For the Record

“Are you sure this isn’t a mistake, Callian?”

I side-eye my party mage as she attempts to subtly whisper in my ear, short for an eldra despite retaining their stereotypical willowy build.

“Maybe, but we need a healer. What are we supposed to do? She’s the only available one here.”

Ever since the new dungeon was discovered, adventurers covering support roles have been in short supply – a significant issue considering the difficulty within.

Healers are especially lacking in number.

And then there’s this one…

“And she comes with a vanguard, we can’t ignore that as well,” I continue quietly.

Meanwhile, the diminutive scaled… thing continues smiling that unsettling smile, seemingly watching us despite her heavy blindfold. Her darkly stained white robe doesn’t help the situation, and neither does her lack of staff… don’t healers normally have some kind of holy symbol or artifact or something?

“I don’t need one.”

“Ah, of course, you don’t need-WHAT!?”

I stare in confusion and a little fear as the creature simply continues smiling at me. Maybe Rosalie is right. This is a mistake…

And her accompanying so-called vanguard is still hiding behind her. Is she even going to be of any use? The agility tank has just been looking concernedly between my existing party members since we approached the pair.

Granted, considering both of their shadows keep wavering, there’s definitely something off. I’ve seen that before from adventurers with Skills that conceal familiars or other individuals altogether.

Maybe they’re adventurer hunters, I don’t know, but if we’re going to keep delving we really don’t have a choice.

“Who did you say your patron was again?”

And that unsettling smile gets even bigger and somehow more unsettling.

“Why, the one who hungers eternal in her never-ending slumber, of course!”

***

…And then she ranted about how wonderful her ‘Queen of Hunger’ was for what felt like a full hour.

Maybe this really is a mistake! But at least we’re making progress. We’ve already made it halfway through the second floor of this dungeon… seemingly organized around the standard collection of goblins, kobolds, and undead. Not particularly imaginative considering these are supposedly the gods’ creations or whatever, but the experience is good at least, and so is the gold.

I’m looking forward to exchanging it for enni. Why do dungeons reward in gold, anyway? It doesn’t seem to make much sense considering we’ll need to exchange it regardless.

Anyway… most of my party have gained at least one level along the way so far, bringing our average above three-hundred. Not bad for a relatively high-powered party, but still nowhere as high as we’ve wanted. We did practice to become gods together after all.

The strange healer – Ravona, apparently – has for her part been sufficient in her role.

If unsettling, like everything else about her. Her healing skills mostly involve strange words that seem to drip with a disastrous power, accompanied by black clouds of dust – at least I think it’s dust. I’m not really sure.

And that vanguard… yes, she’s effective, and surprisingly high damage output for a tank considering they’re usually defense-focused… but she cries after every encounter. Why? I can’t help but think she’s been through some kind of trauma, especially related to killing. But the precision she uses to dissect our foes shows a great deal of experience, especially with the layout of a humanoid body.

Almost as if she’s accustomed to inflicting the maximum amount of pain and suffering before ending monsters’ lives.

But again… discomfort aside, they’re effective additions to our party. Although they’ve also acted in a way that makes it clear they consider themselves to be permanent additions.

Well, whatever. As long as they don’t redirect the party focus I’m fine with that. It’s not like they’ll make Frederick fall from grace or something. He’s quite satisfied with being a Paladin of Themis, and I doubt he’s keen to lose the accompanying benefits.

…

Although I still wonder why she wears that blindfold all the time. Maybe she has empty eye sockets or something? I don’t know. And I’m pretty sure she can see perfectly well around us even with it… maybe it’s a magic item…

“So, why exactly do you wear a blindfold all the time? Wouldn’t you be much more effective without it?” Frederick asks out of nowhere.

Because of course he does!

“Hm?” Ravona replies, slowly turning her head to face the large man. “Ah. Yes, I see. I understand.”

And then she gestures grandly to our party. “None of you have used Identify on me, have you? I was sure you would have by now, I do suppose humans have a strange… aversion to using information Skills on each other without being explicitly told to do so, yes? It was true even many years ago, so some old traditions clearly remain. Well then… go ahead. You have my permission.”

Three pairs of eyes promptly flash a telltale gray, as if a few simple words are all they were waiting for.

[Gorgon (Ancient) – Ravona (Shaman) – Level ???]

“Wait, I thought you were a priest of some kind,” Rosalie comments.

The monster tilts her head in a way that might be coy from… almost anyone else. “My goodness, whatever gave you that impression?”

“The way you presented yourself as a healer at the Adventurer’s Guild. Shamans are typically offensive or curse-based support Classes… they usually just buff and debuff and contribute to battle like that,” I answer.

“I suppose some of us do, yes, but not all. No, not all indeed! Especially of the old blood.”

I furrow my brow. “How old, exactly?”

My gaze stays locked on Ravona while I weather my party mage’s disbelieving stare. Why are women so weird about asking their age?

“I haven’t really thought of age in a long time, I’ll admit… but for your benefit, I suppose I’ll answer.”

After a moment of what is visibly deep thought she answers, “Perhaps around one-thousand, seven-hundred and forty? Give or take a decade or two. I’m afraid that the passage time means little once you’ve accrued a certain number of centuries. You understand, yes?”

…

She doesn’t seem to be bothered by the collective stares and instead gently tugs at her vanguard’s hand until she leans down for the absolutely ancient gorgon to tousle her hair.

“And what exactly is your relationship?” Frederick asks, apparently having shaken off his share of the stupor.

