by Nick Harrow
“You’re not getting ten thousand gold pieces.” The woman’s eyes flashed like blue fire at my words. “But I’ll hear you out.”
The woman frowned and almost shook her head. She caught herself at the last instant, however, and I gave her credit for that. She wanted to be respectful, no matter how much I frustrated her.
“Lord Rathokhetra, I have traveled very far to meet with you and beg for your aid in restoring my order,” she said. “You doubted me when last I came before you, and I said I would bring proof that I was more than a simple beggar. It was difficult, but I ventured into the wild places to recover a bit of my legacy, which I will now present as evidence of my tale. Do I have your permission to approach the throne?”
Nephket stood just ahead and to the right of my throne, and two columns of four wahket each flanked the carpet that ran down the center of the room. If this crazy chick lost her mind and went berserk, she’d be dead before she got anywhere near me.
And if she did, by some miracle, reach the throne, it wouldn’t do her a damned bit of good while I was disincarnated. She could try for my core, of course, but then I would incarnate and hack her down.
I gestured for her to come forward.
“Show me what you’ve got,” I said when she was five feet from the throne.
Without preamble, the woman shrugged the burden from her shoulders and let it roll down her left arm. The bundle shed rags as it tumbled into her hand, where it burst into a blazing bar of brilliant white flame.
The wahket sprang into action and surrounded the suddenly armed woman in a ring of spears. They eyed her warily, ready to punch her full of holes if she made a wrong move.
“Wait.” The wahket held their ground, the tips of their weapons inches from their target. “Are you trying to get yourself killed, lady?”
The woman held a sword that was six feet long, its blade as wide as my open hand. Flames of a white so pure they were difficult to look at danced along its edges, and ornate runes crawled from its hilt to its tip in an ever-changing series that made my eyes itch if I focused on it for more than a second. The blade was elegant despite its size, and its power washed over the audience hall like waves of static electricity. Something about the shifting runes reminded me of the collar Kozerek had used to imprison Delsinia.
“Where’d you get that thing?” The thicket of wahket speartips closed in around the woman. “I’ve seen runes like that before. Is this some kind of trap?”
“It’s no trap.” She hadn’t moved an inch despite the weight of the sword on her outstretched arms. She was a lot stronger than she looked. “They’re runes of binding to tie the weapon to my spirit.”
“Interesting,” I said, but didn’t give the wahket the all-clear to lower their spears. Even if the runes weren’t for enslaving dungeon lords, the blade could do a lot of damage. Better safe than sorry. “I did not mean to alarm you,” the woman said. “But surely this weapon proves that I am no mere beggar. No mortal could lift an Enochian Blade. Were they to try, they would be burned to ash before they saw the error of their ways.”
The weapon was impressive as hell, and I would love to have it on my side when the coming shitstorm arrived, but it was not worth ten thousand gold in any way, shape, or form. I needed every coin I could scrounge up to pay for settlement build points.
“That’s an amazing sword,” I said, and the blond woman smiled and bobbed her head in agreement. “But I can’t give you that much money for your quest.”
Her smile cracked and a flash of anger crossed her features like a spring storm over a field of flowers. She regained her composure quickly, though I’d never forget the look of raw rage that she showed me in that instant.
“That is regrettable,” she said with an audible sigh. She crouched down, gathered the rags that had covered her blade, and began to wrap the weapon.
“There has to be some middle ground here,” I said. “I can’t give you ten thousand gold, but if you know how to use that blade, I could pay you for your services.”
She froze in place as if she’d just stared into a Gorgon’s eyes. For the longest time, she didn’t even breathe. When she finally looked up at me, there was no mistake about the expression on her face.
She was furious.
Her eyes blazed like lighthouse flames as her jaw clenched.
“I am no mercenary,” she said in a voice that sounded more like a trumpet blast than anything formed from human vocal cords. A spiderweb of platinum tattoos glowed on the shaved side of her head, and her rags fluttered as if caught in a stiff breeze no one else felt. “And were I a sellsword, you would never be able to afford my services. I will forgive the ignorance of your insult, this once.”
