The Port of Myla.
It was the Major Port CIty of the Empire of Instaria, with trade all along the continental coastline as well as across the Gray Seas. It was separated from the mainland by an artificial river constructed during the last Dwarven-Empire War hundreds of years before. The only connection had been a simple, fortified bridge that stretched over the deep waters. The Bridge itself had a large, walled village on one side, with barracks for soldiers on the other end.
All of it, of course, from Myla's walls to the collection of rocks that surrounded the town on this end of the bridge looked as half-heartedly constructed and old to a point of near ruin.
From the vantage point at the Shade Wood, Baron von Stev could tell that the Bridge was depleted of any real soldiery. The road turned to cobblestone once more as soon as it left the wood and sent straight up to oaken gates of the Bridge-Town with one having rotted and fallen to the side. There were two guards posted at the damaged entrance, lulling on their halberds and staring blankly off into the distance. There were no archers marching around on the horrid walls, nor anyone in heavy mail. They were not expecting anything dangerous.
Stev ordered his men to strip themselves and their horses of their armor and mail, and hide in the trees, leaving behind the Acolyte and two others. The horses were tired, having run them hard most of the day yesterday, and roused everyone up early before the dawn, so them being unburdened by the armor had some trotting in place, thankful for the weight lifted from them, if not temporarily.
With that done, they all dawned heavy cloaks over their tunics, trousers, and padded armor, and rode out at a relaxed trot. They were even challenged until they were virtually on top of the guards, with one of them clearly drunk and barely capable of standing.
"Who goes there?" the drunk one belched.
"I need to speak to the Captain of the Watch," Stev demanded with as much authority as he could, having to control the urge of just striking down this Imperial scum. "I seek the Inquisitor Gerik Eeg of Meldon, for crimes against the Church,"
"What do you want?" the drunk one asked.
Narrowing his eyes on the drunkard, the Baron turned to the other guard, who had straightened considerably, as if realizing Stev was some sort of Officer or Official. "Take me to see your Captain,"
"Right away, sire," the Guard bowed and quickly dashed in ahead of Stev's horse. Leading his cadre onward, Stev was surprised that the township looked virtually abandoned. The streets were empty save the tavern near the gate, which could have had what was left of the town's population inside.
Led to the Bridge itself, and a cobbled-together office, Stev slipped off his horse and stepped inside to find a passable officer standing beside the desk. There were only four others in the Instarian military dress, armed with swords and spears.
"You have news on Gerik?" the officer demanded.
Glancing around, Stev offered a frown as he deduced by the tone, that Gerik was being looked for even now, "If you are asking me that, then we missed him in the wood,"
"Where are the rest of your men and why is the one upfront drunk?" the Baron demanded back, putting his hands behind his back as he stared down one of the nearby soldiers like an inspecting officer.
"Lord Laniot has withdrawn all forces to Myla's walls. There has been rumor the Undead Army has lanced its way deep into the Empire, and the water will not offer protection against the dead," the officer reported, "Especially since a fool smashed into the oaken gate with a cart, pulled it right off its hinges,"
"We are here to signal to our superiors at Myla when the former Inquisitor comes through, and trap him between the Bridge and Walls of Myla,"
Still inspecting the soldiers, Stev now stood in the center of the room, taking the stance of a Noble born, with a hand leaning against the hilt of their sword. "I am Baron von Stev, and I am hunting Gerik myself,"
The Baron used their real and title and name, having no real fear that the Officer had ever heard of him before. In fact, if the Officer had been observant at all, they would have noted immediately that the sword at Stev's hip still had the sigil of Hardran's Army stamped on the scabbard.
"I've eight men, and we chased him into the Wood from the Town West of here, how many do you have here, and how did you plan on signaling Myla?"
The Officer offered a respectful nod, and stepped outside, with Stev and the rest of the soldiers following, "I've six men, the two at the gate, the rest here."
"We were to follow after Gerik, then fire a flaming arrow towards Myla," the Officer up the road.
