The Savage Caves - Chapter 18
The Savage Caves: Original Story by T.H. Lain
A Fan-Fiction Reimagining: Walthus Proudstump
Chapter 18
The smell of body odor drew Lidda’s fluttering eyelids open and she nearly gagged, her hand immediately shooting up to her small mouth to cover it and her nose. But her hand didn’t move. She’d been out for a long time, she could tell - but not exactly how long. Her body felt stiff. She looked down and realized she was bound - no, she was attached to someone that was moving. And her head hurt! She winced at the feeling in the side of her head and tried to get her bearings. She was moving, she could see that and as her eyes unblurred from the intense pain in her head she realized she was tucked in the leather belt of one of the bugbears. The smell was from him.
She let her body sag again and felt Tazerg stir next to her. As his eyes opened, she blinked her eyes a few times at him and gently shook her head. She hoped he’d understood. When he opened his mouth, she realized he hadn’t. He gave a low growl, grunting and fighting against the belt as he tried to squeeze his thin arms through it. He couldn’t budge. The grunt that came from the bugbear carrying them was loud. The two stopped moving.
They were drawn into a large area; it looked like an audience chamber to Lidda but she couldn’t be sure. She needed to wipe her eyes; little floaty things obscured her vision and there were too many moving shapes in front of her to understand what was happening. She thought to rub her face against the bugbear’s clothing but judging by the smell, she didn't want to ruin her eyes. She just let herself be carried. She shifted her hand, managing to free it with very deliberate slowness and felt something sharp - a dagger. Much too small for the brute that carried them but she might be able to use it. She deftly slipped it from the makeshift sheath and slid it into her leathers.
She might need it soon.
Eventually they stopped and she was pulled out of the leather belt - that process was awful; it scraped against her trapped arm and gave her the worst sort of rub-burn. Then she was tossed to the stone floor.
The halfling landed on her knees and hissed in pain but managed to keep the hidden knife blocked from its sight. She looked up at the bugbear and slowly her eyes came into focus. He was carrying Regdar on his broad shoulder; the man looked like a doll sitting atop an adult. The bugbear shifted the burden and then dropped him, hard. She winced as his head struck the ground but there was already blood all over the back of his head. She wasn’t even sure he was still alive. She shifted over to the crumpled warrior and stared up at the bugbear as he moved away. Tazerg was still stuck in his belt.
Lidda heard a garbled sound and someone say the name “Fidul”. She wiped her eyes as she reached Regdar and saw the full picture of the room.
It was large, with a great pit dug into the stone that fell off into a pit that she couldn’t see into. She had a very bad feeling about the pit. There were nearly two dozen goblins surrounding her and Regdar; they stayed away from the pit and looked tired, thin and many carried bruises and wounds that were not being properly treated. She could see the effects of infection already in a few. The room was dominated by a stone throne, massive in size and very roughly shaped from stacked stones and a single tall stone back. It was set close to the pit and looked to have been moved; whoever had done so must’ve been impossible strong. Stains of blood, bits of flesh and gore splattered the floor and Lidda could see chunks of yellow fat stuck in cracks.A towering figure sat on the throne and Lidda immediately knew this had to be Rezrek.
He was huge! A bulky, furry bugbear with massive arms and covered in piecemeal armor; chain, scale and even some leather had been cobbled together to make some protective suit of mishmash. It looked ridiculous but Lidda wasn’t about to explain that to the bugbear. His face was a scowl, filled with rage and covered in blood. He also had flecks of yellow fat clinging to his face fur and his eyes, jaundiced, stared down at the halfling woman with such maliciousness that she suddenly felt even smaller than her normal small size. The thing was built like a wall and she’d guess he was twice as thick-skulled. She took a deep breath and set her hand on Regdar.
He groaned.
“Oh, thank gods, you’re still alive.” She said, her voice drawing the attention of the goblins. They made a low growling-hiss noise at her but let their eyes move to Rezrek on his throne.
Tazerg was torn from the belt that held him and dangled in front of Rezrek like some kind of prize animal captured. It made Lidda think of hunting dogs bringing back a captured fox to their master. It made her skin crawl. The little goblin cursed several times, hissing and even lashing out with his claws. This proved completely ineffective and Lidda had to commend him for his gall - he was about to be killed, she was certain of it. But he was still fighting. She smirked as Regdar tried to stand. His legs were like jelly, though, and he could barely keep himself upright.
