Anneliese and Argrave stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms stretched out ahead. His arms were just a bit longer than hers. Spell matrixes swirled to life in their hands, and then, they proceeded to blast Galamon with the C-rank [Skysunder] again and again and again.
The corridor they were in filled up with sound and white light both as they rained lightning upon the elven vampire. Durran stood at their backs, shielding his eyes. The sound echoed out of the small tunnel dug into mountainside supporting the Skyburnt Fortress, and into the skies beyond that.
Argrave lowered his hands first, magic entirely spent. A few seconds after, Anneliese ceased as well. Ahead, Galamon stood, both of the Daggers of Ayazz in hand. White sparks danced around both blades, their power so intense they illuminated the entire corridor.
The elven vampire took a deep breath and exhaled. The inside of his mouth was glowing the same shade of white emanating from the daggers. He turned on his heels, then stepped away further down the corridor. The light provided by the dancing electricity lit up a great wall before them, with two gemstone-encircled slots along the center, rather like a plug.
Galamon thrust both daggers into the wall’s slots, one after the other. A great click echoed out through the corridor once the second was inserted. The lightning writhed in the slots wildly, but then, as if finally accepted, it began to dance up the walls. The white electricity morphed into different shades as it travelled along.
The sparks filled up the wall in a fashion resembling a meter slowly filling up to completion. Argrave thought it was similar to those strongman competitions where one would slam a hammer upon a button and watch and see how far the light rose up. Everyone watched in awe, and Galamon released the daggers and stepped back.
An image of dancing sparks took form. It depicted an eclipse. A man stood beneath it, thrusting a sword straight through the sun and the moon.
“Wondrous thing…” Anneliese said quietly.
“Now, imagine we charge up his daggers like that, and then he stabs some big monster. Absolutely devastating. Could kill a dragon. That’s why I call them the Giantkillers.” Argrave pointed his fingers, the least impressed of the group by the lightshow on the wall. Anneliese and Galamon didn’t seem to appreciate this commentary, but Durran looked intrigued as he raised his eyebrows at Argrave.
As they watched, the wall started to depress. Some mechanism came to life, and it clicked horrendously. The grinding it made was like a screech that triggered some primal discomfort, and everyone tried to cover their ears despite the fact two of them wore helmets and could not necessarily cover their ears. Anneliese’s Starsparrow chirped to express its displeasure.
The image faded, and the wall moved about. It shifted from place to place in simple, elaborate blocks, moved by hinges and pistons of some sort. When things were done, the sleek stone corridor extended forward into darkness.
Argrave was the first to step forward. He pulled out the relocated daggers, and then handed them back to Galamon a bit irritated. “Don’t lose these. Took a mighty wallop in the chest for these, let’s not forget that.”
“And I lost my axe over a mountainside saving your life,” Galamon rebutted, taking the daggers.
“I’ll… get you another,” he reassured weakly.
Galamon walked away. Hiding a grimace, Argrave looked to Durran.
“Have your doubts been quelled, mostly?”
Durran focused his gaze on Argrave. “I never really doubted you. I was just trying to annoy you. You’ve already disclosed some spooky details that makes my skin crawl, and that was more than enough for me to realize your knowledge is real way back then.”
Argrave was a bit stunned, but after a while he smiled and gave a resigned shake of his head, turning to the passage before them. “This… is the Passage of the Last Conquest.” Argrave took a few steps deeper into the dark corridor. “Their leader, Ayazz, whose daggers we now wield… he had intended to conquer the Lionsun Castle. He died prematurely. Lacking a leader, the subterranean mountain tribes sealed this secret tunnel and made those daggers the key, so that one day his equal could once again lead the tribes to conquer the vast lands of Vasquer…” Argrave conjured spell light, his magic having already replenished enough from blasting Galamon to do so. “Or so goes the legends.”
Anneliese looked at the daggers in a new light now that Argrave had given their lore.
“It’s a very long walk, so we had best get to it,” Argrave adjusted his backpack. “Once we get into the castle, we just focus on getting out quickly. I know a good route.”
#####
“You know, even in the mountains completely opposite the Lionsun Castle… people talk about House Parbon,” Durran mused, his glaive meeting the stone and clicking out through the stone corridor with every other step he took. “The patriarch of the house is always a fierce, undefeated warrior, but he’s honorable. It’s been like that for centuries, unchanging. One of them spared the leader of a great confederation—in return, they gave him a wyvern.”
“Yeah,” Argrave nodded. “Heard that one before. It’s true. He does have a wyvern. Considering this tunnel leads right into where it’s kept, it stands to reason you’ll see it.”
“Mmm,” Durran turned his head, intrigued. “Pass right by it, eh? Does the leader man have something interesting planned?”
