Even in our time in the Guild, lasting naught for three years sadly, there were indeed some happy memories of adventuring and rewards, even with other guild members we hardly knew. Our first exploration, with a party of five, was an Old Cimbrian ruin that had been discovered by university scholars within the walls of our home city in Normiland. It was a marble mansion filled with ancient memorabilia, buried beneath Queens’ Barrow’s fish market of all places.
No villains laired there. The roach swarms were nothing more than fodder easily dispatched by torchlight and thick boots, and the only monsters we could shake a blade at were the persistent nuisances of abnormally large rats mutated by alchemic waste from the sewers. But the rewards were worth the slog through pox-riddled water and dusty hallways: a plethora of priceless artifacts of the first Trininite Saints, jeweled weapons of Cimbrian nobility, and libraries of knowledge we thought was looted, or destroyed, by marauding orcs long ago. My own sword was among those treasures, or least just the preserved, bronze shards of a centurion’s paramerion. I didn’t mention this before in the report, but something in me compelled me to take those shards back to the surface. I guess a paramerion’s overall design being similar enough to that of my own people’s curved blades was a good incentive. What’s more, the blacksmith had little trouble reforging the bits with an Isyrian blade and sword-guard, and that same blacksmith said what I had found was a very lucky find. In the days of the Old Empire, Cimbrian smiths made their emperor’s blades with a rare type of enchanted bronze ore that’s lethal against demons and jinns. Their blades would shine with a golden light if such monsters were nearby, or so the theory went.

Traveling down the depths of the seemingly consecrated priory reminded me of that day, got me wondering again why I went through the trouble of bringing back a broken heirloom. Maybe it was an intuition telling me that a finessed weapon of war would suit my dignity better than some cloak-and-dagger rubbish that my fellow rogues would employ. Either way, once it was reforged, my new sword turned out to be a wonderful piece of work.

All that Jacq found was an old pair of cobalt bracers, which had left her anticipating the next dive rather than discouraging her. Sometimes, I wish I had her sanguine outlook on life, because I kept thinking there was absolutely nothing impressive or deterrent about that deserted priory. Or nunnery, I guess. After all, what on earth do dusty old houses for monks and nuns usually have to offer? Rosaries?

Maybe it was better that I didn’t know at all, or I might have obeyed my first impulse and not follow Jacq down that rope…

It was some relief to Seetha that her sword didn’t shine any light where they stood; for of all places it was the catacombs, the usual feasting grounds of demonic beings like ghouls and evil spirits. They found another torch hanging from the side of the cracked doorway to light as they headed where the only words scribbled in common upon the wall directed them: vault. At length, the passage twisted round a few turns like a labyrinth, and then began to descend into spiraling steps. It went steadily down for an unsettling moment before it became straight and level once again. The air grew chilly and musty, but it wasn’t stifling, and at times they felt currents of warmer air upon their backs that alleviated the tensity; the source of which most likely came from crevices in the high ceilings. Jacq led from the front with hatchet in hand. Seetha followed close behind her while she ran one hand along the cold, chiseled surface of the carved corridor, so as not to miss any secondary passages or doorways that they might overlook by chance.
“Is this a priory, or a dungeon?” Seetha finally broke the silence, but in a hushed tone so as not to give themselves away to any inhospitable fiend.

“Offhand, I’d say this feels more like a maze,” answered Jacq. They walked on warily, until they halted before a wide arch splitting into three passages. “Well, shut my big mouth,” Jacq sighed discouragingly.

At first glance, all three of the passages seemed to lead in the same general direction, which was northward; but the left-hand passage plunged down a flight of stairs. The right-hand passage, meanwhile, climbed up some stairs, and the middle way appeared to run on, smooth and level but narrow. Jacq held her torch up to see if she could find some marks or signs that might help them decide the next course. Seeing inscriptions written only in the Old Cimbrian tongue was starting to make her regret failing that easy elective from Rourkehaven. The echoing of scratching was a distant thing far behind them, yet close enough that it felt as though it was a swarm of bugs looming overhead. “What do you think?” Jacq looked at Seetha.

