Chapter 48 - A Lich's Curse: Part 2

“Holy shit,” Drake whispered as they immediately flowed into battle positions; he, Eric, and Louie immediately surging forward with their wickedly curved war-blade bardiches held in close-quarters quarterstaff grips as they scanned the room, Alice between the three of them, crackling wand raised high, the air suddenly filled with scores of blood crows.

A quick scan revealed a surprisingly large studio style room with polished hardwood flooring covered in arcane sigils and day-old blood. The beds had been shattered and torn. The plastic table and chairs melted and warped into a hideous work depicting half a dozen souls burning in the flames of hell.

Eric felt his guts twist, surprised that mass-produced outlet store furniture could even be manipulated that way.

But perhaps the most striking thing about the artwork were the trio of desiccated heads that had been melted into the macabre depiction.

“What the fuck,” Drake hissed. “What the fucking fuck, Morlekai!”

“Quiet!” snapped one of the crimson crows as the rest continued to swarm over the entire apartment.

Louie’s eyes widened. “Damn, I didn’t know you could talk in crow form. I’m guessing you ranked up your skill, boss?”

The crow sighed, rubbing its beak with one of its wings. "Didn't I just tell you numbskulls to shut the fuck up?"

Eric’s eyes were on the grizzly remains on the floor, infravision making it clear that the victims had perished some time ago. At least long enough for the temperature to equalize with the floorboards, and Eric detected no heat signatures in the chamber, apart from their own.

But then again, with undead, one never knew.

But ten minutes of searching and one blood ritual later, they knew no more than when they had first entered. The occupants had been brutally murdered, and all their gear, including several shirts of riveted mail, a pair of steel bucklers, and finely made arming swords, had been left behind.

Louie whistled. "That is some fine-looking equipment. These guys clearly weren't noobs. I'm just surprised they weren't wearing heavier gear."

"They probably were," Eric said. "But at one point they were forced to flee a host of badass undead, had raced into some maze or trap, and by some miracle, they found a drainage sluice or some such and jumped for their lives. And even if swimming in a fifteen pound chain mail shirt with a one pound steel buckler and a two pound steel blade at your hip is a bit cumbersome, it’s doable. If you’re an athlete, at least for a short while. But the pvc plastic with steel plates bolted on excuses for armor we use here, or even better armor they probably have elsewhere, would drown you if your Strength and Vitality weren’t well past twenty.” Eric shrugged at the looks he was being given. “Okay, I’m pulling a little bit of that out my ass. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Morlekai, in human form once more, just shrugged. “Makes no difference, either way. Whoever or whatever did this is gone. And if there were any other bone weapons… they were reclaimed.”

This earned Eric several appraising glances. “And our boy scout took out whatever fucker did this with his blazing arrows of glory. Right on, my man!” Declared Drake with a grin.

“We don’t know if it was the same revenant,” said Morlekai, “or if there were others. Or even one of their own.”

Alice slowly shook her head, amber eyes intently scanning the felt coin pouches she held in her hands. “No chance of it being one of their own. Sure, they might leave the swords, even though they’re clearly worth a pretty penny, but if those aren’t properly wedged and riveted steel chain mail hauberks forged in Freetown, then I’m not the sexiest girl in this whole fucking cavern, and we all know that would be a bald-faced lie,” she said with a smile that belied the tremble in her hands as she lit up a cigarette.

“And no thief or murderer worth his salt is going to leave three masterwork mail shirts around for the rubes when he could roll it up like canvas, or just don it over his own, even if he dared bring only a single sword and buckler. And Morlekai...” she gazed intently at her brother, her dexterous fingers revealing not just silver and copper, but several gold coins that actually looked like Spanish doubloons. “There’s no way in hell any murderer’s leaving behind gold. And where the fuck did this gold come from anyway? They sure as hell aren’t US mint certified golden eagles, that’s for damned sure.”

Morlekai nodded. “And it’s clear we’re the first to enter this room, even if the door’s unlocked. Because if any of Din’s servants had...”

“We would have already heard about everything, or these bastards would have been picked clean, dumped, and no one would have said a word,” said a cynical Louie.

“Or at the very least, they would have grabbed the coins, even if Din and the help didn’t have the stones to take anything else,” Drake amended.

Morlekai flashed a cold smile. “Correct.”