Well, then.
“Easy,” I said. “I didn’t mean to insult you, but you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information that would convince me you weren’t looking for a quick buck. You have my apologies.”
Rathokhetra didn’t like that, and neither did Nephket. She bristled at my apology and a cold shadow passed over her thoughts.
The woman studied me for a moment, her eyes narrowed to sapphire slits. She hesitated, then reached into her rags and pulled out what looked like a golden arrowhead.
“Perhaps there is still hope, then.” Her anger faded, and with it the tattoos that had gleamed along the side of her head. “Please accept this token of my goodwill. I think it will aid you, and it may convince you that I am worth every coin I have asked for, and then some.”
The woman tried to move toward the throne, but the wahket barred her path. She didn’t stop until their spear tips touched her abdomen, then extended her hand past their ranks.
Nephket descended the steps before my throne and approached the wall of wahket. She plucked the arrowhead from the petitioner’s hand, turned it over between her fingertips, and then tucked it into a pouch that hung from her belt.
“Lord Rathokhetra accepts your gift,” she said. “Thank you for understanding his position. If his mind changes, he will send for you. Please do not petition us again unless you are called.”
The two women exchanged looks so intense I was sure the air between them would burst into flame. The petitioner held Nephket’s gaze for three seconds, then turned on one heel with military parade precision and marched her ass right out of my audience chamber without a backward glance. Her blade was once more cloaked in rags and slung across her shoulders by the time she reached the door, and the crackling aura of her rage had faded away so completely I doubted anyone who saw her on the street would even consider the idea that she was not the simple beggar she appeared to be.
Before she could completely vanish, I took a look at her with my dungeon lord’s senses to get an idea of just how tough she really was. A golden aura flashed around her for a moment, and a single line of red text blazed across my vision.
<<<>>>
Tyrisalene || Forsaken Deva || Challenge Rating 6
<<<>>>
“Well, she’s certainly not happy with you,” Nephket said as she returned to her position to the right of my throne. She gently raked her claws down my bare forearm and smiled to take the sting from her words. “But you were right to turn her away. You must grow this settlement to continue your advancement as a dungeon lord, and you need all of your resources to do that. No single warrior, even one with a blade like that, is worth so much of your gold.”
“Maybe.” Despite my familiar’s soothing words, I felt an opportunity had slipped between my fingers. “But we need every ally we can get. What was her gift?”
“A trinket, nothing more.” Nephket retrieved it from her pouch and showed it to me with obvious distaste. “Hardly worth your time.”
Without a second thought, I plucked the item from Nephket’s palm. We were both shocked that I could lift the item without incarnating, and I marveled at the object’s density. The arrowhead was far heavier in my hand than its small size suggested. Its surface was covered in lines so fine I could hardly feel them, mu
ch less see them.
<<<>>>
Compass of Power
When activated, this item consumes one mote of ka and points toward the greatest source of divine or arcane power within one mile. The compass will continue to point toward this source for twenty-four hours without the expenditure of more ka.
Additional motes can be used to extend the detection range by one mile per mote spent, or the duration by one day per mote spent. Multiple motes can be spent at any time for either or both purposes.
<<<>>>
“That’s more than a trinket,” I said. “It must have been built for a dungeon lord if I can touch it. I wonder where the hell she found it?”
“How did your trip to see Zillah and Delsinia go?” Nephket changed the subject and climbed into my lap. She obviously did not care for the strange woman or her gift.
“Good.” I closed my hand over the arrowhead to put it out of sight and mind. “I fixed the problem with the blood gnomes, I think, and picked up some new muscle to help us against Lexios.”
“Do tell,” she purred and nuzzled my throat. The soft stripes of fur on her cheek tickled me and left behind the faint scent of her new perfume.
