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726. Shadow's Lair
🕑 Added 2024-07-15 07:00:19 +0000 UTCHearing something behind him, Martel summoned his shield and turned on his heel. He looked down to see Rolf, one knee on the ground while supporting himself against the wall. A knife came flying through the air to strike Martel's magical protection and fall to the ground. Swiftly, Martel summoned his wall of flames to cover the tunnel before he crouched low. At the same time, Eleanor manoeuvred around him to stand in front of her companions, guarding them with her own protections, physical or magical.
Martel realised they had been outwitted; rather than get close and trigger their runes of warning, their enemy had attacked from a distance. None of them had guessed he had that ability. Looking down at Rolf, he looked pale, but that could be because he was a northerner who had lived underground for months rather than blood loss. "How bad is it?" he asked. "Should we turn back?"
"No, we're nearly at the chamber," the skáld declared through gritted teeth. "He's going the long way around – push through!"
Martel looked up and Eleanor. "Help him. I'll take the lead." He looked down again. "Tell me the way!"
"Right at the next corner, then left! Now go!"
Martel set into motion. He hurried forward, grabbing the lightstone on the ground. Once he rounded the first corner, he threw it down the tunnel and unleashed a fire bolt to follow, just for good measure. Behind him, he heard Eleanor hoist their wounded comrade, pacing him forward as well. If they reached the chamber first, Martel could lock it off with his wall of flames; he doubted that an undead creature would have the courage to pass through such fire. And if he did, Martel would roast him.
Martel reached the end of another corridor, picking up the lightstone as he went past it, and took a left. He threw his enchanted rock again, revealing only floor. A fire bolt struck nothing but air, cast even as Martel ran forward. Once more, he took the lightstone and threw it ahead. This time, its illumination expanded rather than be restrained by narrow walls. They had reached the chamber that served as the lair to the vampire.
Entering, Martel looked around frantically. The glow from his lightstone did not fully extend; shadows lay around the ring of luminescence, trying to strangle the illumination. Still, Martel noticed the other entrance into the chamber, opposite where he had entered; if he had understood Rolf right, the monster was going the long way around to enter from that direction, and he summoned his wall of flames to cover it completely.
Behind him, his two companions entered. "Down there," Rolf gasped, pointing to their right. "What looks like an alcove is the shaft that leads up."
The glow did not extend that far, and Martel could not see what the skáld described, but he trusted his words. Yet as he walked towards it, he thought he saw the shadows move. A trick of the light, or the paranoia of his mind?
He summoned his shield just before a blade struck against him. Out of the darkness, the vampire appeared. His skin was white as milk, with wrinkles that lay like a spider's web across his face. His features were twisted into a mask of anger, with sharp teeth glistening. Acting on instinct, Martel summoned air to push his attacker away, buying him time, and the creature disappeared back into the shadows that lay around the edge of the room.
"Into the light!" Martel yelled, taking a few steps back towards his lightstone. Eleanor joined him, placing Rolf on the ground while drawing her sword. Back to back, they stood and watched, peering into the darkness.
Martel summoned flames to help illuminate the room, but as soon as he moved them forward, the shadows seemed to swallow them up and extinguished them. He considered his options. Unable to sense any heat from their enemy, he could not reliably land his spells or find him in the dark. But if he got an idea of where the creature might be in the room, Martel could summon his wall of flames to block that section off, trapping the vampire on the other side and allowing them to make their escape.
Something red glowed in the dark. Confused, Martel looked again. He realised that he should blast it with a spell, no matter what it was. Yet as he summoned the energy, doubt filled his mind. Why was he fighting this being? They had invaded his lair, threatened violence against him. The real enemy was not the unfortunate resident of this damnable place, trapped so cruelly for centuries, but Martel's own companions, who unjustly sought his death.
Filled with anger at this injustice, Martel turned around and raised his staff to smash it against Eleanor's head. Her helmet took the brunt of the blow, and she looked over her shoulder. "Martel! What are you doing?"
At his feet, the skáld lay. He was mumbling words, and Martel got the sense that he might be casting runes or other such nefarious acts. Intent on stopping the Tyrian, Martel lifted up his staff in order to plunge it straight into the wound that Rolf already bore in his stomach.
Before he could complete the motion, Eleanor pushed him with her shield, forcing Martel to take several steps backwards. "What is wrong with you?"
The accusation made Martel even angrier. He wanted to blast them both with magic, but before he could complete any spell, the skáld began to sing.
It could only be called a song in the loosest definition. It sounded more like a cow screaming in pain – discordant noise that tore into Martel's ears. He dropped his staff and clutched his hands over his head, trying to keep out the sound, but to no avail.
It lasted only a moment, but as the singing ended, so did Martel's confusion. He looked and saw Eleanor, whom he loved. The vampire had ensnared him with his gaze. "His eyes glow red – don't look into them!"
The warning had scarcely left Martel's lips before he felt a dagger plunge into his back. With a sneer, the vampire pulled out his steel while Martel collapsed onto the floor. He stepped over the fallen battlemage, one blade in either hand, to approach Eleanor while licking his lips.
The mageknight met his weapons with her own, but she had to avert her gaze, putting her at a disadvantage. Furthermore, the undead creature moved with such speed, even her empowered body could not keep up.
Gasping for breath, Martel felt his vision darken. He could not raise his head further than to see Eleanor's boots, constantly circling and moving about. He wanted to help her, but even if he could summon the wherewithal to release a spell, he had no idea how to hit their enemy.
Rolf crawled towards him. Both of them were pitiful sight, laid low by a single strike. "Help her," Martel mumbled. Yet the skáld continued until he could reach out and nearly touch the battlemage's head. He placed his hand flat against the floor and mumbled a word. Underneath his touch, a symbol appeared, glowing with power. Light began to pulsate from it, and with every flash, Martel felt his strength return to him. The darkness colouring his vision receded, his breathing became less ragged, and he could think. Most importantly, he could cast magic.
Raising his head, he saw Eleanor in a strange duel against an enemy she could not look at. Furthermore, the vampire constantly pulled back into the shadows at the edge of the chamber, only to reappear with terrible speed on the other side of the mageknight. If not for her defensive spells, she would have been dead long ago.
Bereft of his ability to sense his enemy from body heat, Martel could not easily land a spell to kill the creature. But if he could not hit with a single flame, he would simply summon enough to do the task. As power began to flow through him and the forces of nature bent to his will, Martel called out, "Eleanor! Step back!"
She did so without hesitation. The moment he had a clear line of sight, Martel unleashed his inferno. Half the chamber overflowed with fire that burned like the sun. A piercing scream was emitted as the vampire became immolated and his very clothes turned into a torch. Unable to hide in the shadows, the creature could not escape his fate; Eleanor stepped forward and swung her sword to decapitate him. The fight was won.
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Martel's character sheet (no change).