“Which means we have some digging to do. Because if these guys unloaded any of their other bone artifacts on whoever else sells gear in this town… a few people might have already had a very bad night,” said Eric as Morlekai darted for the door, grabbing the platter full of coffee and steaming bread a wide-eyed girl brought up, dexterous hands preventing her from crying out just long enough for soothing words to ease her shudders before being gently led down by Alice, Morlekai and the others just a step behind.

Except for Eric, who saw a fortune being left behind, and could all too easily imagine the greedy tavern keeper's greasy smile when he came to claim everything that had been left behind.

Alice flashed Eric an arch look when Eric was finished, lips curling up in a bemused smile. “Thinking like a rogue already.”

Eric grinned. “Damn right. The gear’s not doing them any good, and I have more than enough room,” he said, now up 3 masterwork mail shirts and some fine steel swords and bucklers.

“And you did take out that revenant, which still impresses the hell out of me,” she said with a nod. “For all we know, you avenged them already. So why not get paid for your trouble?” She then winked, flashing the coin pouches she never had let go of, before secreting them away under her own form-fitting mail shirt. “Because sure as shit, if we left the loot, the only one profiting will be Din. And all he’d do against a revenant is die rather comically.”

Eric couldn’t help nodding as they entered the lobby once more, the innkeeper doing his best to look appropriately shocked, doughy hands coming up to his face, his mouth a big oh of surprise, when Morlekai explained in exquisite detail what they had seen upstairs.

Eric did his best not to smirk at the performance. Just looking at the man made it clear that his beady little eyes weren’t shining with horror or sympathy, but avarice.

“Did they leave anything behind?” he caught Din asking. “In case I should keep it stored safely away for the next of kin, you understand. Only right, since they died in my hotel, after all.”

Morlekai nodded without missing a beat. "I think there might have been a couple gambesons. Perhaps some gear scattered around. But that wasn't my focus."

“Of course not, sir,” Din said in his most soothing voice. “That must have been a traumatic experience. Please, have a drink before you leave. On the house.”

Morlekai nodded. “Din, do you know what shops or other locations your guests… frequented before their unfortunate exsanguination?”

Din solemnly shook his head, his gaze showing none of the furtiveness of before. “I’m afraid I don't. I'm sure they must have gone out at least once to stock up on provisions, but not when I was on shift, and I certainly didn't want my help bothering them unnecessarily. Or, god forbid, spying on them. Since they had already paid for a full week, in silver, I was loath to disturb their privacy." He flashed a weak smile. "They're adventurers, Morlekai. And the last thing I'd want to do is… trouble them unnecessarily. I'm sure you understand."

Morlekai stared at the man for long moments as Din broke out in a cold, greasy sweat. But all he said was, “don’t touch a fucking thing, Din. Mayor’s going to want to see it, just as it is. Town guard too. Because while we might not have anything like a criminal investigation unit, they need to see and understand just how bad it can get in those tunnels, away from our quaint little town, here.”

Din quickly nodded. “Sure thing, Morlekai.” He nervously smiled. “And uh, here,” he said, sliding a small pouch their leader’s way when it was clear that the pair of men drinking at the bar weren’t paying them any mind at all. “Sorry I was late last week. Things came up.”

Morlekai smirked but took the pouch. “They always do.” He held Din’s gaze for long moments. “Remember what I said. Stibbs and the boys need to see. Then they need to ask if anyone saw the newcomers barter or trade with anyone else. And they need to ask hard. Then tell Stibbs to come see me.”

Din swallowed, jerking a nod. “Will do, Boss. I mean, Morlekai.”

With that, Morlekai quickly took his leave, the others following at a surprisingly rapid pace.

“Boss, what’s up?” Asked Drake, furrowing his brow. “Normally we chill for a bit, after getting our cut.”

Louie frowned. “And why the fuck are we letting that little bootlicker do the breakdown for Stibbs? Mayor already knows to check with you first, before doing anything.”

Alice shushed them both with a glare. “There’s no time for that. Can’t you feel it?”

Louie frowned. “Babe?”

But Eric was afraid that maybe he did know exactly what Alice was talking about.

The sudden twist in his gut. That cold, clammy shiver down his spine.

That awful tingle between the shoulder blades that could only mean one thing.

“Something’s coming,” Eric whispered.

And surprisingly it was Morlekai that jerked a nod as they quickly left the town proper and began to jog toward the nearby smithy.

“Let’s just hope John’s finally got all our shit ready to go,” Morlekai said.

