Mortimer frantically ran through the dark corridors away from the basilisk. He had lost his torch and the only thing guiding him was the tracking stone. His undead had no issue keeping up. His steps slowed down after escaping a fair distance away. He was trudging forward with ragged breath and his lungs burning. Suddenly, he heard skittering behind him. His first instinct was to duck behind his undead. Even without light, he would always know where it was. A giant spider narrowly missed Mortimer, latching on top of his skeleton instead. It stung again and again while mounted, but it couldn’t penetrate the hard bone. Mortimer’s heart dropped when he realized what had happened. His undead had no claws anymore, and its combat prowess had taken a deep dive. His only hope to survive this encounter is its sharp teeth. Skeleton and giant spider kept biting each other in a desperate struggle. The werewolf was taking bloody chunks out of the spider with every bite. The giant spider gradually lost the exchange. It was at a huge disadvantage against a fleshless opponent. It was getting more sluggish as the battle went on. It dropped on the floor in a bloody mess, revealing the skeleton coated in green blood with numerous deep marks on its bones. Mortimer slumped down on his bottom and let out a nervous laugh. “Giant spiders aren’t that tough…” Suddenly, an acrid smell hit him. He felt a warm liquid running down his legs and trickling on the floor. He put on a wry smile and stood up. He didn’t care enough to be embarrassed at this point. He was just glad to be alive. He stumbled in the darkness over to the fresh corpse. Pulling out with trembling hands an empty soul gem, then begun chanting the soul trap incantation as quietly as possible. Lesser Soul Gem: contains insect type lesser soul (giant spider, juvenile) “At least I have enough for the armor now… ” Mortimer felt exhausted, both physically and mentally. He stashed the soul gem away and trudged forward through the dark corridors in complete silence. Guided forward by the tracking stone. “I wonder where Gruth ran off to.” he mumbled. He had time to think now that he wasn’t running for his life. While he didn’t know what happened to Doland after he pushed him as a distraction, it was unlikely he was still alive. Mortimer felt ashamed and guilty about what he did, but he knew that it would be him dead if he didn’t make that hard choice. All he wanted was to forget about it and hope nobody ever found out. “If they hunt the basilisk down, they'll search its soul and figure out what happened.” Mortimer met no more monsters on the rest of his return trip. He used the quiet time alone to think up on how to exaggerate the details of his encounter to prevent hunting parties. Mortimer didn’t know if there would be any punishment if he was found out, but he didn’t want to be regarded as a black sheep. The illuminated metal gates finally showed up in his sight. He stumbled out the darkness and closed in, exposing his bedraggled appearance. He yelled with a hoarse voice once he was in front of it. “Open up!” Moments later, the groaning gates were pushed open wide. The cloaked undead wielding a glaive stood in the middle and blocked the way. A faint voice was from the other side. “Show me what I gave you.” ‘Is he afraid a monster took my appearance?“ He immediately lifted his palm and displayed the blue tracking stone he was holding. The undead stepped to the side and allowed him passage. He walked in with his werewolf undead and stopped just before the blonde-haired neophyte. Mortimer was in a terrible state from the trip to the catacombs. His robes and hair were covered in dust, and he had an acrid scent. The neophyte frowned. “Where are the other two?” He slumped his shoulders and took a seat next to the bard skeleton. “I don’t know… we got split up after an ambush.” Mortimer put on a bitter smile. “Oh, that’s too bad.” he shrugged and took a toke from his pipe. “What did you meet? A night scorpion?” Mortimer shook his head. “It was a huge reptile with petrifying eyes.” He choked on the smoke and his undead haphazardly slammed the gates shut, making the ground quake. “How large and what color?” “At least five meters tall… but it was too dark to make out the color.” “ It sounds like a greater basilisk had burrowed up from down below… It’s a wonder you got away, the greater kind is a lot meaner.” “You should go tell Vralya, it’s too dangerous to go out there and look for the other two… maybe they’ll make their way back as you did.” He then sniffed the air. “Wash yourself first, you’ll put her in a bad mood if you walk in like you are now.” Mortimer nodded and sat back up, heading through the corridors and towards his chambers. After he closed the door, he pulled his robes off, kicked his dusty boots aside, and laid down on his bed. He was just too exhausted. Mortimer only intended to rest for a few minutes, but he instantly fell asleep. Hours later, a knock brought him out of his dreamless sleep. Mortimer was groggy, and he had a splitting headache. When he stood up, all his muscles were sore. He was in pain with every step. He put on a clean robe and opened the door with a grunt. He saw a blonde maid right in front of his door, staring at him with a blank face. Mortimer flinched back and remembered he was supposed to report hours ago. “Sorry… I fell asleep.” he avoided her eyes and looked down. The maid turned around and started walking, signaling Mortimer to follow. By the time they arrived in front of her office, Mortimer was out of his stupor and had sweat rolling down his forehead. When they entered her office, he saw her sitting at her desk as usual. Mortimer approached and sat down in front of her, eliciting Vralya to scrunch her nose up in disgust. “None of your companions returned.” she had a stern expression. Mortimer put on a bitter smile. “There