“Come on, Regdar! I can’t hold you up.” She said gently. The man was too heavy.
He grunted, groaning out a curse and steadying himself. He reached his hand up and came back with more blood than looked healthy. His head was soaked in it and the lines of red from where it dripped down his nose and lips made him look sinister. His skin was pallid; he looked truly awful, she mused.
“You’ve seen better days,” she commented.
He nodded. “Yeah, well,” he shrugged, growling in pain as he did so. “At least I’m alive enough to feel it.” He gave a short, humorless laugh and looked around. “Tell me we were captured by the bugbears and now they’re about to roast us alive for dinner.”
“You know, I think it’s actually worse.” She replied.
“I don’t have my sword.” He commented. Lidda pointed to the bugbear named Fidul, if she had to guess.
“He does.” She looked around the room as she joked. “Maybe he’ll give it back if you ask nicely.”
“Doubtful.” He replied flatly. The warrior looked around and then his eyes fell on the pit. “You were right. It’s worse.” He sighed and straightened himself. The big bugbear, Rezrek, bristled and stood in return. He was easily several heads taller than Regdar and Lidda could see that fact unnerved the big warrior. She doubted he’d fought many things bigger than he was, especially weaponless. She nudged him and whispered.
“I took a knife from the other bugbear. But I don’t know how much good that’s going to do us.”
Before Regdar could say something, Rezrek knocked Tazerg out of Fidul’s hand. The goblin hit the floor and Rezrek immediately placed a huge boot on his head. Lidda was surprised they even made boots that big - his foot covered much of the little goblin’s little grey head. The bugbear pressed down and Tazerg let out a whimpering cry. Lidda shouted.
“Stop!” It came out before she could even think.
Shit.
The bugbear pressed harder and Tazerg’s whimper became a scream; the pressure was great enough that Lidda could see the goblin’s eyes beginning to bulge from his skull. The halfling woman hissed and took a defiant step forward. Fidul let his hand drop to his new weapon; Regdar stiffened at this.
“Little thing like Tazerg?” Rezrek’s voice was even deeper than Regdar’s. He lifted his boot from the goblin’s head. “Rezrek kill Tazerg, then - smash head to mush!” He acted as if he was going to stomp the creature’s skull in. But he stopped shortly before, his face looking curious for a second. The bugbear’s eyes shifted over to the pit.
Lidda watched a malicious grin split his furry face and show rows of rotting yellow fangs as long as her fingers. She shuddered at the gore still hanging from them. Rezrek sucked in a deep breath and pulled his foot away. He motioned to Fidul and in a tongue Lidda didn’t understand and said a few things to him. He didn’t respond but nodded. Fidul snatched up the groaning Tazerg and brought him towards the pit. Tazerg yelled, scratching at Fidul’s arm. Even though he left streaks of blood as he tried to free himself, the bugbear seemed unconcerned.
He dangled Tazerg over the pit and laughed, some hideous noise escaping his throat.
Distracted, Lidda hadn’t seen Rezrek shift himself forward and was caught by surprise when he surged forward. Regdar moved to block him but the bugbear was huge; he shouldered the warrior to the side, knocking him down and grabbing Lidda by the throat in one massive paw. He lifted her up like she was nothing and squeezed her neck. She felt the air leave her lungs and she immediately felt woozy. Darkness rushed at the corners of her vision and when she tried to bring her hands up, they wouldn’t respond. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness and her face grew flush. The bugbear was going to squeeze her head off.
She heard Regdar say something but it was lost to her.
The halfling felt herself hit the stone floor and air rushed back into her. She gasped, coughing so badly that she felt like she was going to vomit. She shuddered for a few seconds, trying to steady herself. Regdar stood staring up at Rezrek and the bugbear sneered.
“Why care about girl, man?” He leered at Regdar, looking down at the bloody-headed warrior. Lidda thought Regdar looked exhausted - she felt the same way. She ached, she was tired and she hated this place. And these bugbears. She managed to get to her feet.
