After Vell had cast Des Por once again to descend into the labyrinthine depths of the Irath dungeon, his stomach convulsed in dry heaves.
Having foresight of this, he had refrained from eating; hence, his stomach was void of any contents to eject, a precaution not undertaken by Hiraeth.
The sprite emptied what little he had ingested, wiping the aftermath from his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. "A warning would have been nice." "You could have warned me."
"Apologies," returned Vell.
Then, they solidified.
Unlike the previous instance, Vell now had a mental blueprint of the dungeon, which allowed them to appear directly before the cell of the Simerian warrior, Bachram.
The warrior had been patiently waiting, seated cross-legged on the cold, stone floor of his cell. Hidden in the darkness, his form was concealed from Bachram, whose only visual was the pair of glowing ruby eyes.
This time, however, a faint radiance accompanied the mage.
The radiance didn't illuminate the surroundings but was just enough to indicate an additional presence with the mage.
"Your word holds true, Dread Mage, and so shall mine," Bachram stated as he rose to his feet. "What's the plan to unlock my cell?"
Vell was cautious about using magic, aware of the ease with which its misuse or foreign origin could be detected.
Delving into his bag, he retrieved a small vial filled with a transparent liquid and poured it over the lock. The liquid boiled and bubbled, patiently gnawing away at the metal.
A clink of metal announced the disintegration of the lock, leaving the door free to be opened.
"You're quite resourceful," Bachram commented.
"I have my moments," Vell retorted.
"Time to move. There's work to do," Bachram declared, ready for battle.
"Wait, you're not planning on confronting a horde of mages with bare hands?" Vell asked, halting him.
"Fear not; the riddle of steel and flesh was solved by me long ago. My answer is yes. It conquers all. If I possess will, I will prevail."
Vell smirked and shook his head in amusement. "That's a nice sentiment, but I have a better solution."
Taking another moment to rummage through his bag, Vell pulled out a longsword.
Diving back into his bag, Vell retrieved a longsword. The blade was etched with runes, and the handle was intricately wrapped in leather. He handed it to the Simerian.
He handed it to the Simerian.
Bachram accepted it, assessing its weight and balance. He swung it through the air, like a dance or ritual.
"By sword, by doom, or by death, my word shall stand," he vowed after the performance.