by Reed James
“It's sick,” Maria said, squatting down to point at the patches on its belly. “It has missing fur and... Some of them are suppurating. Look, there's pus on them.”
“The source of the foul reek that emanates from the creature,” Kulri said. She moved away, her nose twitching.
“No wonder the pitiful creature was so enraged and maddened,” Dëshoma said, her eyes full of pain as she knelt down beside Maria and studied the bear. “These foul wounds inflicted agony upon this gentle beast and drove it to its own destruction.”
“Gentle?” I asked, staring at the bear. “That thing must weigh a ton.”
“And was driven to attack us out of madness from its injuries. Beasts art wary of men, Lord Marcus.”
“You think those vultures were sick, too?” I asked.
“I suspect that some malady has broken out here,” said Dëshoma. “We shouldst be on our guard against any more signs of corruption and infection.”
I gave a slow nod then looked up to see Kulri peering out at the distance. “What is it, Kulri?”
“Bad vapors,” she whispered. She glanced at the bear. Swallowed. Then she flinched away. “The bridge is close by. I can see it, Marcus Aurelius.”
Chapter Ten: Bridging Fear
Dëshoma
What is happening here? the Cleric wondered as they crossed through the fog to the bridge Kulrigiizhai had spied through the mist. This blight... Is it natural, or is this the work of one of the Gods of Darkness and Chaos?
There were nine Gods of Light and Order, including her own Ëshuxeri. Opposing them were the nine Gods of Darkness and Chaos, opposites in every way, the inverse of them. Just as Rūzem was the opposite of Shuwëmeri and sought to corrupt her Temple, so too did the other dark gods seek to undo the stability and peace of the world. It was because of their influence that the Hierophant decreed that the world should be Shattered. He beseeched the Gods of Light and Order to make it so.
A disruption of the harmony to preserve it and slow the spread of blight.
Restoring the world was the penance for allowing it to come so close to destruction. It was why Dëshoma had ventured forth from the monastery where she lived with her mother. She would follow her angelic father's example and fight evil. Now she had Marcus who sought to restore the world. A noble goal that she would support with all her heart.
For she loved him. She thought she would only love one man, and he would only love her, but Marcus was too great for that. It was so clear to Dëshoma. She would never be enough for him. He was a Harem Master, one who could master the hearts of many women. Already Shelley, Haîcze, and Okzira had joined Dëshoma in his heart. The Cleric hoped that Maria and Kulrigiizhai and even Éjyona would follow.
“This bridge looks sound,” Marcus said as he stared at it. It was a rope bridge with wooden planks tied to it to step on. There were rope handrails, too. It creaked ominously as a slight breeze stirred it into motion. “Any other way to cross?”
“Not that I can see, Marcus Aurelius,” Kulrigiizhai said. “We must cross here if we wish to progress.”
Dëshoma swallowed. She stared at the swaying contraption with some trepidation. Fog swallowed the chasm. If she were to fall, how long would it take her to hit the ground? She clutched her bible to her breast, feeling the leather on the inner slopes of her tits through the diamond cutout in her habit.
“Then here we cross,” Marcus said and glanced at Dëshoma. “Would you care to take my arm, Lady Dëshoma?”
She looked up at him and saw the reassurance in his eyes. Relief exhaled through her. “My thanks, Lord Marcus.”
She took his bare arm, holding it tight as he stepped out onto the bridge. The wooden plank groaned beneath his feet. The entire thing swayed. Swallowing, she joined him. Her right hand clutching to the thick cable, her left arm wrapped tightly about Marcus's limb.
She hated how it swayed. It rocked back and forth with their every step. And they were steps. The planks were farther apart than they looked, forcing Dëshoma's heeled feet to stretch out before her. She placed each heeled step with care on each of them. The rope felt damp. Her shoes slipped on the wood. The musty smell of rot filled her nose.
A whimper built and built in her throat. Her halo pulsed as her heart pounded. They were in the middle. The swaying hit its worst. Marcus grunted while she squeaked in fright. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to ever move again. She could feel the ground a mile or more beneath her.