I relayed the sad tale of miniature cannibals who’d been deprived of their food source by raiders in search of godmarrow, and she listened with eyes that grew wider with every sentence.
“You made a deal with raiders?”
“We need blades, and they have them,” I said. “They also have a steady supply of iron, which our craftsmen desperately need to outfit the military. And if I get the godmarrow, who knows what kind of crazy shit I can do with it.”
“True,” Nephket said. The look on her face told me she had a lot more to say on the subject of raiders, but she never got the chance to express her opinion.
Because that was when the screaming started.
Chapter 10 – Snake Girls
THE WAHKET SPRANG INTO action before the first horrified shriek had died away. The cat women tightened up their line, shields at the ready, spears poised to punch holes in anyone stupid enough to make a run at my throne.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Nephket said. She sprang from my lap and landed behind the wahket guards, a spiked cudgel in her right hand. I had no idea where she’d hidden that thing, but it looked wicked.
“No, it does not.” I rose from my throne, and the wahket advanced toward the door ahead of me. “The hits just keep on coming.”
The wahket at the center of the shield wall turned their spears vertical as they shoved the doors open, then fell back into a ready posture to march through the opening. They scanned our surroundings for threats, but it didn’t take cat-like senses to locate the source of the screams.
A pair of gorgeous women stood in front of City Hall with a dead man at their feet. Despite the ugly gash across his throat and the pool of blood that surrounded him, the corpse’s face was twisted into a mask of ecstasy. Whatever had happened to him, he’d embraced it wholeheartedly, right up to the end.
Despite the obvious danger, a gaggle of villagers had gathered in the street to rubberneck. A few of the children rubbernecked at the carnage, but most of the adults were fixated on the pair of beautiful strangers. Great, now I had to worry about innocent bystanders getting caught up in whatever was about to go down here.
One of the women stepped over the corpse, and the hem of her sleek white dress turned red as it dragged through the blood. The simple outfit hugged her curves up to her right shoulder, where it was clasped with a golden pin the size of my fist. The dress did nothing to cover the left side of her chest, which I assumed had something to do with the smile on the corpse’s face. The woman’s scarlet hair hung down to her waist in tangled ringlets that looked like they hadn’t seen a brush in a few weeks. Her face was half-hidden behind the riotous mane, but her vivid crimson lips and one flashing blue eye grabbed my attention and held on tight.
The woman tried to climb the stairs, but the wahket shield wall had already descended to meet her. They blocked her progress and held their spear points in a deadly hedge.
“Lord Rathokhetra.” The woman took another step toward me and seemed not to notice the wahket spear that dimpled the skin above her heart. “We have answered your call and offer you this sacrifice, may it please you.”
She gestured toward the fallen man without looking back, and her lips curled into a luscious smile that promised me many more such offerings.
In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten about the call I’d put out for more guardians. I’d assumed the Exemplar of War ability would have let me know when someone or something answered the bat signal, but I guess that was too much to expect.
“You killed one of my citizens as an offering?” I frowned. “That’s not the best way to start out as a guardian.”
The second woman climbed the stairs to join her companion. Her hair, tangled with twigs and bits of desert bramble, was the color of a crow’s wing, and her lips were painted a black so deep the contrast made her teeth appear to glow. Her green eyes were surrounded by rings of smoky kohl that bled down her cheeks in stormy streaks. An electric blue spiral encircled her left nipple and swirled out across her bare chest and shoulder like the markings of an exotic serpent. Her lips curled into a crocodile’s smile when she spoke, and the air chilled by at least ten degrees.
“You presume much, dungeon lord,” she said with a husky voice that reminded me of late nights I’d spent in dive bars smoking cheap cigarettes and drinking even cheaper whiskey. “We have answered the call, but we are not servants. If you wish to dominate us, then you must first defeat us.”
I fixed the women with my best dungeon lord stare and was pleased that my senses kicked in and gave me more information about them.
<<<>>>
Lamia
Large monstrosity, chaotic evil
Armor Class: 13 (Natural Armor)
Hit Points: 97 (13d10 + 26)
Speed: 30 ft.
