“What are you doing?” A whisper passed forth the hood; shadow veiled the comely face beneath. Drussaev could feel the paranoid eyes staring right at him after he lifted his up, gestured to the inn’s attendant. A dusky faun with thick black fur and the curling horns of a ram.

  “Ordering some food. I am famished.” A sigh escaped the figure, her gloved hands passed into the voluminous, gray hood to stroke her temples. “What? We travelled for three days without stopping under the searing rays of the Illius.” Nephyti chuckled, knowing they could have arrived sooner, but Drussaev stopped at least eight times, exploring small ruins dotted across the violet desert. He held as much love for Angura’s disciples, as he held for his brother.

  “And it is quite rude not to order.” Nephyti added. She sat close to Drussaev, their hands locked under the table. A silky robe flown down her lean figure, the warm glow of the sputtering torches and candles graced her oily dark face adorned with elongated eyes, blue as lapis lazuli. Luxuriant hair, the shade of hazelnuts tumbled onto purple shawl draped shoulders.

  “I am aware of that. But these are troubling days.” She said, another sigh parting from the shadows.

  “Then waste no more time. Tell us, why you need our aid?” Drussaev leaned over, the lone braid snaked down his nape. onto the cloak flowing over his scanty panoply. He stared roughly where the eyes should be.

  As the attendant approached, she held her words, ordered naught but a keg of cinnamon spiced milk. “I need capable and trustworthy hands and minds to venture down into the Umbral Vaults.”

  He could not help, but chuckle at the proposition. Deep down he wished to venture down into the infamous vaults built deep beneath the sands by the Black Pharaoh his father cast down centuries ago. But Khaetomhian and Nephyti steered him from doing so. They fought gargantuan sandworms, battled with the remnants of the Black Pharaoh’s cult, slain horrors stepping into the realm of Elhyrissian. Many such feats they accumulated travelling across the deserts, the Umbral Vaults remained the only thing they never ventured into on the insistence of the two.

  Both children of the south, who learned early on to let this piece of the past be buried under the sands, forgotten as time marched on. Yet it never faded. His father, the Elhyrissiar wished to eradicate the last legacy of the Black Pharaoh, announced a great reward for those who found a way to do so. Hundreds if not thousands attempted, ventured deep supposedly, and those who returned lost their sanity, vanished into the desert mumbling incoherent words. Even five of his own siblings attempted finding the heart, pierce it in hopes of vanishing the lingering shadows allowing entrance to horrors. But none returned. The shadows claimed them as the nomads often said about the fools.

  Nephyti remained calm, a listless expression adorned her enchanting visage as he looked at her. Though he really wished to challenge fate, he would not endanger the ones close to his heart, respect their wishes. “I shall politely refuse. Farewell Tanyth. Tell my brother I greeted him.”

  “Wait. It is not for the vain effort of destroying the place. We would not venture deep.” Tanyth raised her voice barely above a whisper.

  “I still refuse. That place should just be forgotten.” Drussaev said, a little tipsy from the warm thoughts transmitted into him by Nephyti.

  “It is imperative, we retrieve…something. The Empire’s fate hangs upon it.” Tanyth did not relent, lashed her fingers around Drussaev’s bracelet. She remained silent as Drussaev waited. Then released once their orders arrived.

  “Big words shall not sway my decision. If the Empire is truly in peril, call upon uncle!” He said, sitting back and paying for all the expenses.

  “He is occupied with certain matters, relating the troubles in the capital. But here I can’t speak about such matters.” Nephyti chuckled mockingly at the statement.

  Nekhtu’s Stand did belong to once nomads, who had less than favorable opinions about the Empire, but it wasn’t the home of those who would capitalize on secrets, veiled wounds. A small refuge of nomads who grew tired wandering the manifold hued dunes, who wished nothing more for a peaceful life under the searing Illius. Though a fell blot, the ruins of Khadrath lingered directly southwards, the sole reason of travelers who Tanyth may fear. But besides them, none other lingered in the inn besides the locals.

  “What about brother Albrion. I am sure he would gladly take such a task upon himself.” Drussaev asked.

  “I am sure you are well aware he has his own responsibilities as head of the Draennith Praetoreath.” Seeing the answer satisfied Drussaev little, her face beneath the veil contorted. “And occupied with matter relating to the Prismatic Lord, and those who invaded his sanctum.”

  He stopped tearing the roasted worm, looked up. “I doubt anyone could penetrate their wards.” With a chuckle he began anew tearing the soft, viscous flesh.