"And the people of this Bridge-Town?" Stev asked, pointedly turning towards the Tavern just in view.
"Ah, the locals," The Officer grunted in disgust, "I am sorry my lord, but there are a few here who cannot be persuaded to leave. They say that story of Hardran's Army piercing into this far of Instaria is a hoax, and Lord Laniot is over-reacting,"
"How many?" Stev raised a brow.
"About twenty, mostly drunken fools and wenches,"
Another nod from the Baron, "Drunk all ready and the sun isn't even peeking over the trees?"
"Layabouts and fools," the Officer continued, folding their arms over their chest, "And with your added manpower, I can kick them out completely at sword point,"
"Oh that won't be necessary," the Baron partially turned to his men on horseback, "But there is no one else in town?"
"No, my Lord, there is not,"
One last nod, Stev turned back towards the Officer, his sword escaping its scabbard, and with one quick motion, the Baron decapitated the Officer. Just as the body slumped, and surprise forming on the faces of the rest of the Instarians, Stev stepped back and ordered "Kill them,"
It was over before the Instarians could fathom what had just happened, and Stev ordered two to see to the drunkard at the gate and fetch their gear as the rest descended on the tavern.
They were of course, on their second or third tankard of the day, eating a morning meal and making merry in the face of probable death. They were farmers and merchants, with a few helping hands who were told to leave but instead stayed and relaxed, with women serving food and drink. The guards that were just slain also failed to mention that these people were looters, having sacks of valuables sitting nearby, ready to be snatched up in case they heard fighting.
Their movements were sluggish, and those who were not drinking were laying on the floor still recovering from the debauchery of the night before. Because of this, they did not hear the slaughter that just happened, nor did they pay much attention to the men with bloodstains on their clothing stepping into the entrance. They were all too busy and self-centered to care about what was happening around them.
Stev did not understand the stupidity of it. They were told to evacuate, to leave because there was a potential danger. And with everyone else gone, they chose to muck about the tavern, and do what they willed.
"First two in, you go straight to the back," Stev turned slightly to the footman, "Kill them, split the loot, oh, and one more thing,"
Just before they could move, Stev halted them with a raised hand, a smile starting to form on his lips, as now, the occupants were just noting them, one of them caught his attention,
"Bring me the blonde," Stev instructed with chilling mirth, "Make the rest scream,"
<><><><><><><>
Gerik had driven the wagon first, though they nervously glanced back from time to time to check on Yule. The little one was chatting away with Inra, with daring tales of hiding and seek with brothers who were no among the living. It broke Gerik's heart when Yule casually mentioned how her Father was a Hero of the Empire.
That her Grandmother was a Hero too.
Inra, in turn, told Yule of the things called Dragons and their Hordes of Glittering Coin. Piles of gemstones as high as the trees, and how they collected princesses as well. Knights would set off to save these distraught maidens, and sometimes it was maidens saving the Knights.
Jeri, the other occupant, had downed a small vial of brown liquid and bundled themself in a corner. There they had their arms wrapped around that sword, Diplomacy,' and did not move short of a few sharp intakes of breath.
When they switched after eating a cold lunch on the move, Gerik settled down opposite of Jeri. The Old Cleric was wary, threatened even. The rest of this group had a strange synergy, even with Rial's odd aura, Gerik felt safe.
That was not how he felt with Jeri.
Gerik watched the Foxkin warily, knowing they were here to help, yet, could not shake that odd sensation of nothing as he gazed into that heart. The very moment Geriky looked away, however, to glance forward up the road to see Mathias and Rial still a considerable distance away, Jeri was awake. They had a book in their face, split open with a single hand, and their attention fixed squarely on the pages. It did not take Yule long to notice that her new 'Uncle' was awake and immediately bonded over, even as Gerik reached out to stop her.
"So what are you reading Uncle Jeri?"