Eric said nothing. It was all he could do not to break out in an anxious sprint, even though he had no idea what was coming. If anything.

Because it could all be in his head. In their heads. They had just been forced to witness the most grotesque display any he had ever seen outside horror flicks from his previous life, and he could see by the tight, furtive expressions Drake and Louie both flashed that it had hit them pretty hard as well.

Eric thought he was keeping the tight not of tension coiled in his gut under wraps, but couldn’t quite hide the relief he felt when they raced up to find John Smith safe and sound, giving them all a polite nod, with his helpers, including Hobbs the leatherworker, holding no less than five suits of shimmering scale armor radiating an actual aura Eric could almost feel like a warmth against his skin. An aura he already knew must be a sign of arcane magic, and more than just a flicker at that.

“Fan-fucking-tastic! Just in the nick of time, my friend!” enthused Drake, earning a confused look from John, and an eye-roll from Alice, though she was flashing a relieved smile as well.

Morlekai nodded. “Anything we should know?”

John shrugged. “Try them on. And here. Janice owed me some work, so I had her quilt you all some fresh gambesons. Padding and good armor in its own right."

Drake whistled, catching a snow-white cross-stitched gambeson that looked perfectly tailored to him. “Sweet, John! But why the extra work?”

The man gave a hard smile. “Because armor made a hair too large can be fudged with padding, which you need anyway, whereas armor made a bit too small is all around worthless.”

He frowned at a now much more muscular Eric.

Eric winced, hoping that look didn’t mean what he feared it did. But all the man said was “strip out of your pvc shit and put this on.”

Eric nodded, pretending he didn’t see the winces or pitying glances when he stripped to his skivvies, showing off to the world what was now both an extremely well defined and a still horribly scarred physique. He might lack a bit of the bulk Drake and Louie had, but surprisingly, not by too much, and was probably at the max of what his body could have hoped to achieve in the world he had left behind.

In this brave new world? He was just getting started. And if his friends’ hunches were right, he’d never have to get clothes refitted again, no matter how strong he became.

The white t-shirt and long johns were standard department store purchases that fit him quite well. But the gambeson he donned like a jacket fit like a dream. He couldn't help but smile and nod, delighting in the feel of it. He was given to understand that twenty-plus layers of cross-stitched linen, besides being good for stopping most cuts and thrusts and a good percentage of arrows, was also pretty thick and left the arms a bit stiff, if not expertly made. Yet the prize he now wore had been tailored to perfection, no more cumbersome than wearing a quality leather jacket.

“Perfect!” Eric happily declared, sharing a satisfied smile with his friends.

Which was, of course, the moment that the cavern began clamoring with the sounds of frantically rung bells, and Eric thought he could hear distant screams near the entrance of their sanctuary.

“Move, idiots! We don’t have time for you all to freeze up!”

Eric blinked, surprised to hear the words coming from Hobbs, of all people. Only now he sensed the definite vibe of a former noncom emanating from his otherwise unassuming manner.

Louie scowled. “What your words, buddy.”

The grizzled, middle-aged man snorted. “Or what, you’re going beat the crap out of me with your ass hanging out of your armor while who knows what the hell is invading our sanctuary in a world gone mad?” Even Morlekai grinned at that. “Tell you what, how about you finish putting on the gear that might save your fucking life, and ours. Because the whole reason why we all put up with your wanna-be mafia selves is because you’re all that stands between us and a grizzly fucking death, besides a couple dozen zero level kids and former soldiers who don’t know what the fuck they’re doing with spears, monsters, and all the rest of this fantasy world bullshit!”

Hobbs swallowed, visibly agitated. "So yeah, kick my butt after you save it, and everyone else, and I might just bend down and let you do it. Now prove you're worth all the bribes and kickbacks we all know you're paid!"

Louie gave the man a strange look before smirking and shaking his head. “Sure, pops. When this is all done.”

The rest of them wasted no time kitting up, Louie and Alice double-checking their fit and its coverage with a professionalism Eric would never have expected with their lives back at the compound. Which made perfect sense, considering that they were professional adventurers and that Alice had at least hit level 11, he thought, doing his best to ignore the growing scowls and weight of everyone else’s gazes as he paused in donning his own armor, instead laying all the pieces out and carefully coating them in a uniform layer of his own blood.

You have deliberately sliced your own wrist! Finesse check made. No wound category suffered.

