I spend the break in quiet contemplation, and the team does the same save for a few shared quips between the reconciled Jade and Windy, mostly at Angelus' expense.
Far from the invigorating jaunt I really wish it was after the better part of a week cooped up in my office, this excursion is nothing if not cramped and uncomfortable. It's also highlighted our pressing need for more frontline tanks to assist Windy. I can do the job of Off-Tank to an extent, but if my experiences as a Skirmish Tank are called upon, like it was to deal with the alarm system, she's got to deal with it more or less by herself.
Under ideal circumstances, Olrica would have been the one to run ahead to deal with the 'Greedlost Fools', but her gear and Level just aren't up to snuff yet. Trusting them all to handle themselves without me would be more expedient, I judged, and my decision was fortunately vindicated. I didn't even need to do all that much by the time I got back.
Of course, they were never truly in danger - the Zomn probably would have intervened if she thought the expedition was doomed to failure otherwise - but it's nice to see that even if some of the people are swapped out, the core I've helped build-up is able to perform admirably in less than ideal circumstances.
Hope for the future, given that I can't rely on poaching the unaffiliated up-and-coming Saints and Sages. They're far too independent-minded on the whole, only swayed by staggering wealth and opportunities which I can't yet provide. Or refuse to, for one reason or another.
Speaking of development and Olrica, Truthseekers also needs to set up an intelligence division. Opportunities for the Infamous in Meteo and nearby being all but crushed makes developing them properly difficult. If we want to start a Syndicate - the Infamous equivalent of an Offical Guild - or interact with that world at all, we're going to need to look further beyond the Southern Provinces than I'd like. Hell, even the Empire as a whole.
The further north you go, the harder it is for organised crime to escape the imperial government's notice. Generations of propaganda have made it such that you'd be ratted out with a smile for a pat on the head from a soldier by your neighbour if you so much as tried to brew your own alcohol for personal use without a licence. If you even had the presence of mind to entertain such thoughts at all.
The actual criminals, meanwhile, are almost all disposables with several degrees of separation exclusively controlled by the nobility or government officials for their power struggles. Control, being the name of the game, regardless of the corruption inherent. Not the corruption with a capital 'C', mind.
Or so I'd hope - Hatred and superstition about that affect the criminal underworld of Merrow almost as much as the general public.
It works, though. Despite it all, the Empire stands...mostly...stable, at least on Firmament.
Less so elsewhere. Maomanu's archipelagoes have historically chafed at Imperial occupation.
The Kingdom of Ghoath comes to mind as the best opportunity available to us in the short-term to engage in and develop through clandestine operations; Working with various underground movements who are sick to the bone of their nobility and government, but lacking any real power to effect substantial change.
Much as I'd prefer to work that angle in the vast lands of the Empire, it would mean placing a valuable asset meant to exercise a freedom Truthseekers itself cannot have by design into the stables of some Central Province higher-up's pet saboteurs and spies, which defeats the purpose.
On the bright side, sending them to Ghoath to further our interests in that fashion is probably more efficient with respect to the sort of work they'd find available, freeing up the rest of us to head northwest into the Arborstone Expanse. There's not a whole lot there in terms of opportunities, but it comes with less red tape and expenses than the curated dungeons of the Central Provinces, even if logistically it's a headache.
Depending on what Horizon Chaser finds in the meantime, our plans may need to take a detour, but I digress.
"You appear deep in thought," Morn's soft-spoken observation drags my attention outward.
"A habit I've picked up in recent days," I reply, taking a moment to glance at my Stamina levels, "I'll be sure to share them later, however, we should get back to work."
I raise my voice as I rise to my feet, dragging my sword with me, "That should be plenty of time to rest! Get everything squared away and back into formation."
???, Liggit Mine's Depths
Bizarrely, after descending even further below ground the air quality actually starts to increase. My best guess is that somewhere on the surface there's a separate ventilation shaft or the like feeding down here. Not to the point where it's indistinguishable from the surface, but it's not quite as thin and heavy as I feared it was becoming.
Us players don't need to worry about the health ramifications of being down here for months yet, but we still need sufficient breathable air to function. That much is faithfully simulated.
The alternative explanation is, of course, magic. Being dozens of metres below ground doesn't mean you can't come across a pocket of ambient mana aspected to Elemental Wind, which in turn generates a breathable atmosphere. Getting hung up on expectations of reality based on Earth physics when magic is involved is just asking to give yourself a migraine.
"D'you hear that?" Reit questions, half-hushed.
"Like scraping on stone?" Jade asks back, as I also pick up on the noise.
