The Tears of Kas̆dael

He had started off the morning with such optimism. The wraiths were supposed to be the hard ones to kill, requiring special weapons and precise attacks. Exterminating the wights, on the other hand, was supposed to be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

While the wraiths had become semi-incorporeal when the ritual backfired, the wights' bodies had remained largely the same. The wights were still basically elves, just elves that were also immortal mindless killing machines. Instead of disappearing into a cocoon, they dug small burrows underground where they hibernated until nightfall. To kill them, all you needed to do was find the burrows and force them out, killing them one by one while they crawled out of their narrow tunnels, completely unable to defend themselves. Since Jasper was a fire mage, Aphora had suggested that they use smoke to drive them out of the burrow.

It was a great plan. Too bad it didn’t work. At all.

Jasper and Ihra were still practically bouncing off the walls from the leftover energy from the healing ritual, so they quickly swept through the temple grounds searching for the telltale holes that would lead to the burrows.

“Normally the wights sleep in packs of five or six. They probably didn't bother to tunnel through the stone pavement, so we’ll search the areas where dirt is easily accessible. We should expect to find at least a few dozen burrows,” Aphora had explained.

And so they had searched, and searched, and searched. The temple grounds were surprisingly empty, so they moved out into the large pavilion between the temple and the tower, which was also shockingly empty. It was only after a few hours of fruitless searching that the group finally stumbled upon a tunnel. The small opening, barely large enough for a person to squeeze into, was hidden beneath the dense foliage of a sinister-looking shrub. The strange shrub had been warped by the spell, its leaves turned into thin, curly strips of greenery that perpetually smoldered, but were never actually consumed by the flames.

With a tunnel secured, the group carried out their plan. They rolled up cloth and bandages into a small ball, doused them in oil, and, once Jasper had set them alight, rolled the smoking bundles down the tunnel. Thin trails of smoke rose out of the hole, choking them, but no wights emerged.

“Perhaps this tunnel’s abandoned?” Ihra ventured.

They resumed their search, and, scattered in a circle around the great plaza, found a total of five tunnels. At each one, they tried to smoke the wights out with no success. And that is how Jasper found himself crawling down a tiny, dirty hole, trying very hard not to imagine himself being swallowed alive by the earth.

After the last of their attempts to smoke out the tunnels failed, they searched through the pavilion once more, looking for any tunnels they had missed. Finally, Aphora was forced to concede defeat. She dug through her bag of holding, her hands buried deep within it as she pulled out one object after another, like Mary Poppins, until she found what she was looking for. Pinning it against her chest, she sent the other objects back into the bag with a wave of her hand, and, turning sharply, headed towards the center of the plaza with long, swift strides.

Jasper trailed behind, curiosity eating at him. Craning his neck, he caught a glimpse of a small ceramic bowl. It was a pretty bowl, the sort of colorful pottery you'd see at an overpriced art store in a tourist town. The bowl was filled almost to the top with a clear liquid that sloshed back and forth violently as Aphora crossed the plaza. Somehow, even when the water flew high above the bowl’s rim, not a drop fell on the pavement. A metal device floated in the water, never departing from the center despite the water’s turbulence. A magical compass, maybe?

Aphora set the bright blue bowl down in the center of the plaza with a dramatic sigh, muttering under her breath. “Apparently nothing about this quest can go easy.”

Lifting her voice, she explained the item to the two of them. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use this, but I guess it’s a good thing I came prepared.” She gestured at the bowl. “It doesn’t look like much, but this is an erēs̆u erṣeti. I don’t know if there’s a name for it in Corsythian - they’re quite rare and prohibitively expensive - but in elven it means something like ‘he who seeks what is below.’ The dwarves use these artifacts to scan for mineral deposits, but it will let us see what's going on beneath the surface."

"Unfortunately, it can only be used ten times before the magic is consumed, so I was trying not to use it, but my hand has been forced. It would be suicide, at least for you two, to try to enter the Tower of Ysagil with an army of wights at our back."

She took a vial from her bag and coated her index finger with a silver powder. Running it lightly across the surface of the water, Aphora traced seven runes around the orb, the powder somehow retaining the form of the runes in the water. She then laid a thick piece of paper over the bowl, and placing both hands on either side of the bowl, pushed her essence into it.