  “We believed so too.” She leaned back, downed the milk in one breath.

  “Fine. We shall travel to your camp once our bellies are full, our bodies rested.” He looked apologetically at Nephyti, her feelings remained afar from his mind.

  “I shall await your arrival.” Tanyth’s mood lightened hearing the answer. The shadows parted from under her hood revealing a dusky face of a young maiden. The black pearls within her round, innocent eyes gained a greenish shade, and a bit of confusion before calm settled back. “Meet me here, tomorrow morning the earliest. I shall guide you to our camp.” With that, the disciple of Tanyth stood up, left ordering another of the sweet drink and a room on the second floor.

  The two awaited in silence, until Khaetomhian and Shu-Khagor arrived along with the attendant who took their orders. They even waited until their meal arrived. Fruits and a little meat drenched in a dark, viscous sauce trailing down on the tenderly scorched skin and tendon, seasoned meagerly. Still its taste fixed their moods a little, as the other two received the news through thoughts transmitted.

  “Told you to never take offers to venture into that damnable place.” Khaetomhian remonstrated him as soon as he tore off a drumstick of some avian beast.

  “I am well aware old friend.” Drussaev said with an awkward smile. “I made a vow before departing, if those two need me or engaged in other matters relating to their positions, I would present myself in their place.”

  “That’s all well and good.” Khaetomhian began. “But I am still young and pretty to be as mad as a rooster.” Knowing he won’t be able to steer Drussaev from the task, he jested a little.

  “I shall ask about the matter.” He looked at Nephyti, seeking her aid to pry secrets from Tanyth. “If it is not as dire as she may claim, I shall refuse then and there.”

  ******

  True to their word, Drussaev met up with Tanyth’s disciple in the main and sole square of Nekthu’s Stand, under the shadow of the horrid statue. A statue depicting the heroic founder contending with the mutated sandworm. From its maw, the lithe torso of grotesque aevhe protruded, eight arms sprouting from his shoulders and sides, his visage a gaping emptiness.

  There he got remonstrated by the others catching up, as he slipped out earlier, wishing not to bring them along against their wishes regarding the Vaults. Slowly the people of Nekhtu’s Stand gathered around, forcing the disciple to put a break on the remonstration. Souring Khaetomhian’s and Shu-Khagor’s mood as their turn had to wait until departure from the town surrounded by the corpse-wall of the mutated worm.

  From Nekthu’s Stand, they headed eastwards, following a faint ethereal trail conjured forth the Unseen Realms, leading them back to the excavation site as they learned an hour after they passed a fort claimed by the violet dunes. A small group of hunting nomads warned them of a pack of gnolls trailing the sands. Past the fort itself, the journey proved quite uneventful, beyond Nephyti trying to pry into their guide’s mind, memories. She liked not the place, and the prospect of the Order digging for something within made her even more wary.

  They alluded an enemy with great reach. She pondered whether said enemy itself wished to trick them. It wouldn’t be the first time Drussaev’s good nature, his love for his family and homeland led them into a trap sprung by the Black Pharaoh’s cult or the nomads who liked not their interference in their matters regarding the cities arising in the searing lands. But she found nothing, only scenes of the Order and nomad workers digging, taming the sand and earth, and the black arches infecting the world with unnatural darkness. A shadow, which swallowed all light. A shadow, which whispered through time and space.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  By the early dawn of the subsequent day, they arrived. Though if not for the gnolls, their arrival would have been at the onset of midnight. For which, Khaetomhian and Nephyti thanked silently their bestial adversaries. Up on the makeshift steps built from solidified violet sand, they stared down at the excavated arch, the ghastly gate, and the shadows ever slowly creeping out along with a chill naught cold, but still swallowing the onslaught of heat reflected by the shifting sand.

  The structure itself appeared utterly black, a vague oily patina absorbed the light, transferred into a mist of shadow forming translucent clouds over the busy camp. At first glance the native workers appeared unbothered, Nephyti sensed the unease lingering in their minds, whilst the other two spotted the faint signs of terror, dread.

  At its heart, they finally met the magi, Tanyth. A svelte, pale djinn whose large, unblinking black eyes stared right into their minds, even penetrated through Nephyti’s mental walls. “They shall do.” The words issued forth her lipless, thin and wide mouth, in a condescending manner, and as she shuffled around, her dark, misty hair trailing across her head swung, drawn a streak in the cool air of the tent. Two obsidian horns sprouted from her sheared temples, coiled sharp behind her head.