Tazerg was still fighting against Fidul’s grip but the bugbear started shaking him violently; his head snapped back and forth. He stopped fighting and just hung there limply. Rezrek said something without looking at the other bugbear and he dropped the goblin into the pit. The gathered goblins gasped.
“What’s in the pit?” Regdar said slowly. The massive bugbear smiled, seeming to understand.
“New friend. For Tazerg, man and girl.” He lunged forward and took Regdar by the shoulders. His strength was immense; he lifted the struggling warrior with some effort but he could pick him up fully. Lidda’s mouth fell open in amazement. Regdar had to weigh a few hundred pounds and Rezrek lifted him up like he was picking up a backpack. He threw the warrior towards the pit, Regdar skidding to the edge. Fidul gave him a swift kick in the stomach, eliciting a grunt from the older man, and he tumbled into the pit. Lidda looked at Rezrek and she held her hands up defensively. The huge beast seemed taken aback.
“I get it!” She started to move over to the pit, the whispering goblins pointing at her.
Rezrek shifted forward and tried to kick at Lidda but she dove forward, tucking and rolling to the edge of the pit. She turned and saw him glaring at her. She dipped down and landed in the pit easily, though she felt her knees pop at the sudden stop. The pit was just about as awful as she thought it might be.
The glowing lichen had been shoved into the sides of the large pit - it was almost ten meters long, the same in width and the ledge was probably ten or so feet above her head. No wonder my knees popped, she thought. She saw that there were no places for climbing; these looked like they’d been shaved down or broken apart. She couldn’t be sure but she had a strong suspicion she knew why. So no one could scramble out. Regdar was just standing up, groaning and holding his shoulder. He must’ve landed hard on it but he seemed okay otherwise. Ignoring his head wound and other injuries, obviously - he looked rough, she mused. She heard the low growling of something from the other side of the pit and saw the black hole of another cave there. Tazerg had fallen somewhat close to it and the soft sounds of chattering jaws filled the chamber.
Rezrek growled and laughed, turning to Fidul and snickering as he took his place on his throne.
Stupid bastard, she thought. I’m going to bust out those rotten teeth.
The growl in front of them grew louder and from the darkness, Lidda swore she could see the glint of teeth in the soft blue hue of the lichen. She shifted back against the wall and motioned to Regdar to do the same. The warrior looked over to the goblin, who was still stunned from his drop into the pit. She nodded. He shifted forward quickly. Snatching the little creature up by his arm and pulling him close. Tazerg made a noise but didn’t resist. The three of them made themselves as flat as they could. Lidda wasn’t sure what this thing was but she didn’t want to see it.
“You have that knife ready?” Regdar asked in a hushed tone.
She nodded. “Not sure how good it’ll do, though. There’s nowhere for me to hide in here.” She looked around and suddenly noticed the blood. And the bones. And the chunks of flesh that littered the pit. Bits of goblin were strewn all about and Lidda swore she could see a partially gnawed upon leg that was rotting near the entrance to the black hole in the side. She shuddered. Blood smeared the walls as well, in great swaths and she gulped back fear.
“This is going to be so bad,” she commented.
As the creature emerged from the darkness, she knew she was right.
Lidda both loved and hated being right.
A large wolf creature padded its way out of the shadows, which seemed to peel away from its bulk as it swung a great head to look at the three trapped in the pit with it. It was considerably more bulky than a wolf; its body was powerfully muscled and each movement of its legs brought a ripple beneath the thick fur. It was white moving up from the clawed paws, with a large streak of deep brown running along its back - spiked fur stuck out several inches there and gave the creature an otherworldly appearance. It had brown spots dotting its body near its back like a hyena and the great jaws snapped several times in drooling anticipation for food. A tail swung lazily behind it and the ears, long and pointed, flicked back and forth.
It leveled sickly yellow-grey eyes at the three and a black tongue danced behind those vicious teeth.
The creature was a killer and it had set its hunger on her. She cursed.
As it stalked forward, she heard Rezrek laugh again and speak in his halting tongue.
“Rezrek pet. Ripper. Always hungry. Not had manflesh in many days.” He laughed again and Lidda wanted to punch him in the face. She clenched her fists. The creature shifted forward.