You have extracted 10 health points worth of your blood!

Blood Manipulation successful! Your blood flows over your armaments in a smooth, even, glossy coat! It hardly looks disgusting at all!

“Eric, what the hell are you doing, man? We got to move!”

Eric gave a curt shake of his head. “I need to do this if I’m going to use my arrow or saber, Drake.” Eric wasted no more time on words as Louie cursed softly.

“Can you believe this kid?” Snapped Louie, and Eric could feel the imposing weight of Morlekai’s gaze.

“You should have told us ahead of time that you were planning this, Eric,” said Morlekai, before turning to the others. “Alright, standard formation. Weapons and wand at the ready. We need intel asap, and best we assume whatever took out the adventurers is involved.”

“Barracks?” said Alice.

Her brother nodded. “Mayor should already be there under guard, planning the town’s response, assuming everyone isn’t so scatterbrained that they’re just panicking.”

“I sure as hell am not taking that bet,” Louie snorted, before turning back to Eric. “Barracks when you’re done wasting time, Eric. You got that?”

“I’ll point him in the direction, you just go,” said a curt-sounding smith as the air rang with the desperate clanging of the bells.

Eric took a deep breath, doing his best to push the weight of everyone’s no-doubt judging stares while his party went off without him, determined to do what he needed to do. Never mind that strangers were watching him a bit too closely for comfort as he did something very personal and private, at least for him, imbuing the entirety of his now blood-saturated armor with a bit of his own essence. The cost in actual life force in the form of experience was thankfully minimal, less than 10% of what he needed to reach level ten.

But it did take time.

Time he could ill afford to waste, but knew he dared not rush. And the relief he felt when he sensed it all coming together was just as great as the fierce satisfaction he felt in enhancing the armor he had spent weeks waiting to be made.

And when he put it on, despite knowing he had been a fool not to check it beforehand, but hadn’t quite had the gumption to dare put it on and then take it off in front of his entire team when everyone was obviously in a hurry, he was beyond relieved to find that it fit him like a dream.

You have found 1 Complete set of Enhanced Greater Lizard Scale Armor! This armor will provide significant damage reduction to all piercing and stabbing attacks. This armor combined with gambeson will provide moderate damage reduction to all blunt force trauma. This armor will provide variable dependent reduction to all arcane damage suffered. Weight is 55lb. Armor is Expertly Tailored and Fitted to your frame! No Stamina, Finesse, or Speed penalties will be in effect with your current level of Strength!

You have successfully formed a blood-lacquer over the entirety of your armor, imbuing it with the essence of Flame at 77 degrees Fahrenheit! You have placed 3 additional coatings on Scale Gauntlets. Your armor now enjoys significant resistance against all sources of heat, flame, and Lesser Fire Magic!

Your armor now enjoys resistance against all sources of cold! (The reverse of heat). Note: Cold (or superheated) air that you breathe can still freeze or burn your lungs. Ice magics that cause concussive or penetrative damage will not be impaired by this lacquer, though normal armor resistances will still apply.

Your gloves now enjoy extreme resistance against all sources of heat, flame, and all White Tier Fire Magics!

Heat Surge is now Rank 7!

Blood Mastery is now Rank 12!

You might not have received any lessons at all on how to manipulate your blood, but you can get it to stick where you want it to, and form a perfectly smooth, permanent lacquer like no one’s business!

Eric blinked to find the smith’s blue eyes intently meeting his own. “Alright, kid, the armor fits. Now here’s your heater shield, and half the arrows and quarrels Jeffrey owes you.”

Eric swallowed as he solemnly claimed a quiver of long thin quarrels with both broadhead, needle-point, and pyramidal armor cutting points.

The arrows had a similar selection of heads, but unlike the crossbow bolts, these were both longer and thicker, perfectly balanced with exquisite fletching made from feathers that Eric thought radiated just the tiniest sliver of magic.

The smith flashed a tight little smile. “The metal heads for the needle-points and the armor cutters are my own. The serrated tooth broadheads are Jeffrey’s. Vincent’s missing, in case you didn’t hear the news. That’s why I’m giving it to you personally, and we poured more of ourselves than we care to admit into our creations.”

Eric paled. Realizing he did see a slight sprinkling of white in the man's beard.

“John...”

The man curtly shook his head. “Don’t say shit you don’t know anything about. But you’re armor’s ready, ahead of time, because even professionals can feel the weight of fates shifting down here in the Underrealm, and not necessarily for the better.”