"There must be something ahead," I declare, peering into the dim tunnel ahead, "This is a little ways past where I had to go. Odds are, if we take Miner's Nightmare for reference, that the Vacantsoul Foreman is up ahead. One would hope."
"How deep are we?" Olrica wonders, "Must be at least a mile down, right?"
"Maybe a third that," Jade replies thoughtfully, "Mmm...I'd say about 400 metres at most just vertically, buuuut...if we go by actual distance travelled through this godforsaken mess of tunnels, maybe a mile wouldn't be far off, yeah."
"We've been steadily moving east as well, closer to where I presume to be the place Arevas is imprisoned," I add, then raise my hand to bring the conversation to a stop, "Get ready for combat either way."
Zomn Klaeriss elects to stay in the tunnel as we slowly exit into a halfway familiar, large room, though compared to the one we fought the Vacantsoul Foreman in, it's definitely larger, chunks of rock scratched impotently away from the walls haphazardly, indentations at head height beaten into the stone as if from a hammer.
It's oddly well-lit as well, luminescence emanating from the crystalline veins that twist through the Terrorstone comprising the confines.
In such a space, sound doesn't echo, but it travels well. The origin of the scraping noise that had been steadily growing louder is the opposite end of the room, where a rather motley abomination reminiscent of the tunnel blockage we initially encountered stands. The skeletal remnants of the Vacantsoul Foreman shuffle excruciatingly slowly and clumsily along, dragging behind it a cloak of stone-nested corpses clawing over one another and clinging desperately to the Foreman itself, clutching so tightly to its legs that fingers puncture bone, arms weave through its broken and distended ribs, it's arms faring no better.
It punches its bony fist into a wall as it passes, screeching with palpable frustration when it yields nothing. Curious behaviour, but still grotesquely pitiful.
"I want the backliners circling the room's perimeter, Windy, pull it into the dead-centre of the room, we'll start out by assuming similar conditions to the original Vacantsoul Foreman, but stay alert for any differences," I instruct quietly, "If any roaming enemies appear, I'll handle it alone, Olrica I want you to focus on dealing with any adds it summons as per the original fight while everyone else continues to focus the boss. You're all permitted to drink a dose of Dacthulyne Prescipience since the Vacantsoul Foreman's room-wide is Psychic damage, and if a burst phase opens up, I'll make a judgment call on whether we should drink one of our temporary Attribute enhancement draughts. Use your judgment on whether or not using the phial of Minor Kindness of Lesana is necessary, though Angelus and Karin, as I can't be expected to keep track of the healing requirements."
I frown privately beneath my helmet, my anxiety and reluctance bleeding into the tone of my voice, "...Each dose of that one, in particular, cost us 7 Stone Gold and 38 Stone Silver, not including transport for the box. So be decisive, but not wasteful. Are we ready?"
"Ready."
"Yep."
"Ready to go."
...
I prepare to charge forward, slightly hunched, flamberge raised, then shifting into a closer, more aggressive slashing guard after reconsidering my approach. The sword specialises in sticking and exacerbating bleeding in opponents, but since the monster ahead doesn't have blood, added to its size and composition, slamming the former foreman with brute force will yield better results even if the blade isn't suited to those tactics. I've already outgrown it, so anything I can leverage with the handicap in place goes, even if it risks blunting and breaking the sword.
I've asked Horizon Chaser to keep an eye out for a replacement, whether a Schematic or a finished product, while she tours the Central Provinces.
Among other things, but enough about that, I need to clear my head of unnecessary clutter, "Standby to fully engage. Start the attack, Windy."
Windy shoots off before I finish speaking, her running gait a little clumsy. Still needs work, same as everyone, but she's got spirit, even if she doesn't recognise it.
Remembering her previous encounters, she first swings at the large chunk of Terrorstone that constituted the Vacantsoul Foreman's core and weakness, eliciting a wail of pain and anguish from the monster that feels too close to my ears for comfort. Counting the swings and estimating the damage based on the information we've shared, I wait for ten good hits to land. Three. Four. Six.
It struggles to move with any dexterity, but when it finally does overcome the dragging hands of its passengers, the skeletal fist of the monster swings out with surprising force and reach, hooking smoothly around Windy's raised shield to crash into her helmeted face. She staggers back a step but holds, stabbing again. Seven.
Windy starts moving back to the designated spot now that she has its attention. Eight. Nine.
Good enough.
I make the call, "Get into position and start the attack, go!"