Regdar tensed, speaking low. “It’s a krenshar.”
“A what?” Lidda said, seeing Tazerg come to his senses and shudder in fear. Whatever this thing was - krenshar, whatever - Tazerg was scared by it and that just made Lidda even more uncomfortable. The little goblin was tough as hell.
“Think of the most ill-tempered wolf you’ve ever seen but it can scream, paralyzing you.” Regdar finished, giving her an uncertain look. “It can peel its face back, too.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” When he shook his head, she sighed.
Ripper bared its fangs and growled loudly, drool slipping between its jaws.
It’s big, she thought. But usually that means it’s slow and stupid. She could manage this.
Probably.
She thumbed the weapon hidden in her leathers and tried to picture how best to get behind the thing; any chance she could distract it would be a chance to find somewhere vital to stab the bastard.
As Lidda watched it, the creature reared its head back. She tried to prepare for the scream, or whatever that was, by bringing her hands to her ears. Regdar did the same but Tazerg could only stand, watching the thing as if transfixed by its presence. She hissed at the goblin but his eyes looked glassy and she could see that he was shaking.
She sucked in a breath and held it as she turned to look at the krenshar again.
The krenshar’s nose twitched and, somehow, the flesh on its skull seemed to ripple. The sight made Lidda’s stomach lurch and she watched in horror as the wolf-thing’s face peeled back to reveal glistening white bone and red muscle beneath. The eyes bulged in their sockets, blood red veins visible in the whites of the thing’s eyes. She could see every tendon and connection in its face and the sight made her scream. She couldn’t help it. It tore the fearful cry right out of her throat and Tazerg followed right along with her. Regdar was silent but stared the thing down. It opened its great maw, each fang visible, and let loose a scream that sounded nothing like a wolf’s howl.
The noise was so earth-shatteringly awful that it brought tears to Lidda’s eyes.
She had never been so scared of something in her life.
The halfling woman pushed herself up against the wall, suddenly filled with the need to try and climb out of the pit even though she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t jump ten feet and she couldn’t climb. She turned to Regdar and immediately thought to climb on top of him, using him as a ladder to get away from the thing as fast as she could. He looked at her and must’ve seen the fear in her eyes.
He shook his head.
Ripper growled, its flesh still rolled back and Lidda turned just in time to see it lunge forward, clearing the thirty feet between them in a single powerful bound.
The halfling screamed again.
Naull shifted her shoulder, rotating it several times and nodding to Jozan with a wide smile. She felt so much better; the ache in her bones seemed to have lessened, her shoulder didn’t feel like it was on fire and she wasn’t shivering any longer. She thought of the scrolls Larktiss had given her to stave off the extremes of heat and cold but thought better than to suggest them. They might need them for later if they decided to try and follow the river deeper into the cavern. Or into the place they’d just come from. She wasn’t looking forward to treading water again but was impressed that the horse was able to carry her. Naull had been certain that it wouldn’t work - at least that’s what Larktiss had told her, and what her studies had explained. She gently patted the waterproof leather satchel and was grateful for her mentor’s gifts; if nothing else it meant that her spellbook hadn’t been soaked through when they’d fallen into the water. “Alright.” She stood up, stretching her arms and looking towards the shore that slowly became rocky pillars and deeper darkness. “We should be able to use the steed again - it’ll last for several hours, I think.” “You think?” Jozan asked with a curiously raised eyebrow. He began the words to a spell for himself, the golden light of Pelor’s grace spilling through his battered body and she nodded. “Some magic is an exact formula; measurable results, presumed outcomes. Some things, though, are less so.” She smirked. “Sometimes you just have to have faith.” She chuckled and shifted the bracelet she wore; Wee Jas’ symbol jingled slightly in the silence of the place. She placed a hand on his shoulder, softening her voice as much as she could. “I am grateful for the grace of Pelor. And hope he understands the intent of my actions.” She smiled. Jozan nodded, putting his hand over hers. “We cannot know his wisdom; it is beyond our understanding. But even if I have strong - very strong, mind you - reservations regarding your use of such magic for good,” he paused and squeezed her hand tightly, “His grace flows through me and into you just as any other. I cannot think that if your magic profaned him so deeply as I thought it