Eric just bowed his head, wondering how many clues or cues he had missed that others had intuitively sensed, so obsessed he had been with his own training and affairs.

The smith quirked a half-smile. “And you owe us both another half dozen silver.”

Eric didn’t hesitate to jerk a nod as the smith roughly turned him around with an almost fatherly grip to his shoulders that Eric found strangely touching. “Good. Now I think it’s about time you got moving, don’t you?”

And Eric knew he risked burning all the goodwill he had gained, the smiths bemused, almost fatherly smile turning to a hard frown when Eric slowly shook his head.

But if he was going to do this, risk his life, damn if he wasn’t going to do this right.

“Give me one minute. Just one more minute, and I’m gone.”

The smith snorted. “You better be, kid.”

But Eric was no longer paying the man any mind, instead focusing all his attention on two of the bone-tipped broadhead arrows now in his hand.

You have successfully formed a triple blood lacquer on greater lizard scale bone shield, imbuing it with the Essence of Flame at 77 degrees Fahrenheit!

You have successfully formed a quintuple blood lacquer on ashwood arrows!

You have successfully soul-bound two 40-inch long ashwood arrows!

Top layer of Soul-bound blood coating steel arrowheads has been successfully heated to 4000 degrees Fahrenheit!

Eric took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes popping wide open at the hisses and curses of both the smith and the leatherworker before he instantly willed his blood-linked creations into his storage space. He was both surprised and grateful that the cost of infusing so much of his potency into the furious flames on the arrowheads had gone down in cost significantly, much as Blood Mastery itself did as his proficiency increased.

But still, just boosting those two and a half inch long arrowheads to that superhot temperature had depleted 2/3s of his temporary Soul Reserves. Fortunately, it would naturally recover, just like a necromancer's version of a mana pool, he supposed, and he still had a third left. But he would save that for emergency Bursts of Strength and such, until it had finished recharging in an hour or so.

It was his experience bar once more lowered to below half of what he needed for infusing his core at the cusp of level ten that truly worried him. With well over half a year of his life now drained experimenting with blood-magics, the steep cost to be paid for pushing past his limits, or his potency reserves at least, was now indelibly imprinted upon his psyche.

As for the crimson shield now in his hand, it would work damn well with the saber and could be instantly put in storage, even when not soul-bound. Because that weighty prize, much like his armor, he'd hold off on forging soul-links to, at least until he had gained extensive familiarity with both. Which basically meant that switching from saber to bardiche would be effortless, but if he switched back to saber in the middle of combat, his left hand would be empty. Unless...”

His eyes widened as a gleeful smile curved his lips, realizing that absolutely nothing said he had to fight as expected, or that the unorthodox couldn’t be a warrior’s best friend.

“Jeez, kid, you could blind someone with those things,” Johns snapped, though the smith gave a rueful chuckle even as Hobbs muttered about time-wasting fools.

“But if those arrowheads are as hot as they looked… yeah. You know what? Maybe this was time well spent. But you’re minute is up, and you sure as hell need to get going!”

Eric jerked a nod, now no longer lost in a trance of creation, suddenly feeling the weight of the distant screams and alarm bells ringing throughout the vast, mile-wide cavern. He did his best to focus just at running full speed for the barracks he vaguely recalled passing once before, the sheer joy he felt at pushing his body just as hard as superhuman Strength and Vitality, and a 17 in Quickness would allow, only tainted by the worry he felt welling up inside him for his friends.

Dreading the thought that they might be in peril even now, because he was too focused on buffing his own cute toys when they needed him the most.

And as much as he knew those tendrils of guilt were bullshit, that he had every right to protect and safeguard his life as best as he knew how, that he owed no one anything, and that the best way he could protect the town, his friends, and himself was to make the most of every weapon, tool, and ability in his arsenal, he still knew that if anything happened to his friends, he’d never forgive himself.

His focus only increased as he entered the town proper in a blur of speed, so fluid on his feet that it was nothing to dodge the dozens of people fleeing the street in a panic. And for all that Perception and Quickness allowed him to register every flinch sent his way in exquisite detail, he knew the looks weren’t about him.

They were about the flood of walking horrors now invading this town, looking every bit as disgusting and decrepit as they did in the movies, only a fuck-ton deadlier with a predatory glint in their rotting gazes as they began shambling his way.