The Sword Dancer said nothing, gesturing only in nods and small sounds of pondering: “Hmmm…” As Jacq waited patiently for her companion’s sagacious input, she put her hatchet down momentarily and wrapped the sling she carried it in around the head of her torch to fuel it. As soon as the lighting of their surroundings became moderately better, it didn’t take long for Seetha to come to a decision. “There’s something about the middle way I don’t like,” she said. “It looks a little too inviting, as if trouble could hit us the moment we step down that way; and the smell of the left-handed way is… odd.” Curiously drawn to the left-handed passage, but careful not to step through the doorway, the two women leaned their heads forward slightly to catch the scent in the air floating faintly from out of the stairway. Seetha wrinkled her nose after a whiff: “Rotten eggs.”

“I think that’s what they call sulphur,” deduced Jacq, her senses being sharper than Seetha’s own.

It was enough for the Sword Dancer to withdraw briskly from the left-handed passage. “Then it’s definitely an acid trap, or I’m no Rogue. Let’s try the right-hand passage,” she said. “Looks like these stairs go up in a straight line. At least we’ll be climbing back up this time.”

“Speaking of trouble; we’ve should’ve run into some by now,” said Jacq, looking behind them. “Where did those brigands go?”

“Who knows?” Seetha shrugged, drawing her sword. “They’re either dead, or they went right back at that aforementioned T-junction and got themselves lost, Mother willing. Uh, right as in opposite to left.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jacq smiled.

For five minutes, not counting the brief pauses they took to look for hidden traps, or signs of any brigands or monsters, they climbed up the stairs. Save for their torchlights, they saw nothing. There was no sound, aside from their footsteps and breathing from slight exhaustion, and the scratching sounds had dissipated again. The higher up they climbed, they found that the passage was becoming loftier and wider, further watering their growing anticipation. The steps ended at the foot of a pair of twin doors hewn of Angevin Oak, with intricate decals of silver laced upon the wood like a Lady’s exquisite kirtle. Seeing no locks of any kind raised Jacq’s and Seetha’s spirits and compelled them to rush forward, throwing caution in the wind this time as a sudden rush of excitement took hold of them. Thrusting open the doors inward with a loud creak, great shadows suddenly flew up and melted away as they entered, and before them stood an enormous square chamber. For a second, their gaze shifted upwards at a vast ceiling far above their heads that was crowned by flying buttresses, all held up by four mighty pillars engraved with more Imperial effigies of Sol Invictus.

The square chamber was dimly lit by a circular opening in the ceiling, allowing light to filter down in a pale beam. Despite the presence of chains and hooks hanging like vines from this opening, the two women paid them no mind. A balcony could be seen on the east side, hinting at another level above. As they entered, decades’ worth of lying dust spores were stirred up and danced through the air before settling back onto the piles of treasure scattered across the floor. Coins, goblets, brooches, and swords adorned with pink pearls and sapphires shimmered in the dim light. And there, hidden in the shadows, was a necklace made of white silver that glistened like midnight stars. Jacq and Seetha couldn't even begin to count how long they stood there in speechless awe, their mouths hanging on hinges.

It was Seetha who made the first daring move, subverting her usually cautious behavior. A sense of gold rush had suddenly gripped her now. Setting her torch down, she scooped up a fistful of the dazzling gold coins with a trembling hand as if to test her senses for any illusions. They were faintly warmed by sunlight, but in her hand, though her trek in the cold darkness was only a few hours in passing, they felt like tiny hot cakes.

Jacq was still taking it all in, until her eyes became like moths that were immediately smitten with what was shining in the middle of the chamber, just between the pillars. Her approach was a soft tread on ice, softer than she had ever walked in her whole life of riotous adventuring and carousing revelry, though she did not know, nor understand, why. She could now see that the light of the shaft fell directly over a dais of black marble about two feet high, upon which something was laid in a ceremonial fashion. It was a golden statue: 4’5 in length, polished and smooth as glass, illumined in a yellowish wisp like a beacon in the night, and sculpted in the finely detailed image of a young boy. Human.