The building tension in my legs releases, and within a scant few steps, I've closed the distance, moving to the monster's flank on the same side as Windy's shield. The others are obviously much slower, so I hold my attack. Absent the benefits afforded by Reaver's passive, there's no need to be hasty.
It has yet to do anything unique, but it's a matter of time.
And sure enough, it stops trying to throw punches at Windy, bristling with power that gushes towards me, engulfing my legs and climbing to my he-
???
I can't see anything anymore, the lanternlights are out of oil and the tunnel is blocked. I don't know what to do...Serte? Please! Where is the exit? You have to know! You have to! I can't s-
I shake off the vestiges of the unfamiliar memory, noting that I've moved a step closer in the meantime.
"You alright there?" Olrica questions, jumping over the creature.
"Yes, I was able to resist the compulsion," I grumble, then raise my voice, "Be aware, that was a compulsion ability, anyone affected will be forced to approach the boss while reliving its memories, if you're targeted, make space between it and restrain each other as needed!"
As for what happens if you reach the boss while affected, I have an inkling. Its failure, however, appears to have offended it, and it gathers that murky ambient magical energy into itself once again, then throwing out another surge of that same power, this time headed straight to Oil.
"<Beacon of Salvation>!" Angelus similarly erupts with luminescence, getting to use a Skill he rarely finds himself needing to use. Oil is still overcome by the compulsion, shambling forth, but clearly resisting it. Unlike me, however, he can't completely break free.
I get the impression that it will continuously attempt to drag someone in until it works. Recalling my experiences in the past with this sort of thing, messing with a Psychic spellcasting specialist, the second-best option next to having a strong enough mind to ignore their interference is to disrupt the caster's focus. The same goes for all magic users, really, but mental magic users are particularly vulnerable.
We don't have anything capable of hard crowd controlling the creature - who would need very specific types thanks to its unusual composition - so my best guess is just hitting it hard enough and restraining Oil's advance.
"Olrica, restrain him," I order quickly, "Everyone else, pile on the damage!"
Worst comes to worst, we're down two people for much of the fight, whether it swaps targets or not. I hack away at its back all the same, chunking off an average of 600 damage with every swing. The creature isn't moving around, so there's no need to pull any fancy maneuvers. Such is the early game, to be honest.
It's a good target for venting some of my pent-up stress, though, given that I can't really justify punching those smug 'third-generation rich' posers.
In no time at all, something curious happens while we whale on it - one of the persistent barnacle-like corpses that make up its macabre cape loses its grip and rolls off, screeching bloody murder. Immediately, a Fragment of Independence starts forming nearby, and it's not hard to put two and two together.
First, I activate Ruthless Trifecta, taking an overhead swing at the detached Greedlost Fool's head, halting the arc on contact, drawing it back and stabbing it through. It dies before I need to execute the third swing, making it less of a Trifecta all-in-all, but at the very least the cooldown is lowered to compensate for the wasted finisher.
"I'll handle the adds!" I inform the group, charging down the fully-formed Fragment. In the midst of dealing with the unwelcome addition, my ears prick, and I notice the scraping noise of stone on stone is still present. Which is curious, given that neither the boss nor the Fragment are...
Backstepping to avoid the clumsy swipe of a sledgehammer, I quickly cast my gaze around the cave, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but find nothing. It's getting louder, I feel.
Hopping back in, I slice the haft of the Fragment's core body, snapping it.
Congratulations, your party has defeated a Fragment of Independence(Elite)!
Awarding 12600 Experience.
I side-eye the reduced Experience I get for slaying the demon, ambivalent.
Sighing, I mutter under my breath and strain my ears, eyes shut, "No sense getting hung up on it. Now, where is that racket coming from..?"
A quirk of Perception (and, honestly, most of the physically-oriented basic Attributes) is that, even if by rights a person with high enough values could potentially spot the hair on a flea's back from miles away, you need to specifically focus on doing so for that enhanced vision to come into effect. Same for hearing, touch, and so on. Human bodies in Reality operate on the same principle, for the most part, to prevent our conscious minds from being overwhelmed by information.
The echo is throwing me off, my senses are certainly not terrible - my Perception is almost certainly numerically higher after all - but I lack the accuracy and inherent traits to make best use of it. I can only rely on my ingrained instincts to intuit the correct course of action in scenarios like this.
Since I can't see it, but I can hear it in our immediate proximity, it must have a stealth ability. It follows, logically, that the source of the sound in question must be...the only thing from Miner's Nightmare I know to have that capability, Trophytaker.