"A romance book," Jeri responded, glancing at Yule first, then Gerik, before returning that predatory eyes back to the pages. "One of my favorites. Has a happy ending,"
That was a lie. Jeri did not like the book, nor did it have a happy ending. Gerik frowned slightly at that. The cover was old, worn, and what pages Gerik could see were yellowed from time. It looked more like a spellbook than one containing a story.
"Can I read it?" Yule asked, then beamed excitedly, "Can you read it to me?!"
"Doesn't have dragons, maidens, or knights, little one," Jeri replied, their tone was almost fatherly.
"You were awake?" Yule accused Jerry, reaching out to jab the Fox through the blanket.
Jerry yawned and smacked their lips a moment before they offered a reply. "Hard for me to sleep even drugged little one,"
"Bad dreams?"
That indifferent mask cracked slightly when Yule asked that rather innocent question. The eye twitched, and the hand that Gerik could see, the fingers flexed. A moment of silence as the Foxkin seem to process an answer, before they changed the subject altogether, "I have a book, with unicorns and fairies,"
"You do?!" Yule squealed, and Jeri shifted about and stood in the wagon.
Discarding the cloak, Gerik could see Jeri was heavily armed and in a hodgepodge collection of weapons and armor. A black ringmail shirt, damaged and missing links with the hood they wore attached to a robe that reached the Foxkin's knees. Leather greaves and half-plated boots protected the thing's feet and legs, yet the left arm was encased in a dull, dark gray armored plate that offered a small neck guard on the shoulder. That protection ended at the knuckles where the blood-red, furry fingers were free, with a strap covering the palm like a shield grip. There were runes on the knuckles that flickered as Gerik glanced at them, yet did not get a good look as the Foxkin turned away.
There was a sword hanging upside down on Jeri's back, the hilt a tarnished gold, dull wrapped in leather with a ball hilt that appeared melted and stretched into an unintentional shooting star. Lastly, in its own protective sleeve, Gerik recognized a black powder pistol. The weapons were unreliable and rare even to the Dwarves who invented them. This one, however, was not bulky in appearance, it was thin and obviously crafted for someone of Jeri's stature.
Add pouches that dangled here and there off their belt and a harness that rested over the armor lined with small, silvery objects, it was obvious Jeri was more equipped in doing things other than skullduggery.
Stretching a moment, Jeri then crouched and dragged over a rucksack. They rummaged through it before finding a sizable book, and sat down to crack it open, all the while Jeri kept Diplomacy in hand somehow, yet never gripping the handle. Before Gerik could interject or grow suspicious, Jerry turned it towards the Old Cleric, revealing a beautifully colored page with a white-furred unicorn, the colors of the rainbow as its main, circled by small winged creatures.
"Take it to your Uncle, there, so he can see I'm not giving you a spellbook of the dark arts," Jeri instructed Yule, who scrambled over to Gerik with the still open book.
Taking a quick glance through it, there were pages with pictures of fantastic and stunning creatures. Some of the colors sparkled in what little light there had been, for even here on the trail the sun could not find a way through the canopy. There was virtually no writing between the pages, not even to name them, simply art of the fantastical nature.
"What is this?" Gerik questioned, letting Yule eagerly drag the book away to indulge in the pictures.
"My daughter's book, all of her best work," Jeri replied flatly, that fatherly tone dropped instantly with Gerik. If it was not dead, and unemotional, it could have been hostile.
"You have a family?"
"Not your concern," Jeri immediately shot down.
Gerik nodded, looked to Yule as she marveled at the pages. The girl was absolutely beaming with mirth and awe at the handy work on display, and for the moment, distracted.
"How do you know so much about the Dark Magics?" Gerik asked once more.
Once more Jeri did not answer, they simply stared through Gerik.
"Alright, what manner of dwarf are you?"
Jeri's eyes narrowed, their ears turned forward a moment, then flattened as he growled, "Dwarf?! Who called me a dwarf?!"
