Zaehran bolted like a lightning, unhindered by the weight of carrying me. His steps, almost feather-light, made no sound as he crossed the main hall and leapt into the left wing. With adept deftness, he slid down to the cellar, barely pausing to reorient himself. Without wasting a single moment to catch his breath, the monk rushed past broken crates, crumbling cellar walls and rusted iron racks, till he reached the small corridor. Pitch darkness, like a malicious cloud, settled on both sides while two crumbled figures sat huddled together. Therrin sat hunched while the mangy form of Rodo crumbled next to him.

"All is well," Zaehran soothed quickly, not pausing even for the usual briefing as he set me slowly, down on the cold dirt-covered cellar floor.

"We have come too late," Therrin murmured, his low voice further muffled by the thick cloak.

"That thing, whatever you are calling it, the big boss, is blocking the path to the sarcophagus," said Therrin. His hazel eyes studied my unmoving form as he clutched a brown flask tightly in his right hand. He gazed bleakly as he poured the contents through my lips.

The thick dark red liquid gathered around my mouth for only a fraction of a heartbeat before swiftly flowing down, wetting my throat. A slight burning sensation slithered its way through the neck down to my belly, where it settled into a mellow warmth. My eyelids fluttered lazily as if only the sliver of soul that resided in my body remained conscious.

"Never, ever try that again," I croaked faintly.

Therrin gave a questioning look at the monk.

Zaehran did not comment and instead shrugged off his linen robe. The fabric slid itself from his powerful frame, bringing life back to his sinewy arms and lithe core. There was an ease about him now as he stepped free of his garb.

Therrin Proudwick gave a deep breath through tightly clenched teeth as he cautiously walked toward the monk. His hazel eyes curiously followed the intermittent swaying of Rodo, who always ended up moving closer to the monk, almost as if guided by the beast's instinct towards the safety that lurked behind.

"There is not much I could scout without being discovered," Therrin's voice betrayed genuine fear, "And this.... creature.... this devourer seems determined to breach."

"Come sit," Zaehran invited softly, "We must wait till she recovers. I reckon it won't be long."

Without another word, Therrin moved closer to the monk and sat on an empty crate. It swayed slightly under the halfling's frame. The glancing fear that radiated forth from the halfling bore heavier scars upon the face of Zaehran as he slowly removed his siangham tied around his waist. An intense shadow fell across his face and hands as he studied my every breath with unwavering intensity. He slowly tore scraps of cloth from his linen robe, wrapping them around his arms with grim determination.

"So were they your people?" asked the rogue cautiously, in a weak attempt to decipher the hidden aspect of the monk, "Did those demon frogs kill your people?"

I raised my head from the ground, one eye following the ascetic in slow motion. This proved far more awkward than expected, seeing as how the monk could almost instantaneously teleport. With great effort, I slowly got up and glared sternly at the monk, who ignored my attention. Gathering my still escaping senses, I lifted my torso halfway supported by my elbows on both sides.

"Your fortitude is commendable," said the monk as he tied the last of the scraps around his knuckles, giving it a slight tug to test the bindings.

"So, how do we get rid of this devourer beast?" asked Therrin.

"Its body is here, but the real one hides in its cognitive realm," replied Zaehran.

"We enter the cognitive and kill it?" pondered the halfling.

"I hope not to enter its own cognitive realm. That is what the wise would do," responded Zaehran. A renewed awareness spread through the monk, almost as if something cold lurked beneath his surface of calmness, something eldritch that rose from the depth of his consciousness. Instinct told me that this devourer had already planned the course of the events, only waiting for the monk to play his part.

"The other person, was he one of your pupils?" asked the rogue inquisitively, though there was a hue of kindness and concern hidden behind his tone.

The monk pursed his lips firmly, then swallowed, leaving Therrin nervously wondering if he overstepped his bounds.

"Pupil? No. I cannot guide others to what I cannot achieve myself. Besides, my creed is not to educate. You could say my people live their lives centred around monasteries. Some, find it in their calling to lead and encourage others to choose a path. Others, like me, prefer to better ourselves through continuous experience."

Zaehran suddenly paused, darting a quick glance to study Therrin's expression before turning his attention towards me.

"What is your role in your community, Zaehran?" I asked, easing any indication of retort that might alarm the monk.

"We are what you would call mental giants, but we are not alone. There are others like the mind-flayers," continued Zaehran slowly, weighing his words carefully, "Our monasteries are not just monasteries, but they serve as a fortress against the thousand others."