"Oh, that's not good," I curse when I realise what's closing in on us. Absent the artifice of a dungeon, monsters are free to roam a lair as they see fit according to their individual behaviours. Trophytaker, the second boss of that dungeon, is therefore not confined to his own room further down, it has no reason to not go in search of 'prey' to satisfy its urge to collect severed heads now that an opportunity has presented itself after so long trapped underground.
"Hrr...ffffine..." I exhale hoarsely, tension rising under my skin, only halted when I notice that Oil has escaped the compulsion debuff, "Heads up! We've got a 'Gatecrasher'!"
One of the slang words for wandering bosses from my time - self-explanatory really.
"Trophytaker is headed our way, stealthed," I clarify for the benefit of anyone slow on the uptake, "I'll intercept while you deal with the first boss, keep any adds and mind control victims suppressed!"
Ill-equipped or not, scenarios like this are my speciality. Duelling with Gatecrasher-type enemies was my entire raison d'être as a Skirmish Tank, so I can't help but feel a little nostalgic as I kick off towards the tunnel leading further down into the Lair, fully confident for good reason.
Stood at the precipice, the scraping noise is indeed much more pronounced, echoed and distorted though it is. Either by the terrain or a Skill, it doesn't account for the intensity of the sound in either case, which gives Trophytaker away - or whatever it has become, since the creature I'm familiar with was, though simple-minded, far more subtle.
Perhaps it's meant to impart a sense of looming dread?
Whatever the case, I ready my blade, peering into the darkness. Breathing steadily, I wait for my chance, leaving my back to my colleagues and trusting they don't need me to overcome the challenge before them. Perhaps more importantly, choosing to trust my own judgment as a leader.
Waiting.
Louder.
Waiting.
I stab at what looks to be empty air. A hazy shadowy form dripping with black fluid appears, arms completely overtaken by terrorstone scythes more resembling a praying mantis or perhaps more apt would be...a pair of featherless wings, cancerous growth covered-bone roughly sharpened.
Since I guided my thrust towards centre-mass out of habit like an idiot, it did less than chip damage, hitting its barely corporeal form, the tip of the flamberge sucked in stickily like thick mud. It doesn't even register the hit.
Yanking it out with a small show of force, my intended backstep is interrupted by an inhuman shriek emanating from behind me, catching me midstep and forcing me to stagger clumsily. Trophytaker swipes one of its wings as though expecting the support, meeting my blocking sword.
-799
-329
8147/9275
I grit my teeth, pushing back the monster and moving back into the room as initially planned. That combo just chunked around 10% of my total Health. Not enough to worry me - I barely felt a tickle - but I have to bear that room-wide shockwave in mind when it comes to my Health management. I can stay above 1000 Health or so and still be 'safe' so long as I block Trophytaker's attack.
Its other appendage follows me, unfurling unnaturally to lance at my throat unexpectedly. Despite obviously being weighed down by its own excessive mass, it's still fully capable of explosive movement befitting its former, assassin-like archetype. Tanking a hit to a vital area is not an option, so I bend back and twist out of the way - a manoeuvre that would be exceedingly difficult to pull off pre-RotA, and still leaves the sharpened stone scratching along my collar.
I'm fast, certainly, especially for my Level; But it's not so egregious I can comfortably deal with a Boss monster in my Level range single-handedly. Not without the Skills and Equipment to back it up, or at the very least not with a second Boss behind me.
Swinging my upper body under the outstretched wing, I take an upward arcing swing at the other sickle and correct my posture. I can't abuse my reach as well as expected it seems, so I change tactics. Rather than try to maintain distance and the sanctity of my flamberge's Territory, I'll try and exploit its apparent clunkiness by outmanoeuvring it in close proximity. Not ideal, considering my choice of weapon.
Stable again, I circle the creature, probing for weaknesses and its response time to being flanked. Not disappointing my expectations, it's able to take advantage of its strange physiology to partially ignore the limitations that would have affected a thing of flesh and bone, rotating and slashing at bizarre angles no matter where I stand in proximity.
I can't quite exploit it like I did to the Pack Exile not long ago. Doesn't help that it occasionally flickers out of existence, returning to stealth until I hit it again.
It is, I discover, still notably slower when at it's 7 O'clock and 4 O'clock, a little lopsided, the right-side wing much heavier than the counterpart to lift, but stronger and faster once positioned to attack like the added Terrorstone were analogous to greater muscle mass.
As a partially artificial magic construct, there might be some truth to that observation, allowing it to store more magical power within the Corrupted ore, a common characteristic of especially low-grade magical ore, along with a brittleness that requires more mundane metal to alloy with it like iron.