“My lady,” Marcus said, “we have to keep moving. You have faced a cohort of vile cultists without fear. You were alone and brave. You're not going to fall here because I have you. Just one step at a time.”
Dëshoma nodded. She forced her eyes open. The other side seemed so far, but they had already come halfway. She stepped in sync with him. The bridge swayed. Her hand clutched tight to the rope. She put her foot down.
Slipped.
She screamed as she fell backward for a heartbeat. But then stopped. Her veil swayed over her while Marcus held her upright, gripping her left arm tight while her right hand held to the rope. He pulled, getting her upright. Her entire body shook.
“Dëshoma!” Maria called from the other side.
“She's fine,” Marcus said. “It's just a little slick right here.”
Dëshoma didn't feel fine.
“What would you rather face?” he asked. “A dragon or this bridge.”
“A dragon,” she whimpered. But she took the next step.
“So, when we face a dragon, you won't have anything to fear,” he said, chuckling. “Fuck me, it's a drop. But we're going to make it.”
She believed him. They kept working their way across. She kept her eyes fixed forward, letting Marcus's strength support her. Step after step after...
She placed her next foot onto the grass. The fear bled off of her, shaking her entire body in the process. She sucked in deep breaths and fanned her face.
“We made it,” she said. “Oh, my, that was the most frightening experience in mine life, Lord Marcus. Not even when I did face those churlish and despicable cultists alone did I feel such terror. I fear heights are not agreeable with me.”
“It'll get easier next time,” Marcus said.
“Next time?” Then she gasped and stared back across the bridge. “The Shardpool... We must cross yon bridge again with all its precarious swaying and slippery boards.”
He nodded.
Kulrigiizhai strolled across the bridge like it were nothing, not even bothering to hold the handrails. She reached the other side and glanced back as Éjyona rushed over next. She didn't grab the handholds either, leaping from plank to plank with nimble ease that Dëshoma envied.
She is walking the rogue's path and halflings have an innate dexterity. One even stronger than elves.
“You or me?” Maria asked Twist, staring at the bridge.
“You,” said Twist. “I think that pretty backside of yours in the thong is going to be—”
“Let the geometries of space form into shards of slashing death!” Kulrigiizhai chanted, her gaze fixed down the cliff.
“What?” Marcus growled as three arcane shards shot down into the rift, vanishing out of Dëshoma's sight.
“Enemies!” the elf called while something screeched in pain in the rift. Then came bouncing impacts, flesh striking rock that grew fainter and fainter.
“Rockcliff kobolds!” buzzed Iris.
Crawling up the cliff on Maria's and Twist's side were spindly, gray creatures wearing leather rags. Their bodies blended in with the stones and the mist swirling around them, almost impossible to make out before now. Now they were reaching the top, pulling themselves up. Maria ripped her rapier from its sheath and backed up while Twist Vanished from sight.
Maria roared as the first kobold rushed at her.
“Fuck!” Marcus snarled and rushed to the bridge.
One of the kobolds who reached the top held a staff. It was surmounted with a skull of some sort. He brandished it and dan
ced, words tumbling from his lips. Maria lunged her rapier at the nearest kobold, ramming it through his chest. He hissed in pain and swung a stone ax at her.
She blocked it with her parrying dagger and then twisted to avoid a stabbing spear tipped with flint.
The shaman finished his dance and aimed his staff at her. A sweep of force rushed out and struck Maria. She dropped to the ground limp, her weapons falling from her hands. The kobolds all roared around her, rushing in.
“No!” Dëshoma shouted, clutching her bible to her as her friend lay vulnerable and unconscious on the ground.
* * / *
I ran across the bridge, adrenaline pumping through my veins. No fear surged through me as I ran over the planks, boots thudding on the slick wood. I drew my ax and set my kite shield, Yelling to buff my attack. The energy from my cry energized me.
Maria fell down.
“Fuck!” I snarled. The gray-skinned kobolds rushed at her. “Vermin.”
I had a new ability I gained last level. I unleashed it with a thought. MP flowed from me.