"And you?" I asked directly.

"I do not lead, but those who lead often lean on me for counsel. I am there to collect their memories should their creed fail," shrugged the monk nonchalantly. Despite his words and expression, I could easily surmise that Zaehran is their fail-safe warrior. The one who would be sent when all hope is abandoned.

"But you fear traversing it's cognitive to challenge the sload Devourer?" My revelation surprised Therrin for some reason. The halfling quietly sat, glaring intently at the serene tranquillity on the Monk's face.

"The cognitive realm is something simple and yet complicated. Imagine a dream world that you create and control. Lose a footing and you lose yourself. Consumed by your own dream," responded Zaehran.

"So what is its weakness? Surely your people had some means to keep them away," questioned Therrin.

"They are creatures of chaos. Co-operating into a large band is not in their nature," admitted the monk.

"You said the cognitive realm can be dangerous even to oneself. So how do the Sload control their physical being from inside their cognitive?" I asked, pressing for more information. The sense of misalignment with my own body slowly dissipated, allowing me to slowly move my legs. The slight twitching in my muscles, slowly returned, signalling the end of his spell.

"A control gem, usually in the brain, but devourers, usually have it somewhere close. Destroy the gem and the sload would be forced to inhabit its shell."

Therrin Proudwick's eyes twinkled with mad glee, almost making the light hazel colouration somewhat akin to madness itself. A wide grin of an apex predator danced on his lips as his mouth stretched from ear to ear.

"How big did you say the gem was?" asked the halfling, barely controlling his innate green.

*****

The pungent, putrid odour of death and decay assaulted our nostrils. A clear lambent line of slime, almost vitriolic in its path of corrosion, snaked its way through. Zaehran paused in contemplation, while Rodo sniffed twice with intensity before he turned to us with curiosity etched within the sharp angles of his canine features. Among the four of us, Rodo with his enhanced olfactory system was the most affected by the fetid smell. Further way, in the still silence, acrid clouds of decay and phage filled the chamber and slowly wafted towards us. Only thick gloom and the monstrous silhouette lay silently waiting for us.

The obscene grotesquerie bristled at the mere presence of the monk. Almost as if sending a silent invitation, the poisonous mist cloud parted.

After an ample delay, Zaehran ventured forth with unerring steps.

Hairs stood up on the back of Therrin's arms, as he slowly let his eyes wander through the cavernous chamber, scouting places that only a rogue would see.

My entire body felt wary, like running through a twisted maze that altered ephemerally. Although physically untouched from the sload’s influence, I felt a wave of tiredness threatening to drown me in its overwhelming pressure.

The devourer sload stalked, with tremendous effort, forward, until it regained full height, before eyeing us with hostile suspicion. For one, interminably fragile moment, I was struck dumb by the gargantuan visage looming in front of us. A series of abdominal convulsions passed through its large bloated worm-like body. Thick circular rings of flappy skin, rolled off its back in a concentric pattern. Both the monk and the rogue paused, seemingly in awe before the slime-covered creature. Its hands, far too small for its massive body, still clutched a small rod, like a regal sceptre. Atop the sceptre sat the red gem that rattled to the faint pulsations of Zaehran's presence, rhythmically matching the Devourer sload's corpulent undulations.

"Dread Devourer of chaos world!" loudly proclaimed Zaehran.

The monster finally spoke, its faint, thin voice echoing through my head, like the unpleasant sound of scratching on mirrors. "Clothed in the death of your own people, do you intend to carry the mantle of revenge? Or is the jewel of resurrecting the honour of your people that you covet?"

Without providing an answer, the monk lashed, resembling a bolt of fiery lightning as he shot toward the creature's swollen bulbous head. Despite its immense form, the strike of the monk failed to inflict lethal damage on the Devourer sload, its bloated fleshy form, absorbing the impact from his hardened strikes. Fuming in irritation, Zaehran clenched his fists and stormed towards the Devourer sload once again. He skidded down the rubbles with the grace of a viper crossing a stream.

A ghastly explosion sounded, almost like the shattering of ice thrown against a wall with huge force. As soon as it occurred, a trail of unnatural glowing permeated the crumbling chamber. An expression of abject hatred crossed the devourer's toad-like face as it twitched in anger. Almost content with its counterattack, it brandished its sceptre in anticipation of meeting the monk's oncoming attack.

Rodo's claws and bites fared no better than the monk's kicks and blows, as the werewolf found himself coated in slime with every attack. Rodo fought valiantly. His every wound failing to falter him, he persisted with his slashes.

