Magic Murder Cube Marine

Willow waited to be attacked, but whatever lurked in the darkness did not advance.

“Why have you come here, young immortal?” Rasped the creature.

“Someone has taken over hundreds of Brexis' skeletal minions. I'm trying to find a way to stop them before they kill people I care about.” Willow answered, wondering what kind of creature she was dealing with.

The Death Cleric had encountered powerful beings before. But the energy this thing radiated by simply existing made the dark gods look like mayflies. They were the death of nations, this was the death of entire worlds, maybe even entire universes.

“Hmmm… yes.” The darkness considered her answer. “It seems a wight has decided to borrow some of our former citizens.”

Willow swore. Wights were the bane of necromancers everywhere. They were even worse than self righteous Paladins. She tried to relay the information to Francis, but the link had been severed.

Hank was also gone, and Willow didn't think he had left willingly. She hoped that the kobold was alright, wherever he was. Sure, Hank was an evil little lizard man who liked making weapons of mass destruction and death traps in his spare time. But that was what made him vital to Brexis' future.

“I think it might be best if we keep things just between us, for now.” The darkness told her. “Don’t worry, he's not dead. Yet.”

Willow decided to be diplomatic instead of making demands or threats she had no way of backing up. “I don't believe we have been introduced. I'm Willow Wisp, High Priestess of Francis Francis Francis the Third. And who might you be?”

The darkness chuckled. “That is quite a name. Mine is much less pleasing and was lost to time. But if you must call me something, I suppose I will leave the naming up to you.”

The Death Cleric knew she was being tested. She tried to remember the names of the elder gods, the ones that came before. Records were sparse on exactly what had happened. As far as anyone could tell, one day they had simply vanished. This thing was probably one of them, or maybe even the reason behind their disappearance.

The darkness rippled. “I'll tell you what, Willow. Choose a name I like, and I will tell you how to save your friends.”

She decided against choosing a name related to any god. This thing probably ate gods by the handful. She needed something simple, iconic, and powerful. But why did it want her to choose? What was it playing at?

“I wouldn't feel comfortable naming you.” Willow said, leaning on honesty. The whole thing felt like a trap. Say a name, and release the beast. Or something like that.

“That is very wise. I'd say wise beyond your years, Willow Wisp, but you are older than you look.” The darkness receded a bit. “I suppose I should give you something for your troubles. I get so few visitors these days, and I do love meeting new people. Please, feel free to stop by again.”

Shadows wrapped around Willow and when they departed she found herself in front of the palace fountain. Hank was there too, unharmed but lightly traumatized. He was breathing hard and seemed to be in a kind of daze.

The Death Cleric looked down to find that, true to the creature’s word, she had not been sent away empty handed. Written in silver ink on black parchment was a note. She opened it up and began to read.

—

THE WELL IS DEEP, BUT NOT INFINITE.

WATER FLOWS WHERE IT IS NEEDED.

—

She showed the note to the trembling kobold. Hank read it and shook his head. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Neither do I.” Willow admitted as she tried to find the hidden meaning behind the words. There was something tickling at the edge of her mind. But she couldn't concentrate. Every time the Death Cleric thought she was onto something, the noisy fountain broke her concentration.

She turned around and looked at it. “Hey, Hank. You're an engineer. Which of Brexis' systems draws the most power?”

“If by power, you mean magic, that would be the pumps.” The kobold turned to look at the fountain. “Pushing that much water against gravity takes a ton of energy. It's not so bad when the system is already primed, because some of the water flowing downhill acts like a siphon. There are a few cisterns underneath the palace that act as reservoirs. That way the pumps don't have to run all the time.”

“Great!” Willow said, a plan beginning to form in her mind, “Show me.”

***

Meanwhile, Francis was surrounded by skeletons, all of which were trying to kill him. He couldn't reach Willow through their mental link and there were far more skeletons than defenders. All and all, he wasn't having a great time.

Evandrel was off guiding the panicked forest creatures away from the refugees, and the people he left behind to help Francis weren't exactly powerful. Or particularly brave.

The Druids could grasp the basic idea of creating barriers to funnel the skeletons into kill zones. But they weren't trained soldiers. Most of them ran when the walls of earth and thorns fell.

A particularly stubborn hound named Ronan was holding back the skeletons attempting to claw their way through a breach. Ronan was a hundred kilos of pure muscle, with wide shoulders and a thick skull. He could headbutt a skeleton into oblivion without flinching.

“My momma told me I needed to use my head more!” Ronan explained to Jack as he smashed another undead against his massive forehead.

“I don't think that's what she meant!” Jack shouted back. He wasn't sure what to make of the other hound and they hadn't had much time to compare notes. Evandrel had described Ronan as “pure of heart, and dumb of ass”.

Mac reached out to Francis through their link. “I hate to give you bad news, but the rest of the skeletons are almost on top of you. I'd retreat, if I was you.”

“Retreat?” the Marine asked, feeling his blood begin to boil, “Hell, we just got here.”