A sudden torrent of power gushed out of her, the torpid air of the scorched plaza crackling with energy as gravity itself seemed to double. Then an explosion of sound burst from the bowl, most of it pointed down into the earth. But the force of it was so great that even the tiny fraction of it that pulsed across the courtyard almost knocked Jasper and Ihra off their feet. If it affected Aphora, she showed no sign of it. The pulses continued for perhaps a minute, the sound waves smashing into them like angry unseen fists until it mercifully ceased. Aphora lifted the paper off of the bowl, immediately stashing the artifact back in her bag. Examining the sheet, Jasper could see that the once blank page was now filled with a sketch.

“Lemna,” Aphora cursed, showing them the paper. “The wights have formed a single giant burrow beneath the plaza.” Her finger traced the path of the five tunnels leading down to the sleeping wights. “Each of these tunnels is at least a hundred feet long. There's no way we can smoke them out of a burrow this big. We’re going to have to crawl down the tunnels, and fight them there.”

She studied the image, shaking her head in disgust. “There is no way to know how many wights might be down there, but there are probably at least a few hundred. I will have to help you fight them. Here’s what we're going to do.”

As Jasper inched down the tunnel, choking on the showers of dirt that fell from the ceiling as he dragged himself deeper into the depths, he cursed her plan thoroughly. He had no idea how the undead elves, who were only a little smaller than humans, crawled through the tunnels, especially with the broken horns on their heads - maybe the horns can turn ethereal? - but the tunnel was definitely not made with humans in mind. He was forced to crawl on his belly, occasionally sliding forward uncontrollably when the steep slant of the tunnel became too precipitous. With another heave, he pulled on a rope attached to his hand, dragging the supplies behind him. When Jasper finally spied a faint glimmer of light ahead, he pulled himself forward with a burst of renewed energy. Ten more feet.

Jasper gasped in relief as he finally popped out of the tunnel, falling a few feet into the cavern below. He almost gagged on the foul air, but choking it down, he pulled out the rest of his supplies and set them on the ground. The cavern was immense, its ceiling stretching at least thirty feet up. The walls and ceilings were studded with runes that still faintly glowed, and in the center was a large, low structure that looked suspiciously like an altar. The wights certainly didn’t build this. Clearly, they had stumbled upon the cave while digging their tunnels and made it their new home. He eyed the underground altar, chewing on his lip. Cliche as it sounded, there was something about the altar that felt evil. Maybe Ayyalu wasn’t the heresy of Als̆arratu after all.

Hundreds of wights slept on the ground, most of them clustered around the altar. The creatures were naked, whatever clothes had once graced their elven forms long since lost to time and the elements. They slept piled together on top of each other, like a bunch of naked mole rats. He repressed a shudder. There was something tragic about seeing once living, thinking beings reduced to little more than animals. No, worse than animals. Such a fate seemed worse than death.

He waited on the edge of the cavern until Ihra and Aphora emerged from their tunnels. From the clods of dirt stuck in the normally impeccable elf’s horns, Jasper could tell that her horns had gotten stuck traversing the tunnels. He grinned, the little touch of imperfection warming his heart. Aphora quickly sketched a series of runes into the dirt floor, flooding them with power.

The effect wasn’t flashy. The air in the cavern began to slowly circulate, picking up speed as the wind whirled in a spiral centered over the altar. He kept a wary eye on the sleeping wights, but they didn't stir. Once the winds were moving fast enough, it was time to enact the next step of the plan. The three of them opened the bags they had brought with them, tossing their contents into the gentle whirlpool of air. Fine particles of flour were swiftly diffused through the air, carried along by the currents.

When the last of the flour had been added to the slow-moving vortex, Ihra crawled back up her tunnel, sealing the entrance behind her. Aphora drew another device out of her bag and set it up on the floor. Pressing a button, a blue shield sprung up around her. Satisfied she was secure, she looked over to Jasper, mouthing the words, “Are you ready?”

