Gizora put one foot in front of the other. Days had turned into weeks, and it all bled and blurred together into a vaguely exhausting and mind numbing mess of walking, camping, and learning magic of questionable purpose from a snobbish mentor spirit created by a legendary lich 500 years ago. Normal travel problems, really. Well, maybe the soul magic wasn’t a normal problem, but otherwise Nuammon was mostly an exemplary travel companion. Being a soul contained in a magic construct, he had no need to sleep, eat, or take a bush break. These qualities made the physical act of traveling with the spirit unproblematic. Unfortunately, his personality more than made up for the physical advantages. You can take a snob to propriety, but can’t make him drink.

Gizora was both liking the spirit more and much less than she had originally, but spending 23 days walking, with only one person for company, had a tendency to make one really not like that other person in the moment. Especially when said other person experiences none of the many physical inconveniences of foot travel, and still has the audacity to complain about boredom and companions with insufficient conversational abilities. She’d like to see the spirit try to be a sparkling conversationalist with bug bites, blisters, back cramps, and stomach aches, in addition to the boredom of long stretches of travel.

Thankfully, after the day’s walking was done, and she had had time to eat and kick off her shoes, Gizora got to learn magic. Nuammon only knew soul magic, which was rarely flashy, but it was magic nonetheless, and the spirit was a good teacher. She figured it would be more surprising if he were a bad one though, because the whole point of his creation as a “mentor spirit” was to teach others. Still, eccentric, scholarly educator was a much more likable facet of the spirit’s personality, and the intricacies and depths of magic were a welcome change in the monotony of walking. Gizora was hardly progressing at all in application of the magic, but Nuammon informed her that any tangible progress in 20 days was a relatively rapid pace, though she freely admitted that it was likely due to some familiarity with magic to begin with.

As excited as she was to learn magic, Gizora was a bit disappointed that she was learning soul magic first. No matter how much Nuammon went on about how integral it was to a necromancer’s crafting of quality undead minions, soul magic was severely lacking in general combat usage, and the huge flashy spells every child dreams of tossing around. Sure, it had immense utility, especially in crafting minions, but doesn’t everyone imagine themselves throwing around bolts of lightning and fireballs? Being able to see dead things and tell when people are lying just aren’t as iconic, but Gizora was considerably cheered by the thought that, if she managed to find the lich, he would likely have mastered several flashy combat spells she could use to obliterate her hypothetical enemies! He was a former war mage, after all, not to mention a being that, by definition, was hyper curious and obsessive compulsive about exploring arcana.

And her mood dipped again when she thought about traveling to the other tombs. She had been walking for 3 weeks, and still hadn’t arrived at the closest one. How long would it take her to find all of them, not to mention whatever obscure location Jagmundi had hidden himself away in. And she’d have to spend the whole trip walking with only one person to interrupt the solitude, one that was bound to get progressively more intolerable the longer Gizora went without having a conversation with a reasonable sentient being. For now, she walked ever onward.

It was the morning of the 36th day of travel. Gizora was very excited, for it meant that the endless walking would cease, at least for a while. Nuammon, on the other hand, must have been apprehensive, because he was uncharacteristically quiet while Gizora broke camp and prepared to finish the first leg of their journey.

It would be the most tedious day of travel, as the tomb was located in one of the last remnants of magic forest that were once part of the Dark Wood, a heavily wooded mountain deemed too much trouble to clear, occupied as it was by powerful beasts. Rumor is, a wyrm had made the very peak of the mountain its home, and the few souls brave or foolish enough to venture that far never returned. Gizora was much less certain about her decision once she heard the rumors, but the questionable intel seemed to rally Nuammons, who prodded her to hurry.

“While a wyrm isn’t a true dragon, they’re just as prideful, and one of the few beings that they hold any amount of respect or acknowledgement for just so happens to be liches. It wasn’t uncommon for liches, especially the Master, to bargain with powerful local beasts, and exchange magic and knowledge for ambivalence or protection. I believe that he made one such deal with this wyrm, and the creature’s pride prevents it from allowing anyone access, even after all this time,” Nuammon postulated.

“So shouldn’t that make getting into the tomb easier?” Gizora asked. “All we would have to do is prove that we are affiliated with Jagmundi, right?”

“No, not really. Most draconic creatures are of the ‘kill now, ask later’ mentality, so diplomacy would only work if we could avoid dying for long enough. Which is very unlikely, as, even if you were a master of soul magic, you wouldn’t stand a chance against a wyrm.”

“What do we do then?! Give up? Try to poison it? Hire adventurers with our nonexistent money? I don’t know what we’re supposed to do here! Was this whole series of tasks a test designed to either kill us or make us fail?!” Gizora’s voice gradually increased in volume, until she was screaming at Nuammon, and pacing to match the frantic questions pouring out of her mouth. The mentor spirit, for his part, simply watched her pace and scream and generally have a fit, until she started to tire herself out.

“I understand your grievances, but the test is designed to have a small margin of success. But there is a way. The map has marked the exact spot where the entrance of the tomb lies, the only problem in getting there is the wyrm. So, we just need a way to lure the wyrm away from the entrance long enough for us to get there. And one of the specialties of soul magic is puppets, or minions if you prefer.” Nuammon paused here, and waited for Gizora to finish connecting the dots. She frowned, then stared blankly off to the side, talking to herself under her breath and thinking through what the spirit had said.

“We….. can make…. Something?? That will distract the wyrm, and something else to increase our own travel speed,” Gizora realized. “But not as I am now. I lack sufficient ability in soul magic to make any sort of puppet yet. So, I’ll need to advance my abilities, specifically in the direction of creating golems and the like, so we can distract the draconic guard dog and make our way into the tomb.” Gizora nodded resolutely, then faltered when she saw the evil grin that split Nuammon’s face.

“Yes, so we can finally train in earnest.”