would that he would allow me to heal you.” “Could he stop your magic?” She asked, curious about that as a possibility. Her understanding of the priestly magic Jozan wielded was very limited but nothing could or would stop her magic. Not unless Boccob himself came to strip her of it. “I work his miracles on Oerth. Through me his will is done. If he wished it, Pelor might strip from me the gifts that he has bestowed - I have seen such, once before.” He looked away. “Calmet?” She asked, trying to keep her voice as soft as she could. The priest nodded. “My old mentor - Calmet, A Radiant Servant.” “Oh, now that’s a mighty sounding title.” She smiled but Jozan shook his head. “Pelor’s greatest priests are given such a title. Calmet’s skills - knowledge in Pelor’s teachings, working of his will through magic, and even the greater understanding of the planes of existence were greater than I have ever encountered; under his tutelage or since.” Jozan got a very far off look in his eyes. He continued and Naull let her hand slip from beneath his own to rest at her side. “He betrayed Pelor’s teachings. The Shining One teaches us that true strength is not shown through proof of power or influence. It is through our works of charity, modesty, perseverance, and self-sacrifice. This is the foundation of justice, of freedom for all people. Calmet was powerful. But he sought power for its own sake. He cursed the teachings of Pelor. Compassion was a weakness, he said. Only the truly strong deserved power, glory.” “I’ve read stories of mages with similar mindsets.” She commented. His face was dark, deep in the memories of whatever this trauma was. “I wish it were a story, Naull. He killed many in the cloister - through foul, unnatural means.” He looked into her eyes and she knew what he meant. “Necromancy.” He nodded. “He used his knowledge of the Black Arts to kill many of Pelor’s worshippers, in service to some dark force that I will not speak of - ever.” His voice was stern but the sadness in his tone was clear. He shook his head. “I was lucky.” He chuckled but it was completely without humor, she knew. “I was a terrible student. A constant disappointment. Calmet had tried, many times, to release me from the service of Pelor but Pelor’s grace always seemed to shine upon me when the possibility of expulsion was threatened. Others were sent away and yet I was not, even though my abilities left much to be desired.” “How do you mean?” She asked. “My skill in magic - very limited, as you’ve seen. I can heal, yes, quite well actually. My hands are the hands of a healer.” He looked over them for a short moment and smiled. “That, at the very least, I can do. But other spells? I cannot fathom them. The complexities of spells seems beyond me. My mind cannot grasp them. And history? Holy texts? Indecipherable. Calmet saw me as useless.” “You posed no threat.” She commented. She held his eyes, though she could see the priest was desperate not to look at her - he did not look away. “Yes. So when I tell you my fear of necromancy, of your magic, know that it comes not from a place of hate. But fear and experience.” The young mage nodded at that. “I am not Calmet,” she said after a short moment. The priest nodded to that. “My path is my own; determined by only myself. I will not use such magics for evil. I can promise you that.” She smiled at him. He seemed like a good man, she thought. But fear, she knew, could make anyone reactionary. Naull looked forward to proving that to him. “Thank you,” she patted her shoulder lightly. “Now, shall we decide; up the river or back from where we came?” Jozan opened his mouth but nothing came out. His eyes widened. “N-Naull,” he began but something stole his words. “Jozan? What’s wrong?” She took a step forward and suddenly noticed the strange, thin tendrils that had embedded themselves into the priest’s body. Each looked to be no more than a finger width around. They were almost translucent against the stoney color of the shore; grey and black, with what looked like tiny little barbs at the ends. She only noticed this last detail because of the six that seemed to dig into his exposed flesh, one was wriggling free against his armor and didn’t seem to be able to shift around it. They must’ve slithered through the ground, hidden, like some kind of stone eel. She moved forward, drawing the knife for collecting herbs and slashed out to sever one of the tendrils. The blade cleanly cut through the thing, which felt more fleshy than she’d expected. It looked like rock, so she reasoned it might be as strong. A low screech erupted from the shadows and she turned, the blade dripping with a strange green ichor. The tendril whiplashed back into the shadows, coiling away from the two humans impossibly fast. From the shadows the young mage could see movement and what breached the wall of darkness made her skin go ghostly white. The sound of shifting stone heralded the creature’s approach. It was