accordingly.
Taking a deep breath, she really hoped she wasn’t wrong about this. She raised the torch into the air, high above her head, allowing the silver light to breathe and glow from its vantage point above the dark miasma that leaked around them all. Seeing her actions, the rest of them followed suit. One by one the torches raised high, allowing the tendrils of silver light to reach out through the murkiness and touch one another. As they did so a brilliant silver circle formed around the banshee.
Her eyes finally left Murmur, and the shock and anger in them was evident. Only Murmur knew she was also scared, because fear rolled off her in uneven waves of emotion. The light grew brighter and the mist around them began to thin out, completely disappearing in some sections. The banshee shrunk down, no longer towering over all of them.
Her hair lost its wild appearance and fell instead in waves of shining black down to her thighs. As she grew smaller, more realistic in size, her teeth and screaming mouth also reverted until finally, in all her plain glory, a small locus stood before them. Her black hair hung like wavy vines down from her head and her black eyes filled the sclera, but were missing their galaxies.
The fighting stopped, and slowly everyone lowered their torches, Devlish clutching at his side as he did so. Perhaps there had been more to that initial attack than they realized, because he was still nursing the wound that had long since been healed.
Murmur raised an eyebrow toward Sinister, and the blood mage nodded surreptitiously. Knowing Devlish would be well cared for, Murmur hesitantly took three steps closer to the former banshee and bowed.
“Thank you.” The girl’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper, like she wasn’t used to talking, only screaming.
“You’re welcome.” Murmur was getting sick of pure luck paving their way, but in this case, she was fairly glad it happened. But she was always curious, and asking didn’t seem to be too dangerous. “Just what did we save you from?”
“I’m not entirely sure.” The girl had a faint lisp over her pronunciation. She frowned as she turned around the room, taking it in. “It looks like more time passed than I thought. Tell me, where did you get those lamps?”
While the girl sounded genuinely sincere, Murmur still had misgivings. “We were given them by someone who wanted us to free you.”
That had to be the explanation, since nothing else made sense.
“Well.” The girl smiled. “I am princess Xestia, and I fear that I can’t fill you in on much. I seem to have lost some of my memories. The last thing I
remember was celebrating my birthday, and then I ended up here.”
“How old are you?” Jinna asked, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Sixteen.” She said proudly, a twinkle in her eye.
Mellow let out a small gasp. “Princess Xestia of the House of Moonstone.”
“Yes.” She seemed pleased that someone knew who she was. “That’s me.”
This time Mellow gulped. “But you’ve been dead for over a thousand years. It’s what the history books all say.”
“Oh dear.” Xestia seemed decidedly distressed. “That does make things difficult, doesn’t it?”
Murmur was about to speak when the torches all whirled together to return to the huge fire monster they’d been talking to previously.
“Torch!” Xestia practically squealed at what appeared to be her guardian.
Murmur stood back, observing all of the actions she could from afar. Something smelled decidedly fishy, and it wasn’t the dried fish waiting on the rack for someone to eat it.
Torch bowed and turned to the adventurers. “Thank you for rescuing the princess. I knew she could use your help. It seems, though, that she was greedy and desires to keep you all.”
It turned back to the princess and shook what appeared to be a finger. “That’s not how you make friends, nor is it how you keep people by your side.”
Xestia pouted. “Okay. I’ll try to do it your way this time.”
Torch appeared slightly comical, with its fiery arms placed firmly on its hip area. “This time? All the time. If you hadn’t made the mistake last time, none of this mess would have happened. As it is, we still have work to do. Xestia, you have to break the seal to release the wards.”
Xestia stood in the dim light, blinking owlishly. “Wards? What wards?”
Somnia Online
Exodus Guild Raid - Ilinish Threshold
Early Hours Day Nineteen
The Ilinish Threshold was not what Masha expected. It didn’t have the underground majesty of the Richnai fortress, nor the imposing visage of Hightower that he’d only seen from a distance.
No, the threshold was a vast escarpment that separated the farmlands between Reptans and Elgors. Once over its barricade, the land lay desolate before them, as if nothing inhabited it, nothing lived on it, nothing could survive there.
Seemingly deserted, it allowed the uneasiness to spread, infecting every single one of the small raid’s members. So much land with nothing to show but some balustrades and small huts. He’d expected more when they got past the first one, so much more than this boring, flat piece of land.
As they moved further into the vast space, Masha motioned for them all to be cautious. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and sending warning signals through his entire body. He could see Jirald moving in stealth just ahead of them, a blur against the deadened grass, traveling smoothly.
Suddenly a figure appeared in front of them. Her cat-like ears twitched like she could see Jirald even through his stealth, and her feline mouth lifted at the corners in a Cheshire smile.
“Who are you?” Masha stood with his arms crossed, his head cocked to one side. Something about her tugged at his memory. Her calico features and white robe flowed in the wind. She seemed solid enough.
“I’m Riasli,” she stated, as if it should answer everything. And then she yawned. “Come out of stealth, rogue. Now is not the time to fight. You’ll be doing it soon enough in about twelve feet’s progression.”
Jirald let his invisibility drop and scowled at the cat woman. “And why should we let you live?”
Riasli laughed. “Because you can’t kill me, and because if you tried, I could pulverize you.”