The old cleric did not immediately answer, and Yule was too distracted with the book. Yet it did not take long for Jeri to figure it out it seemed, apparently having been dubbed such before.
"Mathias," the Foxkin grunted in disdain.
"No, I'm not a dwarf, call me anything else but a dwarf. Forest Spirit, Tabaxi, Furry Goblin, murder midget, whatever helps you sleep at night," Jeri stated flatly, "But I am not a Dwarf,"
"What about Uncle Puppy?" Yule asked teasingly.
Jeri's eye twitched again, and they gave an overly exaggerated sigh into the air.
"Please stop calling me that," Jeri stated in a deadpan manner, "Did I not bribe you already?"
"With a sweet roll?" Gerik added and pointed at Yule as she gave the Old Cleric a helpless look, "Honor your word, little one, it's not nice to go back on one's word,"
Yule thrust out her tongue, then returned to the book. Gerik chuckled at the girl before once more finding Jeri staring hard at that old leather-bound one.
"A romance story?" Gerik asked accusingly.
Those golden, predatory eyes once more turned towards the Old Cleric and simply stared. No facial twitch, not shift in that fox-like tail, not even an eye blink. A heartbeat of silence before Jeri once more looked into the book and clamped their smoking pipe between their lips.
"Yes," they lied again, "Rial has not filled in the details, how did you defeat the Lich last time?"
"The Undead King Belor?" Gerik asked, then hesitated, "We, spilled holy blood on Belor's true body,"
"Blood?" Jeri questioned with human-like brows arching on their furry face. The way they stared across the wagon towards Gerik, the Old Cleric could have sworn it had been horror. Then, those golden eyes shifted towards Yule, the eyes narrowed hotly. Instantly Jeri seemed to connect what few dots there were, and realized Yule's importance. That frown deepened and Jeri asked purposely, "And where are we going?"
"Across the Gray Sea so Yule can have a normal life," Gerik replied but found fear crawling up his spine. Something told Gerik that any other answer may have led to some sort of violence on the part of the Foxkin. That fear faded once Jeri seemed satisfied with the answer and returned to their book.
Then Jeri asked, "We are returning to kill Harbert?"
"Hardran," Gerik corrected out of reflex.
"I don't care," Jeri nearly spat, "We are killing it, right? Once Yule is safe across the sea?"
"You people are very confident you can," Gerik observed, now feeling as if he was missing something with this assuredness that they could kill the undead. "But yes,"
"Soul transference device partly destroyed, true body destroyed by, holy blood" Jeri grunted out loud, and nearly sneered out the word 'blood' before closing the book, "The first one, Bel-whatever-the-hells, did you physically fight him?"
That question took Gerik by surprise, "Belor? Yes? A variation of him. No matter how many blows we landed he just laughed at us,"
"So he was not in the room with himself," Jeri observed, and Gerik had been immediately confused.
"He was physically manifested elsewhere," Jeri said slower, using their pipe to make a gesture of two points. Jeri then tilted his head slightly, their eyes drifting before they once more asked Gerik a question. "Did you see the Phylactery destroyed?"
Gerik slowly shook his head, "I did not know we needed to, Rial thinks the blood may have-"
"-did you see any sort of glass or gem-encrusted object left behind when the body was destroyed?" Jeri asked intently.
"No, I was fighting him in the adjacent chamber, when Belor disappeared and the undead stopped moving-"
The Foxkin immediately turned to the book once more as Gerik said no, and seemed to ignore everything else the Old Cleric had to say. It was rude, but Gerik guessed that whatever Jeri was reading was obviously not any kind of story.
And in the pit of Gerik's stomach, they knew something was wrong.
<><><><><><><>
Rial and Mathias both rode out ahead of the wagon, where they remained for the better part of the day. They had made good time, as far as Rial could tell, they may make Myla by tomorrow evening. Yet that was not what had both the Dark Elf and the Human concerned.
