>Scan[111,200/111,200HP, 24,000/24,000MP, 3600/3600SP

[The youngest and weakest of the seven Wraiths of Arc. Kilmosoth was born from a realm of constant battle and the last, desperate act of a Lich Lord to prevent anyone else from laying claim to the area. Kilmosoth seeks battle, combat, war above all else.

[-a Feat is blocking this information-]

"Fools…"

A legion of angry voices whisper shouts the word in unison, flooding the fallen town with terror and dread. We're already sprinting back to the vardo when someone asks Dawn what the plan is.

"Get the fuck out of here, that's what the plan is." After hearing my report and Scanning the incoming hell storm herself, she calls the full retreat without hesitation. "Anyone else have any ideas?"

"We fight it?" Looking over my shoulder, the Tier 4 Boss is still a long way off but approaching fast.

"Anyone have any ideas that don't involve engaging the danger cloud?" Richter asks, slapping the back of my head and knocking my hat over my eyes.

We arrive in a near panic, everyone seeing us and taking the hint, bustles into the vardo. Confused, Dola asks us what the problem is and, after Dawn explains the situation, anxiety fills his tiny, trembling body.

"We see him before. Drove us out of old territory into one near orcs. He no like stay long in one place."

Thinking we were going to leave them behind, we herd the kobolds into the vardo and a chorus of awe replaces the chatter of their teeth. Richter and I jump into the driver's area and Sonny volunteers to fly along side us. Dawn gives the three of us a Whisper Cuff each, telling us to report anything and everything to her as she tries to learn more about this area from Dola.

"Get us to the next position to the northwest," her voice cracks in our ears and we pretend not to notice it, responding in the affirmative.

Even though they're faster than running on foot, the clockwork horses will be overtaken by Kilmosoth if Dola's information is inaccurate in the slightest. If it follows us into the next territory, there is no way a platoon of Level 24's and lower can deal over a hundred thousand points of damage before being wiped off the face of Arc. That's not true. We won't be wiped out. We'll come back and die repeatedly until we can find a way to escape or until the beta test ends. The Arceans, however, are going to return as ghouls and shades near our respawn points, forcing us to kill each other until we end their suffering. Unless Kilmosoth destroys the vardo, sending everyone and everything inside into nothingness.

Or we destroy it ourselves.

I hope I'm the only one with this line of thought and I shelf it as the absolutely last resort, debating on whether I should share it with Dawn. The burden of watching everyone in the vardo dying and coming back for another grizzly death may be the one that might just push me out of the game for good. I've done a lot of things so far and the prospect of having to go through that has my finger on the eject button just so I can resign from this game. With all the psychological torture so far and they still call this a game?

Shit shit shit, I hope it doesn't come to that.

The wall of mist for the next territory is within sight, but the looming shadow of Kil shows no signs of slowing down. Like its lesser cousins, the wraith takes on the form of a black robed and hooded figure. It's also over fifty feet tall with spiteful tendrils of inky blackness snaking out from the smog-like area where the bottom of the robe billows and feet are not present. Unlike the rest of its smokey form, the undulating tendrils are solid in mass, far thicker and longer than the Mooben's tentacles, and covered in a few red eyes and many gnashing teeth. Two detached, house sized claws float along side it, one dips to the ground and rends the dirt as it speeds toward us, creating a deep trench. From under its hood, the mist that covers the land continuously flows out like a chimney rising past a black, thorny halo floating just above it's head.

What in the seven hells were we thinking? That we could defeat this thing with the power of friendship? That even though armies couldn't take out this blight, maybe some spunky players could? If we just had enough trinkets and shiny armor we could waltz right in and take over management?

And Kilmosoth is the WEAKEST of the seven, SEVEN wraiths that infest ARC. I pray to the gods and goddesses of this world, knowing only a handful of names but invoking as many of them as I can. I turn in my seat, watching this hate filled tsunami of terror rising higher and higher as it gets closer and closer. The digging claw lifts out of the ground, and my prayers go unanswered.

"Almost there," Richter growls through gritted teeth, willing the horses to move faster, taking the straightest path and going off road. The vardo jerks to and fro as he dodges boulders and old claw trenches, the vegetation finally growing within them. I look back and shout at Sonny to stay with us.

"Where are you going?" I shout, holding 7& to the seat, but ready to Blink Step to her so I can odrag her back.