He nodded and prepared his spells. He cast Eternal Night first, his form disappearing into an inky black void. Once Aphora saw him disappear, she slashed her knife across the formation inscribed in the dirt. The power, no longer constrained by the form, spilled out uselessly into the dirt, grinding the whirlwind to a halt. The air throughout the cavern was chocked in a dusky fog of flour. Taking a deep breath, Jasper cast the spell. Sacred Star.

The world turned to flames. He found himself flung against the wall, the force so strong that he was pressed deep into the crumbling dirt walls of the cavern, the dirt partially melting around him. The flames washed over his body, buffeting him like the winds of a hurricane. At last, the flames flickered out as the store of oxygen in the cavern was nearly exhausted. All that remained was a terrible, oppressive heat.

The pain had been surprisingly manageable, his fire resistance coming in clutch for him, but Jasper still kept his eyes tightly shut until the inferno ceased. When he finally felt the last of the flames dissipate, he opened his eyes and scanned the cave. A few small patches of fires still burned along the edges of the cavern, greedily consuming the dried limbs and ancient clothes of the wights. But the center of the cave had been scoured clean, the wights there so thoroughly destroyed by the explosion that they were all but vaporized. The altar itself appeared entirely unharmed.

On the opposite side of the cavern, he saw Aphora still crouched behind her blue shield, which flickered as if its energy was almost exhausted. Once she saw him move, she retreated back up the tunnel and headed for the surface. There was no sign of Ihra, and he could only hope that she had made it far enough up the tunnel to be safe.

Looking down, Jasper was somewhat bemused to realize his clothes had been burnt off. Thankfully, his leather armor had survived, so he wasn't entirely nude, but it was now heavily streaked with scorch marks. Damn it, I guess I should have removed my clothes. He wasn't really used to the idea yet that he was far more durable than his clothes. Shaking his head in disgust, Jasper pushed against the wall, straining to free himself from the viscous, scorched mud. It was surprisingly hard to get good leverage, as he had sunk in deeper than he realized. But, with a roar of effort, he finally pried himself out.

He fell to the ground on his hands and knees, sinking into more super-heated mud. He leapt out quickly, groaning as he realized he was now thoroughly caked in the nasty mixture. What I wouldn't give for a nice shower. I should invent showers, and retire to a life of luxury. Jasper turned to leave but paused as his eyes fell again on the scene of destruction stretched out before him, a destruction he had wrought. It was a surreal feeling, and he wondered if he'd ever get fully used to it. His brief reverie was interrupted as chunks of rock began falling from the ceiling. A boulder smashed down onto the altar and Jasper dove for the tunnel.

He pulled himself up as quickly as possible, while the earth shook around him. He spluttered and coughed as streams of dirt flowed into his face, sliding into the cavern below. All time seemed to stop, and his ascent could have taken a minute or an hour. But his hands finally grasped the edges of the tunnel opening. With a mighty heave, he pulled himself out, flopping on the ground as his lungs sucked in the fresh, cooler air. I made it.

The earth roared as a large section of the plaza buckled, collapsing into the cavern below with a thunderclap. Holy Hell. Plumes of dust from the destruction rose into the air, obscuring the plaza in a haze of dust.

On the far side of the plaza, he saw Aphora and Ihra, their forms barely discernible through the wreckage. With a groan, he pushed himself up and started making his way over to them. The superheated mud that coated his limbs was slowly cooling into a hard shell, and with each step he took, small showers of dust fell on the pavement below him. I feel like Pigpen. Despite himself, he laughed at the image.

Ihra crinkled her nose as he came into range. "Damn, fire-boy, you smell terrible."

Jasper shrugged. "Thankfully, nose-blindness is saving the day, so it's not bothering me too much. But, I'm really trying not to think too closely about what might be in this mud. Do undead shit?"

Aphora laughed as she joined them. "Fortunately for you, they don't. But the hundreds of bats that lived down there did." She stopped a good distance away from him. "Go clean yourself off in the temple, Jasper. The pool of Selene isn't really meant for bathing, but I think in this case an exception can be made, for the good of all of us. I'm sure she'll understand."

“And then," she continued, "after you wash up, thoroughly, we'll rest for the day. The wraiths and wights have been largely taken care of, which means our path is clear. Tonight, I’d like to enter the Tower.”