huge, ten meters tall or more, and looked like a giant stone pillar - naturally formed, with offshoots of rocky growth like spikes. She would never have seen it in the darkness and even in the light it was hard to believe it was anything more than a giant rock. As it moved, she couldn’t see any feet - perhaps it had a single large toe-like protrusion like a clam. It shifted forward ponderously slowly and on the stone surface she saw a strange, seam-like mouth. It opened slowly, revealing pink gums and concentric circular rows of needle-like teeth. A rasping, black tongue was hidden behind these and Naull could see it was covered in strange barbed suckers. A sticky, saliva-like substance filled its mouth and rolled down the teeth to splatter the gravel beneath it. She didn’t want to know how the creature fed. As she stared at it, the tendrils slowly lifted the paralyzed Jozan off the ground. His eyes were open and it looked like he was trying to speak. His arm lifted a few inches from his body but it looked like there was no strength in him. He couldn’t do it - his arm fell back to his side and a whimper escaped his lips. “R-run,” he croaked out but even the effort of forming words seemed almost beyond him. Naull turned back to the thing as it let out a strange, hissing noise from its gaping maw of teeth. Just above the mouth, another slit formed and opened. A great central eye shifted around inside of the stoney thing’s body - or head? Naull couldn’t tell if the creature even had a head. It was all a rock. Its eye was a lidless, hideous thing that squelched as it shifted inside of the creature’s body. The orb was a bright orange, with an oddly familiar-looking rectangular shape. It reminded Naull of a goat’s eyes - but this was a central, massive thing that stared right at her. As it fixed its eye on the young mage, still holding Jozan aloft, its mouth shifted and moved like lips. “Duurgann, uumann, zeeeel merge haraaaass.” It spoke! Naull didn’t know the language but that meant the thing was intelligent. The thought horrified her all the more. The voice was a hissing screech that made her skin crawl. The noise reminded her of two blades sharpening one another; rasping and screeching as metal struck metal. The thing had no discernable expressions, at least none that she could understand, but she didn’t need that to understand its intent; it was hungry. It shifted the tendrils and Jozan’s body, looking almost like it was floating, was drawn closer to the waiting maw. She drew the wand of missiles, turning it quickly over in her thin hand and yelled the activation word. “Dunnawuln!” The missiles erupted from the ruby at the end of the wand, which glowed more brightly than before. She felt the wand shudder violently in her hand and had to brace it with her other. Power seemed to surge through her arms and it lit a fire in her veins; the burning sensation traveled the length of her forearms and her fingers tingled. What’s going on, she thought frantically. The missiles slammed into the tendrils, destroying four of them holding Jozan. He collapsed to the ground, his face hitting the gravel hard. But he remained unmoving, the last tendril still trying to drag him closer to the monster as it howled in frustration. The mage watched as more tendrils erupted from the creature’s stoney exterior, whipping back and forth before slithering forward like hungry serpents. The wand became suddenly scorching hot and Naull, uncertain what was happening, instinctively hurled the magical item towards the creature. It spun in the air past the seeking tendrils, the white wood glowing brightly as the light in the gem seemed to flow down the length of it. It struck the creature’s body, just to the right of its mouth. There was a strange wubbing noise, like a reverberation in an enclosed space, and the wand exploded in a violent release of magical energy. A blinding light threatened to steal her sight. It obscured the creature, as if the sun itself had appeared between the two. As a wave of energy burst out, creating a visible effect that rushed towards the young woman impossibly fast, she vaguely recalled Larktiss saying something about certain items being dangerous because of their potential for magical mishaps; a flaw in the design or even the activation of the thing could cause it to be overwhelmed by the magic woven into it. She had just enough time to throw a shield up before the wave struck her, pressing hard against the girl as she held both hands towards the blast. It pushed her back and her feet struck Jozan, nearly sending her stumbling. The phantom horse caught some of the explosion and its form wavered like smoke in a high breeze. After a moment of insubstantiality, though, it returned to its solid form. The creature looked completely unphased by the explosion. She shifted her hands, dismissing the shield and waiting for the lingering white light to fade. As it did, she cursed aloud. The creature