Unimpeded by the recent display of the devourer sload's power, Zaehran relentlessly continued with his charge, counterattacking, denying the devourer the few opportunities for breathing.

Coaxed by the Devourer sload, gushing rivulets of waters slowly sprouted from cracks within the floor and began to run along the passage, intending to carve a path of destruction.

Zaehran changed his motion mid-way, lingering in the path of the oncoming wave, harmonious waves of energy collected at his palms, clustering near the ascetic's grasp, and converging the flow of water towards his golden energy sphere. Frantically lashing upwards with his feet, willing gravity to defy norms, the monk stood on the cavernous roof of the chamber, as he directed the jet of water with a force capable of cutting through rocks at the monstrous aberration below.

Ending my predatory waiting, with my ebony longsword unleashed, I rushed towards the sload, aiming for the sceptre-wielding hand just as the Aberration flicked its other hand in a vague gesture to conjure a dense mental wall against the impending attack of the monk. With swift strokes, using the skills honed through centuries of combat, I slowly sneaked closer with each bit of my assault until the progress met the Aberration's mental shield.

Feeling thwarted, tricked and angered, it pushed more forcibly, causing swirling chaotic ethereal ripples to erupt, sending a sudden explosive boom rocking the chamber, shaking the unstable subterranean cavern.

My initial attack faltered, prompting the monk to launch another, focussing furiously on his channelled stream of water, towards the mind-assaulting Devourer sload.

Hoping to provide every edge to Zaehran, I immediately somersaulted and renewed my assault with heavy reverse swings and thrusts as the damaged floor cracked under the weight of my swings, forming a bedraggled nest of crumpled dirt. There was no mistaking my intentions when I darted upon the Aberration's outstretched hand, to swing my blade downwards, severing it from its body. Unfortunately, though seemingly impossible, however, the giant Devourer sload provided resilient, self-replenishing mental walls protecting, shielding its appendage.

In a single recoil, the monstrous sload delivered me the most maddening counterattack ever known. For every heavy swing, it retaliated with two different effects, invisible scythes of wind and clumps of hardened debris, struck me with the force of a siege catapult. No long remaining undeterred, I quickly leapt backwards, returning to my initial position. Seeking refugee behind the cover of darkness in the blackest section of the chamber, I scanned the walls desperately searching for suitable anchor points.

The directed powerful stream of water caused showers as the shrapnel of water droplets detonated upon impacting the dome cast by the Devourer sload. With a deep rumbling undulation, reverberating through its grotesque body, it twisted, halting the directed barrage. In an act of sanctioning repercussions for attacking, the aberration raised its sceptre above its head in a warning stance, that send shivers through my teeth. With a bone-chilling ferocity it directed the concentrated water jet blasting at a speed that could easily tear through rocks. Drenched in cold sweat, fear washed over me even though I knew I could probably dodge the initial stream. But within the narrow chamber, devoid of any obstacles to hide behind, that was just delaying the inevitable. I knew I could do nothing to stop the terrible result.

A terrible grimace formed across its grotesque face. It somehow betrayed genuine maliciousness with an equally unsettling morbid curiosity, more thrilled to see my efforts at clinging to my life than my ultimate demise. It teased my very being with its oncoming imminent attack.

Dark stygian tendril issued from the cavernous walls and with the celerity of a striking serpent, coiled around the monk. Jerking forcefully, Zaehran let the unending ribbon of psychic darkness wrap tightly around him while he slowly relinquished his golden energy sphere to the mental prodding of the aberration. The blood boiled in Zaehran's veins with the heaviness of his own pulsating energy as he released the grip on his directing energy sphere. At once, his own psychic force morphed into a behemoth wave racing swiftly towards the monstrous Devourer sload, engulfing its dome, and lifting its impossibly heavy bulk from the ground.

At the command of the Aberration, more a sound between a sibilant hiss and a grunt, sharp icicles, grew steadily larger, gradually pinning Rodo against the floor, piercing him, extracting a deathly howl of agony from him. Sharp pointy fragments glinted against the thick dark coat of the werewolf as they relentlessly attempted to penetrate his vulnerable hapless form. Despite his thick fur covering his muscle-defined form, he could muster little resistance against the colossal fist of mental strength that crushed him in merciless fury.

Zaehran, the only other person with psychic powers to counter the Devourer sload, dangled from the roof. The stygian tendrils tightened their grip around his neck, choking him in a cold ruthless knot. Gone was his serene expression and the aura of tranquillity pulsating about him. Instead, an intense expression of sublime concentration halting the encroaching death marred his face. His hands still clutched the golden sphere more deftly, sending a fine stream of water in a mental battle to break the psychic dome of the Devourer sload.