was only one tracking stone, and I had it.” The maid poured her a cup of steaming tea. “They might as well be dead if you truly met a greater basilisk.” She shook her head. “Well, it doesn't matter. I doubled the guard and barred everybody from going out.” “Since your assignment failed and two of your companions are presumed dead, you won’t be getting any reward.” “But you can take the rest of the week off from duties.” Mortimer sighed. “I understand.” She nodded and gestured for him to leave. When Mortimer stood up and turned his back, the maid started wiping the sea frantically with a wet cloth. Mortimer returned to his room after taking a much-needed shower. His moist hair was tied back, and he held a wicker basket. In front of his room was a familiar person. Melissa was knocking insistently on his door with a frown. When his steps got close enough, she turned in his direction. She sized him up and down and let out a sigh of relief. “You’re fine! I heard they closed down the gate and two people went missing and only you came back. What happened?” Mortimer pulled his door open. “Let's talk inside.” She nodded and followed him inside, sitting down at his desk. “So? I heard two people went missing, but nothing else.” Mortimer shut the door behind him and sat down on his bed. “I was down there on a mission to clear out a rat nest.” “Did you skip your duties and got Vralya mad at you?” she tilted her head at him. Mortimer blushed. “I volunteered.” “What happened next?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” he shook his head. Melissa noticed the handless undead in the room's corner and frowned. “It’s good you’re safe.” She pulled out a pouch of lesser essences from her satchel and left it on his desk. “You’re good at enchanting, right? Just work on that instead.” Melissa smiled and stood up. “You’ll have to pay me back. I’m already working on a common soul undead for the future.” “What is it?” “I recently bought a recipe for a mutation potion.” “Mutation potion?” Mortimer asked with a frown. “Sounds vile.” “It’s supposed to turn whoever drinks it into a spider hybrid. They’ll grow extra arms and eyes and their whole body will turn hairy like a spider.” she put her hands behind her back while she explained. “Did you brew it yet?” “I haven't, the ingredients are rare and I’m having a hard time finding them.” she sighed. “Anyway, I’ll need you to enchant its weapons and armor when I have everything ready.” “Fine, I should be good enough by then.” Melissa nodded and opened the door to leave. “Stay safe.” He spilled the pouch out on the desk after she left. There were twenty lesser essences in total. “I almost died for a quarter of this.” he shook his head and went back to sleep, he was still exhausted. Mortimer spent his week in isolation and only left his room for his bodily necessities. He was tormented by nightmares every night after that terrible day. Sometimes he dreamed of the basilisk chasing him down the corridors with Doland mounted on top of it. The dream ending with him being turned to stone. Other times he was eaten alive by the basilisk while Doland watched with a smug smile. All of his waking moments were spent working on enchanting. Lesser impact, lesser sharpness, lesser toughness, he practiced them day in and day out. Only taking a break when his hands were too worn out to continue. The feeling of utter helplessness he experienced back then kept him dedicated. It was the day he would pick up the werewolf’s armor from Bubos. Mortimer pulled his satchel over his shoulder and stepped out the door. He had dark circles over his eyes and walked with a slouch. He didn’t pay any mind to the neophytes passing him by and headed directly to the exit, followed by his werewolf. He had replaced its missing claws with a pair of regular skeletal human hands. Outside the catacombs, the sun was shining brightly over the charred ruins, and the birds were chirping. Mortimer squinted his eyes and grumbled when the light shone on him, making a beeline straight to the dim forest. He rushed through it, not stopping for a moment. He wasn’t worried about any monsters assaulting him, there were barely any in this shallow forest. Mortimer ignored the expressions of the common folk and the fawning of the guard at the gate and stepped right into Crowshire. People were more prevalent on the streets now than the last time he was here. But he wasn’t in any mood to take in the sights. Everybody took a wide berth and avoided him, which Mortimer quite appreciated this time around. He finally arrived at his destination, Bubos’ secluded smithy. Mortimer stepped right in, through the deserted storefront and into the back of the shop. Bubas was startled by the sullen appearance of Mortimer. It was a big difference between now and last week. He noticed the missing claws on the werewolf. “Bad day?” “Days.” he nodded and sat down at the table. He threw three lesser essences in front of the giant. Bubos nodded. “I’ve finished everything. Give me a second.” he picked a coffer up from the floor and lowered it down on the table. Mortimer pulled the coffer open. The armor pieces were made of steel, all gray colored with light accents, matching with the skeleton’s resin coating. The claw gauntlets were especially detailed, they were adorned with silver details. Mortimer nodded. “Put them on.” He commanded his skeleton to come closer and stand still. Bubos earnestly began putting the light steel armor on the werewolf, buckling the black dyed leather around the bones and tightening them. He took a step back after he finished. Mortimer smiled for the first time in a while when he saw it in its full glory. The werewolf now looked much more robust and threatening, a far cry from the bland skeleton before. He thought back to the basilisk’s tail swipe but shook his head. “It would still get crushed all the same."