-799
7342/9275
The shockwave of Psychic damage erupts again, and I mark the interval internally. Not caught off-guard this time, I continue to occupy its blind spots as much as I can, parrying the slower attacks and beating a hasty retreat from its stronger reprisals. Not clear as to how much of a dent I've put in its Health.
From my position behind it, I squint towards my group, finding it hard to make out details from over here for some reason. They're definitely struggling, Angelus' Skill has gone on cooldown by now, and it's left to him to hold back Karin as best he can, putting her head in an armlock and tossing out healing Spells to Windy with the other, the poor girl needing to tank an extra three Fragments of Independence while Olrica and the rest try to put down the 5th Greedlost Fool to slough off the main Boss's back. Four remain, and I infer that they correspond to Health thresholds.
Blow everything on the boss and get punished with adds that call in even more adds, huh?
They're managing, for now.
I settle into a rhythm after a further minute or three, making judicious usage of Ruthless Trifecta whenever it came off cooldown. The final hit, being partially magical in nature, does an impressive 1.6k damage on average even with a blunt toothpick. The edge of the flamberge is, by now, close to ruined and even if I took it back to the forge the structure in several spots is compromised. Not that I have the freedom to check the durability on it, but I'll bet that the maximum has reduced accordingly.
Brittle stone or not, a mediocre, unenchanted blade will roll, crack and flatten with enough usage, and I must have pumped over 20k damage into it by now.
Not sure how long I've been fighting, but I'm running out of Stamina, and the others have entered the final stretch on their problem on their last legs.
I bite my lip, then swallow my reluctance back, "Buff potions authorised! Finish that thing off quickly, we're running out of steam fast!"
It takes a moment for my words to register, but those with the freedom to do so comply, renewing their efforts to traverse the home stretch and cross the finish line. I'd do the same, but I have my hands regrettably full at the moment, dancing around Trophytaker and holding my sword steady with both hands.
That, and I don't want to waste even more money. Yes, I'm being stingy.
"Get this motherfucker down already!" Windy yells, skipping to the left to dodge the abomination's heavy overhead slam, a great deal faster now that its morbid fashion accessory has been destroyed after much effort, "Come on! We've almost got it guys!"
"I'm run- out of ammo he-!" Jade cries back, just as frustrated.
"Same here! Down to my last...-bolts!" Reit echoes, his voice cutting in and out.
I briefly give consideration to running over to help. No, not a good idea, I've been knocking it back out of stealth consistently so far, don't want to risk losing track of it.
Minutes more pass.
Windy, the latest victim of the compulsion debuff, shakes off the figure and extracts her ankles from Olrica and Karin's ineffectual grasp. I still can't pick out much detail for some reason, but whatever it is she does next...
nonothisisnofreedomsaveussaveussavemesaveme
Congratulations! Your party has defeated a Vacantsoul Slave!
Awarding 27000 Experience.
Kills it.
"Shut the fuck up! SHUT UP!" Windy roars, fraught with stress. The bell chime follows denotes the appearance of an Iron-tier item drop.
Unsure of what caused her composure to crack, I momentarily forget to tell them to come and help me finish off my dance partner here.
Can't make out what they're saying, but I do get a heal tossed my way, so at the very least one of those two have taken notice of my plight.
"-left to go," Angelus calls out, "Help Si-"
Windy elects to stay where they are - being comforted by Jade I think - while the others turn their attention to Trophytaker. With how much damage I've done by now, I'm not terribly worried about losing its ire to them in lieu of my own aggro manipulation Skill. Of course, the only one really doing anything damage-wise is Oil, since I surmise that our marksmen have run out of ammo.
The Elementalist stops not long after as well, however, leaving just me and Olrica. His Class might afford him some better spellcasting efficiency with Elemental Ice Spells - a curious choice for a man who named himself Oil - the team did just get done killing a tough opponent.
Eventually, and without fanfare or drama, the inevitable occurs.
Congratulations! Your party has defeated Ever-Wandering Puppet!
Awarding 30000 Experience.
The shade fades and the rock crumbles to the sound of a bell, a mote of light to the floor. At around the same time, I feel like my vision and hearing sharpen, my breathing heavy. From the rubble, a stone torc materialises, multiple long and thick strings trailing from the circumference. Reaching for it, I feel an instinctive revulsion, a pang in my Crystal Heart.
Fantastic.
A Cursed item. Why did I get my hopes up for a drop from a demon?
The Vacantsoul Slave better have dropped something good, or this venture just became a lot less worthwhile all of a sudden.