Argrave smiled. This was why he liked Durran—the man was crazy enough to consider something like that. In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ he definitely would have stolen the wyvern. It was a nice capstone for this route, especially if the player intended to side with Vasquer. But now, troubling things called ‘morals’ existed…
“No,” Argrave shook his head. “Even though it might not be the best, my relationship with House Parbon has improved somewhat. I don’t want a reputation as a wyvern-thief. And everyone will see us fly away. I don’t care to attract that kind of attention.”
“Not stealing. It’s borrowing. After the flight, I’m positive it’ll return to its home. Wyverns always do. Well, that’s fine,” Durran shook his head. “I’m much more interested in the current patriarch of House Parbon.”
“Ideally, we won’t see him, even from a distance. In, out—quick and easy,” Argrave used his hands to emphasize the speed.
“Hmm…” Durran stared at Argrave. “Time was, I thought I was on the taller side, but you people… the prospect sneaking with you divests me of all confidence. Especially with one of you wearing plate armor,” he pointed to Galamon walking ahead.
“You’ll come to learn Galamon is one of the most reliable people you could ever wish for,” Argrave shifted his pack.
Anneliese nodded quietly in agreement, and Durran shrugged, saying nothing more. They continued their long walk down the corridor.
#####
As they neared the end of the hallway, what was a sleek and square place narrowed into a tight tunnel that forced the three tall people of the group to crouch low, which elicited some laughter from Durran before even he, too, was forced to duck low and proceed.
The stone turned into a rough place of dirt, hardened by moisture. The only solace was the lack of insects. They pressed onwards in silence, remaining sure of step despite the signs of the tunnel ending.
When they finally came to a solid wall of dirt, Durran noted, “I thought you knew everything, leader man.”
“Never said that…” Argrave felt along the wall. He ran his fingers against it, brushing aside moist dirt as he searched for something. He bit his lips when his fingers brushed against nothing but dirt. Frustrated, he started to dig. He was growing a bit worried they’d need to excavate personally when his fingers met a bit of string. His face brightened at once.
He pulled the string out as far as he could and wrapped it around his hands. He leaned back, using all of his body weight and some leg strength to pull on the thing. He hissed as it dug into his hands, pressing onwards.
Galamon noticed Argrave’s struggle. He reached down and grabbed the string, giving it a pull. Argrave felt like a child who’d been struggling to do something, only to have his parent do it effortlessly, completely invalidating his efforts.
Galamon continued to pull the string. It was wound into the walls, and once it was pulled free, things fell away effortlessly. The dirt blocking the path ahead crumbled, revealing a set of slots in the wall near identical to the ones they’d first passed through back at the wall.
“I was pulling it just fine…” Argrave muttered.
“Do you need to charge these once again?” Galamon questioned, retrieving the daggers from his backpack and holding them up.
“No, just put them in,” Argrave said bitterly, still wishing he’d been able to pull the string. Anneliese gave him some shoulder pats to comfort him, but Argrave only felt more childlike after that.
Galamon shoved the daggers into the slots. At once, the still walls around them began to shift. A pair of arms pushed forward around them, causing Durran to freak out a little. The arms pushed through the dirt, frighteningly quiet, and jammed it aside very easily, compacting it enough to clear a great deal of room.
Eventually the twin arms met something more solid. The fingers of the arm pressed forth, though, cutting into the stone easily. Once they dug in deep enough, they rotated, cutting out a square swath of it. Without any warning, the arms ceased.
Argrave stepped forward and pushed on the square bit of stone. It fell forward, cracking loudly as it hit the floor, and sunlight fell upon their party. Argrave squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust as he moved beyond. When his vision finally settled, he took note of his surroundings.
They were on a great plateau of gray stone. This plateau was surrounded by a wall of the same stone no more than ten feet tall, giving one the impression of an arena. Much of the surfaces was marred with claw marks, and animal bones lay about everywhere, the majority of them broken or partially eaten. And in the center of this plateau, there was a great mound of red scales, curled into a ball.
“Gods above…” Durran stepped out. “What a beautiful creature that is.”
Galamon stepped up to Argrave and grabbed his shoulder. Argrave looked up at him. The elven vampire watched ahead, wrapped up in caution.
Argrave assumed it was because of the wyvern. The great creature uncurled, perhaps disturbed by the sound of the wall falling. Argrave was not especially worried. It was a calm creature, he knew, and if all else failed, druidic magic could at least ensure their safe passage.
Just then, he spotted another figure walk out from behind the wyvern, moving to grab its horns. It was a tall man with long, crimson hair, wearing resplendent white plate mail and decorated with a long red cloak.
Margrave Reinhardt stared at them, one hand on his wyvern’s horns, the other on the sword at his belt. Everyone stood, a bit flabbergasted. It felt like a tumbleweed might fly by at any moment.
Argrave raised his hand up and waved. “Hi,” he yelled out.