  A long and hooded robe of sapphire blue wrapped around her form, its elliptical collar fondled her angled jaw, its upper ridges glinted in golden. A voluminous shawl wrapped around her neck, the same pale white as her velvety skin, its tail tumbled across her back. And four silver rings adorned each of her forefingers and thumb. She gestured away her disciple, led the rest further in. Passing through a cascading carpet, all the sounds beyond the tent ceased.

  Beyond it, a spacious circular room spread, spacious enough for all five of them. Far ahead the entrance, a makeshift table held stacks of tomes and old scrolls brought from the south’s capital, a few bookshelves stood by the sides. A cluster of lofty carpets overlapped above the sand, the embroideries shifted, danced on the coarse surface. Four poles held the tautened ceiling, eastern talismans hung powering the aegis keeping any sound out and within.

  “What do you seek from this place?” Drussaev folded his arm, looking down at the tall djinn with a piercing gaze. Unaffected, Tanyth groaned, walked behind her table.

  “The Scrolls of Vermius. Any of you heard about them?” They all shook their hands. With great effort, she choked the urge to comment. “Old scrolls, containing runes of distant Yuggoth, penned by Vermius himself who contacted at least hundreds of them throughout his life before the War of Siblings. Scrolls meant to call forth any being without the need to learn their location, the realm they occupy.”

  “So what does Angura wishes to call into our realm? His liege the Sightless Weaver of Fates or the Dawn Father himself?” Drussaev answered back her earlier condescending tone aimed at his friends.

  Tanyth eyes peered at the walls, suspicion clear in each dark pond. “The Prismatic Lord himself.” Tanyth said without hesitation. “In the capital, an Infaerni’s cult is spreading in the shadows, day by day, the plebeian flock to worship this Beautiful. And in the north our scouts report movements in the Vesgeriath Woodlands. We are not a hundred percent sure if the Nightscale is related, but there are great chances his agents invaded the sanctum, took the Prismatic Lord right under from our noses.”

  “Should have said that sooner.” Drussaev sighed, inclined his back against a pole. “Doubt he has agents down this far.”

  “Likely not. But its not his agent’s we are afraid of.” Tanyth relapsed into a ponderous silence. “Heard about the sudden appearance of that ivory and crimson oasis?” She asked, looking up at each of them.

  “We did, even visited it.” Drussaev answered. “Poor boy.” Nephyti murmured.

  “He was a chosen of the Almodo.” The four looked at him surprised. “Though we have no concrete evidence beyond the words of the Oracles, but some unknown entity may have influenced him, led him towards madness.”

  “Are there others?” Khaetomhian asked, picking up on her words.

  “Yes, in the North. As of right now, I believe your uncle is on the way. So I beseech all of your aide, to reach the chamber holding the Scrolls.” Tanyth straightened, and to their surprise leaned forward pleading.

  “What makes you think it is down there?” Shu-Khagor asked in his calm, airy tone.

  “Arshad, our guide who pinpointed this location. I scried through his memories, a good twenty years he spent down there after the Black Pharaoh exiled him after he tried to steal from his palace. He knows most of the levels close to the ground, and even found the liminal chamber, a library of sorts where the Black Pharaoh gathered most of his tomes.” Tanyth noticed the hesitation in the dwarf and her fellow sorceress. “Trust me, I wish not to thread down there myself, would rather leave it buried under the sand. All I can promise that each of you shall get handsomely rewarded by Angura, and even possibly by the Elhyrissiar himself.”

  The four converged in a shared mindspace created by Nephyti, where after five minutes, accepted, made their vows of silence regarding the whole matter until the Scrolls get used by Angura. The nigh passed quick.

  Khaetomhian spent inquiring around the camp, still unsure a little if it was a trap or not. Shu-Khagur mingled amongst the workers, alleviated their moods with little arkhaine tricks. And Nephyti and Drussaev accompanied the khimmerian orkh, helped his kind endeavor, before they retreated to their shared tent, in a heated battle of passions Drussaev conceded on subtly.

  As soon as the light of the Illius penetrated through the dark clouds over the excavation site, all four awakened, slipped into an on their garments and departed before the gates. There, their guide already awaited, sitting on a stack of crates.

  “Greetings my friends! Hope you head a pleasant rest!” A lanky southern human, skin almost as black as the arches themselves. Two pale silver eyes surveyed each of them, a streak of violet swirled around like a serpent in each eerie pearl. A black robe flown down his body, its uneven, layered hem scraped the sand. A voluminous shawl wrapped around his head, neck and sprawled onto his shoulders, a deep rich violet. And in his bony hands, a timber staff aided him in standing up. “I am Arshad as Tanyth may have introduced me in my absence upon your arrival to our humble camp.” He bowed eloquently, then accepted Drussaev firm shake.