"I want to try to slow it down," she calmly yells over the noise of the carriage.

"Out of the question!" I brush my Whisper Cuff, "Dawn, order Sonny to stay with the vardo!"

"What?" she shouts into our ears, but she's too late.

"Sonny!" I watch her take off and flashes of hot and cold alternate within me. I can't fly. There's no time to call anyone out. I just sit there as she meets the monster head on. Richter is shouting something, but the world goes silent save for a ringing in my ears that grows louder and louder. I look around in vain for something, anything I can use to call her back. To save her.

Kilmosoth rolls in fast like a rainstorm, while its appendages writhe in slow, jerky movements. Sonny flies up, trying to divert its attention away from us, but the boss continues to plow forward as its tentacles reach out for her like slow, starving creatures with minds of their own.

A dense forest of tendrils sway about, the fang filled mouths shriek at her every time they swing past her. She has her violin out, but she isn't playing. As slow as they are, there are far too many trying to catch her for her to focus on flying, dodging, and attacking all at once. Finally realizing the futility, she flies back, over and under and through any opening she can find. As if understanding what she's trying to do, the tendrils tighten around her creating a Christmas light knot except with eldritch abominations instead of little plastic bulbs.

"Blink out of there, Sonny!" I shout into the earpiece, but she doesn't respond nor does she teleport. I've had enough. I can't watch her do this. We're so close to the next territory. It can't be more than five minutes.

I vanish from my seat, rapidly reappearing and Blink Stepping until I'm close enough for a scream of anguish. Sonny's right arm and part of her shoulder have been roughly bitten off and she's struggling to focus on flying. She spots me on one of the reappearances and reaches her other hand to me.

I'm finally right next to her on Meteora, holding her up with one hand and wielding an arcane saber in the hopes that it will hurt it even by the single digits. It does nothing, not even a notification. We watch the vardo speed off into the fog as our surroundings fill up with inky blackness, red eyes, and serrated teeth.

I've seen this setting before and the feeling of deja vu is horrifying. Rotting teeth, bleeding eyes, the smell of fresh asphalt and putrid flesh. To think that I've been in this situation more than once makes my legs tremble. I grind my teeth, trying to keep my focus and not lose out to the tunnel vision setting in. The abyssal tentacles choking down on us, leave Sonny little room to maneuver and less room for error. I manage to cast Healing Breeze a couple times for Sonny's arm, not caring if the wraith's grinning tentacles catch a heal from it since I would get a negligible heal from it myself.

[You Heal Sonasolaria for 48HP!]

[Blessing of Sehkmena Heals you for 4HP!]

[You Heal Sonasolaria for 48HP!]

[Blessing of Sehkmena Heals you for 4HP!]

[You deal 0 damage and drain 0MP!]

The last moments in 7D happen in rapid succesion and the memory of it is like a dream. The encroaching appendages vanished in a puff of smoke after the second Healing Breeze and the strange damage notification. Unsure what had happened exactly, Sonny tapped the breaks just enough for us to glance around. Two wraiths appeared to our left and right, claws and tendrils flaring, reaching, trying to drag us into a nightmarish embrace.

The mist of the new territory swallows us, the screams and shrieks of the wraiths fade quickly since they do not give chase. And as we wait in the air with bated breath, the intense pounding of my heart beating in my ears is soon drowned by the sound of battle. We can only shrug at each other, Sonny doing so with a regrown shoulder and arm. Looks like I recovered it just in time.

On the ground, the core group and soldiers are handling a herd of lupalions and the ghouls they become, a bit anticlimactic after Kilmosoth, but we're not complaining. In short order, we clear another small territory of the Fog of War. There isn't much to explore here, save for a small grove of trees with electric green leaves, the kind of green one would see in a fever dream. Inches from grabbing a leaf, something sharp grabs my leg and pulls me backwards.

"Dola? What the hell?" I say, shocked more than hurt by the sudden digging of claws into my thigh.

"No touch jub lub tree, Sir Ardy. Very bad. Poison and sleep. Bad place to sleep."

"Right… Is everyone okay, Dola?"

"All fine, all good, Sir Ardy. Lady Dawn send me find you. We make plan together. We go?"

"Yeah, we go." With the action over and done for now, I think about the wraith's name once more and the hint of a memory resurfaces. It's a whisper in the dark, a chant, a pleading prayer for help. I shake my head, joining everyone else in the vardo as the fog clears on our new territory.