According to what lay before them along the trail, twelve horses rode on, they did not stop. They did not falter or shift in their course. The riders were in a hurry to get somewhere, and they both knew, deep down, that the riders were looking for them. Behind them, according to Avina's overhead scouting, they knew there was a vast army marching through the wood. Rial had probed her thoughts, as any Ranger could, and the Dark Elf saw the banners matched the sigils that had been on the armor that belonged to the horses.
When they finally stopped, Rial immediately called over Gerik and Jeri, and told Inra to 'break camp' in the wagon. Gerik glanced back as Inra nodded understandingly, then distracted Yule by asking for her help.
After Avina landed, and curled herself at Rial's feet, with Kor slipping off his horse, Rial started speaking and let them know the situation. Gerik frowned and stroked at his chin. "That is, much larger than what attacked us before,"
"They are several days behind us at least if I judge the distance right," Rial noted, and reached down to offer Avina a stroke across her head, "I will have Avina rest in the wagon tomorrow, she is plenty tired,"
"Still, if they have any undead, they will march out, the dead may be slow, but they do not need to rest or eat," Rial continued, and nodded down at Jeri, "You know what to do, if we are lucky, we won't see them at all until we reach the bridge,"
Jeri patted Diplomacy and offered a wicked smile.
"That means we need a full rotation, Mathias, Kor, myself, and then you, Gerik, are you up for that?" Rial asked honestly, "Because I am more than willing to cater to the elderly,"
"I am not that old!" Gerik growled almost instantly and knew that he was being teased as Mathias chuckled, and the Dark Elf smiled at him. "I am just as spry at you youngsters,"
"Youngsters he calls us," Mathias bemoaned as if insulted.
Kor could not help but ask nervously, "Rotation, with Jeri?"
"Jeri, don't kill Kor," Rial instructed, that mirth instantly evaporating as if they just remembered Kor was here amongst them.
That smile on the Foxkin's face disappeared, and they spat at Kor's feet before halfway turning away to storm off. Then they did not, looking back at them.
"Oh, by the way," Jeri observed, and sharply turned, smacking Mathias in the back of their legs with the flat of Diplomacy.
"That fuck was that for?!" Mathias snapped, nearly buckling over.
"Dwarf?!" Jeri snarled at them, and shook Diplomacy's heavily bundled point in Mathias's face, "A fucking dwarf?!"
"What was I supposed to call you?!" Mathias shouted down at Jeri and shoved the sword away from their face, "A furry, rapid kobold with rage issues?!"
"That's more fucking accurate than a dwarf!" Jeri vented at the taller human, but Rial stuck their foot out and lightly kicked Jeri in the chest, stumbling them back out of the ring.
"Westward!" Rial ordered, and added loudly, "And if you misbehave I will have Yule lecture you on your manners!"
Yule stuck her head up above the wagon's wall on hearing her name, and looked from Jeri to Rial, "Is he being a bad puppy?!"
Rial, Mathias, and Kor all three answered with a sharp, "Yes!" which put a smile on Gerik's face for a moment.
Jeri's ears pressed against their skull, and they offered loud grumbles as they disappeared into the wood.
"How long can he stay mad?" Kor asked, looking after Jeri with a thoughtful frown.
"Forever, you messed up," Rial remarked, and held up his hands when Kor turned back to RIal. "Look, as long as he isn't killing you, your back on whatever precarious edge he calls a good side."
"Yeah," Mathias reached over to clap Kor on the back, "You remember how long it took him not to attack you on sight at the Tavern?"
"Before or after Mortos shows up to torment the little bastard?" Kor grumbled and sighed, "I'm here mostly for Inra, Rial you've been good to me and all, but if Inra doesn't go out with you guys, then I'm not going, I don't care how hard Razzar or Mortos stares at me,"
"And who is Mortos, and Razzar?"
They all three snapped their heads towards Gerik, and for a moment, they looked surprised he was still standing there.