remained - blasted, certainly, with scorch marks and on tendrils that she could see. But its burned rocky body was barely scratched by the explosion. Her mind frantically tried to remember lessons of magical creatures and their innate resistances to spells. “Shit.” She said as she shifted, leaning down to Jozan and pulling him close. “I need you to say ‘I give the steed to you, Naull’. Gift it to me and I can control it. Say it!” Her voice was high and panicked. He struggled, still unable to move or even lift his head. He was weak as a newborn in her arms and he was so heavy she could barely lift his face to hers. “I-I give…the s-s-steed t-to you, N-Naull.” He croaked out. “A g-gift.” The young mage stood just as the light from behind her totally faded, leaving only the blue of the lichen to light the horrible creature behind them. The outer surface of its body was burned and that seemed to slow its regeneration of tendrils - they slowly began to push their way to the surface, a thick layer of rocky skin sloughing off as they burrowed out of its core. The creature murmured again in its tongue, though now its tone was filled with rage along with hunger. The tendril that had been attached to Jozan was destroyed, so she dragged him as quickly as she could over to the waiting steed. She hurriedly wrapped the reins around his arm. “I’m going to have to drag you and I am so sorry.” The man didn’t respond, only whispering something she couldn’t hear. The great rocky beast shifted forward again, hissing its words. “Cannot…run…meat!” The words stopped her in her tracks and she looked back, disgusted and horrified at the same time as she understood its words. She furrowed her brow. She spat her spell at the thing, still shuffling towards her as its tendrils slowly grew closer. “Vecouth, kwelend urborum!” The words left her suddenly dry mouth and she felt something within her body shift; deep inside, as if being drawn up and out of her. A white wispy mist flowed from her mouth, eyes, ears and nose to float before her in an amorphous cloud. It rapidly coalesced into the shape of a ghostly hand that roughly resembled her own. Blood trickled down from Naull’s nose and she bit back the pain from the spell - it needed life to summon and she was happy to give it. The spectral hand, translucent and gently floating before her, shifted to face the approaching monster. Naull spat another arcane phrase, twisting her left hand into a claw as she spoke. “Keer ureek, bwegeth.” The blue-black energy of her spell appeared on the floating hand before her; its fingertips glowed as the magic coiled around the now claw-shaped appendage. She shifted her left hand to the side and the hand obeyed, turning as if silently directed by her movements. It flexed long fingers and the ethereal skin on it was stretched tight to the bone, giving it an almost skeletal appearance. She nodded, thrusting her hand forward and the hand sped forward. The tendrils snaked towards the approaching magical hand, passing harmlessly through it as it moved to touch the rock-thing. The hand struck the creature, which made no attempts to move. It passed through the rocky body as if it wasn’t there. And nothing happened. Naull’s eyes grew wide. The spell had no effect. She twisted her hand again, driving it once more into the thing’s body. Again it struck the thing, passing through its body and emerging from the other side. It should’ve torn the life right from the creature, and weakened it as it drew essence into itself. On living flesh, the spell left terrible wounds and lingering black scars - she had read more than one treatise on the subject. But nothing happened. Naull was suddenly struck by a lesson from her apprenticeship. Panic gripped Naull’s mind. She squeezed her legs together, calling upon the phantom steed to move away as fast as it could. Jozan had little understanding of the magic that summoned such a creature. He had it move at a simple pace. She knew its capabilities, though, and urged the thing as fast as it could go. Like a bolt of lightning, it exploded forward and Naull reached down to hold tight to Jozan’s scalemail. He was heavy and the positioning made it impossibly awkward for her to do this. But if she let go, he might be slung off by the horse’s speed. The creature let out a terrible screech and Naull dropped her concentration on the spectral hand, the wisps of white smoke exploding towards them to catch up the racing pair atop the steed. It slithered its way back into her mouth and the sensation made her stomach lurch. She bit back vomit, though, and watched the horrid creature as she and Jozan, astride a magical horse, galloped over the winding river deeper into the cavern. They moved incredibly fast and, because there was no need to traverse the rocky growths and rubble strewn ground, made better time than any other creature lurking within the great cavern might.
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