My Shield of Faith popped up around Maria. Five seconds of invulnerability. She could move, but she couldn't attack back. A bubble to keep her safe from harm. The weapons hurtled down at her and struck the bubble of golden light. A chime rang with each hit, rebuffing their attacks.
“Cock-sucking bastards!” I growled as I reached the other side and hacked a Hard Strike into the back of the nearest kobold's neck. My blade struck deep. Blood spurted as vertebrae crunched. The kobold hit the ground in a spasming sprawl.
The others turned to face me.
The shaman screeched something in his language, shaking the skull-tipped staff at me. The kobolds all rushed at me. A half-dozen stone spears stabbed before them. Three crashed into my shield, a fourth skipped off my breastplate. The other two found my flesh, cutting into my arm and side. Blood spurted. Hit Points dwindled.
I slammed my ax into one's chest, gaining back some of what I'd lost as more of their attacks came in at me. A dozen surrounded me now, blows coming from all sides. Gunshots rang out. Magic sizzled over the cliff and cut into the kobolds. Twist appeared, her dagger ripping through one kobold's chest, killing him in a spray of arterial red.
My skin tingled. Suddenly, a healing spell engulfed me. Not one that healed me right away, but a HoT (Healing over Time). It was the opposite of a DoT (Damage over Time) which ate away at your life. I grinned as the energy healed the small wounds the Warrior inflicted on me as I hacked my way towards the shaman, Dëshoma's miracle sustaining me.
A burst of arcane energy exploded around me. Kobolds screamed and hissed. Two fell smoking to the ground, giving me a clear shot at the shaman. He danced, shaking his staff and staring at me, his eyes wild.
I charged at him.
He slammed his staff into the ground. The rush of energy shot at me. I raised my kite shield before me. The power flowed through the shield, my armor, and then struck my head like a wall of bricks. My brain sloshed in my mind. I staggered, lights busting across my vision. It almost overwhelmed my thoughts, but I resisted it.
Strength and Faith combined to make my Resistance stat. I battered through the stun status effect and swiped my ax at the shaman. He hissed as I struck his staff with Disarm. It flew from his hands and hit the ground.
He gibbered.
Kobolds screeched, a sound like, “RHEEEEE!”
Stone weapons punched into my flesh, finding gaps in my armor. Hit Points bled from me with each hit, Dëshoma's HoT struggling to keep up with the damage. I didn't care. I swung a Holy Strike at the disarmed shaman. I caught him in the head. My ax skipped across his skull and cut off the tip of his ear.
He dived for his staff. He picked it up and came up, blood spilling down the left side of his face. He gibbered and thrust the skull at me like a spear. I battered it aside with my shield. Energy burst, pain lancing into my arm. It went limp, my shield dropping.
I slammed my ax into his neck, cutting his head off.
The kobolds swarming me screeched. My left arm numb, this status effect overcoming my resistance. My ability to block debuffed, I snarled and swung my ax before me in a sweep, cracking into the vermin coming to kill me.
Their weapons stabbed into me.
* * / *
Twist
Marcus roared as the kobolds swarmed him. Still, a dozen of the bastards were alive. The shaman's head rolled to Maria's prone body, the Duelist now ignored by the fighting. Twist leaped over the unconscious human and slashed her dagger, cutting into the backs of the kobolds, ripping into their flesh.
Twist unleashed Knife Flurry, her blade slashing in vicious arcs and cutting into their flesh. A kobold died. Another. She carved into the horde surging in on Marcus. His Hit Points dwindled as he battled the horde, the minor healing from his ax and Dëshoma's miracle not keeping up with the fury unleashed on them.
“Rūzem's greasy touch!” Twist spat, not wanting to lose him.
Dëshoma's voice drifted over the chasm. An arcane purple burst amid the kobolds and splashed over the Thief; divine light engulfed Marcus. His Hit Points shot up. The angelborn twit had some use, able to heal him at range now.
Marcus roared and swung his ax. He cut through a kobold's skull. They died, felled by Twist's and Marcus's weapons, their bodies sizzling with arcane energy. Bullets slammed into the horde. And then it was just Marcus and Twist standing on the other side, blood dripping from her sacrificial dagger and his ax.