“Is it not obvious? This one is my wife. She’s rather strong, no?”

“Truly?” Rosalie asks. “Voluntarily?”

“Well,” Ravona chuckles, “perhaps not at first.”

And then her hand traces downward from the top of the warrior’s head to rest on her cheek. The unspeaking vanguard gently leans into the caress. “As you can see, she certainly has no objections now, and for many years seemed far more understanding and attached to me than I her… although I’d argue the feeling is mutual now. Well, considering the rampages I once went on while she was missing. Oh those were the times indeed! But I digress, a mob of goblins are approaching from that tunnel,” she says while pointing to one side of the T intersection in front of us. “We should prepare ourselves for conflict, yes?”

***

After we easily dispatch our most recent quarry, Rosalie treads quietly alongside me to again whisper in my ear… a thing that the shaman definitely notices.

And the vanguard… what kind of Class is she anyway? I don’t even know her name.

“They’re way too powerful. Do you think they’re holding back? They have to be,” she mutters, tickling the hairs in my ear – an annoyance I’ve always had to deal with as an olum, alongside the short stature and all the rest of the body hair. It gets caught in my armor! Absolutely obnoxious.

“Most likely. I still can’t see the gorgon’s level, it must be far, far above ours.”

We are only in the high hundreds at this point, after all. My old master did warn me to watch out for monsters at one point, at great length at that.

“And who exactly was your master?” one of the selfsame monsters asks out of nowhere. I keep forgetting that it seems to read my thoughts…

“An old arcane lockpicker by the name of Elobahn. You probably haven’t heard of him, he died in a back alley in the most wretched part of Grayhaven you could probably imagine. Well, unless you’ve been there I suppose, the entire plane has fallen on hard times apparently, though we certainly never did get many humans there.”

…

Is it just me or did her smile get bigger?

“Did he perhaps warn you of demons that walk as man that steal the very soul, contract or no?”

That makes me stop walking outright. “Wait, what do you know? That was way too specific.”

As she walks past me without the sound of footsteps she says, “He was an annoyance who once dared to threaten me, as well as my family. It both pleases and disappoints me to know he’s dead.”

And then I catch a brief brush of something… wrong. Taking quick account of myself, sure enough, something took some of my mana. Not much, but enough to notice.

“What just happened?” I ask as I start walking again, this time keeping the gorgon ahead of me where I can see her, with that mysterious vanguard still clinging silently to her.

“You stood too close. If you had arcane sight or any kind of magic detection Skill, you would know,” and then she goes silent.

“Is that an invitation?” Rosalie asks.

Ravona simply shrugs, so my party mage whips through the incantation for her magic detection.

“You’re… you’re continuously draining mana from her, aren’t you?”

“Very astute. Yes, it gives her some comfort. I’m afraid that your rogue simply stood too close for a brief moment.”

Frederick choose then to chime in with another question. “You’re undead though, aren’t you? I thought your kind were just bodies animated by mana, won’t she fall apart if you drain her too far?”

A chuckle is his answer.

…Followed by, “Some undead are far too strong to die from mere mana deficiency.”

Sure. Yeah, nothing to worry about here.

Nothing at all.

Ha.

Haha.

***

Not much later, we set up camp. It’s clear that our ‘much too powerful undead’ don’t need it, but they humor us lowly living beings with nightly rest. We have a magic device that warns us of time of day so we won’t have to worry about being out of sync with the surface world, and it chimed not long ago.

And sure enough, they set up their own tent. Which, is strange enough in itself, considering most dungeon delvers don’t bother with tents; it’s a visual obstruction that could leave the party open to ambush, even discounting the fact that it’s more dead weight to carry. And the dimensional storage space is often best used for additional equipment and for gathering loot. We are in a dungeon, after all, and most only enter one for experience or profit.

And we are here for both.

“Soup’s done,” Frederick says, interrupting my thoughts.

We’re already sitting in a circle when it occurs to me that we might want to make extra efforts to stay on the monsters’ good sides… they’re certainly strong enough that they could be that old ‘secret boss’ trope the older adventurers drawl on about with a tremble of fear in their voices, the ones who learn parties’ strengths and weaknesses and use them all against you in the deepest depths of the dungeon.

I admittedly wouldn’t be at all surprised if these two were at this point.

But that’s neither here nor there.

“Rosalie,” I say, “go invite those two to the table.”

“Why me?” she blurts in shock.

Frederick shrugs. “Why not? I’m busy serving, it would make sense for one of you two to handle it.”

The party mage silently glares at me for a moment before letting out a massive sigh. “Fine. I’ll do it, whatever. You owe me big if I die here.”

After plodding over to our most recent party members’ resting space the eldra quietly says at the flaps, “We’ve made some soup, you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

…

There’s clearly no answer…

And then she suddenly opens one of the flaps, goes white as a sheet, and silently recloses it.

She rejoins us just as silently, sits, and stares blankly at the metal bowl the paladin hands her.

…

…

And doesn’t touch the contents.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” I say through a mouthful of boiled and seasoned carrots and barley. “What did you see in there? Something as crazy as everything else, right?”

Her eyes don’t leave her uneaten meal, although she does answer.

Very quietly.

“I… thought I heard something inside the tent, something quiet. I thought… I thought something might be wrong, so I looked.”

“And…?”

Rosalie finally looks up at me, her gaze somewhat hollow. “A hole in the plane, quietly drawing in air. Something that should not be. Something that shouldn’t even be possible.”