  Behind them, the svelte Djinn appeared, fine indigo silken wrapped around her whole body, angular, overlapping plates fastened over her limbs, torso and a neck-guard circled around like an Usekh-collar, from its aperture the raiment’s slithered along her delicate neck. To each of their surprise, she held no staff as they expected, but instead carried a long bow with silver leaden shaft, a stack of bows fastened behind, the strap trailed along the buttery smooth plates and deep blue silk. “No need for worry. Hunted plenty beasts in my youth in the forests of the north.”

  Drussaev turned back towards Arshad. “Any advice before we enter?”

  “Walk with the shadows, but heed not their promises, whispers. I have no doubts regarding your capabilities, but in the shadows linger the unknowns of our lives, and those lurking in fear not to bait you with the uncertainties awaiting all of us.” He said, stroking his bearded chin. Noticing the faint rise of Drussaev’s left brow, he smiled a little. “And many are the undead lingering, lost within the shadowy halls. So be not afraid to call upon Dawn and Flame.”

  Then he signaled to Tanyth who passed between Shu-Khagor and Nephyti at the back. She stretched her arms and legs wide, an unseen force drawn a circle from one arch to another, a translucent, ethereal glass wall of azure and gold rose high above the looming dunes and the tents. Finished, she nodded towards Arshad. “Stand behind me. It hungers.” Drussaev heeded his words, stood beside Nephyti, their hands locked.

  Arshad slammed his staff in the sand, hieroglyphics lengthened from the bottom to the black gates. A crack. A howl. The shrieks of lost thousands escaped the parting gates, amorphous darkness flooded out, slammed before Arshad, eating away the runes drawn by his will upon the blackening sand. But passed not beyond it. “A good sign.” He said, shivers rattling each of the five, then they felt something pass them, returned within the shadowy antechamber slowly drawn out by the light of day.

  Within hulking figures moved towards the gates, wrapped in black gauzes, thick horns sprouted from their hands, their exposed eyes gleamed in hideous shades, and bestial howls escaped their mouthless visages. Withered, pale rotting ghouls followed in toe, some still recognizable to be once aevhei, human or some kind of demikin. Drussaev and Khaetomhian rushed to the front, their axes drawn.

  Drussaev stroke right at the head of the guardian, though dislodged it quick, sensing the malice still burning in its eyes. The massive fist thrusted towards his chest protected by a diamond shaped golden plate and few layers of arkhaine enforced white linen with scarlet trimming. He cursed internally as writhing, clawed appendage sliced through his side. A minor scrape, but it burned worse than any wound he experienced before. Like million hooks buried in the dented flesh, pulling weight upon his side.

  Though it quickly healed. At a short glance, noticed the bloodstone embedded in Tanyth’s ring glowed for a second. “Head down.” She howled, followed her advice and watched as an arrow lodged into the hulking horror’s chest. Flames sprouted in the wound, spread onto the gauze, but vanished in the same breath. A little distracted, the beast shuffled towards Tanyth, but before it could have made its first steps, Drussaev cleaved off its left arm.

  Its arm floated up in the air, an inky ichor flown out, lashed onto his throat. Tightened its grip, then a gust sliced through, freeing him. “Strike the spine.” Arshad yelled, standing still in the same place, with an amused smile.

  Feeling his body lighten, Drussaev spit golden flames into the hulking horror’s eyes, then charged behind, followed the guide’s advice. A clean strike, the beast shrieked then the gauze fell whilst black dust released into the air, returned into the shadows. On the other side, he glanced Khaetomhian likewise finish of the beast. The undead which followed them mostly laid limp on the sand, in many pieces or arrow sticking into their blackened parched chests and heads. Though one scurried back into the antechamber and beyond.

  Drussaev quickly thanked the aid of Shu-Khagor, whilst Nephyti inspected the two for any wounds. “Hope those were the worst.” He said jestingly, staring at the moaning blackness.

  “This place is all kinds of the worst Drus.” Khaetomhian said, visibly holding back his dread from manifesting on his bearded face. “Let’s get this over quick.”

  Drussaev patted his pauldrons. “Once we are out, I’ll buy the first five rounds back home.” Khaetomhian snorted loud, then followed as they all entered, the gates slowly closing in on them.