Masha stepped forward quickly to intervene, placing a hand gently yet firmly on Jirald’s shoulder to stop the rogue from reacting. “Don’t rile us up. We’re about to attempt to defeat this dungeon.”
“Yes.” She glanced about, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I don’t like this dungeon. I have no idea why it was developed. It’s very different. As are you.”
Her teeth showed again in her wide grin, and her eyes seemed to drink them all in at once. Masha didn’t like how uncomfortable it made him feel. “Then what do you want?”
“Want?” Riasli let the words trail seductively through the air, wrapping themselves around and through the group of men. “I think we all want the same thing.”
Masha did his best to raise an eyebrow and re-cross his arms. It took far more effort than he liked to admit not to just ogle the feles in front of him.
“To defeat Fable, of course. We aren’t entirely sure that guild wants what’s good for the game. So, we have an...offer for you.” Riasli had already won over Jirald, Masha could see it. Yet there was something too smooth about her, like she was reading their minds and giving them exactly what they wanted, or what the strongest opinionated amongst them wanted.
“Just what does this deal entail?” Jirald asked the question before Masha could.
Riasli’s tail quivered and she leaned forward, speaking to her captive audience. “Defeat this dungeon, and one of the chests will hold the key to defeating Fable. Two keys for the price of one, little people. Think about that.”
And then, she was gone.
Masha stood there, confounded. How real had the feles been? And since when did games set guilds against guilds? Something wasn’t right here, but everyone else seemed to have glossed over that fact.
“Guess we’re going to defeat this dungeon, then!” Jirald’s eyes glowed again, that unhealthy fervor shining in them. He stealthed as he walked forward, and Masha had a sense of foreboding that everything was about to go to hell.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sure that what he was seeing was actually there. It rose out of the ground, the balustrades and huts with it, remaining on top, and the tiny hills they’d seen out a way opened into two fathomless black eyes. The ground was the top of its head and they’d walked right into it, right into a trapdoor monster.
Masha kicked himself mentally, knowing he should have sensed something. It had all seemed so quiet, and too easy. Of course, it was.
Struggling to stand on the ground that was now moving, Masha and the rest of the raid gathered themselves. The huge eyes stared down at them, making Masha wonder just how it was going to attack them when they were actually technically on its nose-face thing.
He didn’t have to wait for long. When it moved its mouth, the portion of the ground they were standing on moved sporadically, sending the whole group tumbling back down after losing their footing.
“Tether yourselves. Don’t let it eat you,” Masha yelled out.
Swapping out his mace for a sword, he swung it down into the ground, deeply and lashed himself to the hilt. The monster screamed, and the rest of the raid followed in quick succession. Blood pooled beneath their weapons, and the black eyes rolled in their hilly sockets. It was the only weakness he could see. Motioning with his free arm, Masha directed the ranged classes to fire at the eyes. With nothing for the tanks to tank, they were essentially extra melee weight. Healing didn’t go in accordance with the usual strategies. It wasn’t a tank and spank, it was a how-do-I-get-off-this-thing fight.
Masha didn’t even want to contemplate what they’d have done if it had opened its mouth while they were on its lip. The odds of falling down into its belly...
Which gave him the perfect idea. “Jirald.”
He called the rogue over, noting how reluctantly he moved. Since he’d been basically backstabbing the eyeballs, the beast’s health had dropped a few percent.
“I know you’re not the average rogue, and you’ve taken some questionable hidden paths—” Jirald scowled, and Masha had to hold up a hand to forestall any rant that was about to happen. “What do you have that can blow up or poison someone
?”
He was losing patience, and while it appeared that the rogue had superior balance through the game knew what, Masha didn’t. Added to that, he kept having to heal people so they didn’t all just wipe, and Jirald was wearing on him yet again.
“Oh, that. Oh.” Jirald grinned. “Why didn’t you say it sooner? Excellent idea.”
Masha knew the rogue well enough to know that he’d really gotten exactly what Masha had been meaning him to. It let the cleric focus on the rest of the battle, if it could even be called that with the way their guild was flailing around on the giant upper lip or whatever of the trapdoor creature.
He lost track of Jirald somewhere around the third opening of the maw, where they all had to cling to their hand-holds for dear life. It began to whip its head around faster, the more damage its eyes took. Maybe that hadn’t been the best strategy after all.
Minutes had passed, and they’d only had one death so far, but Masha didn’t want to waste a battle resurrection just in case someone more pivotal than their bard died.
Then, without warning, its eyes widened in pure shock and a large rumble sounded from somewhere deep below. Followed a few seconds later by another, and then another at the same interval, all flowing lower and lower, further and further beneath them, like the explosions were going down a tunnel.
The creature’s eyes began to leak blood, and the balustrade where it’s nose might have been began to spout leakage too, drenching a couple of their ranged casters unexpectedly. A foul stench rose from the liquid, and the beast began to shudder.
Convulsions made holding on even more difficult as the trapdoor monster began to shake uncontrollably.
“Everyone get off!” came a booming voice from over the side. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was Jirald’s voice.
Masha didn’t wait any longer but motioned for others to jump in front of him. He could barely still hold on, and hoped against hope that everyone made it over the side. Just as he jumped and began to plummet down toward the ground where the rest of the guild stood a distance from him, watching the thrashing trapdoor thing, he realized that the bard was alive again, and that his levitation song had just caught Masha and prevented him from being smashed into smithereens upon impact.