"Mortos owns the Spear's End," Rial explained, and that in itself was a half-truth it seemed, Rial obviously knew more, but did not want to reveal too much. "Razzar is our Caretaker,"
"I take it the Spear's End is like an adventurer's guild?" Gerik, again asked pointedly.
"Just ignore our banter," Rial suggested.
"You are as talkative as the creature," Gerik grunted with a frown.
"You talked to Jeri?" Mathias asked, raising his brows.
"He questioned me," Gerik admitted, but like them only gave out so much.
"I'm surprised," Rial said, exchanging looks with the other two, "What of?"
"Belor and their phylactery, he wanted to know if I saw it destroyed," Gerik replied, "I could not answer,"
"Was he consorting an old leather-bound book?" Rial asked with a deepening frown.
"Yes,"
"Ah," Rial said, now looking troubled as they headed to where Jeri had gone.
Mathias shifted on his feet, "Never a good sign when Jeri is flipping through that book,"
"It's on Necromancy," Gerik guessed, frowning at such forbidden knowledge in the hands of anyone, "Jeri doesn't like to share too much, does he?"
"If we didn't tell you his name, he wouldn't share it," Mathias replied, nodding to where the Dark Elf now disappeared. "His private, doesn't like to talk about anything, but of his children?"
"Oh yes, the artbook, Yule was flipping through it," the Old Cleric noted, pointing back towards the Wagon.
"Little Suzzies's Paintings, he loves to show that off," Mathias said with a smile returning to their face.
"He brought it with him this time?" Kor asked turning towards the Wagon eagerly, "In fact, if Yule still has it, see if I can flip through it myself again, really pretty unicorns and dragons in that,"
"Better hurry before Jeri remembers," Mathias instructed Kor.
Gerik then asked the question brought up from the back of his mind as Kor hustled away. "What is it between Jeri and Kor?"
"You saw into their hearts, right?" Mathias asked, then spread their hands out before them as if it was obvious, "It's simple! Kor is a good guy. Jeri is a cunt. What more context do you need?"
The silver-eyed human smiled at Gerik reassuringly, then patted their shoulder, and guided them towards the Wagon, "Come on, enough about them!"
"Let's get to know each other more since you are asking questions," Mathias said, then waived Yule over as the little girl again peeked over the side of the wagon, "Let me tell you about the time I killed a Tarrasque!"
<><><><><><><>
Jeri was not someone one could sneak up on easily.
The level of paranoia that they lived on was that of absurdity, fueled by insomnia and life experiences Rial would not want to wish on their worst enemy. Well, that was not accurate, Rial wished they lived it and died horrific deaths, still, the Dark Elf had an advantage over most.
The Foxkin trusted him. And Rial knew from his own long years with the creature, what Jeri looked for and how.
Jeri had bundled themselves up and sat in the darkened shadow of the tree, pipe in mouth, lit and puffing, with that leather-bound book highlighted by the faint light of the smoldering weed. Rial simply stood out of the corner of Jeri's eye, and the Foxkin jerked as if startled, and then relaxed when they realized who it was.
"Stop that," Jeri growled irritably.
"No," Rial replied with a smile, which faded just as quickly as it appeared. "So, you know what we are dealing with?"
"Lich if all the pieces fit," Jeri offered with a grunt, "A broken soul transference device and a burned library, but no phylactery. They missed something the first time or this is something new. They would have known they destroyed it, more so than just the undead falling like flies around them,"
"What if there is no phylactery?" Rial offered a short nod. "Anything your Family, or Wade, faced?"
At the mention of Wade, Jeri's face twitched, and they glanced up at Rial.
"Don't look at me like that, Wade's research is just as viable, and that's why I came over when Gerik said you were reading that," Rial gestured towards the book first, before reaching down for it, "Give it here,"
"Why?" Jeri demanded, shifting it away from the leather-clad hand like a child keeping away a toy from a parent.