******************************

"That was the worst cult I've ever been a part of and my parents used to worship Carneus when he was still a pot fire deity." Dez shakes his head, tapping his staff on his shoulder. Beside him, his once long haired, filthy Bard friend is currently only filthy. Having had an impromptu hair cut from a Corrosive Spray to the neck during the demonic invasion of Kes Solomas. Now, his high fade and short beard may be stylish and attractive to some, but the pests, dirt, and old leaves accenting them certainly wouldn't please many eyes, save for the roughest of woodland Druids.

Behind the pair, a dozen robed figures with their hoods lowered for the first time in a long time follow close, murmuring amongst themselves. Some are in agreement with the diminutive Necromancer statement since Juliono Inkrunner was not the most clandestine of evil cult leaders. He passed out meeting times and lists of members like they were market flyers. He even managed to botch the simple summoning Spell given to him by Dez, summoning all those hideous Styrges in the middle of the city. Then, he goes and gets himself captured by Ardacen, who Dez found fascinating in his new form. A flaming skull head. Where could he get one of those? Could he just light one of his minions on fire?

No, bones aren't all that flammable. That, and he didn't want to risk losing one, forcing him to conscript another. Of course, with all the fools who've decided to join them on the road, he would have plenty to restock his army. Which, he was planning on doing anyway, since he had no way of storing his skeleton soldiers, he didn't bother raising any in the city. But now, there are enough sacrifices to create a small force trotting along behind him like hogs to slaughter.

"What do you mean Ardacen's not here anymore? Where the fuck did he go?"

The gruff voice of a Traveler stopped Dez in his tracks. Could it be that someone else has found his meddling just as tiresome? Could there be an angry, kindred spirit? Standing in front of a store Dez knew to be an apothecary, an unusually large tiger Faunus in impressive, metallic red plate armor is shaking down a green woman halfway through the door. He must have stopped her as she tried to run inside.

"Any enemy of Ardacen Winters is a friend of mine," Dez claims, just loud enough for the Faunus to hear. The woman stares back at the Halfling with wide, black eyes, tears running down her face. The Faunus, a Ruffian named Ren Fukinoto by the title above his head, drops the woman who scampers into the store. The sliding and clicking of several locks can be heard behind the door.

Ren turns to the nosy Halfling. "Listen here, you little marshmallow freak. I'm only going to say this once," he withdraws two swords in the shape of cleavers, glowing red sigils etched into theirs sides, "Tell me everything you know about that little faggot and you tell me right now."

The robed followers back away from the confrontation, but Dez simply grins and raises his skeleton arm to halt the man. "Let's not start off on the wrong feet, good sir. I'll gladly tell you all I know. He and his little band of merry miscreants have been quite the thorn in my backside since Kes Rentas."

His words do little to placate Ren, but he does stop advancing on Dez. Meanwhile, Angus is tearing grilled meat off of a stick with his rotten, yet impossibly strong teeth. When Ren finally notices him, his rage turns to disgust and he puts his blades down, but not away.

"Yes, my furry friend, I'll tell you everything and more, for you see…" Dez withdraws his white, leather bound book and pats the cover with his bony hand, "I have a way to find them. The question is, 'What do we get in return for our services?'"

Ren laughs, spit flying off his fangs and towards the Halfling's direction. "What do you want? Dye for your clothes? Or are you trying to look like a ghost?"

"Skeleton. Actually. Speaking of which, I want bones. Any and all I can get my hands on. I'm a bit of a connoisseur, you see? And having Ardacen and his colleagues's bones slaving for us for all eternity would be a fine enough trophy after their deaths, don't you think?"

The wide, toothy grin of a half Giant, half tiger Faunus is just as intimidating as his angry face and a reflexive, deep purr revs in his throat, "That does sound great. Let me just tell my group that we have a change of plans." He bangs on his plate covered chest and holds up his blades, "Our Cleric of War is trying to get us to go north to find a wraith or something for his Order. Told him to craft me all this gear and we'd take him."

Suprised by the casual way he mentions the eldritch creature, Dez glances at his traveling companion, "Interesting. We were also heading that way. We heard there was an abandoned wizard tower in a forest, guarded by undead, and it sounded like a great place to pick up some new recruits." He points a bony thumb back at the former Rose of Three Thorns members, "Ours are kind of skiddish. Lead the way to your group, my new friend. Then we'll go hunting."