STR: 16 (+3)
DEX: 13 (+1)
CON: 15 (+2)
INT: 14 (+2)
WIS: 15 (+2)
CHA: 16 (+3)
Damage Vulnerability: None
Damage Immunity: None
Condition Immunities: None
Skills: Deception +7, Insight +4, Stealth +3
Senses: Darkvision 60 ft., Passive Perception 12
Languages: Abyssal, Common
Challenge: 4 (1,100 XP)
Innate Spellcasting: The lamia's innate spellcasting ability is Charisma-based (spell save DC 13). Lamia may cast the following spells each day, without material components.
At Will: disguise self (any humanoid form), major image
3/day Each: charm person, mirror image, scrying, suggestion
1/day: geas
Multiattack: The lamia may attack with one of its claws and either its dagger or Entrancing Touch.
Actions
Claws: Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 14 (2d10 + 3) slashing damage.
Dagger: Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 5 (1d4 + 3) piercing damage.
Entrancing Touch: Melee Spell Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one creature. Hit: The target suffers a magical curse for one hour. For the duration of the curse, the target has disadvantage on Wisdom saving throws and all ability checks.
<<<>>>>
The lamia were impressive monsters, but there was an immediate and very obvious problem with bringing them on board as guardians.
They were evil, and not the cute Zillah kind of evil. The offering they’d brought me was proof they were wild cards that would be a pain in my ass from the second I dominated them until I inevitably had to put them down like rabid dogs. I didn’t have time for that aggravation and decided to skip ahead to the end of our relationship.
“Thanks for coming all this way. I really appreciate it,” I said. “Now you gotta go. It’s not you, it’s me—no, that’s a lie. It’s you. You killed one o
f my people, and that’s a total bitch move. Mosey your asses right on outta here, and I’ll pretend you didn’t just shit all over my afternoon.”
The lamia glanced at one another, then back at me.
“That is ridiculous,” the redhead laughed. “Do you think we are peasants you can turn away without a second thought? You called. We answered. Do not disrespect our power.”
“No disrespect intended, but if you don’t get the fuck out of here in the next five seconds, I will snap you in half and feed you to the jackals,” I said in my best end-of-the-world dungeon lord voice. “Go.”
The brunette looked stunned, and her cheeks went pale as exposed bone. She pressed her right hand to her lips as if to stifle an outburst and descended the steps. But instead of leaving like a good girl, she spun on her right heel and flung her left hand toward my face.
A slender dagger tumbled through the air with unerring accuracy. The hurled missile soared above the heads of the wahket so fast none of them had time to raise their shields to intercept it, not that I was terribly concerned. I hadn’t incarnated, which meant I was as untouchable as the morning mist. She might as well have thrown that dagger at a cloud for all the damage it could cause me.
Which is why I was surprised as hell when the blade’s tip sliced my right cheek open and black sand trickled down my face. The wound was minor, but the fact that it had happened at all shocked and infuriated me.
By pure reflex I stabbed my khopesh toward the brunette lamia and unleashed a string of syllables that felt as jagged on my tongue as shards of broken glass. The Hellish Rebuke spell burst forth from the tip of my weapon and wreathed the beautiful, feral woman in a corona of crimson flame.
She shrieked in pain as the fire raised ugly red blisters on her face and arms, and a monstrous change swept over her.
The fabric of her dress sloughed away like a serpent’s shed skin to reveal the lamia in all her glory. From the waist up, she was a beautiful human woman with a form so perfect it was hard to lower my eyes to the freak show where her legs should have been.
Heavy black scales started at her hips and flowed down the curves of an enormous serpent’s tail. A rattlesnake’s warning burr vibrated from its tip, so loud it nearly drowned out the hellish shrieks that burst from her throat like a flight of bats from their roost. The flames of my spell had died down, but they’d half-killed the brunette lamia so I counted that as a win.