"Because you become more of a jerk than the norm," Rial observed calmly, "There is a child-,"
"-you know me better than that!" Jeri bore their teeth now, their fur standing out on end. Murder was in their golden eyes and their pipe slipped out of their mouth to clatter against the root of the tree. Just by the subtle shift of the cloak, the Dark Elf knew Jeri had grabbed at a weapon.
Rial stopped talking a moment, pausing patiently as if expecting Jeri to cut him off.
"There is a child and a caregiver we have to protect," Rial finished calmly, "Reading Wade's handwriting tends to leave you frothing at the mouth angry which leads you to do something stupid,"
"Like right now, taking that tone with me," Rial stated, their own voice dropping a few octaves to ensure Jeri understood.
Jeri stared up at Rial with that hostile air for less than a heartbeat more, before their face relaxed and their ears pressed against their skull. Reluctantly, Jeri handed up the book in question.
Rial took it and immediately tucked it beneath his breastplate, "So, any chance this is just a really weird wizard with a disgusting fetish?"
Jeri causally snuffed out the small fire that started by the pipe before repacking it with weed. They did not answer immediately, not until the pipe was lit, and they took in a lungful. "You have the book,"
"You have it memorized," Rial observed. When Jeri glared up at them again, placing the pipe between their lips, the Dark Elf made a dismissive gesture as they grinned down at the Foxkin, "How stupid do you think I am Jeri?"
"Pretty stupid," Jeri replied bluntly, then admitted quickly after, "But you are smarter than me,"
Jeri's eyes shifted before them as if reading the pages of that very book, and they relaxed against a tree once more. "I don't know, I have to see the thing to tell you,"
"See it and not kill it?" Rial questioned pointedly.
"Does it matter if I do?"
"We were told to help, not finish," Rial corrected Jeri, "Razzar was very clear on that,"
"When is the mute ever clear on anything?" Jeri shot back, then rolled their eyes as Rial's finger raised higher by a mere hair's width, "I just need to see it, I promise I won't send it screaming into the abyss,"
"Why do you need to see it?" Rial asked, then, being as patient as he could be stated what he knew, "How many kinds of Liches are there?"
"More than a few, less than a lot," Jeri replied as if it was obvious.
"Please don't play coy with me right now," Rial questioned, his smile leaving and his brows furrowing in worry. "I need you to tell me what you mean,"
"I mean I need to see it," Jeri restated, now pointing up at Rial, "Because what idiotic fucking society does not think of using blessed magics against the unholiest of unholy?"
"Their first time with the Undead? Please, are whatever dogmatic human-dung-feted scriptures so narrow-minded they'd not have weapons with permanent holy enchantments on them by now?" Jeri snorted, filling the air around them with acrid smoke from their nostrils. "They did not think to prepare just in case? Declared victory day one after, and just happened to be surprised when the disease returned?"
Jeri then leaned forward slightly, "And who the fuck thinks about using their own blood?"
"Blood feeds them, any blood, holy to the foulest. Those fools could have empowered that thing to near fucking godhood for all we know. They could have supercharged the phylactery by a hundredfold where the only weapon that is going to scratch that surface is Diplomacy,"
As if making the point, Jeri held up the enwrapped sword above his head, always careful to never touch the handle, "And we both know what that means, be damned the mute,"
"Mathias thinks this is an early age, humans have yet developed magical swords on a regular scale," Rial commented, "So you may be right,"
"Rare in those cases, but only in this subject matter," Jeri offered with a growl, "It's not a different Lich, its the same fucking one, I just need to see it,"
"Different name and appearance it seems," Rial glanced up towards the camp.
"Fuck what it called," Jeri said in disgust, "It has to die, or Yule will never be truly safe,"
"Razzar was clear," Rial observed, then looked down again, "What about Gerik using the sword?"
"Wielding Diplomacy?" Jeri contemplated it, puffing away at their pipe. "Five silver says his heart gives out,"
Rial smirked, "Please, five silver for a man's heart?"
"Solid Mithril Bar then," Jeri offered with a smile that was more genuine than cold.
"Now you have a bet."