The feathered beast rolled to the floor with an anticlimactic thump, its large, black, bird eyes clouding over as it stared up lifelessly. From underneath, Martini Dwint’lithar stumbled to her feet. She looked around frantically for another foe, and finding none, closed her eyes and swallowed. With both hands, she grabbed the broken talon of a harpy and wrenched it out of her mid-section with a scream that was as much rage as it was pain. A ripple passed over her image.
“Oh-oh-oh, this is even better than I hoped,” Luthien practically giggled, “And I’m already up one platinum!”
Grinning ear to ear, he reached toward Malafar’s stack, but a buzzing filled his ears. Flies swarmed around his arm, forming a ribbon of living creatures that extended back to the outstretched hand of Hierophant Malafar.
“He is not dead yet,” the Hieophant intoned in a low, powerful voice.
Kas Luthien’s brow furrowed in anger, “He will be soon! They left him behind like the dragon, and they press on with ever diminishing numbers. Look for yourself, they’re practically crawling through this floor!”
In the dark obsidian bowl, the snake priest was indeed, very nearly crawling. If one just attuned to the dark waters, one could hear as well as see. There was a background of constant, pitched screaming by a teenage girl, while the others debated their next steps.
“I must declare,” Marshall huffed, leaning heavily on his scythe, “I am not used to all this walking!”
“Me neither,” the gnome added, “my bunions are aching and I’m missing the Andy Griffin play!”
The half-dragon entered the frame, wiping blood from his rusty falchion, “Come, we haven’t much time. Take solace, friends, the end of our journey is nigh.” He did his best to set an example of confidence as he strode onward, but his injuries were obvious: He carried his sword in one hand as the other arm hung uselessly at his side, drenched in blood, and he limped from a serious wound in his thigh.
“Nevertheless,” Malafar’s voice echoed through the chamber, “dying and dead are not the same thing, and this is not the first time you’ve confused the two.”
Kas Luthien glared hatefully at Malafar, “They were well and truly dead, how would I know they would come back!?”
Malafar sniffed, “I must attend our mistress and her manifestation. I leave you to your playthings.” He dematerialized into a swarm of flies that swarmed in a vortex and then was gone.
Luthien felt like he should be angry, but he wasn’t. The erstwhile heroes were struggling, and he wasn’t even sure they’d make it to the end of this floor. That, at least, was a shame – he’d left them quite a present. Still… he waved his hand over the pool and the halfling appeared.
“Almonda,” Luthien greeted her.
“Kas Luthien,” Almonda replied. She could be seen with her retinue of bodyguards.
“Our plan is going well. Lady Vecna has snuffed out any magic – or magic beings – in this tower that are not instruments aligned to her purpose.”
“That is good, Luthien. Why are you calling me?”
“If they should make it –“
“How far have they made it?” Kasadya Almonda asked urgently.
“They haven’t left the third floor,” Luthien replied, “but just in case –“
“Don’t worry,” Almonda replied, “I stand ready to pounce the moment they arrive.”
“Good,” Luthien said, “that’s very good. At this rate, they will either die on this floor or somewhere in the library, eaten by our minions. But it never hurts to be thorough. I just hope that you serve me better than you did Duke Lamont.”
Almonda narrowed her eyes, “Lamont dug his own grave, and you don’t own me, you bastard. We both sit on Malafar’s council.”
“Yes,” Luthien replied, “but some of us sit a little taller than the others.”
Almonda rolled her eyes, “You really are a piece of shit, you know that Luthien?”
“No, my dear, you will be the one knowing: You failed your master and now you don’t have a powerful duchy to rule. What do you do? You come crawling back to the order, where I have been dutifully and successfully serving. Do not mistake yourself for anything but my lapdog now.”
“What is it you want?”
“Kill them!”
“If they make it this far,” Almonda said, “I will end them with puissant magic and hordes of guards. They will receive no quarter, but know this, you rat bastard: I don’t do it for you, or even for our dark mistress. I do it for my much-maligned former employer, Duke Lamont.”
The pool turned to solid darkness and then back to an image of Martini on her knees, a spring steel tool in each hand as she worked on the lock to the next room. Next to her, Marshall leaned against the wall, his face white and legs trembling, and Geddy seemed to be asleep on a nearby couch. Tavros Fontaine, to his credit, was doing his best to stand proudly but had clearly lost substantial amounts of blood.
“That’s right my pretty little rats,” Luthien cackled maniacally to himself, “that’s right. Through the maze with you!”
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