Брюс Корделл - Oath of Nerull

The creatures were withered and desiccated, their features hidden beneath centuries-old funerary wrappings. They moved with a steady gait, heading toward the edge of the pit Ember had fallen into. A pungent order wafted forward, like that of a spice cabinet left too long without cleaning.

Hennet spared a glance at his companions. True to form, the gnome looked terrified beyond any capacity for casting spells. Brek appeared less affected, but still taken aback.

The dwarf whispered, “Mummified corpses! ’Ware their touch; it’s deadly.”

Hennet nodded. He stowed his crossbow and prepared to cast a spell. He hoped that, as a cleric, Brek had power over unlife like other priests he’d known.

Brek Gorunn took a step forward, held forth his hammer, and bellowed, “Moradin commands that you give way, unholy creatures! Turn your faces and be destroyed!”

His hammer blazed with golden light and one of the two advancing mummies faltered, croaked out a terrible whine, and turned back toward the way it had come. The other shook off Brek’s holy command and continued forward, reaching the edge of the pit.

Not so fast, thought Hennet.

He summoned a duo of enchanted force missiles from his out stretched hand, which slammed into the creature like hurled daggers. It absorbed the magical attack with barely a shudder, despite two bloodless holes smoking in its torso. It kept advancing.

Desperate, Hennet yelled, “Your wand! Nebin, your wand!”

Hennet silently cursed as the gnome remained frozen in fear. Not so Brek, who rushed forward swinging his warhammer. But he moved too slowly for Hennet’s taste. The animate corpse was leaning forward and straining with one arm to reach down into the pit. Hennet released another twin barrage of magical energy; the thing shuddered again, but still remained on its feel.

“Damn you, Nebin!” yelled the human sorcerer, “wake up and use your wand!”

The gnome groaned and grasped the slender wooden wand at his belt with shaking hands. Its touch seemed to lend Nebin confidence. He whipped out the wand and aimed its tip at the mummified corpse.

“Back to dust with you!” Nebin shrilled, and released a cascade of rainbow light fully onto the stooping creature.

The color drained away, leaving the creature unfazed. It groped around below the lip of the pit, chuffing in anticipation.

Nebin groaned, “Mindless husk!” and dropped his wand to the floor.

The mummy straightened, hauling Ember out of the pit. It held her firmly around the neck with one arm. The monk struggled and kicked, but she was already hurt from her fall. Long-dead tendons tensed as the creature squeezed, and Ember’s struggles weakened. What blows and kicks she landed had little effect on the creature. Hennet realized it was going to squeeze the life from her before their eyes!

The dwarf charged around the edge of the pit and accelerated toward the thing. The mummy looked up just in time to take Brek’s hammer full in the face. The creature was already shot through with smoking holes from Hennet’s magical assault. It uttered a dusty sigh then collapsed, inert. Its hold on Ember relaxed; the monk dropped back into the pit.

Hennet was right behind the dwarf, but he arrived too late to grab the flailing monk before she fell for the second time. He rushed up to the edge of the pit, his heart in his mouth.

“Thank Pelor,” muttered Hennet when he saw her hanging on the lip of the pit, struggling to hold on but still breathing.

“Lend me a hand, will you?” she said in a husky voice.

Minutes later, refreshed by the cleric’s healing spells, including a ward against disease, Ember returned to the ash heap and plucked the shining thing from its top.

“This is Kairoth’s ring. The inscription reads ‘Enabled Hand.’ He was in this chamber!” she proclaimed. “We must press on.”

“I was hoping we’d retreat,” worried Nebin.

Hennet laughed and said, “A mighty arcane warrior you are, Nebin! Let the undead tremble at your approach.”

Nebin looked miffed. He said, looking at Ember, “I’m only suggesting possibilities. Of course I want to continue!”

“Thanks,” said Ember. “Now let’s find Kairoth, or those who stole him away. I must be sure of his fate.”

Her comrades all nodded. Time to press on.

Ember and the dwarf moved up to the mouth of the passage from which the mummies had emerged. Brek’s lantern revealed the same greenish-brown stone tiling the passage. Carved niches broke the plane of both walls lining the corridor. Some contained urns, others were empty.

Ember motioned everyone forward, whispering, “Don’t touch the urns. Best not to disturb the dead.”

She moved forward cautiously, her companions padding along behind as silently as they could. She gave each niche with an urn a wide berth. A breath of colder air tugged her hair.

A whisper behind her said, “Dim your lantern. I see light.” It was Nebin.

Brek obliged the gnome. In the utter darkness of the passage, Ember saw a greenish glow ahead. The illumination trickled from around a bend in the corridor. The colder air brought with it the sound of a low, guttural chanting, barely discernable.

Ember immediately moved forward, resolute. After a few seconds of hesitation, she heard the others follow her. She was relieved—she had half expected at least the gnome to bolt, and the others to try to argue her back.

When she reached the bend, Ember peered around. The corridor opened into a domed room, from which many exits led into darkness. A head-sized ball of green fire hung high in the air at the center of the dome, glaring with emerald light. Below the ghoul-glow, a figure half bound in funerary wrappings lay draped across a chipped stone altar. A hideous, animate, mummified corpse stood next to the altar chanting in a harsh, breathless, uncouth voice, and jerking its arms around as if casting a spell. The chanting mummy wore an elaborate headdress and clutched a blood-stained scythe in one hand.

Ember recognized a mortal threat when she saw one. Without giving herself a second to consider running, she rushed the mummified chanter. It was a simple decision—she recognized the figure on the altar as her old mentor, Kairoth. She leaped onto the altar, readying a lethal kick.

The chanting cut off as if severed by a knife. The scythe came around, whistling in a vicious arc. Faster than Ember could respond, her armored forearm rose, deflecting the lethal blow. The motion surprised even her. Then she realized—Loku’s Bracer had awakened and revealed its magical legacy. The mummy would have disemboweled her as she leaped onto the altar without the bracers’ aid. She mouthed silent thanks to Loku, wherever his spirit resided.

With her height advantage atop the altar, Ember struck with shi kune, the “stunning fist,” executing it perfectly. The mummy’s head rocked back, then snapped forward instantly, unfazed. Apparently the walking dead were not easily stunned, Ember scolded herself.

Hearing the beat of many footfalls, she glanced back and saw the others finally rushing to her aid with Brek Gorunn in the lead. The dwarf, his legs pumping, ran around the left side of the altar, brandishing his hammer.

Ember punched and chopped at the creature’s head, trying to dislodge the grinning rictus from its mummified torso. The dead creature stepped back from Ember’s flashing fists, moving beyond her reach from atop the altar. It pointed a single finger at the approaching dwarf and coughed forth a stream of acid syllables. An ominous ray erupted from its wrapped finger, striking the dwarf in the chest. Brek exhaled as if punched in the stomach, then groaned. The dwarf sank to his knees, as if suddenly too weak to support his own weight.