Avery waited impatiently next to the iron gates. The closed monolithic structure stood ominously in front of the aristocratic resting place, blocking access by means both physical and magical. Cold iron was not generally a material an enchanter would want to work with, as the inherent antimagical properties of the metal would add a degree of unnecessary complexity to any working built into the resulting item. While she hadn’t ever exactly spent time exploring in the inner city, primarily utilizing her time to salvage from the wizard tower and otherwise attempt to further the prospects of magical viability with the limited access granted by her station, the necromancer was able to tell by the pressuring aura being emitted by the blocking bars that someone with entirely too much money had commissioned this monstrosity of a design feature.

It would take literally thousands of gold to enchant a single dagger of cold iron with the most basic of upgrades, and this entire fence was emanating a constant zone of sanctuary, rendering any form of violence on the street surrounding completely impossible.

Battering down the gate would be impossible. The antimagic would prevent flying over it like an invisible wall. Basic design put the hinges on the inside so they couldn’t simply be removed. Avery wasn’t sure, but it did look like the locking mechanism would take an actual level of strength to move the pins holding it in place, raising the skill floor from simple lockpicking to lockpicking plus weightlifting capabilities. If there were simply a slightly larger gap between the bars, she might be able to squeeze through, but that would be far too much to hope for.

Letting out a sigh, the necromancer grabs onto two of the gate’s iron cylinders, and rests her head between another two. The cold metal pressed against her skin was a welcome distraction from the fact that the creature she’d been standing near appeared to be completely unconcerned with consequences of actions, whether those apply to himself or to the people around him. Granted, she hadn’t been the most amicable to him, to expect open communication or, you know, actual basic consideration, but they had spent at least a few minutes working together in that dungeon. Then that weird magic stuff happened, and they were just… not talking about it for some reason? It was like he wanted to pretend none of it ever happened.

Avery looks up toward the top of the gate, and wished she could just get rid of it.

Demolishing gate will generate 10460 mana, continue?

Yes

No

You have gained 10460 mana.

Oh. Well. That happened.

The creature finally showed up next to her.

“So, are you just going to stand here in front of the entrance, or are you going to walk in?” he asked, completely ignoring the lateness of his own arrival. His tail, trailing behind him like the path left behind by a slugs passage, stretched far further than it had in Avery’s memory. Well, if they were avoiding actual discussion of topics of import, she was certainly not going to be the first to break and ask about a mystery. The disappearance of the other creature was also not a topic she was going to be broaching. Nor was she going to attempt to bring him into the mystery of why she didn’t feel overwhelmed with mana after apparently absorbing a massive amount of cold iron, and all the magic bound into its operation. This was fine.

Nothing was wrong.

“Just go in first, you’re the meat shield,” she retorted acidically. “I’m not risking myself walking into a magical explosion when I haven’t even been able to eat a sandwich.”

“Fair.”

With that, the creature strode forth into the graveyard, meters of tail following closely behind.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Ham was frozen in place. Like a physical tether, the apparently not a golem’s command locked him in his sneaking position. To be completely clear, it was extremely uncomfortable to be crouched down and hunched over like that, but being completely unable to move meant exactly that. Well, that was that, he was trapped forever. With that in mind, he gave up.

Immediately he fell over.

Night instantly, he felt the cold metal, presumably of the sword, against the skin of his neck. This was most certainly a great incentive to stay completely still, and now that he wasn’t stuck in an incredibly awkward position, that would prove far easier than before. The main difference was that in this case, he didn’t even really dare to breathe. Dark power or no, he highly doubted he would be able to survive decapitation from a sword that fired beams of exploding light even without the direction of a wielder.

“Your daring is admirable, sneak thief, but skill alone is not enough to surpass the will of royalty. Our destiny has already been seized, and the power and prestige of the prophesized hero belongs to we alone. However, we do know the concept of mercy. One of your talents would be a boon to the quest that surely comes along with the destiny of the blade; swear fealty to your princess, for now and for ever, and your life may be spared.”

Unfortunately for Ham, speaking would require air, and air would require breathing in, and breathing in involves movement of the neck area, if only slightly.

“The strength of your convictions, whatever they may be, is admirable. It is with regret that we must end you,” the ‘princess’ states, raising the sword from his neck for a chop.

“But the king doesn’t have a daughter!” Ham blurts out, the obvious fact being the literal first thing he thought of when she had said ‘princess’. For the time being, the heir apparent to the throne was the prince, who was generally kept from public view, presumably locked within the castle itself alongside enough tutors to ensure a competent successor to the current monarch. To Ham’s understanding, the royal family only had the one child, and the queen had died in childbirth.

No idea what he looked like though, Ham didn’t really pay attention to anything the matrons had tried to teach them.

The statuesque figure above him paused.

“And from whence did these scurrilous rumors about the royal family originate, we inquire?”

“That’s just what they told us at the orphan quarters in the Temple of Darkness! The king only has a son, that’s what they say, I swear!”

Ham hears footsteps pacing away from him, but decides not to try and use the momentary break in attention to attempt escape.

“An appreciation for wearing pants rather than dresses or skirts, and an interest in physical activities does not define a person as male! We are, and have been, a girl, and have no shame for doing what brings us joy. Tomboy they may call us, but the fact of reality is that we are a princess and not a prince, and demand to be recognized as such.”

“Okay, okay,” says Ham desperately, “I pledge allegiance to the princess.”

“Good,” she replies, before a rumble makes its way through the stone of the mausoleum.

For a moment, Ham almost asks aloud ‘what is that’, before his survival instincts kick in and tell him to keep his mouth shut.

“Hmm, the enchantments on the gate have been breached,” the princess muses aloud. “It seems destiny has chosen to take the initiative in testing us. Come, thief, our first trial awaits.”