She grinned at him. “Good fight.” Fire blazed through her. “Makes me want to throw you down and just fuck you.”
“Lord Marcus!” Dëshoma called.
Twist scowled and glanced to see the angelborn racing across the bridge. The fear she felt earlier appeared entirely gone as she ran up, hugging her bible to her chest. She reached the other side, moving surprisingly fast in her heels, her steps swift.
“Maria's still down,” Marcus said.
Twist bent down and began looting the dead, ignoring the Cleric.
“Hexed by the foul shaman,” Dëshoma said after checking on Maria. “She shall revive shortly. Give her but a moment or two and she shall be as hale as ever. For it did not hurt her flesh but merely stunned her mind.”
“Yeah, almost got me,” he admitted. “But for your healing. That HoT was great.”
“Mine hot?” Dëshoma asked.
“The spell that kept healing me.”
“Ah, Theological Litany,” she answered. “Mine study into the nature of miracles is proving most beneficial. It and Arcane Healing proved most useful to keep thee alive surrounded by the horde of the foul things.”
“Look at this,” Twist said. She had found a belt on one of the dead. It was made of some sort of scaled leather—shark skin, she thought—and possessed a shady presence to it. It had a black buckle in the shape of the finned predator.
“Ooh, ooh,” said Iris, buzzing around the belt. “A Shadowshark Belt. This makes attacks that cause bleeding to cause worse wounds and once a day, you can land an attack that deals triple critical damage.”
“I think I'll keep this,” Twist said and wrapped it about her waist. “Objections?”
“You like to bleed things,” Marcus said.
“And Éjyona is on the other side of the rift,” Twist added as she buckled it tight. She felt the magic seeping through her. She attached her pouch to it.
Maria gasped and bolted up. “Where is the... Marcus? Is it over?”
“It is,” Twist said, delight in her hissing voice. “Look at my new belt.”
“It's shadowy,” said Maria. She looked at her body. “Why aren't I dead?”
“Marcus. He came charging across the bridge to save your pretty ass.” Twist grinned. “Didn't give one thought about me.”
“You went invisible,” Marcus said, staring at the kobolds. “Dëshoma, look at the kobolds.”
“Oh, no,” the Cleric gasped. Dismay twisted across her face. “Those look to be the same patches of blig
ht which afflicted the bear. This is most worrisome.”
“It is,” Kulri called from across the ravine. “We should be vigilant for any signs of disease.”
“I feel healthy,” said Twist. She turned her body. “Anyone see any imperfections in my scales?”
“There's not much of you hidden,” noted Maria.
“Nope.” Twist grinned.
“The same disease across different species,” muttered Marcus. “I don't think that's how diseases work.”
“Thou art correct.” Dëshoma rose. “I fear this malady is not natural. Something foul doth breed in these misty lands.”
“Rūzem's greasy touch,” Twist muttered, looking out at the fog.
Chapter Eleven: Cut Rope
“You crossed it without fear just a few minutes ago,” I said to Dëshoma as she clung to my arm.
“Worry did rob me of mine fear,” she answered, her voice tight. “And I had not considered the ramifications of mine actions.”
I smiled at her.
It still unnerved me to cross it, not that I would admit that, but it wasn't as bad as the first time. We made it to the other side with some swaying. Twist crossed with ease and while Maria gripped the ropes, she didn't slip once, her new focus on Dexterity aiding her.
We swept across the next plateau, the mist drifting over it, almost rolling white vapor across the ground. Sometimes, the fog opened up before us showing the yellow grass rising and falling with the rolling hills. Other times, the cool vapor swallowed us up and hid anything more than a few feet away.
In one of those foggy moments, another band of kobolds struck us. They burst out of little holes in the ground hidden by trapdoors adorned with cut grass. They blended in with the terrain almost seamlessly in the mist.
Another shaman led them. They whittled through more of our resources. I was down to half my MP and a third of my TP. Dëshoma had used a lot of MP healing us and Kulri would have to be careful with her spell-casting. We all had wounds that needed curing, but we pushed on without them. We were still Level 12. If we could hit 13, we'd refresh and wouldn't have to camp.