“The X that marks the spot,” Jacq recalled. If Seetha was going to say anything to her next, if it pertained to the treasure or what their next plan of action was, Jacq's own discovery had nullified her senses in that brief moment. The statue’s genuine resemblance of a deep repose was canny; so fancifully and startlingly alive he seemed that she could hear his soft breathing through his nose, and her bedazzled eyes saw his diaphragm rising and lowering in a subtly rhythmic pulsation. The wind of Heaven seemed to have etched his hair into perfect waves, his face exuded a sense of tranquil bliss despite being depicted as bound, and helpless. Seeing him this way was an immense despair, stirring in her a protective and fierce beast who had lost and found her cub. From without, some great desire to hold protectively, and aggressively, became apparent upon her longing face. Her conflicting maternal and belligerent instincts, once colliding internally like waves beneath a silver moon, were settled in peace as she continued to gaze upon the statue in silent awe. “He looks so beautiful,” she said softly.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“Yep! A beautiful meal ticket!” Seetha was squeeing and doing a happy little jump. The white silver necklace she snatched bounced on her supple neck. “Sorry that I doubted you, Jacq. Now, let’s find a chest or rug and load it up with as much as we can, then we’ll haul it back to where we came in.”

But Jacq’s couldn’t take her eyes off of the statue. “Why don’t we just take this one?”

Seetha walked over to Jacq’s side. “Sure—as long as you’re carrying it,” she chuckled dryly. “Shouldn’t be a problem with your big, gorilla arms.”

Jacq mockingly raised an eyebrow: “Wow, frowny browny has a sense of humor after all!”

“Maybe I’ve been holding back on your behalf,” Seetha winked. She ran her fingertips along the statue’s cold, smooth surface. Credit where credit was due, at the least, to the artist who made a mirror image of a child; a boy frozen in blissful repose, his definition and tone seemingly unattainable by anything in real life. Even in the stillness of cold gold, he seemed to breathe serenity and warmth.

“Quite an unusual treasure this,” Seetha mused aloud.

“You better believe it,” smiled Jacq, who was at that point released from her bedazzlement. “I’ll bet not even the Empress herself has anything like this.” Intrigued, she gave the shoulder of the statue a few hard knocks. Thud, thud thud! “Huh, it’s solid,” she said in wonder.

“Now that I don’t believe,” remarked Seetha. “No one has ever casted a statue completely out of gold since Old Cimbri, not even of this size. Bizarre…” She then took a more perceptive look at the golden statue. Her sense of wonder then turned into a sense of dread. It was becoming more concerning how detailed everything about the statue was, from what he was wearing to what was on him, for his ankles appeared to be bound together by golden rope and tied to a rock, which was also chiseled out of gold. His wrists laid behind his back like a criminal in manacles, and some sort of gag was formed over his small mouth.

“He looks like a lamb dressed up for the slaughter,” said Seetha with a distasted expression. Yet, it was odd to her that he was not striking the pose of a struggling, unwilling victim, as sacrificial victims were usually depicted in such macabre sculptures. “Who on earth would make something like this?”

“Maybe someone who didn’t like pagans,” said Jacq with a mutual reaction.

“What makes you think this was sculpted after a pagan?”

“By his outfit, but he’s not one of my people. He looks… he might be Avalonian.”

“Avalonian?”

“They were a tribe of the first humans who crossed the Sea of Tyrants long ago, settled in Northern Angevin and Eriu,” Jacq explained. “From what little I remember about them, they were my distant relatives. They were great warriors, but being without iron weapons for protection, and unable to contend with the dwarf clans who dwelled in the highlands or the orcs tribes of the southern moorlands, they took refuge in the mist-wreathed forests. There, it was said the Faire-folks taught them to be mound builders and sun worshippers.”

“And teaching them no sense of modesty, I see,” Seetha raised an eyebrow. “I mean, just look at the way he’s dressed! I don’t know what could kill him first: pneumonia, the first arrow that hits him, or his embarrassment.”

Jacq rolled here eyes. “It was a different time then—I mean, it’s a cultural thing among us pagans.”

“Well, we can discuss the blurred lines between cultural and proper attire after we get this out of here.”

The two women looked again around the chamber; noticing that beneath the second level hung a single exquisite banner, browned and tattered along its fraying edges with its faded sigil covered in dust. “Maybe we can use that to wrap golden boy here in,” said Seetha.

“Great! I’ll have it down in a hare of a sec,” Jacq said enthusiastically, twirling her hatchet in one hand.

“Hold it, hold it!” Seetha quickly rushed ahead of her. “I’ll cut it down.”

“What?” Jacq looked at her indignantly. “Why you?”

“Because,” said Seetha, “Mother knows how old that banner is, and the last thing we need is for a pack of bandits on the road to see a golden head sticking out through some holes before we reach Ashinghamm, all because you got too blade-happy.”

