Date: Twenty Sixth of February, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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Enra raised an eyebrow, “not even a question. We go back. This book might be the key piece needed to complete the translations of the Varr Barack tablets for my dissertation, the SiDiabolo Deck needs proper Identification, and I’m about seventy five percent sure that whichever Royal Agent got assigned to following me around is freaking out right about now.”

Job started to pack away his things, “do you think we can get the pearls we need in Bera?”

Sly nodded, “without a doubt. Only question will be whether or not we attract attention while doing so.”

Index frowned, “still worried about how Lord Bera will react to his son getting laid out?”

“Of course. ‘No matter how subtle the wizard, a knife between the shoulderblades will seriously cramp her style.’ And we’ve already vanished for two days at least.”

Enra shrugged her backpack on, “I’m less worried then you are. If Lord Bera or Morlen does try to have me assassinated in their home city, it’s going to look awful suspicious. And Lord Wavethunder would turn them into so much fish food if even a shred of evidence could be found.”

Sly shook her head, “that still leaves you with a knife in the back. And I still need to get those rings we talked about.”

Bein’Doc watched as the traitor and her party left their campsite and headed for the far edge of the underground city. They had apparently decided to leave without being greedy and searching the mage houses. A hiss gathered his trappers and readied them to move. They would follow the traitor’s party in the tunnels and strike if an opportunity presented itself. Bein’Doc had a feeling that such an opportunity was not far off. This city had died too violently to not have at least some ghosts lurking about.

It stirred in the darkness, feeling the presence something close by. The pattering sun-kissed footsteps of the hated living brought it fully aware. The wavering light they carried drew it and its younger kinsman closer. Fury drew it out of the once-molten stone and into the tunnel. A hacking, hissing, laugh announced its arrival to the panicked yelps of the living.

Job Arseoth’s eyes grew huge as the insubstantial black humanoid pulled itself from the wall, followed closely by second purple shape. The pointed ears on their heads and the burt wisps of clothing about their frames spoke clearly of how they had died.

Baar’Miin flapped her wings, “ghosts of Mevada!”

Two sling stones whipped by her head, causing her to duck.

“Kobolds too! Black-scales!”

The purple ghost drifted forwards into the party, its grasping hands reaching out for Baar’Miin but finding no purchase on her body.

A third stone cracked harmlessly off the tunnel wall near Baar’Miin.

The black elf-ghost joined its purple companion in grasping for the urd and finding no hold on her living body.

Baar’Miin grasped the silver dragon amulet about her neck and raised it as high as she could. “In the name of Bahamut, Dragon-God of Light and Justice, Turn back restless spirits! Go back onto your graves and leave the living in peace! Turn Undead!” a bright light flashed from the dragon amulet and slammed into the elf-ghosts. The purple one flinched and writhed, unable to stand its ground. The black elf-ghost just laughed its ash-choked laugh.

A stone skipped off the ground near Baar’Miins feet, and another cracked into the back of her head. She yipped in pain, but kept her feet, still in the fight.

Enra turned to face where the stones were coming from and pointed one ominous finger, “Sleep!” Small forms slumped over in beyond the edge of the light, crumpling to the stone floor.

Sly lunged at the black elf-ghost with her rapier and dagger, they both connected after a fashion, pulling insubstantial ashes free and sending then to the tunnel floor to melt away.

Index joined her, lashing out with fists and feet. “Flurry of Blows! Suplex!” Index fails to grasp the black elf-ghost for a throw, but she does force it back and away from Baar’Miin and the rest of the party.

Job grasps hold of the raw sorcerous energy inside his blood and hurls it forth at the black elf-ghost. “Firebolt! Quickened Spell! Scorching Ray!” The firey streaks all connect with their target, wreathing it in temporary flames. It screeches in rage and pain, but doesn’t fall.

The purple elf-ghost turns away from Baar’Miin and her upraised holy icon and flees into the nearest wall, abandoning the fight.

Yips and barks can be heard from where Enra is pointing as the kobolds begin to wake each other up.

The black elf-ghost glides forwards and grasps at Baar’Miin again, but she ducks away from its reaching hands.

Baar’Miin lets her dragon amulet fall back about her neck and punches out at the elf-ghost, “Guiding Bolt!” the ray of light slams into the blac elf-ghost and hazes it in a glow as bright as sunlight.

Enra narrows her eyes and steadies her aim, “Ice Knife!” A stilleto of ice forms about her fingertip, then whips of into the shadows. A heartbeat later the sickening sound of ice tearing through flesh echoes across the battlefield and kobolds scream in agony before choking to death on their own blood.

Sly lunges at the black elf-ghosts, her rapier leading the way. This time her blade finds something of importance within the spirit’s insubstantial body. It collapses about the blade, grasping futility at her arm before blowing apart like fog in a stiff sea breeze.

Index looks back at the pool of blood in the shadows and the two kobolds still standing amidst the ruined bodies of their fellows, “do we finish them off? Or let them run?”

Baar’Miin leveled her mace at the kobolds, “Black-scales deserve no mercy for what they did to my egg-mother.”

Index nods grimly and moves to finish the fight. Two quick strikes later and it was done. The last of the kobolds lay dead on the cold stone in a slowly spreading pool of blood.

Enra puked up her breakfast, “I… I just killed… five of them…”

Index stared at the blood soaking into the wood of her hands, “and I two more. Not mere beasts either, but beings of thought.”

Baar’Miin spat on the stone floor, “each of them killed and tortured others. Each and every Black-scale does these things. They deserve no mercy.”

Enra wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “that doesn’t make me feel any better about killing them.”

Baar’Miin softened, “nor should killing ever feel good. But when we get back to Trebor speak to Silon’Dez’Monah, my egg-mother, if you still doubt if it was necessary.”

Job pointed down the tunnel away from the bloody remains, “heartless as it sounds, we need to keep moving. That purple ghost could come back with friends.”

Date: Twenty Seventh of February, year 810 Post Seminal War (810 PSW)

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Job Arseoth slowly stirred the pot over the campfire. They were back at the entrance to the field cave, which was as far as the party had been able to make it before both Enra and Index broke down into morose, sorrowful messes. Sly was helping with Enra by providing a shoulder to cry on, and Baar’Miin was trying to help Index work through her mental roadblocks.

Job felt helpless just stirring the stew. He wanted to help them, but each had their own problems and their own help. He couldn’t help both right now, and if he wanted to step in he would have to choose one.