I rolled. The powerful stream of water left its sharp cut, almost like engravings on the dirt-covered rocky floor. My eyes widened at the sight before me. The hulking aberration bellowed in rage, a twisted snarl danced on its face. Instantly raising its arm above, an unseen fist of mental energies projected to deliver a vicious uppercut aimed squarely at the jaded monk, who was forced within a fragile instant to focus entirely on stopping his foe's relentless charge. His attack, all but stopped as his body pushed against the hard cavernous roof.

With a single dismissive flick of its hand, the aberration dissolved its mental dome, while defying the normal laws, droplets of water rose from the puddles in the ground. With the force of a projectile from a dwarven crossbow, pushed by the latent telekinetic pressure of the Devourer sload, they stuck where I stood a narrow moment ago. Rodo struggled, futilely kicking his legs, only a tiny whimper now escaping his throat, while Zaehran's chest heaved as he struggled against the colossal force crushing him, only a still deathly pale silence roamed the chamber, disturbed by the tiny sound like the shattering of glass.

Not the loud boom of an explosive but in the stillness of the chamber, the sound reverberated through, echoed, multiplied a hundred times, it travelled from Zaehran to Rodo to me and finally, to the levitating Devourer sload who still held the sceptre -- relieved of its gem. At the farthest corner, stood Therrin Proudwick adjusting the folds of his cloak and directly in front of him, sparkling in the dark, lay the tiny red fragments of a shattered gem.

Rodo immediately pounced with his claws extended, I rushed swinging the ebony longsword and Zaehran flew kicking himself from the roof, his powerful legs aiming for the bulbous grotesque head of the Aberration and we all met empty space for our efforts.

"It planeshifted," answered the monk as he finally regained his footing on the normal ground.

"Coward," growled Therrin Proudwick.

*****

Rodo, from the severity of his wounds, slowly collapsed on himself, convulsing violently as his beastly form slowly slipped away. Zaehran's arms deftly caught the beast, and effortlessly scooped him. Between struggled breath, Rodo uttered, exerting great effort, spilling warm dark scarlet blood for his endeavour.

"They moist scales are in the grounds," he said.

Without any further communication, Therrin hopped covering distance with his small frame which surprised me.

"Ma’am, we will bring the sample to the Archdruid. Leading them away should be no considerable effort for you," winked the halfling.

I watched the three of them march into the darkness, towards the entrance to the sarcophagus. With only solitude for a companion in the chambers, the sparkle from the fragments caught my eyes. Something about it still itched, like a whisper from the depth of the subconscious, urging to break through an imposed barrier. On a whim, I collected the fragments, gathering them safely inside a leather pouch, before I departed to lead the moist scale mercenaries away.

*****

Days slipped by in the wilderness, as I kept ahead, just a tiny bit ahead of the relentless moist scale mercenaries. Everything conspired against me. Hunger, thirst, fatigue as well as the occasional wild feral creatures of the forest. And the most daring of them all, the mercenaries themselves, driven by their reputation, to hunt me. Yet none of that deterred my daring initiative. For at the end of the pursuit, nestled high in the altitudes of High-Crag Hold, my love would wait for me.

Enduring the constant pursuit, salvation finally appeared in the form of the most unexpected; A company of the Duke's very own guards, on their way to Fort Halcyon. Regardless to the political machinations of the Duke, the rank and file of his army treated me with utmost respect deserving of a dignitary. In their battle-hardened eyes, I was a commander of the vanguard forces, fighting a common foe. Ignoring their generous offer to restock and reprovision me at Fort Halcyon, I only availed the comfort of a destrier and a backpack filled with stale loaves of bread and dried meat as I set on the winding path of High Crag Pass.

The following morning the first rays of the sun shone brightly through the horizon, unveiling a pristine and completely breath-taking view and the silhouette of a path snaking its way, leading me to where my destiny awaits: Lyria.

After a silent breakfast and a moment of respite for my mount, I dug into the leather pouch and extracted one of the fragments. No extraplanar or exotic material. Just simple plain red glass fragments gleamed in my hands, reflecting the morning sunlight, almost mocking me with its truth. Suddenly, like the clearing of a thick mist, the actions of the Devourer made sense. The Aberration planeshifted to escape domination and not death.

Therrin Proudwick, the missbegotten halfling did it again.