As she turned and made her way towards the banner, sword arm raised, an object flew past her at lightning speed. The loud chopping sound of a rope being cut echoed through the stone chamber. The heavy cloth that had been hanging from its place now fell to the ground with a loud thud. A cloud of dust rose up in a puff, engulfed the Sword Dancer's surprised face, causing her to cough and furiously brush it away. She turned to face the snickering Barbarian with disdain in her green eyes.

“Well,” Jacq shrugged, “at least I didn't miss my- wait, why is your sword glowing?”

At first, Seetha didn't notice anything unusual. But then she caught a glimpse of shimmering light through the dust cloud and realized it was coming from her right hand. Her heart skipped a beat as she and Jacq stared at it in shock and silence.

Just then, a rising sound of scurrying, scratching feet was hurrying up from the stairway through the twin doors. Whatever it was—the chamber suddenly grew cold.

“That can’t be good,” said Jacq dreadfully. Without another moment of hesitation, she ran to retrieve the banner and dragged over it to the dais with one hand.

“What are you doing? Seetha protested. “Forget the gold! We have to get out of here!”

“None of us are gonna get very far without this! Here, I’ll hold the statue up while you wrap him in this,” said Jacq, but Seetha was still hesitant. “C’mon!”

Snapping out of her frozen state, Seetha ran to the center of the chamber to help, not knowing whether she was out of her mind or if she was mad. Spurred on by newfound fear pulsing through her veins, she quickly took one end of the banner and wrapped him up as though he was a desert queen in a rug, all under a few seconds.

“Okay, he’s wrapped up, now what?” she asked.

“As we came in, I thought I saw an old hoist or something up there,” Jacq pointed with her torch to what appeared to be a wooden wheel on the second floor. “If you can get up there, and lower those chains above us down, I’ll link the chains around the statue and we’ll hoist ourselves up through the—

Two brigands in leather armor sprang through the twin doors in alarm, both weaponless and stricken with sheer horror, as though they had pulled on the Azdahag’s tail himself.

“Shut the doors!” cried the taller brigand, the rogling. Without quarreling on matters of superiority, the second brigand slammed his shoulder against both doors, barring them tight with his empty sword sheath by sliding it through the ring handles. The second brigand was shorter, human, and both he and his comrade stumbled backwards with their backs against the center chamber.

“There! I-I don’t think they can…” said the breathless rogling.

“Hello boys!” came a cheery voice. The two brigands whirled around in a start, surprised to see an Isyrian woman with a shimmering sword, and a Rüzgârian woman of all people, standing defiantly over their ill-gotten prize. Before words were exchanged, there was a thunderous pounding on the doors. Crash after crash came, like a ram beating against it. The once still air was broken by scurrying, screeching, and scratching fury from the other side. Whatever it was trying to get through, or whatever they were, was enough to make two hardened crooks stagger back, and though the two warrior women had yet to be acquainted with the unseen menace, still they shuddered.

“What the hell is that?” Jacq demanded. ‘Or are there more of them?”

“How the hell should we know?!” the second brigand hissed back.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” said the rogling suspiciously, retreating slowly back towards the far side and against the stone wall.

“We could ask you the same thing,” Seetha said standoffish. “But there’s no time to argue; we have—

A heavy thud threatened to break the doors apart but they held on, though not for long.

“Oh, the hell with it—Jacq!” Seetha called. “Boost, now!” Without another moment, the Barbarian ran under the balcony, bending one knee for the Sword Dancer to climb onto her shoulder. As the two hapless brigands watched on, Jacq engaged her muscular core and pushed Seetha upward; and in one try she caught the ledge of the balcony with both hands.

“Made it!” Seetha cried, pulling herself up and vaulted over.

Just as Seetha was quickly beginning to study the mechanisms of the wheel and its two leavers, another crash on the doors came that shook them; something like a great shadow peering through the door slits was beginning to grind them slowly open, breaking the makeshift door-bar apart like a stick. The two brigands stared back with wide-eyed terror. On its last legs, the door’s wooden frames cracked and split in dozens of places. The second brigand was edging closer to the dais when suddenly, the doors faltered with a high pitched crack, and the driving horror that was trying to get in finally tore through, pouring into the chamber. Jacq gripped her torch tighter than ever.